Showing posts with label cycling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cycling. Show all posts

February 21, 2024

Engineers ...

[Not] coming soon to a bike shop near you: An upright handcycle?
But, hang on ... the rider's legs were also spinning!

I'm sorry I didn't stop to chat with the fellow who rolled up on this curious machine, but it's a safe bet it was none other than Stanford's Richard Reis. (The “Full Body Bicycle” placard mounted on the front was my clue.)

A good 20 miles from the university, Dr. Reis clearly gets around. If our paths cross again, I'll ask why he didn't opt for belt-drive instead of chains. (Belts weigh less and need essentially no maintenance.)

In any case, I wouldn't want to cruise downhill on that thing ...

February 16, 2024

Bike More

Outlook for the week: Clear schedule. Clear weather.

Plan for the week: Ride bike.

The right moment, the right conditions, and even an ordinary place can suddenly be eye-catching.

I talked myself into another climb up Bernal. (Rainy days ahead!)
One of the advantages of solo riding is the freedom to take in the sights at a leisurely pace. To stop and admire things, like this engineering marvel. (Hard to judge the size from the photo—the nest is more than six inches long.) How did a bird build that?!
I appreciate camaraderie, too: Conversation and a reason to enjoy a luscious lemon meringue tart.

Plan for the week successfully executed: 110 miles, more than 3,000 feet of climbing, and plenty of fun with a bicycle.

February 6, 2024

Oh, Snap!

Well, that's a problem.

I had regretted not riding on Saturday, when the rain arrived much later than expected. I was determined to ride today, but once I got a good look at the menacing clouds, I wondered if I'd chosen poorly. Clinging to the western hills, I hoped they were releasing moisture there (and only there).

Fortunately, I did stay dry. Whenever the sun broke through, I was too warm; but mostly the clouds kept me well-chilled.

Sunday's storm was characterized as a bomb cyclone; I stayed safely indoors. Prepared for the inevitable outage, I lucked out and only lost power for about five hours. Many of my neighbors did not fare so well—some were in the dark (and cold) until this afternoon.

Cruising around today, I was surprised not to see more damage along my 29-mile route: Two fallen trees on front lawns, mostly twigs and small bits of debris in the bike lanes. And then, well, that utility pole ...

More rain tomorrow.

January 30, 2024

Bluebirds of Happiness

With some wild (wet and windy) weather in the forecast, it was high time to tackle a challenging ride: First ascent of Bernal in 2024.
I followed my usual routine at the picnic area: Pick up litter. Place litter in trash can. Which is ... right there. [People!]

I wondered why there were so many birds flitting about. Lots of bluebirds, and a lone goldfinch tucked in a tangle of branches.

Aha! Someone has hung a nesting box in a tree and bluebirds have moved in. A little extra incentive for me to do the miles (29) and the climb (about 1,000 feet, give or take).

I'll be back!

January 26, 2024

A Taste of Eden

Now here's a popular route I haven't ridden in quite some time: Mt. Eden. On a weekday?

Break out the road bike for some proper hill climbing! No problem holding my own with traffic on the way the start: 34+ mph on a downhill (just under the speed limit). This ... bike ... is ... fast.

I felt apprehensive about sharing the road with gravel trucks streaming in and out of the quarry on Stevens Canyon Road; my ride buddies were unfazed. Still, it's best not to linger on that stretch.

The view from the vista point has changed over the years. It affords a clear view of the cube atop Mt. Umunhum in the distance. In the foreground, well ... new “estate homes” creep ever closer.

Twenty-five miles and more than 1,500 feet of elevation gain for me. No longer chasing club statistics, we descended Pierce to return to Saratoga for lunch. A proper sandwich was in order, but the cafe's lemon meringue tarts looked so luscious. Why not ... both?

January 14, 2024

Flash of Color

Sometimes an ordinary, unremarkable bike ride takes a noteworthy turn.

As luck would have it, I needed to abbreviate today's route (20 miles, rather than the 27 I'd planned). But with little traffic on familiar roads, I could comfortably look here and there ... and up. I happened to be in the right spot at the right moment to capture a wee bit of iridescent cloud.

What I would have missed, had I chosen to skip this ride today!

