Laurels

Years ago, when I was relatively new to cycling, I sought out a bike fitter to address worsening knee pain. He made the proper adjustments and asked about my riding habits. When I told him that I biked only on weekends, he explained that I was essentially starting over (fitness-wise) every week.

Not being an early bird, I could not imagine rising before the sun for a workout before heading to the office. And it would be so easy to talk myself out of an after-work ride. My best option was clear: ride my bike to work. I typically made the effort a couple of times per month, which did pay fitness dividends.

Last year I set a personal record for bicycle-commuting to work by averaging one ride per week. This year I decided to up my game.

What if ... what if my preferred method for commuting to (and from) work was bicycling? I am a fair-weather rider, but in the Bay Area we are blessed with an abundance of fair weather.

Which brings me to today: rounding out 1,825 miles of bicycle commuting with trip number 52. Halfway through the year.

Time to rest on my laurels? (I think not.)

The Valley Formerly Known As

Once upon a time, the fertile acres of the Santa Clara Valley were dubbed the Valley of Heart's Delight. But like so many others, it was Silicon Valley that drew me here. Our industry has transformed the world, leaving scant traces of the valley's rural past.

My bicycle has taken me through the less developed land of nearby counties: Santa Clara, Santa Cruz, Monterey, San Mateo, Alameda, Marin, Napa, Sonoma, Stanislaus, San Benito, San Luis Obispo. [I get around.]

The back roads meander through wild land, with deer and coyotes, turkeys and towering redwoods. They also cross farmland, with horses and cattle, fields of berries and grapes, lettuce and cabbage. There aren't many orchards left.

They took all the trees
Put 'em in a tree museum

Schoolchildren make field trips to plots that are kept for historical purposes. A few plots remain in family hands, barely enough to sustain the occasional roadside stand. Much of the “local” produce at our farmers' markets travels here from California's Central Valley.

My bike route to (and from) work varies little; for the past two years, the final stretch to the office is a 4-mile segment of a multi-use trail. By now, I have passed the sights along the trail more than 150 times, and learned to identify some of the native flora. Dazzled by the trailside Matilija poppies and California flannel bushes, three or four gnarled and stubby trees were easy to overlook.

Here, between the right-of-way for high voltage transmission lines and the freeway, are the remains of an orchard. A couple of trees, abandoned and neglected for decades, are studded with tiny apricots. Intensely flavorful tiny apricots. (I couldn't resist sampling some.) There is very little flesh around the stone, unlike the (mostly flavorless) variety we find in the grocery store.

They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot

Follow Me

Bike to Work Day has a special significance for me. With the encouragement and support of a colleague, I biked to work for the very first time on Bike to Work Day eight years ago. Thousands of bike-commute miles later, I return the favor by inviting colleagues to join me each May.

Twenty-nine people followed me to work this morning; a few were making the trip for the first time.

I was making the trip for the fourth time this week.

We started at a local commuter shuttle stop, since most people would load themselves (and their bikes) onto a bus for the return trip.

I keep it simple:

1. Give each other space.
2. Call out “slowing” and “stopping.”
3. Don't take chances. If we get separated by a red light, we will wait for you.
4. Have fun.

[Guess which rule is most important.]

We waited for some riders from nearby San Jose to join us, then swept up a few more along the way in Saratoga.

This is much easier than I thought it would be. [Success!]

Being out in front makes it tough to capture photos en route. This year I mounted my Narrative Clip to the back of my helmet, and it turned out to be the best application for my Clip (to date). Not only did it capture plenty of respectable photos, it captured plenty of smiles. And all of those smiles were natural—no one expected that little orange square was automatically snapping photos as we rolled along.

Today is the first time I will ride back home. [Success!]

The clouds looked ominous, but we were spared any rain. If only we could have been spared the headwind ...

I want to ride back home with you. [A first-timer. And, she did!]

For me, 43 miles, some 960 feet of climbing, and much joy.

If By Chance

As I coasted home through the park, I noticed that the resident population of Canada Geese had been much reduced. Is it a lucky side effect of the drought, or have the (trained) dogs finally driven them away?

Then I spotted a lone, lean bird in the grass. I slowed to a stop. A Great Blue Heron! My presence gave the bird a dilemma: Take flight, possibly losing the furry prey clenched in its beak, or stand its ground. As I fished my cell phone out of my bag, I watched it maneuver and swallow its prize in a single gulp.

Even the most routine commute rides pack in their share of surprises. In the past two weeks, two colleagues have caught up to me on the evening ride home and slowed to chat.

