Turkeys Trot

I set off with a friend (and former colleague) who was game for another hike.

No, that's not us!

Looking for something on the mellow side, with good tree cover on a warm day, I remembered an impromptu choice from last summer—the Zinfandel Trail in the Picchetti Ranch Open Space Preserve. The water level in the Stevens Creek Reservoir was much healthier this year!

We took a bit of an unplanned detour when I steered us left instead of right, but all's well that ends well: We found ourselves flanked by tangled vines of ripening blackberries along the banks of Stevens Creek, and did our part to reduce the spread of this invasive species by plucking and eating an abundance of juicy berries (and their seeds, bwahaha).

Birds of a Feather

Flock together.

Evidently there's a seagull convention in town. Hundreds of birds have descended on Lake Almaden, for the past several days. As for this old bird, I joined a smaller gathering—with three old friends who rarely ride with our old bike club, if at all. They just get together and ride on their own, and today I managed to join them.

When I had learned that these long-time club members had struck out on their own a couple of years ago, they told me they were too slow. I encouraged them to lead some slow rides, as this was something I'd been hearing more and more from other members. “If you post them, they will come!”

They were not persuaded.

In a sense, I get it. Maybe you just don't want the responsibility any more. Or you might post a slow ride, have fast riders show up (chasing leaderboard stats), and end up not riding as a group anyway. It's easier just to ride with a few like-minded buddies.

I was delighted to catch up with old friends, folks with whom I'd shared many ambitious rides in years gone by. Riding to (and from) our rendezvous point gave me about 30 miles for the day, less than 600 feet of climbing, and a pretty decent bagel at our coffee stop.

What's not to like about that?!

A Bit of a Slump

I haven't been cycling enough, especially up hills. Time to find some motivation and course correct.

I got up the first hill; certainly not my best time, but not my worst, either. Having started in the late morning, I felt comfortable about heading out Hicks Road on my own—expecting to avoid the unease I'd felt on an evening ride, passing sketchy characters that seem to hang around out there.

I was wrong.

As I approached Reynolds, a car passed and then did a u-turn at that intersection. Why, I wondered. Why drive on this road unless you have a reason to travel through? Near the dam, another car lingered behind me; I moved to the right when I could, only to have the driver pull into the same space and (you guessed it) make a u-turn.

What's going on? Were they meeting up with the motorcyclist I'd seen loitering on the opposite side of the road, miles back?

I decided to linger awhile at my u-turn spot (just before the grade kicks up close to 14%). With a little delay, I was hoping to avoid encountering any of those guys on my return. I paused for a close-up view of the section of pavement that had collapsed last winter, adding a second one-lane section to Hicks. Will they ever repair this road?

I felt somewhat reassured when I began to see cyclists heading in my direction. And, invasive as it is, I stopped to appreciate the beauty of a perfect Bull Thistle bloom. [If I'd had clippers, I could have prevented this one from going to seed. Reminder: Pack clippers.]

Climbing an adjacent hill on the return, my short (15-mile) journey entailed about 1,200 feet of elevation gain. Must do more of this ...

To the Tree (and Beyond)

Hiking up (and I do mean UP) the Kennedy Trail on a hot day did not seem like a natural choice, but we gamely followed our leader. The pace was brisk! I guess folks wanted to be done before the day really heated up. [Trust me, it was already hot enough.] I chose to lag behind.

As foretold, I could see the pond at Cherry Springs. And as I trudged along, I realized I had fixed my gaze on slope above the Kennedy Trail, yesterday—wondering, then, at the patches of reddish-brown mixed with green on the hillside.

There had been some chatter before we set out: Would I hike to the trail junction (as I typically do), or to “the tree?” I had no answer for that, not being familiar with the landmark. [Now I am—twinned oaks in the middle of the trail, about three miles up.]

We regrouped in the shade and agreed to continue a little bit farther before turning back, somewhat shy of seven miles when all was said and done. And we were done, indeed.