January 11, 2024

A Hopeful Hitchhiker

When the rain was falling again last night around 9 p.m., I fully expected that I would not join my companions for today's outing, having no desire to ride on slick roads.

Much to my surprise, the roads had largely dried by the time I woke up. It was also 34°F. [No excuses. Get dressed!]

Wisely, our leader changed the plan for today's ride, rather than risk slip-sliding across black ice on a frosty back road. [Ice, in the Bay Area? Yes, it happens.]

Luckily I glanced down at the bag on my rear rack before we took off: There was a (rather sluggish) yellowjacket! Perhaps clinging to the dark surface for some warmth? I certainly didn't expect to see one of these out on cold winter morning.

Sorry, I couldn't bring my little friend along for the ride—I'd rather not be stung unexpectedly, especially in the rear. More to the point, I'd simply rather not be stung at all. I coaxed the critter onto a twig and gently relocated it near some plants.

When we reached our coffee stop, I decided that a chocolate croissant fit the bill. It was still warm, the chocolate gooey!

I must say, I'm liking this routine: 29 miles, good conversation, and an indulgent treat.

January 4, 2024

Plenty of Sunshine

My last rose of the season:
My cycling pals are hardy souls, undaunted by the morning chill. I have the right winter gear; but left to my own devices, I would have opted for an early-afternoon ride.

I explored a detour to avoid an underpass on the Los Gatos Creek Trail that always made me nervous; last time I rode there, two cyclists came barreling down the other side (around a blind corner), just as I'd always feared. Survey says: The detour is worth it.

Our intrepid leader meandered through some neighborhoods I'd never visited before now (and others that were all too familiar, part of my former bike-to-work route). Amazingly, there is a house that is still under construction on one of those streets—for more than 11 years. (Google's Streetview images show it was likely early 2011 when the previous structure burned, and construction was underway in 2013.)

After lingering over our coffees and tea at the end of the ride, I tried a different route home (suggested by one of our group). Too. Much. Traffic. Won't try that one again.

Thirty-one miles for the day, and my first camellia bloom of the season:

My, oh, my, what a wonderful day!

January 1, 2024

Happy New Year?

One clear sign of New Year's Resolutions: Unfamiliar faces out for a jog.

As for me, well, January 1st seemed like a splendid day for a bike ride—once it warmed up.

Circling back, my plan was to include a short stretch of trail alongside Almaden Lake.

Surprise! The park was closed and gated off, which explained why I'd noticed the trail was empty on my outbound pass. It seemed a shame for such a popular park to be off-limits on a beautiful day that surely would have drawn many visitors. Happy New Year (not) from the city of San Jose!

First road debris of 2024:

A very large bolt, and a screw.
To the motorists whose tires were spared: You're welcome.

Looking for a bright spot, I extened my loop (29 miles) to Vasona Lake County Park, which was open for all to enjoy. The Fantasy of Lights fixtures are still in place. Herewith, my hopeful wish for 2024:

PEACE ON EARTH

November 5, 2023

Be Fit

A nice fall day for a bike ride—a test ride after a recent bike fit. Nothing too adventurous or far astray—a fast 27 miles on a familiar route. For the first time (ever) I felt comfortable riding with my hands on the hoods, instead of drifting back to my customary intermediate position on the bars.
Years ago, some time after I'd started cycling regularly, I'd heeded advice to get a proper bike fit. As I'd become more fit, stress points on my body had surfaced. “You were enjoying this?” remarked the fitter as he raised my saddle a full 1.5 inches. On my very next ride, my knees stopped hurting.

Over time I realized that the fit wasn't quite right, and this had become abundantly clear over the past year as I spent less time on a road bike and more time upright on a more-forgiving casual bike. Without habitually over-stretching my arms and shoulders to reach the road bike's hoods, doing so now was painful. [You were enjoying this?]

I finally indulged in a full-on professional bike fit, and it was worth it. Worth it for my body. Worth it to enjoy my best bike. Totally, worth it.

Once the fit was mostly dialed in, I was surprised to find how quickly I picked up on tiny tweaks that went in the wrong direction. I was amazed that I could I be so sensitive to a change of mere millimeters, bringing to mind the story of the Princess and the Pea. Chalk it up to greater body awareness and thousands of miles of biking, I guess; I'm definitely no princess!

