Remembering Steve

The last time someone asked me about Steve was the day he drew his final breath. At the time, I had no idea.

Ride leaders have their own styles, and I liked Steve's. It wasn't long before he recruited me to co-lead with him. At first he wanted to pre-ride (!) every route we mapped out. That was too much for me, and I managed to persuade him that we might not need quite that level of preparation.

He also shunned offering route sheets, insisting that without them the group would need to stay together. True enough, but that locks everyone into the pace of the slowest rider; I suggested that we would attract more riders if the jackrabbits could dart ahead and wait for others to catch up. He was also insistent that we plan our lunch stop for noon—later than that and he would assuredly be grumpy.

Steve had a silly sense of humor. I don't think we ever passed a horse without Steve asking “Why the long face?”

We rode thousands of miles together, and led nearly 60 rides over the course of nine years. One of my favorite memories was the day we took Caltrain to San Francisco, where we would join a group to ride across the Golden Gate Bridge and onward to Tiburon. It was Steve's birthday, and he had “permission” to ride so long as he got home in time for dinner.

I boarded the train a couple of stops before he would; I festooned the bike car with crêpe paper streamers and brought mini-cupcakes to share with all. As we arrived in San Francisco the conductor announced the last stop over the intercom, adding a spirited “And Happy Birthday, Steve!”

After Steve retired, we rarely rode together—he shifted to weekday rides and focused more on achieving milestones than riding socially. Then he disappeared.

I'd reach out to him periodically, letting him know that club members were asking about him. It would be some time before he was ready to tell me that he'd been diagnosed with Parkinson's and that he'd probably had it for years before being diagnosed. I thought back to a ride we'd co-led in 2014. He'd introduced me to that route, yet when we stopped at an intersection on the return, he didn't know which way to go. After that, we led only one more ride together.

Steve was a model ride leader: Thoughtful, patient, kind, encouraging. At his memorial service today, friends and family members filled in more pieces of his life story. I recalled words that had resonated with me at another memorial service a few years ago, exhorting us to stay present in the lives of our friends, to ensure that they can see how much we treasure our friendship. I am sad that Steve had isolated himself from our community, but he did not want his diagnosis shared. I know that his cycling buddies would have enjoyed spending time with him much more than memorializing him.

I will always cherish the memories of the adventures I enjoyed with Steve, and in that sense carry forward a thread of his life in mine.

Bike to Work Day, 2022-Style

We had a reputation, in years gone by, for rolling up to this “energizer station” with a group of two dozen or more cyclists.

Today? Me and six guys. But hey, it could've been just me.

At least one was joining us for the first time, so ... that's something. And we welcomed one colleague on a vintage special-edition folding bike. I was impressed that the thing was still functional, having been disappointed in its build quality on a test ride, back in the day.

We were sorely disappointed to find no Hobee's coffeecake this year. I know the volunteers meant well, but a cookie thickly coated with sugary icing is not appetizing at 8 a.m. [Not to me, anyway.]

A day or two ago, one of my steady co-leaders had sadly tested positive for Covid-19 and thus had to stay home; one of the other riders gamely stepped up to steer folks to our rendezvous point.

I knew what to expect at the office: The ventilation in our building's shower room has not been improved, but (like last week) I would be the only one to use it.

At the end of the day, I pedaled (solo) back home; the usual round trip of 40 miles and about 1,000 feet of climbing, the usual (gradual) uphill return.

Unfortunately, I somehow irritated something in my back on an after-work ride yesterday. Today's riding didn't feel great, but luckily didn't exacerbate it. Methinks I'll be off the bike for a while, until it's sorted out.

Goin' Down to Strawberry Fields

After a two-year pause we returned to the strawberry fields, riding to benefit Cyclists for Cultural Exchange.

Fifty-five years later, Lennon's lyrics still resonate. But then, hasn't it ever been thus?

Living is easy with eyes closed

Misunderstanding all you see

The ride's organizers, I expect, were in a bind this year. They honored our registrations for 2020, many of which were locked in at early-bird prices far short of 2022's reality, but warned us that there would be no post-ride meal this year.

Without any advance planning, I ran into several cycling friends at the start. That sort of thing often happens at this ride. They got a head start, but I would later wave as I passed them on the course.

Disoriented in the morning fog, it took me a moment to register that I'd turned onto the road leading to the first rest stop—not some new tweak to the course. [That would come later.]

I paused, as usual, at the Elkhorn Slough—just then, a flock of pelicans swooped in and put on quite a show.

The course had been changed, a bit. Focused on following on a bunch of riders ahead of me, I consequently missed one unfamiliar left turn; I was puzzled that my GPS directions seemed off and I wondered why the organizers would route us to turn left onto a busy road with fast-moving traffic. [Highway 1, actually.] It was easy enough to recover by exiting immediately, joining the riders who had made the correct turn and crossed above the highway. [Whew.]

I needed a stream of self-talk to get up the steep hill to Royal Oaks Park. You've done this before. You've done this every time. You can do it today.

The eponymous berries were plentiful, at every rest stop (not just at the finish). I sympathized with the volunteers doing their best to appease the swarm of hungry cyclists during the lunch rush—they were sorely understaffed.

At Gizdich Ranch, I perched at one end of a bench to enjoy my slice of apple pie and chatted with a couple of cyclists who were new to the ride (and, loving it). One had traveled all the way from Davis!

Hazel Dell, Corralitos ... I haven't been riding enough to prepare for this event. Thankfully the last 12 miles are basically downhill.

After 64 miles and some 3,500 feet of climbing I was delighted by an unexpected half-sandwich and a crêpe at the finish. And strawberries. More strawberries. [With chocolate sauce.]