Feeling lazy this morning, I got a late start. Random factors aligned to stop me at a particular intersection at a particular moment in time. “Pep?” To my right was a former colleague I have not seen in years; we worked for the same company twice (my previous two jobs).

There are three ways for me to cross that busy thoroughfare; I study the traffic flow and signals each morning before I commit. Today, the quickest approach led me onto the perimeter loop of a community college—and to this unexpected meeting at a red light. We had a chance to chat over the next mile before our routes diverged. Both of us were biking to work. Both of us got a late start. Neither of us chooses to cut through the college every morning.

With this recent spate of chance encounters, I cannot help but wonder at the chances missed.

Scenes from a Commute

Some California flannel bushes are in full bloom along the Stevens Creek Trail, others have already peaked.

“You got it! You can take him!” Stopped at a traffic light, a motorist made me laugh. He was referring to the shirt-less, helmet-less dude in front of me.

It was a hectic week, jam-packed with meetings and a couple of way-too-early days. Energized by one productive-but-intense review, I remarked “That was fun!” One of the engineers deadpanned “You like to ride a bicycle up steep hills.”

Biking home is a great way to unwind. I squeezed in two bicycle commutes and was tempted to make it a three-fer, but decided to save my legs for Saturday.

The trail is not uniformly scenic.

The first of five bridges on the way home.

I have been playing with a new gadget that automatically captures a photo every 30 seconds. Needless to say, most of the shots are utterly worthless. Here is a selfie as I cross the last bridge before leaving the trail.

As I browsed through the collection (more than 2,000 photos for the round trip), I was surprised to see things I have otherwise never noticed. Here I am signaling a right turn, somewhere. (I'm not exactly sure where.)

Like many digital cameras, this one is challenged by the sky.

In principle, the little camera seemed ideal for biking. In reality, not so much.

Side by Side

Tucked into the belly of the bus, a study in black and white.

This morning I needed to catch the first shuttle to arrive at the office in time for my earliest meeting. This is not my routine, and I hardly expected to find another bike already loaded when I lifted the door to the first compartment (before sunrise).

I definitely did not expect to see another Strida. Now I understand why I have only seen the black bike when I catch an early shuttle home.

These folding bikes are ideal for our short (flat) little trips to and from the shuttle stop. For me, the distance is a little more than a mile (studded with five traffic signals). Driving that distance would be, in a word, ridiculous. It would also take as much time, if not more. Having the bike for quick trips on campus is mighty convenient, too.

With enough daylight remaining, I opt for a longer route home. Each trip seems insignificant, but the miles add up: about 43 miles this month, alone.

Best time? Door-to-door, with no red lights: 6 minutes, 33 seconds.

Make It a Double

Today was the day.

Daylight Savings Time took effect a couple of weeks ago, but my first attempt to enjoy a round-trip commute had been thwarted by a late meeting.

I am not a big fan of DST; waking up in the dark is a struggle. I wish we could just leave the clocks alone. But now that we have sprung forward, there is ample daylight for my long ride home. My headlight and its battery pack have been stowed away for the season, and I treated the oft-neglected commute bike to a thorough cleaning and fresh lube over the weekend.

In celebration, I climbed a familiar gratuitous hill this evening and spotted a doe trotting down the middle of the street, heading for the open area at the end.

This morning, my ears were cold and my legs were leaden; even though I rode home at a slower pace, I felt stronger. For the day, the usual 39 miles and 980 feet of climbing.

Just the way I like it.

Lane Spotting

Can you spot the bike lane in this photo? (This is not a trick question.)

Improving bicycle and pedestrian safety in this corridor was a multi-year, $3.5 million project.

Last year, the city of Monte Sereno paved sidewalks along the highway—four-foot-wide sidewalks. They formed curbs and paved those sidewalks right on top of the bike lane, and erected signs citing the ordinance that forbids bicycling on sidewalks.

Four-foot-wide sidewalks. Two-foot-wide bike lanes, where we pedal alongside traffic traveling in excess of 35-45 mph.

We need fewer self-congratulatory ribbon cuttings and more municipal officials on bicycles. In the bike lane. Especially on trash collection day.

Reset

A new year has begun: time for the traditional resetting of the bicycle computer.

Some new personal records in 2013: I covered more than 3,835 miles by bicycle, including some 1,895 miles commuting to (and usually from) work and at least 200 miles on my Strida.

The hills add up: I climbed more than 191,000 feet. (That's not a record; clearly, I'm slacking off.)

The dollars add up, too: I raised more than $300 for charity just by riding my bike (through a company-sponsored program to encourage “self-powered commuting,” and through Plus 3 Network).

In 2014, I can do better.