Post-ride, I met up with a friend for a late lunch and an impromptu trip (not by bike) to take in the sunset atop Mt. Umunhum. Any residual soreness was the result of engaging, rather than straining, muscles in my back and shoulders.

Totally worth it.

October 14, 2023

Ride Together

Look on the bright side: it could have been wetter. Mist, then drizzle, speckled my spectacles. My gloves were soaked, my hands chilled, and I should have worn wool socks.
Today marked the 20th anniversary Best Buddies ride in California, and my 17th. I'd been uncertain about riding this year; it feels like the ride's shift to October in Marin all but ensures wet weather (and slippery pavement). Still, I support the mission. And I hadn't managed to visit the venue's gallery last year.

This year's event included a shorter route, and I was relieved to dial it back. The past two years I'd rolled in at the tail end of lunch, despite pushing myself close to the limit. This year I wanted to enjoy the post-ride celebration.

I was also looking forward to a change in scenery. We escaped the wetness as we headed inland, which afforded some lovely views of the Nicasio Reservoir.

With one rest stop and a couple of photo stops, I managed to roll across the finish line 3 hours, 12 minutes after I'd started: completing 38 miles and more than 1,600 feet of climbing (give or take).

I had plenty of time to get cleaned up and head up the hill for lunch—where, for once, I was an early bird. I was delighted for the chance to chat with Cam Wurf, who provided some hilarious context for our memorable first encounter. He's an all-around nice guy, which is true of everyone I've met through this organization and its events.
A woman at an adjacent table was moved to tears when Best Buddies Amabassador and rapper “Flava Fran” performed the piece she'd written about the impact Best Buddies has had on her life. She wasn't fazed last night when the room erupted in laughter and applause; like a seasoned pro, she waited for the room to settle down and said “I'm not done, there's more.”

Last night, Lisa Loeb(!) followed Fran to perform two of her songs: Stay (I Missed You), and Another Day. When thinking about which songs to share with us, she'd recognized a metaphor in the latter one: for world events at this moment in time, for the challenges faced by folks with disabilities, and for the event that brought us here.

But everybody knows that life can change like the weather
And everybody wants the things they know to stay the same
But we’re not gonna last forever
And nothing’s ever meant to stay
But while we’re on this ride together, let’s do it for another day

October 11, 2023

Rooting for a Raptor

Was it an omen that today's bird-of-the-day on my Audubon calendar was an owl?

With a bike event coming up this weekend, I needed to get more climbing in; but when I woke up yesterday I realized I needed a rest day. With a bit of a late start, I headed for Bernal (known to some as “IBM Hill” for the private grounds at the top). I made a u-turn rather than stopping at the usual picnic table to enjoy my snack, heading instead for the ranch (Bernal-Gulnac-Joice).

I was surprised to see two ranger trucks there, mid-week; the buildings are open only on weekends. A ranger was unloading an animal carrier, and when I said “good morning” he smiled and asked if I'd like to see a special animal. Well, of course, but the carrier was empty? “It's an owl, we're here to pick it up.”

And there, in the rock-reinforced pit where volunteers had been cautioned not to venture (known to harbor rattlesnakes), was another ranger keeping watch over a magnificent great horned owl.

Those feathers! Those eyes! Those talons! I've never been so close to a live great horned owl. I've heard them hooting at night, and almost certainly have seen them displayed in a nature center (taxidermied).

Was this why a red-tailed hawk had soared overhead, with a piercing cry, more or less on the same route as I? Had it spotted the weakened owl and hoped to dive in for an easy meal, put off (perhaps) by the ranger who stood nearby?

The bird seemed almost in a trance, not reacting at all to our presence. I don't know if it helps, but I spoke to it in a calm, reassuring tone. “It's okay, sweetie, we're here to help.” The ranger carried something soft—an old sweatshirt, I think. He deftly draped it over the bird and eased it into the carrier; it tried to extend its wings, but he gently smoothed them down and closed the door.

Someone had been dispatched to pick up the carrier; likely destination would be the Wildlife Center of Silicon Valley (whose logo, fittingly, features a great horned owl).