Game On

Bike to Work Day is going to be A Thing again this year, now that we have officially “returned to office.” Although I've traditionally led a group of coworkers to the office for this event, I figured I would just do my own ride this year.

Then two of my regular partners-in-leading reached out, and ... I ... just ... couldn't ... say ... no.

Oddly, instead of adhering to the usual third-Thursday schedule for the event, the Bay Area “energizer stations” will only be available on Friday (and Saturday and Sunday, go figure).

Okay, then: Friday it will be. There's no actual celebration at the office, anyway; and as far as they're concerned, you'll earn your schwag by bike-commuting any day that week.

Ride leaders get extra schwag (a Bike-to-Work-Week t-shirt), and they suggested we pick them up over lunch today and share tips with one another.

Was I going to drive to the office? [Of course not.] Besides, a preview ride seemed warranted before the big day.

The company is so big now ... We met in some newly-redone building, unexpectedly eating indoors. [Yikes!] I have not shared indoor space with other people for a meal since The Before Times. I recognized two of the other leaders, and tried to relax. [This is fine ...]

As it happened, we had some teammates visiting from an overseas office and there was a plan for a group dinner tonight. [Outdoors!] At a restaurant that was conveniently on my typical route home, so of course I said yes. [It was fine.]

Some of my newer colleagues found it inconceivable that I would bike 16 miles home after dinner. [Shrug.] Forty miles, and 1,000 feet of climbing, for the day.

No Peaches Here

Our cycling comrades arrived late yesterday afternoon, with epic tales of their own to share. (They had worked a side trip into their journey south, to bike a rarely-visited road.) Spoiler alert: It was windy.

We caught up, poolside, with snacks before feasting on sandwiches that one of our crew had coordinated for us. [I'm so lucky to be a part of this party, as a party-planner I am not.]

As we completed a round of introductions, a guy piped up playfully from the far end of the pool to introduce himself. In the small-world, truth-is-stranger-than-fiction department, I came to learn that he's in executive management for a large firm, running an organization responsible for the same line of work I'm in. Compounding the oddity of all this, I had recently interviewed an applicant from the staff he proudly crowed about—and [spoiler alert] he did not do well. [This, of course, I kept to myself.]

A surprising number of folks on this escapade are riding e-bikes. They have been well-behaved, though—not zipping ahead and leaving the strictly human-powered bikes in their dust.

Nonetheless, the group fractured; a planned regroup went awry when the venue was closed and some stragglers were left behind. An alternate winery (Opolo) was proposed—and happily welcomed us; fortunately, I was part of the group in sync with the new plan. As folks settled in for a full-on lunch, my chief biking buddy and I bid our farewell and headed back to town. We'd find something to eat there before heading back to the Bay Area.

Having biked Peachy Canyon on my last trip to this area, I expected it would seem at least somewhat familiar. [But it was not.] Largely because much of today's route was entirely different, but in part because we rode it from the opposite direction.

We biked 41 miles and climbed about 3,500 feet before shedding our sweaty bike clothes for street clothes and starting the long drive home.

A Ride on the Wild Side

A few club members proposed a cycling getaway to Paso Robles—count me in!

My cycling buddy and I were on the same wavelength, both of us able to take just two days off. To make the most of our trip, we headed down one day earlier than the rest of the group. For Monday, I put together a route to see the elephant seals near San Simeon, starting from the coastal town of Cambria.

The challenge of biking north on Highway 1 is ... headwind. We knew the winds would be picking up as the day wore on, but hoped to escape the worst of it by starting early.

Good in theory. Bad in practice, after we effectively lost an hour when I cavalierly headed us east, instead of west toward the coast. [Note to self: You have reliable navigation at your fingertips; use it!]

Into the wind, we headed. Well aware of my cycling buddy's disdain for strong wind, I would pause periodically to get a pulse on whether we should keep going.

She was a trouper today, game to continue—never having seen this colony of elephant seals, she trusted me that it was worth it. [It was.]

A chatty fellow in town for yesterday's Eroica was all-too-happy to educate us about the event. Vintage-bike people are passionate about their machines.

The ever-strengthening winds were now in our favor: without pedaling, I found myself coasting back toward San Simeon at 18 mph! Hoping to grab a bite to eat at Sebastian's General Store, we turned off near Hearst Memorial Beach—and found the building gutted, in the process of a major renovation.

It was bittersweet to ride down that avenue of eucalyptus trees, recalling the finish line for so many Hearst Castle Challenge rides for Best Buddies. The “barn” where we'd gathered to collect our bags and get massages is now a fancy wine-tasting place, its patio private with no access for a view of the beach. I had always expected that I would keep doing that ride—maybe scaling down from the full century to the metric, as I got older; but seeing these changes drove home a reality that those events are now just memories. Great memories, certainly; but new editions will not be minted. Maybe it's not just that the pandemic, including the closure of Hearst Castle, disrupted the routine.

There were still beautiful vistas to behold as we sailed back toward Cambria. I paused on a bridge to watch the cliff swallows swooping and was surprised by a bonus: turtles! Three were sunning on a rock, and another two were paddling about in the silty water.

I wrapped up our flat-but-challenging 24 miles (less than 700 feet of climbing) at an average speed of 13 mph (courtesy of that tailwind).

Back in Cambria, I decided my lunch should be a slice of olallieberry pie at Linn's, and I was not disappointed. [Fruit. Carbs. Mmm.]

And before heading back to Paso Robles, my cycling buddy introduced me to a place I'd never been—the quirky little hamlet of Harmony. A pretty glorious day, I would say.