Synchronicity

With the rainy forecast for this week in mind, I thought I would tackle some yard work this afternoon.

But, wait ... the thermometer registered 67°F. A shift in the weather promises strong winds on Tuesday. Bike today, rake tomorrow. [Well, technically, Tuesday.]

The hens at Bernal-Gulnac-Joice Ranch were scratching determinedly at the edge of their pen. Plotting an escape, perhaps? They wouldn't survive one night outside. [Coyotes.]

The girls were not the least bit interested in me until I crouched down to their level and experimented with getting close for a photo. Were they curious about my phone, or drawn to the scent of an orange on my fingertips?

I'd rolled out at no particular time, heading for my default low-stress 27-mile route. [Ow.] I clearly haven't been getting enough saddle time. [Ow.] After yesterday's ride, my tender parts were ... tender. [Ow.]

And so it happened that, at the moment I was lumbering up a small hill and a runner was heading down on the adjacent sidewalk, we both did a double-take. Hold on, don't I know you?

The runner happened to be the person who had been my boss—for the longest continuous stretch (years)—until the team reorganized during an extended break I took last summer. When I'd shared, then, that I was “test-driving” retirement, he had been quick to respond. “I don't want you to leave, but I will support whatever you decide. And you will always have a home here.” Neither of us imagined that this would be out of his hands; at the company we had joined, it would not have been.

The company we'd joined was brimming with talent, including some of the best and the brightest I'd worked with at every prior job I'd had. And then, I worked with so many more! When asked what I liked most about my workplace, my answer was always quick: My colleagues. We were the keys to the company's success, and that's why I'd stayed.

For a few lucky minutes this afternoon, we were together again.

Sunny Smiles

Four friends joined me for a relaxed jaunt on a familiar route.

In no hurry, we kept an eye on one another, happy to chat and take in the sights. An impromptu photo stop led to the discovery of a short trail which afforded a closer view of the still-muddy Chesbro Reservoir (nearly 89% full!).

Coyote Creek looked more like a lake than a creek, in places; we spotted a couple of Great Blue Herons hunting in the reeds, and a trio of deer grazing in a field. Also more than the usual complement of diabolical ground squirrels—which fortunately heeded my well-practiced hiss and fled away from us. Tsssss!

Trail-averse as I tend to be, I do enjoy the lower reaches of the Coyote Creek Trail. Traversing wide-open space, with little traffic (cyclists, mostly). And if that's not enough to brighten your day, surely the grins on the faces of approaching cyclists will!

Although we'd hoped for a few more miles on the trail, we were not surprised to find the last stretch blocked. Even though we haven't seen significant rain for a while, there is so much water still flowing—enough to flood one usual section.

We finished our 39 miles (with ~1,000 feet of climbing) while the sky was still mostly blue, especially grateful to enjoy this route without the traditional headwind—and in the company of good friends.

Two-fer

Today is the first day of the rest of my life ... [Well, technically the next phase of my life began eight days ago, with the unexpected end of my professional, working life.] It's all play, now (or so I'm told).

What's better than a bike ride, on a sunny day, to raise one's spirits?

I crafted a route suitable to share with a former teammate, met up and led the way to the end of Cañada Road. The distance, and hilliness, was just right. Given the lingering effects of recent storms, I guessed (correctly) that these roads would be clear (enough). A little work in progress to clear mudslides led to some short delays, but we were not beholden to a schedule.

In addition to more water in the Crystal Springs Reservoir than I can recall ever seeing, there were a couple of surprises in store at the Pulgas Water Temple. A stream of Hetch Hetchy water was flowing out into the reservoir, after spraying into the far end of the reflecting pool.

Having completed 35 miles with ~1,500 feet of climbing on Wednesday, I revisited the area with my chief biking buddy on Saturday (shorter route, 24 miles with a bonus climb for ~1,100 feet of elevation gain).

Here's to a new perspective—the sky's the limit.

Dodging the Drops

As one storm after another sweeps through the Bay Area, roads flood and winds topple trees whose roots lose their grip in the saturated soil.

We do need the water, but ... not all at once?

I took advantage of a break in the weather yesterday, once the roads dried out, to go for my first ride of 2023 (21 miles, 300 feet of climbing).

Almaden Lake was brimming with muddy water, its shores ringed with debris (natural, and not). The Santa Teresa hillsides are turning bright green, and streams of water they can't contain seep onto the streets.

I'd chosen this route, in part, because there would be little exposure to toppling trees. [So I thought.] Next time, I'll stop for a photo of a mighty one that had been cut back to clear the road (and, the bike lane) after it fell.

