Bird Scout

On Tuesday's outing, a rider asked whether I would lead another visit to see the egrets. [Hmm. It's been a while.] We set a tentative date for the ride.

I knew the nests would still be active, but wasn't sure if there would be any surprises on the 25-mile loop I'd developed for that ride. One way to find out ...

I took the most direct route to reach the starting point; following my nose, I managed to find the same turns I'd optimized a few years back.

Available restrooms? [Check.] No scheduled detour at the stadium? [Check.] Connection to the Bay Trail? [Oops. Not through the dump.] Route through the Google campus? [Revise.] Lunch stop? [Check.]

Egrets? [Of course.] For variety, I captured a shot of a Great Blue Heron along the Bay Trail instead.

With no need to complete the loop today, I stopped for a bakery treat on the way home. After 56 miles and ~1,200 feet of climbing, I'd earned a sweet reward.

South County

Today presented an opportunity to join a group of friends in southern Santa Clara County who have been meeting and riding together for years. So many years that, when they gather for a post-ride lunch, the people in the café know them by name.

The day would be a hot one, leading to some uncertainty about the planned route. [We forged ahead.] I was puzzled to see four strong riders join the group—until their plan to add a short, steep climb emerged. [Not for me, today.]

Before heading to the end of Redwood Retreat, we paused at Chitactac-Adams Heritage County Park. I didn't explore the educational center; I expect the rest of the group has been there, done that.

I was surprised to find us spinning along at 17 mph (or more) at times, giving me an average speed of 13.3 mph over 27 miles (though with less than 1,000 feet of climbing). My comrades have clearly been making the most of their retirement years!

A Misbegotten Hike

We had a plan, and that plan would include exploring some territory unfamiliar to me. My chief biking buddy invited me to join a small group hike at the Fremont Older Open Space Preserve.

But the best laid plans ... were shredded by the local mountain biking community. [Being road cyclists, we were clueless.] I'd never seen so many vehicles near the bottom of Parker Ranch Road. [Turns out there's a trailhead there.] A veritable parade of cars snaked up Prospect and circled the parking lot at the top before heading back down.

Plan B was hatched: we headed for the Picchetti Ranch Open Space Preserve instead.

My biking (and hiking!) buddy recommended the Zinfandel trail, having been here before. We caught a glimpse of water in the drought-afflicted Stevens Creek Reservoir.

The other end of the trail dropped us at a familiar spot along Stevens Canyon Road, where we often stop for a break after biking to the end of the pavement.

The creek has not gone dry. [Yet.]

A cheeky Western Fence Lizard narrowly missed being trodden underfoot as we returned, surprisingly not darting into the brush when I stopped to snap a photo.

Hiking a little over 4 miles, I developed a better understanding of some local terrain: from Montebello to Stevens Canyon, through the woods. All good.

The Wright Stuff

Visiting the site of Wrights Station was one of my buddy Steve's favorite routes. He always relished the opportunity to introduce fellow cyclists to its history.

Today I was on my own. Four of us had set out together; one turned back, as expected, after the first climb. I toyed with the idea of following the other two on a longer excursion to the end of Highland Way, but knowing the day would get hotter I reckoned I would lose the motivation to drop down to Wrights Station (and then climb back up).

And I did want to visit Wrights today. I lingered on the bridge, alone with my thoughts. I'd never noticed fruit among the foliage, till now. Bright red orbs, others golden yellow. Maybe I'd never been down here at just the right time, or maybe too busy chatting with my fellow cyclists to look around.

High overhead, something caught my eye: a bright orange dragonfly perched at the top of a thin, bare branch.

Could I get a closer look with my phone's zoom lens?

It was challenging to hold steady enough to focus, but ... color me impressed. My subject was most cooperative, posing with wings spread and staying still.

I climbed back up from the creek, regretfully leaving the shade of the redwoods to return to the hot side of the hill after cycling 18 miles, with ~1,700 feet of climbing.

Hilly Thursday

A mellow social group headed for the hills today, venturing as far as the Almaden Reservoir.

There is an impressive bridge under construction near the reservoir that will change the alignment of the road, when completed. The reservoir was surprisingly full; this riding group stays together, so I didn't pause for a proper photo—just this snapshot of the tail end. (Which would be dry, this time of year, were the reservoir less full.)

A nice little morning ride—a decent 34 miles, with about ~800 feet of climbing.

Apex Predator

A mid-week ride was headed for one of my favorite places in the redwood forest, just over the ridge of the Santa Cruz mountains.

I wasn't a fan of the starting location the leader had chosen, and knowing that they'd leave me in the dust within the first few minutes anyway, I opted to start from a better spot that also cut off a few miles. (The ride leader didn't mind.)

