Birdsong

On this day, the first stage of this year's Tour de France, of course I was going to go for a bike ride! (After watching the race. Of course.)

The local bicycle coalition had a pop-up station for a few hours this morning, near one end of a new trail segment. They still had some socks left over from last year's (canceled) Bike to Work Day, so of course I would work that into my route. (Socks!)

It was a breezy day, and I decided to saunter along my old commute route to visit the rookery.

It's always nostalgic to pedal that route, starting with a memory of a now-inactive cycling buddy who introduced me to a section of the trail. I remember the elderly guy who would stand at the center of the bridge over the railroad tracks nearly every morning (watching the trains, I supposed). I think of the woman in a saffron-hued sari that I'd often pass on the way home, resting on a bench with her husband. And of course, the Googleplex, as it was and as it is now. (Still closed.)

Each year there seem to be a few more nests of Black-crowned Night-Herons. There were a bunch of hungry egret chicks being fed by an adult. I had been too lazy to tote a proper camera, and of course I regretted that.

When you think of birdsong, you likely don't imagine the sounds that egrets make. They don't trill or warble, peep or cheep, chirp or tweet. No. They don't squawk or caw. If you haven't heard them, you'd never imagine that such beautiful creatures would make such an unpleasant noise. How best to describe it? Choking? Gagging?

The trail had been busier than I like (of course), so I opted to head back on the road. Stopped at a traffic light, I spotted three girls on the opposite side. One was fiddling with her bike, seemingly befuddled.

I guessed correctly: a dropped chain. Easy-peasy. There was a handy twig nearby, sturdy enough to ease the chain into place (no grease on my fingers!) as I pressed the rear derailleur forward to slacken the chain. I lifted the bike, spun the crank to settle the chain on the cog it wanted, and they were good to go. I narrated as I worked, so they might learn how to cope with this problem, but I suspect the fix flashed by too quickly for the grateful girls to absorb it. (Help a fellow cyclist, whenever you can. That's just the way we roll.)

A satisfying (but tiring) 48 miles, with a wee bit of climbing (1,140 feet).