Led Astray

Following my five-week hiatus, I knew I would be slow. I loaded shoes, helmet, water bottles, snacks, and the rest of my gear into the car. I chose a local ride on familiar roads, knowing I could easily turn back.

I did not expect to turn back before I reached our starting point, however. As I rounded the ramp onto the freeway, it occurred to me that I did not hear my bike rattling behind me. And there was a reason for that: it was still in the garage. Five weeks of inactivity had obliterated my regular pre-ride routine. Thanks to the ubiquitous California cloverleaf, I immediately circled back and managed to meet up with the rest of the group on time.

The ride took an interesting turn when the group deviated onto Soquel-San Jose Road. Our route for the day included a loop that can be completed in either direction. The route sheet detailed the clockwise loop, but a pair of locals had persuaded the ride leader to change the plan (unbeknownst to me). It seemed prudent to follow the renegades; besides, I much prefer the counter-clockwise version, with its meandering climb through the redwoods.

Of course, I also much prefer the smooth descent on Soquel-San Jose. When the locals pulled aside to wait for the group, I flew past. I surmised that they wanted to ensure that no one would miss the (now undocumented) turn onto Stetson. I know the turn. I also know that my downhill speed will carry me most of the way up its initial steep pitch.

Merrily I rolled along, deep in the shade of the forest. The redwood sorrel is blooming; California Quail skittered into the brush, and a noisy pair of Steller's Jays darted from branch to branch. I stopped at the little white church where we planned to regroup, and waited. And waited. Surely they would catch up to me soon?

One, two, three, four, five ... which rider is missing? Our leader! The same pair of riders who altered the route "didn't see me make the turn." [Which was not visible from their vantage point.] They convinced our leader that I had missed the turn, and she set off to find me. "I hope she isn't going all the way to Soquel," I exclaimed. [Sadly, she did.]

Ironically, she was not looking for me. I would later find a broken-up message on my cell phone, asking me to lead the rest of the group back to the start while she searched for the newbie rider she believed to be lost. I regretted not having the stamina to chase after her.

Twenty eight miles and 3,040 feet of climbing. What a day.