Some New York Minutes

New York. It's been a while.

This trip started in an unfamiliar neighborhood (the flower district), where our team huddled for a few days within walking distance of the office. But, hey, it's Manhattan. Isn't everything within walking distance?

Of course, there are the Citi Bikes. And “protected” bike lanes. People do it, I saw them. [Definitely not this person.] I may be comfortable biking in traffic, but Manhattan traffic is a level above. I did, however, patronize a local bike shop. [I 🚲 NY.]

Each morning we'd pass towering tropical plants, imprisoned on the sidewalk with heavy chains, marked for clearance before they become victims of the first frost. Temperatures were moderate during our visit, but their prospects for the coming week looked bleak. At night, the storefronts along our block looked vacant. Each morning, the street was packed with trucks and the shops with fresh blooms.

Arriving late on our first night, we stumbled (hungry) into a classic neighborhood bar minutes before the kitchen would close (at 1 a.m.). They happily served us. [It's New York.] It was bustling with regulars when we returned (earlier) the next night.

We dropped down to Little Italy for a team dinner, four courses—family style. Thick slabs of mozzarella served with sliced tomatoes and fresh basil. A heaping platter of hot antipasti. Pasta—gnocchi, rigatoni, and more. Chicken, shrimp, and veal pounded paper-thin. And dessert (of course). Our team includes a guy with an unfathomable metabolism; even his ability to consume was stretched to the limit that night. Our waiter was seriously impressed. [We cleaned the plates. All of them. And that's an uncommon feat.] Everyone was grateful to walk all the way back to the hotel.

We passed the Flatiron Building, where an image of the Eiffel Tower was projected in blue, white, and red on one side. Intermittently the words “She is tossed by the waves but does not sink” were superimposed. [The motto of Paris, I would later learn.] Latin: Fluctuat nec mergitur.

The Meatpacking District was another neighborhood new to me. The famed Chelsea Hotel was bigger than I'd imagined, and considerably less seedy. The place of so many legends. We took an afternoon stroll along The High Line, and in one of those true New York moments, so did Angela Lansbury. It's likely that few people recognized her that day; and those of us who did, let her stroll with her companion in peaceful anonymity. [It's New York.]

We marched uptown, straight through Herald Square and Times Square, to see an irreverent Broadway musical at the Eugene O'Neill Theatre—a first for some in our group. At intermission, the look on their faces? Priceless.

I miss New York. It's been too long.

Picture Perfect Pacific Coast

Apart from an evening reception at the Monterey Bay Aquarium, I didn't have a plan. I didn't really need one.

I found a place to park and started walking northwest along the coastal trail.

An approaching winter storm, promising rain tomorrow, churned up some big waves.

Estimating how long it would take to walk back to the Aquarium, I kept an eye on the time.

But then I kept walking, reaching Point Pinos at sunset.

At a brisk pace under the darkening sky, I made it to the Aquarium just as the doors were opening.

The best plan can be no plan at all.

South County Cookin'

Fall days are often among the hottest in the Bay Area—like today, when local thermometers were approaching the 90F degree mark. Not an ideal day to spend the afternoon baking in the rural southern reaches of Santa Clara County.

But there we were, making the rounds on our club's annual progressive dinner ride—a roving pot-luck feast. The challenge, I've learned, is not to over-eat.

After dropping off our contributions, three of us headed for the first stop: appetizers. I'm not sure why my couscous salad ended up there. Fresh veggies, asparagus wrapped in puff pastry, mini tacos, and a tasty garlic/shrimp dip.

Did I mention that bit about not over-eating? [Why yes, I think I did.]

Second stop: salads. Pasta salad, broccoli salad, kale salad, fresh strawberries. Healthy, healthy, healthy. [Okay, not the pasta; but we do need some carbs, we're exercising.]

Third stop: main course. Ham, turkey, macaroni and cheese, green beans, corn. Small portions; just a taste, really. [I was ready for my nap, here. My fellow cyclists were caffeine-loading, but I'm not a soda fan, diet or otherwise.]

Final stop: dessert. Here's where things fell apart. In past years, we could count on a veritable smorgasbord of luscious treats. This year, the organizers discouraged us from bringing desserts. For more than 30 people, there were only four desserts. No tangy lemon bars. No chewy brownies. No decadent chocolate mousse cake. The fruit salad had been set out with the appetizers.

Riders to the rescue! Pies were procured—berry, pecan, and more. [Whew. Close call.]

A flat 30 miles, with a mere 500 feet of climbing. Not a calorie-neutral day, but that's not the point ... is it?

Sunday Spin

Not every ride has to be epic. There is a certain charm to a short local ride ... a charm that includes sleeping in and biking to the start in mere minutes.

Whenever I toss out an invitation, I wonder if anyone will show up. Sunday morning, short ride, competing with other choices. Maybe two or three people will join me. If not, I'll just ride alone.

Eleven?! Eleven people turned up, sharing a similar frame of mind: Sleep in, do a quick local ride, spend the rest of the day in other ways.

A fine group on a fine morning, happily chatting away, looking out for one another, content to wait for the last rider every time we regrouped. At the top of the first hill we were entertained by a horse and a billygoat. Apparently not intimidated by the horse looming over him, the goat bounded over to check us out only after a commanding neigh.

