I ride along with train tracks as the Amtrak zooms by going the opposite way. I embrace the wind as it rushes up the river gorge. A bend in the river finds wind surfers skimming the waves. I count 20 to 30 of them shooting across the river then back again. Surfer style vans jockey for position to launch their boards into the river.
People just sit on the shores gazing at the windsurfers as the day melts away.
Others sit in tandem with their boards watching the parade of color across the river. Clad in wetsuits, board under arms or carried overhead, windsurfers make beelines along narrow worn dirt paths to the river s edge. It s a union of sorts, a homecoming, the board, the water, the wind, and a single person. I reach my turnoff for Carson and ride into the town to find another sleepy hamlet. While pulling into a tiny grocery store, two young girls about thirteen or fourteen glide into the parking lot on their bicycles skidding to a stop right at the entrance of the store.