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My friend Craig and I were nearing the end of our paddling excursion through Channel Islands National Park: a circumnavigation of Santa Rosa Island, followed by an open ocean sprint through pea soup fog to Santa Cruz Island, and an exploration of the natural wonders on that island’s craggy front side.
A stormy winter day on the Mendocino County coast can easily hint of the year-round desolation that existed in this part of the state before the arrival of expensive homes, wineries, parades of RVs, elegant art galleries, and bed-and-breakfast romance. At that time, decades ago, southern California surfers didn’t make the trek north to surf, where it was much colder, much darker; Santa Barbara was considered fringe, Santa Cruz was arctic, and nobody knew what was above San Francisco.
One of the chronic problems confronting downtown bike commuters is bicycle parking. There just aren’t enough bollards, streets signs, and bike racks to get the job done. And not many people want to leave their high-end bikes-or even their modestly priced machines-affixed to paint-scraping surfaces or exposed to the vagaries of the elements, not to mention would-be thieves.