What was ailing this bird? My guess is that it had the misfortune to eat a poisoned rat, and was now suffering the effects of the poison. If so, the outlook is bleak.

Please: Don't use poison baits. Just ... don't. (Use snap traps.)

September 15, 2023

A Rare Breed

Our little group of Friday friends was up for a more ambitious ride today: past the Calero Reservoir, over Bailey to the Coyote Creek Trail before stopping for a treat on the return leg.
A man approached me as I headed back toward the table where we'd gathered for our coffee stop. What was on his mind?

“You're a rare breed,” he said. I imagined he was surprised to see four older folks on bicycles, but that wasn't it.

I gave him a quizzical look. “You waited, and held the door open for that guy!”

“It's the courteous thing to do. I bet you do the same,” I said. He smiled.

By riding to and from our rendezvous point, I finished with a healthy 39 miles and about 1,000 feet of climbing. More to the point, I've been enjoying these relaxed Friday rides. There are times for vigorous workouts, and there are times (and places) to be social and just have a good time. Like today!

September 10, 2023

Day Two, Too

On Day One of Waves to Wine in 2005, I sported my Champagne Club jersey from 2004 (which I also chose to wear today). It's an eye-catching design; whenever I'd wear it, I'd get questions about the event—which is a key reason for having these jerseys: to promote the cause.
If a picture is worth a thousand words, you can see why I loved the original Waves to Wine route.

I thought I would opt for the longer route today, which wended its way north of Santa Rosa on roads where I have cycled many times. But then I worried about feeling too tired for the long drive home; why didn't I plan to stay an extra night up here? I dialed it down to the 40-mile route.

If anything, the fog was more dense this morning. We did pass some vineyards, and the grapes looked harvest-ready.
The scenic highlight today was along Occidental Road, where I spied more than two dozen (!) egrets (and a few ducks) in the muddy shallows of Laguna de Santa Rosa. I couldn't pass up this sight without stopping (and carefully crossing the busy road).
Speaking of busy roads, I was unnerved by the route's 3.5 mile stretch of Roblar Road: 45 mph speed limit, lots of fast-moving traffic, and no shoulder. On the uphill sections, I debated whether to step off the bike for a respite. Close to the event's venue, this would have been more enjoyable in the outbound direction—there would be less traffic early in the day.

A passing cyclist admired the yellow flower on my saddlebag, then lifted the tail of his jacket to show off his jersey—one-of-a-kind, handpainted with giant yellow flowers (and glitter)! He hailed from Colorado, part of a team (“Wild Bunch,” I think) that includes an artist who creates the jerseys. They even raised additional funds at one event by donating and auctioning off a jersey. He educated me about the Bike MS Passport Program, which looks ... interesting. By raising the requisite amount, you're entitled to ride in as many Bike MS events as you'd like the following year, without any additional requirements—all over the country. (Of course, you pay your own associated travel costs.)

As I crossed the finish line, the announcer called out “Champagne Club!” Yes, this jersey's design is outstanding. And evidently she's been involved with this event for many years.

A good meal and a refreshing shower after my 40-mile ride revived me for the trip home.

2024? (Maybe.)

September 9, 2023

Day One, Done

Waves to Wine was the first charity ride I'd done, way back in 2003. I was the stoker on a recumbent tandem, and I didn't even have a bike jersey to wear on the first day. We followed the 75-mile route on both days; the first day being a loop from Santa Rosa out to the coast and back. It was spectacular!
For me, fundraising was intimidating. To meet the minimum required, I figured I'd just write a check and have my employer match my donation. With prodding from a gregarious coworker who had a background in sales and marketing, I gulped and sent a fundraising plea to 65 friends and relatives. Some donated, some did not, and I raised enough funds for the National Multiple Sclerosis Society to be awarded a “Champagne Club” jersey (which I proudly wore the next day, as well as today).

In 2006, the organizers changed the routes, complicated the logistics, and generally messed up the event; I switched my fundraising allegiance to Best Buddies. This year someone close to me was diagnosed with MS and I decided to sign up for Waves to Wine again, 20 years after my first ride.