Red Letter Day

On some forgotten day this year, I decided that a goal for 2013 should be to beat my previous record for number of bicycle commutes (34, in 2007). In the past three years, I had gotten lazy; most days, it is oh-so-easy to find a reason not to get up early and climb on the bike.

The more often I rode, the easier it became. It was habit-forming. There were a few weeks when I managed to bicycle-commute four days out of five, which helped to offset three months of slothfulness (not even one ride to work during the months of January, February, and March).

The least palatable way to get to work is to drive. In heavy traffic, driving can take nearly as long (or longer) as biking it.

Most days, I rely on a commuter shuttle bus. Door-to-door, that trip also takes nearly as much time as biking it; but it allows me to extend my day by getting some work done en route.

Today was a special day, and not only because I discovered hand-made woolen scarves adorning the California Quail statues.

Today marked my 52nd bicycle commute of the year. Some 1,895 miles pedaling to (and usually, from) the office.

How Cold?

It was 42F (5.5C) degrees when I left home this morning. I could see my breath, exhaled in great billowing clouds, with the effort to climb the first hills. The most uncomfortable body parts were my fingers, which started to warm up after 4 miles or so. Maybe preheating my gloves would help? Sometimes I miss steam radiators.

Egrets, herons, and ducks are a common sight near the bay. When they are close to the trail along Stevens Creek, they quickly take flight as people approach.

I rounded a bend and stopped. I was no more than 15 feet away from a Great Egret. The bird was nonplussed. I fished my phone out of my bag. The bird looked away. I felt lucky to capture a single photo. The bird did not move. I dared to draw its attention, hoping for a nice profile. Other cyclists passed. I snapped more photos, stashed the phone and continued on my way. The bird remained still, conserving energy on a chilly morning, watching the creek for breakfast.

“How cold does it have to get for you not to ride in?” asked a co-worker this week.

In the Bay Area, not cold enough.

Low Ceiling

My saddle is wet before I finish loading up the bike. I can see the tiny pinpoints of moisture in the beam of my headlight. I will climb farther into the base of the marine layer before descending below it.

I remember to watch for the car of a club member who often sees me on her way to work, but my attention naturally shifts to the drivers who can potentially cut me off. One resident retracts into his driveway, clearing the bike lane for me to pass. The neon green jacket, along with the bright headlight and the bright white blinking light on my collar, combine to make me noticeable. [Not to mention the blinking red rear lights, one on my helmet and one on the bike.]

The fog condenses on my glasses and helmet, dripping onto my cheeks. No need to tap into the water bottle this morning; just breathe it in. My brakes squeal on wet rims. With little to see, I make good time to the office. Warmed by an hour and 25 minutes of biking, I overheat the instant I step inside the building—it's that time of year, now.

The fog lingered all day in the valley. On the way home, I can barely see the Diablo Range, but I find a splash of sunshine on the California Quail statues. (Their topknots have long since been lost to vandals.) I pass a black Bentley Continental GT once, and miss catching it a second time by a car length. Bicycle trumps V8 in stop-and-go traffic.

I time my uphill approach to a red light to arrive as it turns green. I draw even with a Prius, wondering why the car is not moving. The passenger window is rolled down. They greet me with “Hi, pep!” and pull away. [Co-workers.]

Motivated to arrive home before the sky is truly dark, I make good time—averaging 12 mph over 20 miles, with 620 feet of climbing. Good time for me, that is, at the end of the day.

Full Moon Rising

Technically, not-quite-full moon rising. The timing would not work out as well on Friday.

It is mighty hard (for me) to get up in the dark and onto the bike. Rooting around for toe covers delayed my morning departure enough to align conveniently with sunrise, without also making me tardy for my first meeting.

It is chilly enough in the morning for a jacket, warm enough in the evening for a short-sleeved jersey. As the end of daylight savings time approaches, darkness closes in before I finish the ride home.

That ride home? Well, just look at that view—and appreciate that the photo doesn't do it justice.

The High Point

I was uncharacteristically awake early this morning. Early enough to start my wheels rolling some 13 minutes before sunrise.

My timing was fortunate indeed, because a major intersection was still shut down; the utility company that was supposed to wrap up their overnight construction work by 5:00 a.m. did not. Traffic chaos would surely ensue within the next half-hour, with frazzled and impatient motorists forced on a circuitous tour of the neighborhood. The workers were disinclined to let even a bicycle pass through, so I headed for an alternate route.

I kept an eye on the sky as it grew lighter. There were low clouds along the Diablo Range ... I just might have a shot. I raced the rising sun to the high point of my morning commute, a well-placed gratuitous hill, and won.

A serene start to a busy day.