With another break in the rain today, I donned my boots for a walk into town—pausing to kick mud and leaves from blocking a few storm drains along the way. Some folks are still spreading a little holiday cheer, California-style.

Tomorrow, more rain. And, the day after that ...

Last Ride of 2022

The Bay Area, land of palm trees and ... holly. [Plenty of ivy, too.]

The forecast for the rest of this week is discouraging (very wet), and of course it's a work week.

Except for today. I had no particular plan; I'd considered a long ride, but realism carried the day. I haven't been on the bike in the past month. [An errand of nine miles doesn't count.]

My neighbor was keen to go for a ride, so I revised my plan: Bernal Ranch Park is a convenient place to turn around. By then, he'd be ready for a break. On the return trip, he ran out of gas about a mile from home, but mustered enough energy to continue after a short rest. [Effects of a low-carb (no carb?) diet.]

“I'm going to keep up with you in a few weeks!” he predicted. “Ah, then I'll pick up the pace!” I smiled. “Noooooooooooo!”

Closing out the year, I may know more people who have contracted Covid-19 by now than not; cautious and fully boosted, I have managed to stay healthy. I even attended a Christmas Eve party at a friend's home, a tradition that we last celebrated in 2019. Responsible adults all, we agreed to test ourselves that morning. [All good.]

Twenty-five miles and 400 feet of climbing for my last ride of 2022, finishing out the year with more than 2,350 miles over the course of 95 rides. Fewer rides and less distance than last year, because ... reasons. Total elevation gain is harder to know with my current set-up. Something approaching 90,000 feet, give or take. I'm relying on stats from my Wahoo Elemnt Bolt these days; compared with my trusty old Polar S720i, I've found its readings inflated by as little as 2.5% or as much as 55.3%. [Due to lack of an accurate altimeter.]

The long-range forecast continues to trend wet. We certainly need the water, but I don't need to ride in it. Looking forward to my first ride of 2023, whenver that will be.

Just Bike

As much riding as I've done with bike clubs, I've come to appreciate the simple pleasure of hopping on my bike whenever I choose—not having to hew to meeting at a prescribed time and place.

Today was one of those days. After lunch, after the day warmed up, I chose a relatively flat route to reach historic New Almaden and the reservoir beyond. I wanted to gauge the distance and difficulty of this route (which turned out to be hillier than I expected).

I managed to dress just right, for what was surely one of our last warm days of 2022. Holiday decorations are transitioning from inflatable turkeys to Santas (and the occasional Abominable Snowman or Grinch). Trees showered me with falling leaves, and cotton-puff clouds dotted the western sky.

I've introduced one of my neighbors to the quiet neighborhood streets where I prefer to ride, convincingly demonstrating that roads can be more tranquil than the multi-use trails he frequents. As he's opposed to climbing, he would definitely not appreciate the Camden hill (in either direction). Still, I think I can get him out to New Almaden (at least), with less than today's 30 miles and 700-ish feet of climbing. Next outing, whenever that will be.

Hazy Hillsides

You don't get the sweeping view if you don't do the climb.

By the time I reached Bernal, I was ... too warm. I peeled off my wool arm warmers and stuffed my jacket into my bag. I chatted with another cyclist stretching at the base of the climb—he noted that he was wearing a summer jersey. After last week's chill, I'd opted for short-sleeved wool. [Go figure.]

This climb has become familiar enough that the steep start no longer fills me with dread. Being warmed up helps, I'm sure—since it takes me about an hour to get there. In no particular hurry, I reached the top a few seconds faster than my last trip up the hill.

With a short errand added to the mix today, I wound up with about 32 miles and less than 1,000 feet of climbing. No reason not to make this a habit. Really.

Splash of Color

We do get some fall color in the Bay Area, and the point of today's outing was to do some local leaf peeping. [That, and some exercise too: 28 miles and some 440 feet of climbing.]

With my weekend chores done, I hopped on my bike in the afternoon sunshine. Mornings are chilly, days are shorter, and the sun doesn't rise very high in the sky these days.

Could my fingers and toes have been warmer? [Yes.] But the reds, oranges, and yellows overhead were a balm to my spirits as I cruised along the quiet, tree-lined streets of the Almaden Valley.

Leveled Up

As the years ticked by, I would sometimes wonder how many more 100-mile editions of the Best Buddies Hearst Castle Challenge I could complete. I imagined that a day would come when I'd scale it back to the 100 km route (as I did for the loop route in 2018, when the temperature soared). Every trip down the coast was different; if 2019 was to be our last, we were blessed with a beautiful day.

