DC

Where in the world is pep?

Not California—someplace green. A city with mass transit that works: Minutes from the airport to my hotel downtown. A city surprisingly popular with cyclists, with a robust bike-sharing program. A city with walk signals timed to allow a full 60 seconds to cross a street.

A city of monuments: Our nation's capitol, Washington, D.C.

Given the opportunity to bike another 100 miles for Best Buddies, I packed my bags and headed east. I spotted the staging area from the air as our plane descended past the Washington Monument. From the hotel, it was a comfortable walk to check in and get fitted on the loaner Cannondale I'd ride tomorrow.

In the late afternoon light, the walls of the Smithsonian's Castle were redder than red. I haven't visited D.C. in more than a decade, and now I regretted that I didn't have some time to be a tourist.

Hunting and Gathering

It wasn't all about the bike today. Instead, we were on a treasure hunt of sorts—traveling from one spot to another for a multi-course meal. Each rider contributed a dish: appetizer, salad/side, or dessert. The club provided an assortment of dishes for the main course: ham, turkey, lasagne, green beans, corn.

The route for this annual progressive dinner changes a bit each year. After dropping off your contribution at a central location, you pick up a route sheet and pedal on to reach each location at the right time.

Turnout seemed a bit lower this year, perhaps because it was another hot day. Those who normally stick to the flat routes were surprised by a bit of a climb to earn their salads. Perched high on the hillside, we could peer down through the trees to a popular trail along the creek and the busy highway below us.

The last stop always presents a challenge. The desserts are set out in waves: If you're too eager about the first wave, you might not have room for something special from the next ... like the cake with burnt almond frosting emblazoned with the name of our club.

I covered 38 miles with a scant 1000 feet of climbing—about the same as a normal round-trip commute day. Unlike a normal commute day, I was not calorie-neutral ... not even close. [Yum.]

Fleeting

Out on this coast for business, my brother dropped by for a brief visit. I've often felt that he's not particularly impressed with California. We don't share many interests; how would I entertain him?

Flipping through the weekend listings, I realized it was Fleet Week in San Francisco. Heavy traffic, big crowds ... two reasons I've always steered clear of this event.

Research suggested that BART was the way to go. From the Embarcadero station, we walked along the waterfront. After peering at the not-yet-commissioned U.S.S. America (from afar), we wandered through the farmers' market at the Ferry Building. For lunch, we found the vendor with the longest line [deservedly so] and enjoyed some fine porchetta sandwiches. He managed to overlook the arugula.

Apart from the U.S.S. America, and one ship being towed through the bay, we were puzzled to see more Canadian than U.S. naval vessels. People stood patiently on epically long lines to tour some out-of-sight ships, and we guessed those must be some of our own.

The airshow was underway as we made our way along the waterfront, seeking a good vantage point. We paused at Aquatic Park to marvel at the acrobatics. I expected the lawn to be packed; it wasn't. We slipped into a gap at the water's edge, inching forward into the second row as others moved away.

Trailing red, white, and blue smoke, the Patriots Jet Team warmed up the crowd. As two jets split into opposing arcs, I smiled. I realized they would trace a heart in the sky, but a third jet surprised me by piercing it through.

To the east, the Blue Angels cruised by in the distance as another acrobatic interlude was wrapping up. “They're gonna come straight at us—watch!” We had scored perfect seats. I saw the smoke before I saw the jets; all six soared right over our heads.

They flew straight at each other and rolled sideways to pass. They flew high. They flew low. They flew straight up. They flew upside down. [How long can they do that?]

And then, as a couple of them distracted us with some tricky low maneuvers over the bay, a pair of Hornets flirting with the speed of sound roared low over our heads.

The expression on my brother's face? Priceless.

Tranquility

I'm not keen on biking long distances in the dark.

With daylight savings time still in effect, I have felt discouraged by the ever-later sunrise. At the far end of the day, there isn't much light left for the long ride home, either.

I could afford the luxury of a slightly later start today; no rush to get cleaned up in time for a morning packed with back-to-back meetings. [Yay!] In the afternoon, I could leave early enough to arrive home at dusk.