To see any waves on Day One, the logistics now entailed starting in San Francisco and riding over the Golden Gate Bridge. [Been there, done that.] I opted for a shorter loop, starting and finishing in Rohnert Park. That would also avoid returning to San Francisco by bus at the end of Day Two.

The area was blanketed in fog. After the sun broke through, the most scenic part of the route was along Chileno Valley Road.
There were a few white swans on Laguna Lake (not something I'd seen there before). Having spotted a red-tailed hawk on this road years ago, I kept glancing upward. [And ... yes!]
I also spotted a couple of old-timers: one guy in the standard-issue jersey from 2003, and another sporting a circa 2001 Champagne Club jersey. Like me, he missed the original route and the homey vibe of the old event; he lamented the sense of community that's been lost. The finishing area is now staged with canopies for the larger teams; people don't seem to mingle as they had in the past.

Much of the route followed busy roads. I averaged a fast-for-me 13.8 mph over the 44-mile route—probably because I wasn't distracted by the scenery. Visibility was low for the first hour or more; with fewer participants than I remember in 2003, I was riding solo for most of the day. I was glad I had brought a taillight, and regretted not bringing my front light.

As I approached the finish line, the DJ was blasting Katy Perry's Firework and I finished with an exuberant smile. You'll have to take my word for that, because I never did find an image from the photographer who was stationed there. [I found Snoopy, though.]

Come on, show 'em what you're worth
Make 'em go, "Ah, ah, ah"
As you shoot across the sky

September 5, 2023

Nine One One

Black smoke. Was there a controlled burn today? That seemed unlikely, given where I guessed the source was.
Black smoke meant that no one was trying to extinguish the blaze (yet). More and more it billowed, and soon enough my hunch was confirmed. One of the quasi-permanent structures along the creek was being consumed by flames. A few souls have been erecting shelters on the water company's land for the past several years, undeterred by the “No Trespassing” signs that reference the relevant section of the penal code.

Several vehicles had stopped on both sides of the road; one man was on the other side of the fence, taking photos. I parked myself and my bike safely on the sidewalk.

Why wasn't the fire department already here? Had everyone assumed that someone else had already called it in?

It used to be the case that if you used a mobile phone to call 911, the call would be routed to a central dispatch center staffed by the highway patrol. After (too) many rings, I discovered my call had connected to San Jose's emergency response, and ... that all dispatchers were busy, please stay on the line. [Sigh.] Surely someone had reported this fire by now?

Standing there with my cell phone in hand, a driver pulled up alongside. “It's been called in, they've dispatched and they're on the way,“ he reassured me. And so we waited, helplessly watching as the main fire sparked two or three spot fires. Thank goodness it wasn't windy.

Paramedics were first on the scene. There was no hydrant nearby, but evidently some of the fire trucks carry a water supply. The smoke turned from black to white, and I pedaled away.

Many years ago (and many miles away), I had been puttering in my garden when it finally registered that I was hearing a high-pitched tone. Recognizing it was a smoke alarm, I dashed into the house to confirm it wasn't mine. (Whew.) But where was it?

As I approached my neighbor's house, I realized it was theirs. I had seen them leave earlier, but maybe someone was still at home? No one picked up the phone. I walked back, wondering what I should do. I gazed up at the kitchen window and saw smoke swirling. I ran back to my house and dialed 911. I was stunned to hear sirens before I could head back outside. Within thirty seconds? Definitely less than a minute.

As it happened, my neighbors returned to see the fire department on the scene, using a giant fan to exhaust the smoke.

“Thank you for saving our house!” they exclaimed. The fire captain turned toward me and pointed. “She's the one who saved your house,” he said.

That day I learned the importance of not being a bystander.

September 2, 2023

Social Miles

For much of the year, clouds are not a common sight in this area. Today's sky was positively brooding—a welcome shift from summer's monochromatic blue.
Friday's ride with friends included a stop for refreshments; I extended the route by riding to (and from) our rendezvous point. Thirty-one miles, including a spin through a lovely, unfamiliar neighborhood. (Technically private, my companions had been introduced to the route by another friend who lived there.) No one seemed to mind us passing through—four harmless old people on bicycles.

