Remembering Doug

I was surprised, two months ago, that Doug didn't join us when we rode to remember Jon. Doug (sporting a Death Ride jersey) is the taller guy on the right in the photo above, taken at the site where we would later erect the Ghost Bike in memory of Jon.

Doug was a cut above—in 2019, he completed five double-centuries (those are one-day, 200-mile rides), distinguishing himself (yet again) as a California Triple Crown winner. I am not in that league, so I would rarely find myself sharing the road with Doug.

I hadn't known that health issues had led him to scale back his cycling—and that he was taking it easier, riding on weekdays—until the day he collapsed, at the top of a familiar short climb he'd ridden countless times before.

Thirty-nine of us came together for a modest ride at a gentle pace, in memory of Doug. A few of Doug's treasured jerseys had been gifted to some of his friends, who wore them proudly today in his memory.

And so, we keep rolling forward. For me, merely 36 miles with less than 800 feet of climbing today. But I will never forget Doug protectively trailing behind me on Airline Highway the day we captured that photo.

Twelve Hours of Tierra Bella

I knew it would be a long day ...

Not an early riser, by nature, my choice for volunteering at a rest stop today was determined by how early I didn't have to be there. 8:00 a.m, I could manage.

Save the time I spent behind the wheel, I was on my feet the entire day (over 12,600 steps counted).

It was a team effort: Unload the truck, puzzle out how to set up the canopies and screen enclosure for the food-prep area, set up the tables and bike racks.

Fortunately, some of our crew had done this before, expertly keeping the iced water and Gatorade flowing. Without a water source onsite, we had trucked in gallon jugs of bottled water. [So. Much. Plastic. Sigh.] Maybe we should prefer rest stops where we can use a local source for water?

Our first riders rolled in before we were quite ready, though technically they were ahead of our scheduled opening time.

We didn't seem to have any particular job assignments, so I roved. When the guy staffing the hydration station stepped away, I stepped up. Three women had the food prep well in hand, so I ferried trays to and fro, letting them know when we were running low on grapes or wraps or whatever. I restocked and tidied the assortment of packaged snacks.

Our riders were stoked. It was a perfect blue-sky day (albeit a little windy). Their smiles and words of praise were energizing. I had a chance to catch up with some friends who were riding—some of whom I hadn't seen in years.

When the health inspector arrived, most of us scattered to let her conversation play out with our rest stop captain. She found some minor things she wanted addressed, and we ended up with a satisfactory grade.

As the day wore on, the riders were also worn—they were the ones following the longer routes. [I've been there.] By mid-afternoon, I was feeling pretty worn, myself.

We tore everything down and loaded it back onto the truck. That would have been easier had we remembered to use the truck's lift gate ... [duh].

Most of our crew was done, at that point. Except for two of us. The truck needed to travel on, rendezvousing at the finish area where it would be unloaded again. There, everything would be sorted for cleaning, return to storage, or rental return ... and loaded onto different trucks, accordingly.

Another friend spotted me at the finish area; most people had cleared out, but the last riders were still straggling in. [I've been there.]

My final responsibility was to follow our rest stop captain back to the truck-rental place, and then then transport her to the neighborhood where she'd parked her car.

More than twelve hours after I'd left home, I returned.

Months of planning, and years of experience, paid off: We ran a successful event and gave over 1,000 of our cycling comrades a fun (and safe) day.

Kudos to the army of volunteers who made it possible: designing routes, securing permits, purchasing supplies, coordinating logistics, laying down route arrows, managing parking, running rest stops, offering mechanical support, driving SAG vehicles, providing radio communications, and staffing tricky spots along the course to keep riders safe!

Lift and Load

Organized cycling events are back on the calendar in the Bay Area this year—hurray!

Our club has hosted one of these events (annually) for more than forty years, with the exception of the last two (of course). We were just a few weeks away from holding our event in 2020 when we had to scramble to cancel it due to the developing Covid-19 pandemic.

When I ride in one of these events, I often try to learn more about the volunteers. Some are run by bicycle clubs, like ours; others are community events, put on by local boosters. Either way, these events take a lot of coordination and the labor of an army of volunteers.

Some of us signed up to fill multiple roles (three, in my case) ... and yet we were still unable to fill some positions.

My first gig was a mailing party: To streamline the sign-in process, we mail wristbands and route sheets to all participants in advance. That reduces the number of volunteers that would be needed to validate registration and hand out the materials on event day, and makes it easier for the riders to get rolling once they arrive. I had been surprised to see several packets heading out of state!

Today was my second gig: Loading a truck with supplies for one of our rest stops. (The rest stop, in fact, which I will help to staff tomorrow.) I used half a vacation day to be able to pitch in.

The logistics are impressive. The morning crew transported all the supplies and equipment to a central location, then arranged what was needed for each individual rest stop. [Lots of checklists are involved. And they're checked once ... twice ... thrice ... ] Not to mention the months of planning that got us to this point.

Our job today was “easy”—all we had to do was load everything onto the truck that will transport it to our rest stop tomorrow morning. Preferably with some semblance of order so we can unload and set it up efficiently.

New to this undertaking, I was here to contribute brawn, not brains. [For some weak definition of brawn.] Along the way I picked up a new skill: how to climb up and into the back of a truck.

Tomorrow's gonna be a loooong day.

For a Good Time

Regrouping to ensure that no one would miss the turn, I found a moment to gaze into the redwood canopy high above me.