Who expected the world around us would change? After 2020's do-it-yourself challenge, we (cautiously) gathered for a small event in the hills of Marin last year. On the heels of that success, the ride returned this year—but to a different (and incomparable) venue.

I was grateful to stretch my legs on a short hike before dinner after Friday's long drive. And dinner, well ... it was my first indoor dinner since The Before Times. [This will be fine ...] A majestic dining room, filled with tables of humans seated elbow to elbow—some of whom had traveled internationally for this event. Like Thomas Pidcock, who'd joined our little afternoon hike.

It was a special privilege to be a guest in this amazing place. (Not to mention being spared the stress of navigating a twisty rural road before dawn to get here and get ready to ride.)

What a joy it was simply to step outside and roll my bike to the start line!

To finish with enough time to get cleaned up and enjoy lunch, I needed to maintain a brisk pace. No time to admire the redwoods as we pedaled through Samuel P. Taylor State Park.

We rode a clockwise loop this year, heading north on Highway 1 past Tomales Bay. [Is it ever sunny here?] At least the mist was lighter this year; no drizzle.

In the weeks leading up to today, I'd been putting in the miles with after-work rides, following up with some weekend climbing and more distance. [It paid off.] I kept the lead group in sight for miles. The route started with a five-mile descent ... which we would reverse at the end, to reach the finish line. [Gulp.] And the route profile showed a significant climb at mile 54.

I've biked many of these roads before, in the opposite direction. I paused briefly at Laguna Lake; surely there were still many people behind me? Few had passed me, and I'd passed a few.

We were well-supported by a team of domestiques, outfitted with race-caliber radios. I didn't need their physical assistance, but with their companionship and friendly conversation I stopped focusing on how many miles remained.

I finished the route—72 miles, less than 4,000 feet of climbing—at an average (moving) pace of 13.6 mph. (My fastest pace for a Best Buddies Challenge since 2014.) And yet, I was still one of the last riders across the line. How could that be?

Well. When I'd asked a domestique about the folks behind us, he explained that most would be “taking the car.” [Sigh.] I'm a rare old bird (who doesn't act her age). I actually want to do the whole ride.

And I did.

Asti Tour de Vine

This event had not been on my radar (but now is).

I learned about it by sheer happenstance, when I squeezed onto a bench next to a couple of riders at Gizdich Ranch earlier this year. They were enjoying their first Strawberry Fields Forever ride, comparing it to (and highly recommending) the Asti Tour de Vine.

Previewing the route we'd take through the Alexander Valley—with a stop at Lake Sonoma—brought back fond memories of the long-ago second-day route for Waves to Wine. Today's starting point was above the northerly end of that route: Cloverdale was new territory for me.

It's a small town, with a stunning church. Presumably old, but I couldn't spot a cornerstone.

I was impressed with the route, which included areas both familiar and not—and very little traffic.

We even rode past a local purveyor of windmills! [How could they know?]

With the grapes harvested and the tourists gone, this promised to be a good time for biking in wine country. [And it was!] With predicted temperatures in the 90's, we were motivated to keep moving to be done before the hottest part of the day. Added incentive for me was to test myself in advance of next Saturday's big event. Today's route would be a bit shorter and decidedly flatter, but could I hold myself to a brisk (for me) pace?

And the rest stops! Hearty breakfast at the first stop. A revelation at the second: “Acorns.”

1. Pierce one end of a donut hole with a pretzel stick.
2. Smear the other end with creamy peanut butter.
3. Dip/roll the sticky end in chocolate sprinkles.

[This is why we bike.]

Each rest stop was lovingly decorated and showcased a different beneficiary of the local Rotary Club (which was hosting this event).

After waiting longer than expected for my chief biking buddy to reach the third rest stop, it occurred to me to check my phone. She'd missed a turn! Unclear on whether she was backtracking or riding the route in reverse, I lingered at the next two rest stops before concluding we'd just reunite at the finish. The day was heating up; the home stretch was fully exposed to the sun, but mercifully short.

A feast awaited! Salad, pasta, pulled pork. Wine and beer (for those so inclined). One of the women serving us interpreted my jersey as a joke, advertising the (Pescadero) Arthritis Classic bike ride. I suppose my hair color played into that. [It felt rude to set her straight, so I just smiled.]

This ride is a keeper: I liked the size (small), the route, and being part of a field of courteous riders. [Not to mention the food.]

