We got a good mountain bike ride in on Sunday between rain showers. We San Diegans are reveling in the wetness because we have been suffering from drought conditions for oh, the last 25 or so years. Our "fire season" is now an annual event lasting several months during which we all stress and worry like the scarecrow on "Wizard of Oz." "Scared of a little fire, scarecrow?" screeches the Wicked Witch of the West. Um, yes.
Anyway, Mark and I hopped aboard our mountain bikes and rode into Mission Trails Park which is one of the largest urban park preserves in the United States, at nearly 5800 acres. There is always a feeling of giddy childishness as you swoop over the San Diego River (looking pretty full right now after all the rain) and begin the slow climb up towards the ridge. We bounded across mud and puddles and then we swerved left at the rusty barrels to ascend "Toby's Traverse," named for the man who shaped and built it to the tasty single track it is today.
Mark and I reached the top of the ridge then cruised along, stopping to look out at the surrounding views. Mark then pointed, saying, "Hey, do you see the coyote over there?"
"Over there! Look, there are two!"
I could almost make out two brown shapes against a palette of green, orange and browns. "Er, uh yeah."
Suddenly, they both started yipping like neighborhood watch dogs.
"Hee hee," Mark and I giggled. Then we yapped back.
We stood there chatting with the coyotes for the next few minutes, exchanging call for call. Then we boarded our mountain bikes, and sped towards them. Of course they immediately sprinted into the oak brush and disappeared. All fluff and bluff.
Still, it made our day. And adrenaline junkies that we are, we sped back down the whoop-de-doo trails, two gigantic grins on four wheels.