A later start, though, means heavier traffic. What if ... what if I cut through the local park, instead? Having optimized my route, and being a creature of habit, I had never tried this variation in the morning. It would add some distance and subtract some climbing.

How did it turn out? Well, you be the judge. [I'm biased.] The surface of the lake was as smooth as glass, and the changing leaves [yes, in California] were vibrant in the early morning light.

Tradeoff: traffic for tranquility.

Loop de Loop

We returned to the neighborhood we visited last week, this time tracing a pair of loops instead of a pair of dead-ends. I looked forward to a peaceful climb through the redwoods on a hot early fall day.

I didn't expect to share the road with a steady parade of cars heading up Black. But then, if I wanted to avoid the single-lane controls on Highway 9 and the beach traffic on Highway 17, I might drive up Black to Skyline, too.

A driver coming down the hill in a white pick-up truck reinforced the stereotype by blaring his horn. Because he doesn't like cyclists? It made no sense, we were going up the hill in the opposite lane. Similarly, he leaned on the horn again when he returned to pass us as we were still climbing. One cyclist in our group put a positive spin on it: If they're honking at you, at least you know they see you.

Having completed our first loop, we circled the Lexington Reservoir. The water level was alarmingly low, and it will get lower still. [Keep watering those lawns, people.]

At some point in the Eastern Sierras, my bicycle started putting out a loud creak with every rotation of the crank. “Is that normal?” my fellow cyclists would ask. Post-ride, I sought out a recommended mechanic at a bike shop in town. He no longer worked there, and the shop didn't have the right-sized part (bottom bracket) in stock. [Why is this so hard?] I had better luck at a second recommended shop in a nearby town: Not only did they have the part, they fixed it on the spot and applied our club's discount without my asking for it—they saw the affiliation on my jersey.

Taking stock of the day: 20 miles with a mere 2,520 feet of climbing, one quite happy cyclist, and one quiet happy bicycle.

A Touch of Fall

This week brought us the first day of fall, and already a chill is in the air. It seemed like a good day for a short local ride.

Some folks in our group were in for a real treat, never having climbed Montevina before. With the marine layer hovering over the coast, though, they had to take my word for the view of Monterey Bay we were denied. We did get some close-ups of the ever-shrinking Lexington Reservoir. As we descended Montevina, we met too many cars coming up the hill—too many cars for a dead-end road, too many cars driven by people unaccustomed to the road. Something about a meeting for a llama (yes, the two-L llama) group.

One hill just isn't enough, so we headed back across the highway for a longer climb. The summit of Soda Springs tops out around 3,000 feet, and it was already colder than I expected. “Don't wait for me,” one rider warned. She expected to turn back, but ultimately changed her mind and followed us to the top.

We packed an impressive 4,860 feet of climbing into a short 27 miles. [Half of that distance was downhill. Think about it.]

Arcangeli's

Our ride leader presented us with a choice for today's loop: clockwise for an easier climb, counter-clockwise for lunch at Arcangeli's.

[No contest.]

This is a popular cycling route; you're never alone at the San Gregorio General Store. My photo has it all: eclectic merchandise, live music (inside), cyclists (outside), and the marine layer over rolling hills.

Arcangeli's, aka Norm's Market, is the source of some heavenly carbs. Artichoke Garlic Herb bread. Hot-out-of-the-oven Artichoke Garlic Herb bread. It wasn't hard to devour the three loaves we bought. One rider pressed a plastic grocery bag into service as a backpack to tote a loaf home. [Uphill.] That's how good this bread is. Unless you've had it, you've had nothing like it.

This little piggie didn't go to market. Mom was nearby, but we suspected that both of them were on the lam in the field where we spotted them.

The skies were clear by the time we started up Haskins Hill; somehow, that's always the way it is. The marine layer lifted late enough to keep us from overheating on the exposed part of the climb. One rider, less prepared, dismounted and walked up the last stretch.

For the day, 31 miles and a modest 2,280 feet of climbing. Not enough, I'm afraid, to offset my intake of heavenly bread. And that's okay by me.