Lexington Loop

This is why I ride.

We're having another heat wave—topping out at 104°F in my neighborhood, this afternoon. Which is why I was determined to go for a ride this morning.

I chose a lightweight jersey, but questioned my choice as soon as I stepped out of the car into the blazing sun. The material was thin and well-ventilated, but the color was ... not light.

Part of me wanted to extend today's route with a little more distance and climbing; another part of me dreaded slogging uphill on exposed, sun-baked roads on the return.

There was a road crew metering traffic around some tree work. Being the only moving thing on the road (coming, and going), they flipped their sign from stop to slow as I approached. “That's me, slow!” I joked as I passed.

Instead of returning the same way, I decided to pass Lexington Reservoir on the west side. I'd heard that the road had been passable for a while, and now the “road closed” signs were gone. I knew I needed the climbing I would have done on the east side, but not in today's heat. And I was curious. [I didn't stop to snap a photo at the damaged section. Next time ...]

My route adjustment was the right choice. Only a relatively short uphill stretch in the sun; after that, the rest of the (long) exposed portion was downhill. [Woo-hoo!] Fifteen miles and some 1,400 feet of elevation gain (vs. 16 miles and about 1,700 feet had I chosen to return on the east side).

Next time ...

Serendipity

We chose Bear Creek Redwoods for our hike today because it would be cool(er); we also got an early start.

There's really only one loop here; we decided to follow it clockwise today.

And so it was, toward the end of our hike, that we crossed paths with an avid iNaturalist contributor. His unusual camera gear caught the attention of the avid photographer in our group—who normally doesn't join us for these jaunts.

I shared that he'd find quite a few butterflies ahead (like the two pictured above, a painted lady and a Mylitta crescent, feeding on a bull thistle flower).

He, in turn, led us to a plant that none of us would have noticed, otherwise. From the trail, it seemed nothing more than a fading stalk that had already shed its flowers. I wouldn't have given it a second glance.

An orchid enthusiast among us later identified it as a Platanthera transversa.

And I thought I had a keen eye! [Sigh.] And yes, there's a tiny spider at the top. [Bonus points.]

Biking and Birding

Now that's a serious nail.

When I spotted it, I chose walking over pedaling, so I could pick it up. (On yesterday's ride I collected four nails—three of which were rusty—and a large sheared-off bolt.) How do so many pointy things end up on the road?

I was in the mood for a long ride and headed toward the bay. It occurred to me that I could reverse the loop and enjoy a tailwind, but I hadn't plotted out the best route for that. And a fresh fruit tart on the return leg is becoming a tradition.

A giant shadow passed me on the trail along the shoreline—cast by a brown pelican flying not far above my head. The bird was skittish, but I managed to get a few photos.

And of course there were egrets, hunting in the shallows.

I added a bit of climbing on the way home to finish with about 1,300 feet of elevation gain over 45 miles. Another beautiful day of biking and bird-watching!

Forest of Nisene Marks

I hadn't hiked in the Forest of Nisene Marks State Park in ... a very long time. [Two decades.] I decided to head toward the coast in the early afternoon, which gave me a little spare time to go exploring before an early evening get-together.

Our redwood forests are almost fully second-growth, having been heavily logged over a century ago.

On my last visit, we explored some trails in the upper section of the park; today I parked near the entrance station and wandered through some of the lower section. My intended route didn't pan out when I couldn't find the continuation of the Terrace trail on the opposite side of Aptos Creek, but I still enjoyed my time in the redwood groves.

Remembering Keith

This is how I will remember Keith.

My friends were stunned that day when Keith shared his age (less than a month shy of 94). He came out for a ride I led to see the birds; he was on an electric bicycle then, but ... still. If I make it to that age, will I still be cycling?

I remember a presentation Keith gave about a cycling tour he'd completed in Germany. He'd served as a meteorologist with the Army Air Force during World War II, so needless to say he had a full appreciation of weather patterns. When he found himself riding north along a river—battling strong headwinds—he took a boat to the northern terminus of his route, hopped off and biked south. He crossed paths with the rest of the group again somewhere along the route.

Another story stuck with me from one of Keith's presentations. He was touring on his own (in his eighties, then) and found himself in a place that had changed since his guidebook had been published. He was perplexed. A woman in her backyard not only sorted out the route for him, but invited him in for a meal.