I completed 65 miles with about 2,000 feet of climbing and didn't feel spent. Next week's ride seems ... doable.

Up We Go

How could it be so, that I had not yet ascended Mt. Hamilton in 2022? It's October, already!

My cycling buddy graciously joined me in riding to the top, despite this being one of her least favorite rides.

The landscape is slowly healing from the firestorm of 2020. Conditions were ideal for cycling: cool, sunny, and almost no wind. There was an unusually thick layer of fog blanketing the valley to the south.

It was uncharacteristically quiet for a Saturday on the mountain: we saw only a handful of cyclists, and none loitering at the top. Few cars (but more than a dozen motorcyclists) passed us as we pedaled up. We traded tales of epic rides on two wheels with a couple of them as we enjoyed our lunch on the the observatory's cozy patio.

When I'd shared my ride plan with some friends, one presaged a certain wildlife sighting.

It's tarantula season, though I'd never seen one on Hamilton before.

On the way up, I'd dodged some suicidal squirrels as they darted back and forth across the road. On the way down, I spied a very robust coyote standing in my lane, focusing on the opposite hillside. Trot up the road apiece, I thought, for some easy pickings. I slowed my approach until the coyote retreated into the brush.

Higher on the hill, I'd passed a band of teenagers (boys) setting up their cameras and skateboards for a different sort of descent. I was relieved to get well ahead of them.

For the day, the usual 39 miles and 4,860 feet of climbing.

Bernal or Bust

Three. [The number of vehicles whose drivers discovered that they must, in fact, turn back at the IBM gate at the top of Bernal Road.]

There are a couple of challenging rides coming up on my calendar, and although I've upped my weekly mileage by hopping on my bike at the end of my workday, I haven't done much climbing. Nor have I been spending time on my road bike.

I got a late start and headed for the first climb (Shannon) instead of my comfortable (flat) after-work route. I will make it up Bernal somehow, I told myself. I must not surrender.

The promise of another warm day likely discouraged the mountain bikers; I had the little picnic table at the turnaround spot to myself. Eyeing litter as I enjoyed my snack, I followed up by collecting it and depositing it in the trash can that is right there. Including one forlorn, inside-out sock (found a pick-up stick to handle that).

A pair of women jogged all the way up (and, back down). As for me, I had one more hill to climb. [Or not.] But of course, I did; for a total of about 28 miles and probably 1,500 feet of climbing.

That photo at the top? The leaves dangling down in the center are pointing right at next Saturday's destination, across the valley: Lick Observatory.

Black and White

There are a few ambitious events coming up on my calendar, motivating me to undertake some longer rides. The weather's warming up, so I planned to get an early start and head for the shoreline of San Francisco Bay.

I failed at the “early start” bit. I did make it to the Bay, where it wasn't hard to find a bench to enjoy my sandwich. (They were all unoccupied.)

One of these things is not like the others ... There is a little surprise in this photo of white pelicans—and it's not their black-fringed wings. Paddling along with this little flock was a lone, black cormarant. Hard to see at this resolution and against the deep blue water—in front of the second pelican from the left. They all seemed content with this status quo.

There weren't many birds to see today; the egrets have flown their nests, but I did see at least one juvenile hunting in the shallows, paired with an adult.

I basked in the breeze that was chopping up the water, cooling me nicely; at the same time, knowing that the longer I lingered, the hotter my trip home would be.

The route I chose (to be more direct, and to avoid heavy traffic heading for the coast) turned out to be well-shaded. [Bonus!] With a slight breeze, it wasn't miserably hot. Maybe, even, comfortable.

During the week, I'd happily discovered that I could return to my regular after-work route. [Two weeks prior, roadwork had ground the pavement down to a base layer and I found myself choking on dust churned up by passing vehicles.] With those three trips and today's 49+ miles, I closed out the week with 110 miles and 2,060 feet of climbing. Now, to keep that up ...

Next week's forecast is not encouraging (multiple days where much of the Bay Area will top 100°F).

Tour de Fox

Do-it-yourself charity rides are less enticing than group events, and I wouldn't have done this one if some folks at work hadn't reached out. They'd formed a team for a colleague and planned a 20-mile route that would be “friendly” for all. They generously sprang for some breakfast pastries to start our day. [Sign me up!]

Their plan was a counter-clockwise version of a local fave, the Portola Loop. It was fitting, in a bittersweet way, because I met my friend Steve nearby so many times to ride together. It seems I know rather too many folks afflicted with Parkinson's (cyclists, all) ...

