Tony Turkeys

Just as I was thinking that I might not capture a photo on today's short ride, I came upon a small rafter of wild turkeys.

I heard them before I saw them scrabbling under the trees. They were vocalizing, but their calls sounded more like hooting than gobbling.

I remember the first time I climbed the steeper side of Westridge, early in my cycling days. I wasn't sure I'd make it up the hill; I thought my heart might explode (and here I am, so ... it didn't). Portola Valley is a tony town, but the locals didn't chew us out today for daring to ride our bicycles on their public streets.

I waited for my biking buddy at the end of Alpine Road, watching others (on road as well as mountain bikes) continue onto the dirt section. “Have fun!” I said. They understand what lies ahead.

The strongest rider in our group tacked on a few wickedly steep climbs nearby, but most of us kept it short and simple: 16 miles and 1,515 feet of climbing for me.