Cherry Springs

It was a stroke of good fortune that I learned of, and was able to join, today's hike. As we would be visiting a closed area of the Sierra Azul Open Space Preserve, participation was limited—by reservation only. As the date grew closer and spots remained open, I alerted two cycling friends (who eagerly joined). One, in particular, has biked up the road we'd take to reach our starting point more times than she could count. Having often wondered what lay beyond the locked gate, today we'd all get to explore it!

We carpooled up the hill and began our trek near a pond related to the eponymous spring, which flows perennially.

We learned that a developer had planned to build estate homes on this land over a decade ago, but backed out when the economy soured. Now it's protected: A conservation organization snapped it up when it returned to the market.

Escorted by volunteer docents and one open space district ranger, we learned about the land and (of course) the plants, both native and invasive. [Yes, even here, some invaders have taken root. As I did my best to obliterate some star thistle, I wished I'd added a pair of small clippers to my hiking kit.]

When I mentioned that I planned to hike the Kennedy Trail with some friends tomorrow, one of the docents told me that I would be able see the pond from there.

It was a short loop (about 2 miles)—but exciting to trek in a place where few have gone before us, to be treated to new perspectives in all directions.

Not to mention doing our part to curb the spread of an invasive plant by consuming as many ripe blackberries (and their seeds) as we could tug free, near the pond!

We were reminded that the mission of the open space district is to preserve the land (and thus the health of the ecosystem); their objective is not to make it all available for people to visit, as much as we might like that to be so.

Make It Better

The power went out at 6:15 a.m. Our utility company had notified us repeatedly (as recently as last night, via robocall) that they would be replacing a nearby pole and the power would be off for four or five hours ... starting at 10:00 a.m. [Um, in what timezone?]

I got dressed and walked down the street to chat with the workers. [I wasn't the first resident they'd met.]

I'd planned to while away the outage at our local library, but their doors wouldn't open for several more hours. So, what now?

Well, there's nothing like a bike ride to improve my mood. Might as well make a day of it. (The power came on again, shortly before I departed; presumably other customers called the company and explained that “10 a.m.” means that the little hand is on the “10” (not on the “6”). I continued with my plan.

I headed directly toward the San Tomas Aquino Creek Trail, following it to the Bay. With only myself to amuse, I indulged my budding amateur naturalist's curiosity, stopping as often as I pleased.

So many birds! Including my first green heron.

I chose a bench on the shoreline to enjoy my sandwich, then cruised past buildings I am no longer privileged to enter.

What else might brighten my day? A fresh fruit tart! And I knew just where to find one, on my route home.

Next week will mark six months since my (former) employer voted me off their island. A friend recently asked how I'm adjusting to retirement.

“I've come to feel sorry for the people stuck in all those office buildings, sitting at their desks all day, day after day after day.” I'm relieved that I'm no longer one of them.

Take a sad song and make it better.

Unplugged

It seems as though everyone walks around with their eyes locked on their little screens, their ears plugged with buds. Walking their dogs. Pushing their children in strollers. What are they missing?

Biking through Almaden Valley neighborhoods, I picked up the distinctive chirping of an electronic timer as a man headed back into his house. Moments later, a mockingbird mimicked the intervals of the timer's beeps precisely, close to the same pitch.

Pausing to enjoy my snack at the Bernal-Gulnac-Joice Ranch, I noticed how the porch roof shaded the front rooms and the trees shaded the house. Tried-and-true approach to offset the summer's midday heat.

I watched a small bird make repeated trips to the upper reaches of the towering front tree—ducking into a hole to feed offspring in a nest.

I had not thought to photograph the results of our labors last week, but the grasses and blackberry vines were just where we piled them—shrunken now that they've dried out and collapsed.

The girls prefer their coop in the heat of the day, but will often pop out if they notice a visitor. (Probably hoping that one of the volunteers has arrived with juicy fruit and vegetable scraps.) Their names and temperaments are featured on a placard; this one is called “Cinder.” She's a handsome bird with her “cape” of fancy feathers, and supposedly mellow. [I beg to differ.] I'd say she rules the roost, having watched her bully another hen incessantly.

Take in the sights and sounds of the world around you. Unplug.

Across the Pond

Yes, I did a moderately strenuous hike yesterday. That's no reason to skip out on my Monday hiking companions!