Knowing it was going to be a hot day I also started earlier, and [spoiler] they never caught me. In part because they also tackled a steep climb that I bypassed. Doing that once was more than enough for me.

I'm pretty sure that Stetson must have been an old logging road. It's in terrible condition (has been, for as long as I've known it); but I expect the residents prefer it that way.

I paused, alone, to savor the aroma of the forest and bask in the silence. Lovely, blessed, silence.

We normally regroup at the Skyland Church and I thought the group might catch me there. I lingered in the shade and was treated to a little wild kingdom action. There, at the tippy-top of a very tall tree, sat a hawk. Probably a red-tailed hawk, as those are the most common around here; without binoculars, I couldn't be certain.

A smaller bird, with great determination, repeatedly swooped and dived at the hawk. In this shot, I would characterize the hawk's reaction as “Ask me if I care.” The dive-bomber almost certainly has a nest nearby, likely in that very tree.

The day was warming up, and with a bit more climbing ahead of me, I tore myself away from the avian drama and headed back. In all, a very pleasant (solo, rather than social) 23 miles, about 2300 feet of climbing.

Late to the Party

That sinking feeling ... when you roll into the park where the ride will start and there isn't a cyclist in sight. [Uh oh.]

I'm so accustomed to rides starting at 9:30 a.m., I was running on autopilot. That explains why I happened to notice one of our club members pedaling down a side street as I brushed my teeth this morning. He's getting an early start, I thought. [Nope. He was planning to arrive on time.]

If I'd caught my mistake before heading out, I could have intercepted them en route. [But no.]

I texted my ride buddy and headed for the reservoir; I wasn't planning to ride the steeper sections of today's route, anyway.

After catching her, we rode out past the ever-shrinking Guadalupe Reservoir. Roadwork is in progress (chip-sealing), and I noted that a side road that we “enjoy” climbing [so to speak] was blanketed in a thick layer of gravel.

Having passed a couple of deer on my way to the start, I was wary as I approached the last climb. Good instinct: two more crossed the road ahead of me, then stopped to stare. By the time I fished out my phone to snap a picture, they'd decided to saunter off into the brush.

I finished the ride I'd intended, though not as planned: 23 miles and likely 1,200 feet of climbing.

Wherever You Go

Yesterday, birding. Today, biking.

What's up with these mid-week jaunts?! [No, I'm not playing hooky.] I'd decided something of a “summer vacation” was in order this year. [Remember those? Or maybe you're a schoolteacher, enjoying them still.] I'd plotted and planned, banked up my vacation days and marked my work calendar “OOO.”

Weekday riders tend to be retired (or have flexible schedules). It's fun getting to know folks I would rarely meet, otherwise. These outings are about camaraderie, not so much the scenery. They're about conversation and coffee, and (of course) riding our bicycles.

It's convenient for me to bike to the starting point. Driving there, followed by unloading and setting up my bike, would not be faster. [Plus, I get more exercise.]

Today's route would mean two round-trips home—our leader had settled on a coffee stop in my home town. Should I cut it short, leaving them to return back to the start? [Nah.]

The second round-trip would feed not only my hunger for more exercise, but also my curiosity. Our leader seems to carry a veritable atlas of local roads in her head (no GPS needed), and I wondered what neighborhoods she'd choose on the way back.

Wherever you go, there you are ... 33 miles and about 500 feet of climbing later.

Birds of Belgatos

And now for something completely different.

I decided to take advantage of a bird-watching session offered through a local library, and to treat myself to a suitable pair of binoculars.

I was a bit skeptical about our destination—a little neighborhood park. [Oh ye of little faith!] As the bird-watching expert jabbered away, her back to the sky, I spotted some drama overhead: a hawk being chased by a (somewhat) smaller bird. Feeling it would be rude to interrupt her outright, I simply raised my arm and pointed. “A Cooper's hawk, chasing a Red-tailed hawk; she must have a nest nearby.” [Okay, things are looking up. Literally.]

And indeed, she did have a nest nearby.

Although we spent most of the session planted in one corner of the park, a few steps away from the parking lot, we spotted two of the juveniles perched in a tree after we took a short stroll uphill. They were waiting for mom to fly in with their next meal, and tolerated our gaping and gawking for quite a while before they took wing.

To return to their nest, as it turned out; where we discovered a third juvenile.

We watched an American Robin pluck a big juicy grub out of the park's lush field of grass, and several Western Bluebirds and a Black Phoebe foraging as well. We saw familiar Dark-eyed Juncos, Anna's hummingbirds, a Lesser Goldfinch, and an American Crow; circling overhead, a pair of Red-tailed hawks a-courting and a Turkey Vulture.

