Riding During Riots
Life is Now-Normal. Not Normal. The Apocalypse is Coming. Ride a Bike.
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Photo Journal: Santa Ana Trail Ride
Start
Kicked off the morning at Yorba Park, where the air was thick with the buzz of a full-on softball tournament—those cheers and crack of bats took me right back to my youngest daughter’s college softball days, a sweet Life moment that hit that my street corner of memory hard.
Heading out but not knowing where the end is. Life is best lived as such.
Stopping to snap a pic of a couple of birds perched by the water, their calm stillness a quiet contrast to the action, like nature’s own pause button.
The ride down the Santa Ana River Trail began without knowing a 21.1-mile round-trip was before us, the paved path glowing under a clear blue sky. Caught a shot of the trail winding out, the open space feeling like pure freedom in motion, with the distant hum of the park fading behind me.
Stopping to admire a work of Art that a creative soul took the time to reach out to connect. Is physical connection across the river more pressing than creative connection with the soul? (Notice the futile left-turn sign that required a bunch of sign-offs to point to the obvious)
Middle
After pedaling forever, we finally hit Orange, waited a quick second on a Sunday for a 2-top at the sidewalk, and enjoyed an amazing lunch at The Filling Station. Snapped a pic of a weathered motel sign - Angel Motel - on the way, its faded letters a cool slice of History, standing tall despite the years. Music is far and few between on the SART. One guy, a total cruiser with a Hulkster mustache, was the only jammer. A steady pedal tune mixing with the occasional bird call. The rocky edges of the trail felt like nature’s own Craft, each stone placed with a rugged purpose. Heading back via the Glassell route, I got a shot of myself pedaling under those tree-lined stretches, the sunlight filtering through like an Art piece unfolding in real time, shadows dancing on the path.
End
Wrapped it up back at Yorba Regional Park as the afternoon eased into evening, tired but feeling good, legs a little heavy but heart full.
Snapped a final pic of that fenced highway sign near the exit, another street corner crossed, marking the end of the journey. Life’s little wins shone through—from the ride’s flow to the hearty meal—tied together with the trail’s rich History and the Craft of pushing through those miles. Maybe the Music of the day still lingers in the creak of the bike or the wind in the trees—what’s your latest ride or meal story? Drop a note below and join the ride at Compass Star Wordsmith, where these moments come alive.
Admiring every testament to the creative soul. On every street corner. Or dirt path.
Let’s keep riding, my friends
Ric
It's wild how much of one's daily route you miss when in a car. I ride the (more or less) same route all the time and *still* find new stuff like this on each ride.
More people need to get out. This week's travels of my own have highlighted that social media has no bearing on reality.