Losing the Light

The autumnal equinox is nearly upon us; in a few weeks, my round-trip commutes will go on hiatus.

Dark mornings are less stressful than dark evenings; the sky will grow lighter on the way to the office. Dark evenings slow me down—it is too difficult to see, and avoid, rocks, potholes, and sharp pointy things on the road. It is also impossible to establish eye contact with motorists and negotiate the right-of-way. Being lit up like a blinking Christmas tree is still not good enough to prevent a driver from misjudging my speed and cutting me off.

For me, traveling a few local miles in the dark is tolerable; the full 20 miles from the office ... not so much.

This week, I packed in four days of commuting, including today's group ride with six co-workers. They promised to take it easy. “Easy” turned out to be my fastest pace of the week, averaging 14 mph.

I really should push myself harder.

The Trouble with Trails

Two cyclists collided last week on the Stevens Creek Trail, with injuries serious enough to be carted away to a hospital. The story according to a near witness, who called 911 on their behalf, was that he heard someone shout “STOP!” One cyclist was heading north on the trail, just having descended the bridge over Moffett Blvd. The other, apparently, was entering the trail at street level.

I had passed through this intersection about 30 minutes before the accident. I suspect that both cyclists had a role in this crash. The cyclist at street level is supposed to join the trail at a T-intersection, but it may be possible to merge (at a dangerous angle) by slipping through some posts meant to block the way. Whatever his approach, the street-level cyclist entered the trail without regard for oncoming traffic. The oncoming cyclist, with a view from above, should have been able to see him. Should have been moving slowly enough to stop or yield.

Approaching the T-intersection entrance from Sleeper Avenue one morning, a cyclist flew onto the trail without a glance in either direction, then slowed as he proceeded to ride no-hands. I saw him before he made the turn. I slowed down. We did not collide.

If the trail ahead of me is clear and straight, I will cruise along at 15 mph—and every single day, other cyclists fly past me. They pass me without regard for the solid line. [Tip of the day: Dashed line—OK to pass. Solid line—Do not pass.] They pass me on tight curves, like the one pictured above on the north side of the bridge over Hwy 237.

This morning I slowed behind four people walking two abreast. Two cyclists were approaching on the opposite side of the trail. And yes, another cyclist chose to pass me, over the solid yellow line, threading his way through the narrowing gap between the oncoming cyclists and the pedestrians.

Some hazards are common: people oblivious to their surroundings, earbuds blocking the sounds around them, fiddling with their smartphones, stopping in the center of a trail intersection.

Some hazards are unusual, like the staggering drunk I approached from behind. To ring my bell, or not to ring my bell, that was the question. I darted past him without advance warning, calculating that I was in more danger of being knocked over if I startled him.

Or the woman who emerged from the dark underpass below Hwy 101, pushing a stroller up the wrong side of the trail. Had I been a few seconds earlier, I might have run straight into them.

Just another typical day on a popular multi-use trail. Be careful out there.

The Ruination of Bay Area Roads

N.B. A slurry seal has since been applied to the packed gravel described in this post. While still unpleasant, these local roads are rideable again.

Why is it so difficult to maintain the roads in the Bay Area? The problem is not the weather.

Some roads that have been the mainstay of my homeward-bound commute have been rendered nearly unrideable this week.

That rocky surface in the upper half of my photo? It looks like a base layer, ready for paving—but it is not. That is the fresh road surface. The grainy surface in the lower half of my photo? That is what is left of the old, smooth surface (near the curb).

The new surface feels like packed gravel. [It is packed gravel, essentially.] It is wretched. Abominable. Appallingly bad. Pity the local residents who now endure the din from the tires on passing cars and trucks.

Does the town blindly accept the lowest bid? Are there no specifications? Why is this material being used, when the problem is well known? The coarser the rock, the longer it takes for weighty vehicles to wear it down. Lightweight bicycles, with skinny tires will never wear it down.

The French understand this. I enjoyed the best road cycling surface, ever, outside Aix-en-Provence last fall.

Like the pros avoiding cobblestones in Europe, tonight I headed straight for the (smooth) gutter, next to the curb. Where feasible (and not prohibited), I chose to ride on the sidewalk. I explored some unfamiliar neighborhoods, seeking a new twist on my time-tested route that will keep me off the rocks without adding much distance.

Unfortunately, there will be no alternate route to avoid this legendary mess in a few weeks on Highway 1, on my way to San Simeon.

Staying Safe

Last week, a raucous debate erupted on a road biking mailing list. What started it? Some close call between a cyclist and a motor vehicle. Cyclists railed about bad drivers. Drivers ranted about rude cyclists. I considered weighing in, but my comments would only have been lost in the noise. Mostly, people wanted to vent.

