I am I am I am I am so freakin' tired of tulle fog.
Here in Antioch, the bay Area, but really on the delta near the edge of the valley, the fog won't stop. I'm not a huge fan of sub-40 riding, but I can do it. Toss in wet yucky fog and all the fun is gone.
Sea fog can be nice, it has texture. It comes and goes. It's sometimes playful.
The fog here is Stephen King style, dark and relentless, with no redeeming values.
Just to taunt us, it hangs in the low areas where we live, but leaves the peaks clear, just so we know what we're missing. Even a drive over Kirker Pass can reveal a sunny crisp sunglasses day before you descend back into the muck.
The dampness seeps into your clothes even more than rain. It collects on your glasses. It drips off your helmet. It makes you, even if you have a geek-style blinky light, invisible to the cars that seem to speed down the road beyond all reason.
In the "light" of the day, and I use the word light to mean "not pitch black" it's still a depressing gray of evil that looks like smoke, but without any warmth.
Bring me rain. Or bring me sun. Bring me fluffy clouds. This has got to stop.
Thank you for your concern.