Perhaps when the scientific community came up with the term "ornithology," what they really meant was porno-thology. Because first there were the ducks, and then there was the horny chicken and today there were hawks.
Karen and I were enjoying a wonderful yay-it's-Daylight-Savings-so-we-can-ride-our-bikes-more experience on Burndale Road in Sonoma (part of a 27-mile-ride), when I heard strange chirping noises, looked upward and was greeted by the sight of hawks humping on a telephone wire.
Luckily for you, I didn't take any photos of the amorous couple. (I was too busy yelling "Hawks are having sex!" at the top of my lungs. Dear residents of Burndale Road: Sorry.)
But I did take a photo of this guy:
I have no idea what he is (Pan, is that you? Where is your flute?), but look at those horns! He puts unicorns to shame!
Oh, and we also stopped at the Epicurean Connection and had a cheese plate. (Side note: If you ever have the chance to experience Dunbarton Blue at some point in your life, do it.)
In case you haven't figured it out yet, I'm a Very Serious Cyclist.
(Actually, though, these tooling-around-town rides really do have a point. I'm much more comfortable in traffic now. And today I practiced riding with one hand and sprinting in the drops. And riding is so fun now that I look forward to it every weekend.)