It's a scary world out there. How can you stay safe? Two words:

Pay attention.

Why?

People can do stupid things.

It happens. Drivers run red lights. Cyclists run red lights. Watch out for the drivers, and do not be one of those cyclists.

People can make mistakes.

I have made mistakes. You have, too. The last time I hit the pavement, two people made mistakes. I saw a colleague confidently board a shuttle bus and I chose to glide past. But she had boarded the wrong bus. Without a glance, she stepped off backward and clipped me with her enormous purse. Bam! I should not have been riding there. She should have watched where she was going.

Do not depend on the kindness of strangers.

I was stopped at a stop sign this morning, waiting for a break in traffic to turn left from a residential street onto a busier road. A driver in a pickup truck stopped, yielding the right of way to me. Would he have done the same for a car? [No.] He had the right of way, no stop sign. I imagine that he thought he was being courteous. I stayed put and waved at him politely to continue on his way. Had I pedaled forward, I risked being run down by any of the vehicles behind him. Not only did those drivers have no clue why he stopped (Planning to turn? Mechanical breakdown?), they were probably annoyed and all-too-ready to accelerate and pass him.

If you anticipate that people might do stupid things and sometimes make mistakes, you will have a safer time on the road. And instead of feeling chronically irritated, you might enjoy some pleasant surprises. Like the time a driver made a sudden U-turn in front of me, then pulled to the side of the road and rolled down his window—to apologize.

If you do have (or witness) a close call, learn from it. Is there something you might have done differently, to be safer?

Some driver made a mistake, or did something stupid, on the freeway this morning [photo above]. Two lanes blocked, multiple ambulances and police cars, a big traffic jam.

Pay attention.

Catching Up

When the week began, I did not plan to bike to work four days out of five. After bypassing Monday's traffic meltdown, it made sense to do the same on Thursday and Friday. On those evenings, the roads near the office would be choked with cars heading for big concerts at a nearby venue. The forecast for Friday was particularly dire, with home games for both major league baseball teams (San Francisco and Oakland), another big concert at a venue closer to San Francisco, and protesters threatening to shut down mass transit. Not to mention the usual get-out-of-town weekend parade.

There were fewer cars on the road in the morning; not unusual for a summer Friday, but maybe some folks simply chose to avoid the predicted chaos. I did not commit to the group ride planned by some of my colleagues, unsure whether I really would get up early enough to rendezvous at 7 a.m.

I almost made it; after a quick stop at the bank, I was about five minutes behind schedule. If I hustled, I thought, I could catch them.

A few miles later, I spotted them ahead at an intersection. Now we were separated by one (long cycle) traffic signal. Which route would they take through the neighborhood?

I swung onto our “secret passage” street; there they were, passing through the gate! When all three of them headed up the gratuitous hill, they were mine. They certainly did not expect to find me lurking at the other end.

Conversation always makes the trip seem faster, and we enjoyed ourselves in both directions: Everyone rode back together at the end of the day, including our group's modest birthday boy!

My tally for the week (commuting, volunteer work, errands): 3,945 feet of climbing and 159 miles by bicycle, 50 miles by car.

The Bike Advantage

The office was deserted when I rolled in this morning. Where were my colleagues? Did I overlook an important meeting on my calendar? [Not likely, first thing on a Monday morning.]

The reason would become clear later, after I was re-fueled, freshly showered, and back at my desk. There had been some sort of traffic meltdown. I overheard one story of exasperation after another. Something about an overturned dump truck, local roads clogged with cars and buses seeking alternate routes. Taking the shuttle would not have helped. Biking to work this morning might actually have been faster. Imagine that!

My commute was, thankfully, routine and uneventful. I listened to the birds and admired the flowers. I climbed a gratuitous hill. I clocked in (below the limit) at 28 mph on an electronic speed sign. Stopped at one intersection, I picked up a stray wood screw and tossed it off the road. [Some unknown motorist can thank me for the flat tire he didn't get.] Stopped at another intersection, I spied a nickel (and happily pocketed it). I was passed by a couple of speed racers who confuse the multi-use trail with a time-trial course.

I dawdled on my way home, taking a longer route through the park. My ride was bracketed by egrets: the first had been perched on a trailside railing along the creek near my office, and the last was hunting for a lakeside dinner.

One side of the park is bordered by the freeway. I realized that I was moving faster than the vehicles, which were barely visible through the trees. When I crossed above them, the southbound cars and trucks were stopped as far as my eyes could see.

I guess many people found their commutes bracketed by traffic meltdowns today. I prefer egrets.