The only other time I rode with Keith involved cycling up a pretty steep street. He might have been the last one to the top, but he made it. On a regular bicycle. At the age of 84.

His failing eyesight ultimately kept Keith off the bike. His last ride with the bike club was at the age of 95—he even co-led a 21-mile ride to celebrate his birthday that year.

To celebrate his 100th birthday, we gathered at San Jose's Municipal Rose Garden. He seemed happy to be surrounded by old friends—and with his birthday cake!

Keith has left us, now; but his adventures and good humor will not be forgotten by those who knew him.

Share the Trail

We often visit Almaden Quicksilver County Park. The location is convenient for many of the folks in our group, and we have a couple of reliable, not-too-strenuous hiking loops.

As the hot spell continues, we've roused ourselves for an earlier start (to be done before we bake).

Last week, on our most familiar loop, a hiker ahead of us alerted us to a coyote. A woman behind us was pushing a small dog in a stroller, and we were all concerned for their welfare. Circle the wagons. A few us hung back to form a group with her.

The coyote showed no interest, trotting through the tall grass in search of proper prey.

We hiked a different (longer) loop this week, and a surprise was in store near the end.

An animal merged onto the trail ahead of our group. From a distance, I guessed “coyote” ... it had pointy ears, but didn't have a bushy tail. Then I saw it walk like a cat: bobcat! It stayed on the trail, periodically turning to look at us.

This is a nice trail, why not use it? Those two-legged creatures are keeping their distance. Maybe they're stalking me, but I could easily outrun them.

Cruising Up the Canyon

One of the advantages of cycling with a bike club was learning about lots of interesting places to ride (and more motivation to ride them). Now that I'm mostly cycling on my own, it's been easy to fall into a bit of a rut, cycling along a small set of familiar, comfortable routes.

But an advantage of cycling on my own is the freedom to start pedaling when it's convenient for me, rather than conforming to a club's calendar. Today I reminded myself that I was perfectly capable of biking up Stevens Canyon on my own. [And that's what I did.]

I knew it would be shady and cool along the creek, and that there would be other cyclists on the road. [Surprisingly, not many.]

On the weekends, this quiet (dead-end) road has been getting an inordinate amount of traffic. High-speed traffic. Thanks to construction on Highway 9 (ongoing for a couple of years, now), drivers learned a bypass from Stevens Canyon onto Redwood Gulch Road. I haven't climbed that super-steep road in years, and I certainly wouldn't do it now (on a weekend).

A young woman wearing a face mask, on an electric bicycle, was clearly uncomfortable on the road; she pulled over and stopped when there was a car behind her. I passed her and reached the end of the road long before she did, despite stopping to watch some butterflies (woodland skippers) on the aptly-named butterfly bush.

I imagine her partner thought this would be a pleasant, non-threatening ride for her—and maybe it was, once she got past the intersection at Redwood Gulch. I took off before they did, mindful that she would likely not be comfortable descending through the canyon at speed.

I considered a couple of options for my return route, settling on one that involved the least amount of climbing. I did, however, include one (short) gratuitous hill in both directions, because ... why not. Forty-one miles and some 2,000 feet of elevation gain for the day. [And sore legs.]

The Places You Go

Three minutes into the ride, I was sweating. I should have gotten an earlier start, although it wasn't even 9:30 a.m. Should I just turn around and go home? [Nah.]

I wanted to reach Almaden Reservoir; maybe I should just aim for the Hacienda entrance at Almaden Quicksilver Park and skip the climb to the dam. [Nah.]

There was a hint of a breeze, in addition to my self-generated airflow. It's hottest when you stop and the sun is beating down on you. [So don't stop.]

Keep pedaling, past the reservoir, past the intersection with Hicks Road, into the welcome shade of the trees along Herbert Creek.

I stopped to admire the view as I returned and watched a bunch of dragonflies zooming near the water's edge. Good luck getting a photo, I thought; they're zipping along, scooping up their prey. But I got lucky—one took a break and perched nearby (a widow skimmer, I learned). I'd never seen one of those before!

Should I stop for lunch on the way home? The price to pay would be more riding in hotter conditions. [Worth it, I decided.]

After 32 miles and a modest 800 feet of elevation gain, I wasn't feeling too bad when I rolled in—and found the thermometer registering 99°F. (Yikes!) Maybe the food helped?

Or maybe it was thanks to another happy day going places on a bicycle.