One Handsome Fella

It was a splendid day for what might be my last long ride of the year.

And there was a ride on the calendar that was just right: the fall “graduation ride” for the latest crop of riders who've completed our club's “academy” for new cyclists.

The grads led us out for the first mile or two, before the jackrabbits jumped ahead and dropped us all. My ride buddy and I were caught up in a small group that got stopped at Every. Traffic. Light. (We never saw the front of the pack again.)

The new grads did a fine job of calling out “slowing!” and “stopping!” as needed. They positioned themselves well at traffic lights—leaving the right lane clear for right-turning cars—and pointed out other riders who might [ahem!] need a refresher course.

Our route was a tweak on a familiar one, though not during a familiar season. The green hills of spring were the brown hills of autumn. The air was fragrant with garlic, and the fields filled with red peppers. Cattle, sheep, and goats grazed nearby.

Another common sight in the foothills this time of year is the tarantula. This fine fellow was walking along Cañada Road on the outskirts of Gilroy.

And how do I know that was a male tarantula? [No, I didn't pick him up to inspect his anatomy. Not that I would know what to look for, in a spider.] I know he's male by his behavior: he's on the prowl for a mate. The females stay in their burrows, patiently awaiting their gentlemen callers.

Flying down the back side of Cañada, I thought I heard the faint sound of a siren through the whoosh of the wind in my ears. [Indeed.] I got to practice decelerating and stopping, safely, four times. Two fire engines carrying paramedics, one patrol car, and one highway patrol SUV came roaring up the hill. Just like a vehicle, a bicycle is required to stop until emergency vehicles pass.

Naturally, we worried that they were racing to help someone from our group; later, we were relieved to confirm that was not the case. There were only minor mishaps today: a rider who failed to unclip and toppled over. [Been there, done that.] A bike fall that bent the rear derailleur hanger. [Done that, too.]

For me, happy to report an uneventful 63 miles with a scant 2,040 feet of climbing. I thought the point of this ride was more to accompany the graduates than to applaud them, but it appeared that most of them would spend the day with their fellow students (and instructors). I hope they enjoyed their big day.