On our way to the second hill, I heard that a rider had flatted. She was capable, and assisted by two other riders, but I circled back so she knew that we were aware. They caught up to us just as we were about to head for our third, and final, climb.

The end of the pavement on Reynolds was our turn-around point. It's a somewhat tricky descent, with sharp turns and enough grade to pick up more speed than you need. Near the bottom of the hill, approaching the final bend, a set of curving skid marks terminated ominously at a patch of melted pavement.

The group splintered after Reynolds; some to add another climb, others to head directly home. Three were game to visit the farmers' market with me. We took a back route through town on a tip that the high school's marching band might be practicing, but we were out of luck.

Not too late for a treat, though. For me, a crêpe slathered with Nutella, filled with fresh strawberries, and dusted lightly with powdered sugar. [Mmm.] A fair trade for the morning's effort, climbing 1,880 feet over 19 miles.

Search Party

To celebrate a recent successful product launch, our organization rewarded the team with a little getaway.

Engineers love to play, so this would not be simply a party. There would be a “team-building exercise,” which we regarded with skepticism and some wariness.

It turned out to be a fun (and tiring!) afternoon, geocaching. Anticipating the usual “count off by ones” method of separating people from their buddies, I managed to land on a team with a co-worker who has some geocaching experience.

Nonetheless, it was surprisingly challenging. Each team needed to stick together, and they warned us that no team would be able to visit all the caches in the allotted time. Yes, we were working against the clock, in two one-hour sessions. “Now I know how to take all the fun out of geocaching,” my co-worker remarked as we huffed up steep trails and made sure to return to the check-in point on time.

There were a few organizational twists [team-building, remember?]. Teams needed to report their discoveries back to “headquarters” (as it were), and all teams needed to rendezvous at a central point on schedule. Those who were tardy paid a hefty penalty, losing half their points. By checking in with headquarters, we were also trying to ensure that every cache was found by a pre-ordained minimum number of teams.

Despite having the advantage of an experienced geo-cacher, we didn't do all that well. There was a premium for being the first to find any given cache, which we never managed to do. And the caches with the highest points value tended to be time-consuming: complete an additional activity after finding the cache, or solve a puzzle to discover the coordinates of the second part of the cache.

We got sweaty. We got sore. I think we managed to avoid contact with poison oak as we traipsed through thickets and looked for shortcuts.

When asked to share strategies that worked for us, I offered “Be opportunistic!” The organizer gave me a sly look. “Cheat, you mean?” Not exactly ... but with so many teams unleashed simultaneously, it would have been impossible not to notice the discovery of a nearby cache. Coopetition?

In the end, I scored a winner's ticket for a massage when another co-worker had no interest in using it. Go, team!

Three Threes

It seemed easy enough: three hillclimbs, all rated level three (least hilly, in our club's vernacular).

By the time we were done, I had no motivation to follow some of our riders on a little side trip—no, not even for the view.

Yet, the climb to reach the entrance road for Royal Oaks Park was so undaunting that I was convinced (convinced!) that we must climb it from the other side, which is so much steeper, when we visit this park for lunch on the Strawberry Fields rides. [Bzzzt! Wrong!]

I was intrigued by today's route because it included a new, unfamiliar hill to climb. The name “Crazy Horse Canyon” was tantalizing. The reality, well ... was not.

I paused at the intersection after enjoying a smooth descent down the back side of San Juan Grade (the front side of which is more rut than road). I watched truck after huge truck turn onto Crazy Horse as I waited for the rest of the group to catch up. There are entrance (and exit) ramps where the road meets Highway 101, and therein lies the problem.

Thirty-one miles with some 2,320 feet of climbing. It wasn't the horses who were crazy, it was the cyclists.

Highs and Lows

With another wave of heat forecast to smother the Bay Area, a shorter (and shady) route was in order. After a refreshing climb through the redwoods, we headed up Mt. Bache for a view from the ridge below Loma Prieta. On the plus side, with no fog in sight we had a clear view of Monterey Bay. On the minus side, even though we tackled the climb early, we were baking. It seemed much harder than it should have been, but then some of the ever-so-patient riders in our group consoled me with reports that the grade hits 11%-13%.

It's a bit early in the season for the ghouls to be out, but we did find a couple of meat-loving fiends at the Summit Store. Having survived the brutal climb along the ridge, we had no fear of looking these devils in the eye. We snacked and hydrated and clustered beneath the patio umbrellas before torturing ourselves with the next climb.

The group began to splinter, with some riders tackling more hills (extra credit), and some ending the day a bit earlier. Most of us coasted down to Los Gatos Creek at Wrights Station, just so we could climb back up. [Really, cyclists are a bit daft.] There was little water trickling beneath the bridge, but we were grateful for the towering redwoods. The cool shade was so tempting ... why am I not stretched out with a good book in one of these groves?

I continued with my original plan, following Los Gatos Creek from the other side, through Aldercroft Heights back upstream (and, of course, uphill). Oh, wouldn't it be swell if we could have simply biked back along the creek from Wrights Station? Just look at the map. But alas, it's private property, festooned with razor wire.

The ride was a couple of miles shorter than I had estimated, and [ahem] a bit hillier: 33 miles, with a stout 4,100 feet of climbing. I so wanted to spend the rest of the afternoon napping in the forest, but ... home I went.