Well, except for a little problem with my hiking boots. As I approached my car at the end of yesterday's hike, I was dismayed to discover one sole flopping loose. [Hey! These boots are not that old! There is plenty of tread on that Vibram sole!]

A design flaw, perhaps? Rather than being glued in place, the grippy sole was affixed to a rigid plastic undersole by a few plastic pegs—some of which had snapped off. Which meant that, if I were to hike today, it would be in my heavier, cold-weather boots. On a hot day.

So be it.

How many times had I passed the Guadalupe Reservoir, biking along Hicks Road, and wondered what was on the other side? I remember being surprised when I studied a map and realized the hills on the other side were part of Almaden Quicksilver County Park.

I was intrigued when the group settled on a hike in that very section, giving me a new perspective on the dam and Hicks Road. Recalling a crazy guy I'd seen across the reservoir a couple of years ago, I was happy to be part of a group.

We were all happy to be part of a group when we heard a rustling noise, and then a loud crash. A runner who had passed us on the trail turned back to check on us, worried that someone might have been crushed. Somewhere nearby, in the canyon below us, a tree (or large branch) had given way.

I didn't expect we'd hike high enough for a view of Mt. Hamilton—but there you have it!

Six miles on a hot day in heavy boots ... I sure was happy to pull them off when we finished!

Um's the Word

It's mostly shaded, I promised.

Two former teammates gamely joined me for a trek to the top of Mt. Umunhum. On a warm summer Sunday, with the novelty of the place having worn off by now and everyone headed for the beach, I didn't expect parking to be the challenge that it was. Patience paid off, as we waited; not everyone using the Bald Mountain lot was there for a long excursion.

The views from the summit delivered, on such a clear day. I was so busy talking about the history of the place and pointing out familiar valley landmarks that I forgot to snap a few photos at the top. [Ah well, next time.]

Madrones delivered some of that promised shade, too!

A Thorny Problem

There is no shortage of opportunities to do volunteer work in the Bay Area, and that's probably true wherever you live. I'm not ready to commit myself to a rigid schedule, so I've been looking for suitable one-time events. That also means I can keep an eye on the weather forecast before signing up, and gives me the chance to sample the various organizations that are eager for help. Who knows, maybe someday I'll settle on one and become a regular?

Given how often I swing by the Bernal-Gulnac-Joice Ranch on my bike, it seemed most fitting to join the Friends of Santa Teresa Park for one of their monthly “beautification” days. We started with a short walk to the Santa Teresa Spring, which I'd never explored.

Our hosts shared some of the history of this land, dating back to the native tribes who relied on that spring.

The adjacent pond is infested with pond slider turtles—evidently pets abandoned by their owners. In addition to the three basking on the log, there were plenty more (of various sizes) swimming around. I'd been puzzled on one visit to see two guys arrive with fishing poles, hunting for a supposed fishing hole. Now I now that people have abandoned pet fish there, too—though the docent told us that fishing isn't permitted. I wondered why they don't remove the turtles and fish (but didn't ask; maybe next time).

Before we got started, I recognized an old cycling friend I hadn't seen in years. We were both surprised (and delighted)—but she was there to hike, not work.

We were given a choice of attacking invasive star thistle (prickly) or blackberry vines (thorny); I opted for the latter. We were only expected to cut the vines down to their roots; they were too well-established and entangled in the ceanothus bushes to consider digging them out. Which means this problem will persist, indefinitely. A drainage channel ran alongside the fence where we worked, and one hardy vine had established itself below a grate. I was frustrated that I couldn't pry the (hinged) grate loose and had to settle only for what I could lop off at the surface.

Our hosts made sure we stayed hydrated, and generously shared some apricots fresh off their tree. After wrapping up, I finally toured the historic ranch house and wondered (as always) at how simply people lived. A room for sleeping, a room for cooking, and a parlor.

I regret not taking some before-and-after shots to showcase our work, but rest assured that our hosts were impressed at how much we accomplished. The blackberry crew eradicated every vine in sight and raked all the cuttings into a few piles for county parks staff to collect.

Take a look around and pitch in sometime. If you appreciate open space, know that there is so much more work to be done than the local staff can complete.