An eye-popping yellow bird darted through some branches: a Hooded Oriole. A Chestnut-backed Chickadee teased us—now you see me, now you don't. [An oriole and a chickadee, in California? What do I know ...] We also glimpsed a White-breasted Nuthatch scooting up and down a tree trunk.

Without our expert guide, I would have been able to identify only the birds that were already familiar to me. The rest would have registered as ... Tiny bird. Brown bird. Another tiny bird. Yellow bird.

I walked away impressed. I would never have imagined I could see so many different birds while standing in one spot at the edge of a neighborhood park!

Viva Calle, San Jose!

“Have you seen the house with the creatures?” one of our riders asked. While the rest of the group assembled at our rendezvous point, she led us down a side street to behold an amazing sight.

Perched on the rooftop (and, well, all over the house) were fantastical ceramic figures.

Whimsical, one-of-a-kind little masterpieces of a creative mind.

The popularity of Viva Calle has led the city of San Jose to schedule the event more frequently. Not volunteering for this one, I was ready to go exploring. Better yet, with a small group of folks from the club.

To get there, we started off on the Los Gatos Creek Trail. Maybe it wouldn't be too busy on a Sunday morning? [Wrong.] But the first near-catastrophe came early, when a less-experienced rider wobbled in front of me and almost toppled off the edge of the trail as I descended behind him.

I gave him more space after that, but finding that he flagged going up each little rise on the trail, I decided to slip past him.

Then he repeatedly took to cruising on the left side of the trail, over the line. Even after I gently reminded him to stay to the right. [And I thought the biggest challenges today would present themselves in the free-flowing crowds on the event route.]

Arriving before things got busy, we piled into a photo booth for a group shot. The green screen technology took some liberties with our attire(!) to promote the event. There was music, there were artists painting live, there were booths promoting health and the outdoors, there were food trucks.

It was fun to see so many people wheeling around—mostly on bikes, but there were some colorful and talented folks twirling around on inline skates, too. You did need to keep your wits about you (as you were mixing it up with lots of unpredictable people in motion), but I didn't witness any crashes. [Which seemed somewhat miraculous.]

Our group splintered and came together again before riders branched off to head more directly home. With only three of us returning to our starting point, our leader agreed to forego retracing our route on the trail. [Whew.] In all, 28 flat miles (500-ish feet of climbing).

A Slice of San Jose

Those pesky Canada geese ... everywhere. The white specks in the treetops on Almaden Lake's island are nesting egrets (and their noisy chicks).

When I decided to take a bit of a summer vacation, I imagined many restorative days of biking and hiking ahead. But after somehow tweaking my back three weeks ago, I reluctantly admitted it would be best to give it a rest.

Enough of that.

Time for a test ride. Today's leader eschews route sheets and rarely shares a plan in advance, so we all trail her like obedient little goslings (lest we get lost). I imagine her favored routes would become familiar after a while, but to me they're fresh adventures.

With today's flat slice of San Jose, I covered 31 miles with less than 700 feet of climbing.

And my back? No better, no worse. Might as well keep moving.

Interloper

I was in the neighborhood, so why not meander through the campus. A stroll down memory lane, as they say.

When I took a tumble at the broken-up base of the sharp descent from the Stevens Creek Trail to the end of Crittenden Lane, I could not have imagined that one day—25 years later—it would be luxuriously transformed, graded gently and paved smooth.

Corporate campuses in the Valley rise and get recycled as technologies wax and wane. In this neighborhood, territory that was occupied by Sun Microsystems and Silicon Graphics in their heyday has since been absorbed by Google. Many buildings remain, and new ones have been erected.

If this were your workplace, you just might find the place attractive enough to return to the office.

What will become of this place, 25 years hence? The revolutionary design of the building where I did my graduate work (nearly brand new, at the time), did not age well; I learned recently that it has been torn down.

I was amused to see that the local population of cliff swallows quickly embraced their new habitat. Somehow I doubt this was architecturally intended.

A thin, muddy stream of Stevens Creek was flowing toward the Bay, enough (for now) to sustain some of the marsh plants. Enough to draw your attention away from the high-voltage transmission towers.

A well-intentioned (but deteriorating) fitness trail was torn out and redone with native plants a few years ago. A loop on this trail was great for walking one-on-one meetings, and this morning I fell into line behind a few turkeys. [Literally.] The birds were completely indifferent having me on their tail. [Okay, I know where this is going ...]

I was tempted to uproot an invasive thistle plant along the trail, but couldn't tackle that without gloves. The native flora have flourished (and thus, the return of native fauna).

I continued my trek to the nearby rookery. The egret chicks were a-chattering, and some adults sat tall on their nests.

The black-crowned night herons were present and accounted for, too.

Twenty-five years hence, I likely won't be here. But if the trees and the plants are, the birds will be.