I recruited a friend to join me and we both wanted a bit more of a ride, so I tacked on the out-and-back climb up Alpine Road. I thought we might have a chance to catch back up to the group at the finish, but we rolled in about 20 minutes late for that.

Our starting point turned out to be a popular one, especially with the running crowd. In the morning, we were swarmed by teens assembling for training runs. In the afternoon, we were mystified as women (and men) wearing bright red dresses started to gather.

The local chapter of the Hash House Harriers happily educated us in their ways. Today was a special event, their annual Red Dress Run—raising funds for a women's legal defense fund. They were lively and outgoing, a much more inclusive group than their online characterization might imply—even willing to talking to “cheaters” (cyclists) like us! One did seem favorably impressed that we'd biked 27 miles (and for a charitable cause).

A couple showed up, first-timers; the guy had donned nothing red (much less a dress). But never fear: One of the regulars dashed to his car and pulled out a lovely satin number, complete with sequins around the neckline.

For us, 27 miles, 1,800 feet of climbing and some unexpected edutainment.

Montebello & Friends

My chief biking buddy has been lobbying for us to climb Montebello; a third friend tagged along, carrying 18 pounds in her panniers (training for an upcoming self-supported tour). In spite of that, she was still the first of us to reach the top.

It's a tough climb, so I didn't expect many folks to join us. And it took a lot out of me, today. I haven't been doing enough climbing.

There are some familiar landmarks. A particular mailbox (which many of us remember from years gone by, when it sported an American-flag theme). The school (an official landmark).

It would be easier if I just stopped for a moment in the shade ... [Don't do it.]

Here comes the steep straight section, it would be easier if I stopped for just a moment ... [Don't even think about it.]

Hard to believe I once raced up this climb with a finishing time of 55:32. [That was then.] 17 minutes slower today, but a minute faster than two years ago?! [Huh.]

Descending with care, I had my eye on two vehicles approaching the entrance to the Ridge winery. Not only did the first vehicle turn left, crossing our lane—the second SUV failed to yield as well. I veered and passed around the back of the vehicle. My friend followed close behind, berating the driver at the top of her lungs.

After 37 miles and 3,100 feet of climbing on a warm day, I was lucky to join a small backyard pizza party. Because of course a friend has a pizza oven (!) in his backyard (much more useful than its original incarnation as a fireplace). And of course he buys special flour (in 50-pound sacks). Being a newbie at this, mine was hardly a masterpiece. But maybe I'll get another chance (or two).

BBQ, Because

An annual tradition carries on—a barbecue fundraiser supporting a cycling friend's team for the upcoming Waves to Wine ride, benefiting the Multiple Sclerosis Society.

Back in the day, that was the first charity ride I'd ever done—as the stoker on a recumbent tandem (in 2003, and again in 2004). I continued on my own bike in 2005 and 2006, but after the routes (and the vibe) changed, I got hooked on riding for Best Buddies. The least I can do now is to support my friends who ride for the cause—here in California, and farther afield (Utah).

Our barbecue host was a very strong and accomplished rider, once upon a time. A time before he was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. Last month, when someone asked if he was planning to host his fundraiser this year, I heard him reply: “Have they found a cure yet?”

With help from some friends, he was expecting to serve 90 plates today—having taken good advantage of a sale earlier this year to stock up on 36(!) racks of ribs. (There's a tofu option for our vegetarian comrades.)

I donned my favorite “Champagne Club” jersey (circa 2004) and headed out. When I got close, I didn't need to study the route on my bike computer—I could just follow my nose! Ribs, baked beans, salad, cornbread, fresh lemonade (the real deal), iced tea, and camaraderie, in exchange for a donation to the cause.

I cleared out before the hungrier hordes of cyclists rolled in, to catch up with an old friend (over more iced tea) in his well-shaded backyard.

Having biked a mere 18 miles (400 feet of climbing), I might have eaten more than my due—but I did enjoy every. last. bite.

Oopsie

First things first: no one got hurt. [More on that later.]

I needed to keep it short today and figured I would just ride alone. But then I thought, why not invite some friends? Good call: Four joined me. Much more fun than riding alone.

There were turkeys. (There are always turkeys.) This brood had settled inside a pen, reluctantly flapping their wings to scale the fence when it was time to leave. The largest one was the last to exit, after repeatedly pacing the perimeter and studying each post. [Yup, they're all about the same height. You can do it!]

On the way up Shannon, I watched a doe dart across the road and kept an eye out for any of her companions. She was joining her fawn, as it turned out. Later we spotted a pack of four young bucks crossing a field.