This was meant to be an easy ride: not too long, not too hilly, not too steep, and at a gentle pace through mostly redwood forest. Plus a coffee break! What's not to like?

It was designed to attract some of our newer riders. How many showed up?

Not a single one.

Their loss. Eight of us—active, long-time club members all—had a splendid time. For one, this was a first trip out to the end of Aldercroft Heights Road.

During our coffee stop at the Summit Store, a customer strolled over to learn more about our group. He said he was getting back into riding, and we looked like a friendly bunch. We chatted and I handed him one of our calling cards. Join us!

We covered 20 miles and climbed 2,100 feet. Hmm ... maybe that sounds like a lot. [Not to us.]

Shake Those Tailfeathers

What better way to commemorate the first official day of RTO (“return to office”) than to take a vacation day?

And if you decide to take a couple of days off, you might as well make a long weekend of it. Since I'm still feeling like a superwoman (after biking 83 miles over the course of last Friday and Saturday), why not mix it up a little and go for a hike?

The Ladies Who Hike had wildflowers on their minds, and we headed for another park I hadn't visited. [So many parks, so many trails!]

A few tom turkeys fanned out their tailfeathers to greet us. Technically, I have been to Santa Teresa County Park before—always passing through on my bike, not on foot.

The landscape is already drying out. This is a true snapshot of the Bay Area: spring poppies, dried grasses, and dark green chaparral.

Having forgotten (again!) to restart my GPS tracker after we stopped for a break, I recorded only a portion of our loop. We ended up, of course, back where we started—certainly more than five miles and 1,000 feet of elevation gain later.

WFH: Week One Hundred Eight

This week marks the official end to full-time working from home. Starting tomorrow, we're supposed to be in the office three days per week. [Technically speaking.]

Practically speaking, there's some wiggle room—probably through the end of the year. Our leadership recognizes that we need to re-adjust our lives after two years of working from home, and some people are still uncomfortable about being in the office, mixing with lots of people, indoors.

I've made the pilgrimmage a couple of times during the “optional” return-to-office period; for all but one of those visits, I received a follow-up message that someone who had been in one of the same buildings had tested positive for COVID-19 ... (despite the requirement to be vaccinated, or have a valid exemption, to work onsite).

How about we reckon with whether the old way of doing things really made sense?

I'm all for being onsite if we're getting together as a group, brainstorming in a room with a whiteboard.

But to sit in conference rooms all day, meeting with colleagues in far-flung offices? Nope. I can do that from home—and not resent early-morning meetings with folks in Europe and late-day meetings with folks on the other side of the Pacific.

Have we forgotten how most of our team members sat at their desks wearing headphones, so they could effectively concentrate on their work in our open-plan office environment? [Sure, a serendipitous conversation would occasionally break through.]

Count me in the less-than-enthusiastic camp about returning. And certainly with no plan to spend 90 minutes or more of my day sealed up on a commuter shuttle bus.

I did get my hair chopped off, though. I could say that it was time to look respectable again, but in reality it had just become a nuisance.

Our county has recorded 310,016 cases of COVID-19 and 2,272 deaths—well over twice the number of cases, but only 135 more deaths, than the last time I shared these numbers (Week 62). I know many more people who've contracted the virus (some, more than once); fortunately none required hospitalization.

I Feel Fine

My chief biking buddy was disappointed when I said I doubted I would ride today, given yesterday's long outing.

And yet ... I felt fine. Mysteriously fine. So I said sure, I'd join the ride, but likely skip the gratuitous climb up a lower section of Calaveras Road. But then, well ...

I felt fine. So up I went.

What is the source of this sudden superwoman power?

There is a word for it. Steroids.

And no, I have not suddenly taken to doping. But if this is a taste of that, no wonder so many professional athletes have gone down that road.

Unable to shake off the lingering misery of sinus inflammation (for nearly a year), I finally saw a specialist. The initial treatment includes a few days of prednisone, which is having the desired effect. [And then some.]

Our merry band picked up a few stray riders along the way, having decided we seemed like a friendly bunch riding at just the right pace. First, a woman riding alone on her vintage bike, somewhat modernized by her boyfriend; later, a pair of guys who had some familiarity with our club. You know a cyclist is truly interested when they're willing to pull over and stop so I can hand them one of our club's calling cards.

Twenty-nine miles, about 1,800 feet of climbing ... and ooh, I feel fine.

Leapin' Lupines

Taking advantage of another day off to [what else] ... ride my bike. And, lucky me, one of our club's rides was headed for Uvas Canyon County Park. This being a weekday, we'd be sharing the roads with fewer vehicles.

There was some uneasiness about whether we could enter the park. Another group had recently been turned away when the ranger insisted that admission was not free. [Hmm.] That has never been the case, before—even after reservations became required (for vehicles).

And it was not the case, today. [Whew.] I was all set to challenge the ranger to Show Me the Actual Regulation; approaching the entrance, I noted the sign that posted the fee for motor vehicles. But we just pedaled on through unchallenged, as we always have.

The condition of the private stretch of road, through Sveadal, was more hazardous than ever. I feel their pain (literally!), all those park visitors traversing the crumbling road through their community. Who should really pay to maintain, or better yet, improve what's left of the pavement?

As we prepared to return, I announced my intention to capture shots of the fields of lupine we'd passed, and was pleased that our group included a few kindred wildflower-spirits.

Biking to (and from) our rendezvous point added up to my longest ride so far this year: overall, 54 miles, with about 2,500 feet of climbing. When I got home, I felt ... oddly ... perky. [Stay tuned.]