I hopped back on my bike on Saturday, meeting up with my regular biking buddy for a trip out through New Almaden to the reservoir.

With a two-day bike event coming up next weekend, I needed to get more training miles in. I led us past the Almaden Reservoir on Alamitos Road until the pavement got spotty. Riding to and from our rendezvous point gave me a total of 34 miles for the day (and 132 miles for the week, not too shabby).

I guess I'm ready for next weekend. To be sure, though, I'll get in some more miles (and climbing) before then.

Rules of the Road

Friday night, around 9:30. A crash. Sirens. Paramedics. Teens gathering, two sitting on a curb comforting one another. Teens streaming past on e-bikes.
It's all over social media, one shared. Another said the rider had been pinned under the vehicle. (A large GM model, with evident front-end damage.) Said he'd been riding a Super 73 e-bike (which, if you look it up, resembles a regular motorized dirt bike—not a traditional bicycle). “Minor injuries,” a neighbor later asserted. (Hard to believe, honestly.)

I don't know what happened. Looking at the road markings left by the police who responded, and being familiar with the signals at that intersection, I can hazard a guess.

  • Northbound e-bike rider saw the traffic signal flip from yellow to red.
  • Southbound driver, waiting to turn left, got the green arrow and proceeded.
  • E-bike rider assumed the driver also had a red light and chose to run the light, not expecting the vehicle to turn.
  • All road users need to respect the rules of the road. Which requires knowing the rules of the road.

    I don't know what the answer is, but I do know that kids are riding powerful, heavy electric-powered “bicycles,” mixing it up (at speed) with vehicles on the road without the requisite knowledge. I nearly collided with a pair of them recently, myself.

    In my case, I had paused for oncoming traffic before I could make a left turn onto a side street. Two boys, side by side at a stop sign, suddenly pulled out as I initiated my turn. They managed to stop; one nearly toppled over. Would they have done the same on a pedal-powered bicycle? (I doubt it.)

    Regulations won't fix this. Enforcement won't fix this.

    Teach your children. Ride smart.

    August 19, 2023

    B is for Bob

    The last time I saw Bob, he needled me (as he was wont to do) about retiring. Little did we imagine that the door would close on my professional life four days later, or that he would be gone in less than four months.

    Bob had retired before I'd met him, and he was a poster child for early retirement. From my perspective, he was unambiguously making the most of his time on this planet.

    It was a fluke that our paths crossed. Back in 2005, I started chatting with three cyclists at a rest stop during the I Care Classic. I'd been tailing them, as we were riding at a similar pace. The very next week, I was surprised to find them at the Foothill Century and we exchanged contact information. Thanks to those encounters, I was drawn into a circle of East Bay cycling friends that included Bob's wife.

    In 2011, Bob and Pat persuaded me to join them on one of their frequent European cycling tours. We summited the Stelvio, Gavia, and Mortirolo passes in the Italian Alps, and I was hooked. I would go on to share more adventures with them in Austria, France, Germany, Italy, Liechtenstein, and Switzerland.
    Before we gathered to pay tribute to Bob today, a group assembled to honor his memory with a bike ride. (I'll note that the route, intentionally or not, traced the outline of the letter B.)

    There was a thread in the stories people told at our celebration of Bob's life: “I'm not sure Bob liked me, but ... ” was the common lead-in to some thoughtful or kind thing that Bob had done. He could be gruff, but ... yes, he liked you.

    Bob's brother shared a sentiment that hit home: Your life isn't about how much time you live, it's about how you live your time.

    You lived your time well Bob, and you deserved more of it. We miss you.

    August 5, 2023

    Feel the Bernal

    It was warmer than I thought it would be. The first hill was harder than I thought it would be. I will skip the second hill, I thought.

    But I've been pedaling too much within my comfort zone, rarely climbing any hills.

    I'd cooled down by the time I reached the base of Bernal. [Just ... do it.]

    There was the evidence of a recent controlled burn in Santa Teresa County Park, and a slight breeze at the picnic table where I paused to enjoy my snack (in the shade).

    I uprooted some invasive star thistle and picked up many pieces of litter. [People. There is a trash can. Right. There.]

    Twenty-nine miles and some 1,200 feet of climbing. (I took the flat route home.)