There was a mystery on the mountain ahead of us, even before I could see it I could feel it waiting to gobble up the strength in my legs, but we had no idea we riding our way up to a place that devours whole souls.

We had been retracing our steps to Stinson Beach, past the seals and their liquid eyes, Eucalyptus forests and green paddocks. As we passed a photographer by the side of the road, he rather hilariously called a greeting of “watch out for the poison oak”, a phrase that became our catch cry as we rolled our way to town. We wizzed down a descent that had been an arduous climb a few days ago, I thrilled as I flew down it recharging my batteries, lunch then a 500m elevation to summit. We grabbed some groceries on the way out, I picked up an apple, felt its weight and quickly returned it to its glistening brothers. Crinkling A4 posters withered on the wall while I waited to be served, a missing cat (they didn’t last long in mountain lion country I was told), a grainy photo of a blonde girl walking across a parking lot, boats for sale and music lessons.

The day was grey and the road switch backed out of sight. It stretched for an eternity, not steep but relentless. The slow vehicle turnouts were my friend, the camera an excuse for a pause. We left the view of curving beaches to dense forest with dizzying drops, but all for whinging and huffing it was much easier than the days before, perhaps my legs were getting stronger. The last of the windes involved some pushing up hill, but no walking so I counted myself victorious over the mountain when the campground car park came to site. Oh the beauty of those 20 foot white lines gleaming in the sun! A hiker gave us a thumbs up and yelled an invitation for beers later.

Dylan, released from his chain went bounding onto the trails, I remained for a well earned cat nap. Surprisingly refreshed I emerged from my teepee to warm greetings and invitation of a spot around the fire from our neighbours a campsite over. Dylan returned breathless and a little wide eyed, which I attributed to the 20 or so miles he had just run up and down the mountain. We went for a mini hike stumbling upon an Italian woman crouched on the ground, with glee she showed us her treasure, a giant banana slug devouring a mushroom, its lung hole gaping with the effort. We lingered a while, admiring the fat fellow and wincing every time a heavy footed hiker passed whiskers from its demise.

We walked onward, but Dylan was keen to turn as light began turning golden, he had seen a man on a trail while he ran that had blown smoke in his eyes and looked at him with such a piercing stare of hatred he had felt the need to turn around and sprint back to me. He mused it might be all in his head, what with all the sins for the missing girl all over the carpark, I recalled seeing the posters in town all over the coast, but hadn’t realised this was the place she had left her rental car and disappeared in nothing but shorts and a sweatshirt into the wilderness without a sign. We wandered back, the fog was rolling in, I noted the slug had hauled himself to a safer place on the side of the path.

We took up our invitation to a warm fire, Mark insisted that I help relieve him of the burden of excess cheese and bread, then lemonade and of course chips and avocado “they will be far too heavy to drive all the way back to San Francisco in our trucks!” Of course seeing their plight I had to help them out, especially when it came to cheese tasting. The fog started to curl above our heads, falling like rain around the clearing as it condensed on leaves and branches. Beautiful and eerie, we felt safe with fire and company. Nate and Mark were camp instructors for troubled teens and had spent last night sleeping in the open without a tent above their heads, the plan was no different for this foggy night. Conversation of course was drawn to the missing girl, Magdalena, Mark had seen her parents putting up posters and there was to be a second search in the morning, we wondered how we kept riding into these stories. Fresh from a move to San Francisco, no one realised she was missing until rangers noticed her car was still in the parking lot five days later. The search for her had been suspended due to lack of clues, but now two weeks later sniffer dogs, volunteers and perhaps even helicopters would be converging on the mountain again. Our minds wandered into tragic territory and the smoking stranger, but on a prompt from Mark we limply decided she was in Mexico having run away, safe and happy. Despite the solemnity of the occasion, it was beautiful there with the fog curling in the darkness, new friends that we hope felt unburdened from the food we consumed greedily as travellers are excuse to do. Our fire toasted sandwiches were a revelation to them, just as they had to Will the night before and full bellied and warm we creeped to our tent while they settled in the clearing tentless.

Dylan had trouble sleeping, worrying about the girl, I detached myself as foul thoughts cannot be let in when sleep is nigh, I imagined her on the beach in Mexico, there was nothing else I could do.