Our first hike, on the Alan Thiesen Trail, was short (not even a mile). I was wowed by the largest Pacific Madrone I'd ever seen. Common in the coastal hills of the Bay Area, I didn't expect to find this tree so close to the Sierras.
When a tree falls in the forest, blocking a trail ... get creative!
Having the day off, some of my former colleagues were keen for a hike; I proposed that they join me for this one. Since the docent-led hike would be short, I offered to follow it with a second hike nearby.
Every outing is an opportunity to discover some wonderful new thing, like the northern checkerspots I found descending on golden yarrow in bloom.
Much of that trail is shaded, but an exposed section affords a birds-eye view of the Stevens Creek Reservoir.
I hit the jackpot on this hike: Not only were the lead docents impressively prepared to share their knowledge with posters and books about butterflies, it seemed that most of my fellow hikers were docents themselves. If the butterflies eluded us, we would certainly learn about the plants.
Variable checkerspots were plentiful, but another one caught my eye—something lovely that I hadn't seen before. I couldn't offer much of a description beyond “orange” and “small.” Fortunately it didn't flutter away before I got the docent's attention.
Also new to me were the bush poppies.
Another well-planned adventure: Our leaders knew where, and when, we would find butterflies. Some even lingered long enough to be photographed!
Parking was a cinch. The big lot was more than half empty.
It was a chilly ride. After all these years, I finally opted for a cup of minestrone soup at the first rest stop. [Warm, and tasty!]
The lunch tables were mostly empty. As I rolled out, other 100k riders were still arriving. The sun finally started to break through after lunch, and when I stopped for this photo two other riders realized it was a good shot and followed my lead.
I've always done most of the route with others in sight. [Not today.] Climbing through the redwoods on Hazel Dell, I saw one other cyclist headed in the same direction—and that was true for most of the remaining 10 miles.
It was puzzling. Had I started later than usual? [No.] Early on, I was passed by a few riders, and passed others in turn. Later? Not so much.
Being a bit slower than usual, I finished a bit later than usual. [Not by much.] But, still: There were so few people at the finish. Did they skip the meal (not to mention the eponymous berries, served with chocolate ganache and a dab of whipped cream)?
Maybe this year's steep increase in the registration fee dissuaded people from signing up? [The point is, it's a fundraiser.] And costs keep rising: permits, insurance, food—you name it.
I like this ride: all the friendly volunteers, the live music at every stop, the scenery, the strawberries. If there's a 34th edition in 2025, I expect to return for another 63 miles through the countryside.
Next year, I'll be prepared to pedal up that wicked hill.
It was surprisingly windy this morning, in an unexpected direction: we'd have a tailwind for our return. Thirty-three miles for me, having extended the route by riding from home—a bit shy of the 40 miles I'd log commuting to (and from) the office.
No more biking to work for me, of course. I hope that my colleagues continued the tradition, and that some of the people we inspired over the years have continued to bike to the office when they can.
One docent was on the lookout for a particular plant (Broad-leaved stonecrop), and knew just where we'd find it. I loved the mix of colors!
After a couple of rounds of winter storms in recent years, sections of those roads were closed. Early accounts of passing through sounded sketchy: I didn't try. [Until today.]
When I started up the first incline, my legs rebelled. I know I haven't been doing much climbing lately, but this old favorite shouldn't be this hard! [And that's why I'm here.]
The work isn't finished, but the section I traversed was fine.
A tidy 1,700 feet of climbing spread over some 16 miles—a scenic and efficient workout. I'll be back!
Private estates were once built on this land, later acquired for the establishment of a religious institution (Alma College), and more recently for a nature preserve (Bear Creek Redwoods).
My additional trekking, added to the usual loop, amounted to more than six miles (and about 1,000 feet of elevation gain). The vibe around the college site felt decidedly creepy—most likely because I was the only person around. Worth it, though, to satisfy my curiosity.
When Minivan Mama evidently finished chatting with another mom across the street, she suddenly and sharply pulled away from the curb. Without looking. Right. In. Front. Of. Me.
Even though I was being cautious, moving slowly, I still had to panic-stop.
Her son waved happily through the window to his friend, and off they went—utterly oblivious to the accident narrowly averted.
I would have been injured, perhaps seriously, colliding with that minivan. Today's incident was much, much worse.
Today I'd decided to get some climbing in; having completed the first hill, I came to a stop at a T intersection where I would turn left. I unclipped and waited astride my bicycle, having heard a vehicle approaching from the right. A white Tesla waited behind me.
The vehicle I'd heard was some deep shade of red; burgundy, perhaps. A small SUV or crossover, perhaps. Driven by a woman with longish dark hair, perhaps. That much registered in my brain.
She was turning onto the road where I stood, cutting the corner at speed—completely on the wrong side of the double yellow line, into my lane. Hurtling straight at me. I'm pretty sure my mouth hung open; my expression was likely one of disbelief rather than terror. This is it, I thought. I'm going to die now.
Here I am, though, telling the tale.
Brakes screeched. The lanes flare out at the intersection, the corners rounded for cars turning right. Mindful of drivers seeking to turn right, I was positioned far enough to the left, and the Tesla just far enough behind, that the reckless driver managed to thread the needle to the left of me and to the right of the Tesla. And simply continued on her way.
At the water's edge, I was puzzled by a noise I'd never heard before. I figured it had to be a frog, but it sounded more like moaning than croaking. When a fisherman wandered by, he confirmed that the frogs hang out in the reeds along the shoreline. (Cleverly concealed.)
I decided to venture out onto the dam for another perspective (on foot, though I hefted my bike across the vehicle-blocking boulders to keep it close). In the past, I've focused on admiring the water; today, I turned to the side and spotted the giant chimney in Quicksilver Park, a relic of New Almaden's cinnabar-mining and mercury-production days.
To each his (or her!) own.
Fluffy white stuff drifting all around us; not snowflakes (of course), not bits of dust on the lens of my camera ...
I took note of another oddity that caught my eye, and managed to find it when I returned: white California poppies (a cultivar, as it turned out).
While I recognized many of the flowers we found, the wind poppy was new to me (and, evidently, fairly uncommon).
A leisurely 4.4 mile walk, for the love of flowers.
Posts
All Comments