We were ready to be cautious on Hicks, knowing that it had recently been chip-sealed, but the surface was fine. There were some patches of loose gravel at the edges of the road, in places—which might have contributed to today's bit of excitement.

There was very little traffic. After passing the reservoir, we regrouped at our turn-around point, a small clearing at the bend just before the road kicks up to its merciless 13.7% grade. The sound of spinning tires led someone to ask “Is it hard for vehicles to get up it, too?”

No, but ... first there's a sharp bend, and then surprise! Steep! And maybe there are some deep piles of loose gravel right now.

Maybe the pickup truck took that curve a little too quick, slid a bit and lost traction. However he did it, he was now perpendicular to the road, his back wheels in a ditch. An SUV came along and stopped to help, but this was gonna require a proper tow truck. We had a hard time convincing a couple on their way to Mt. Umunhum that they really truly could not get through, and slowed down a couple of motorcyclists (who could get through). After we'd each walked around the bend to get a clear view of the action, we decided it was time to skedaddle. [Good luck to the other cars we saw, headed in that direction.]

One more climb, followed by a social coffee stop, and I finished my ride after 18 miles and 1,340 feet of climbing.

A Circle of Friends

You won't find these particular blackberries, because ... I ate them. [The ripe ones.] A sweet, unexpected treat as we climbed Stevens Canyon.

Some folks choose to ride alone. Some prefer to ride with a buddy. In prime season, there is a supported, organized event nearly every weekend. The Bay Area has several bike clubs—for racing, recreation, or both.

A few friends joined me today, a civilized circle of cyclists. We chatted, we cycled, we looked out for one another and regrouped often. The climbs on the route are popular with the local clubs, so I was surprised that this was the first ascent for one of us, and only the second time for another.

We wrapped up with a coffee stop, surprised to be the only cyclists at a place that's normally teeming with them. The weather was cool, the sky mostly blue, and the friends delightful. A happy 31 miles and 2,040 feet of climbing.

The Road Ahead

Today we biked. We headed for Old Creek Road, which I last climbed in 2018. There would be ample opportunity to enjoy the scenery and take photos this time, as we were not hewing to a schedule.

I added a new Aermotor to my collection—this one with Morro Rock barely visible in the background.

We didn't expect to ride into the mist; we left clear skies behind us. There was a storm brewing to the south, and we later heard that there had even been a touch of rain in Morro Bay. (We stayed dry.)

We paused near the waterfront in Cayucos before making our way to Old Creek Road.

The ghost bike was still there, though now hoisted overhead with a bittersweet message (“HOME”) on an arrow pointing to the sky. Looks like it needs a little maintenance, as I imagine the intention was to point the front of the bike upward.

I captured Whale Rock Reservoir from the same vantage point as last time; the Pacific was not visible today, but the bush in the foreground was in bloom.

After the first crest, a sign warned “watch downhill speed.” [So noted.] On a bike, though, it's advisable to keep your eyes on the road, not your bike computer. It was a fast section (my stats suggest a top speed around 37 mph).

There was nothing memorable about the pavement in 2018, but it was creamy fresh now—a joy to ride.

Although my ride buddy recommended it would be fine to descend Santa Rosa Creek Road, I was unconvinced; I have vivid memories of a road in terrible condition (not to mention a steep climb, whichever way you tackle it). And oh, gosh darn, it was actually closed to through traffic today. Let's hope they're repaving it.

We regrouped at the summit on Highway 46, where I took the traditional photo. [Recall that we started our ride essentially at sea level.] The clouds were moving in; we felt lucky for the blue skies we'd enjoyed this morning.

After a quick pit stop at our motel, we hopped back on our bikes for the short trip into town. After completing 40 miles with something short of 3,000 feet of climbing, a slice of olallieberry pie would tide me over nicely until dinner.

Aladdin

“Come down and ride with us, you'll meet Aladdin!” my comrades said. “Who's Aladdin?” I asked. (I chuckled this morning when one of the words in the NY Times Spelling Bee game was C-A-M-E-L.)

Like cyclists in Le Tour de France, we pedaled past a field of sunflowers. I've biked through this intersection many times before, but always in the cooler months when the ground is bare.

Continuing on our way, we found a couple of four-legged critters who represent the very essence of the adage “Eat to live, live to eat.” With all that body mass, it's understandable that they don't move around much.

Getting to Aladdin entailed some hill-climbing. [Well worth it.] His buddy gave up grazing the dry grass to join the party. (The congnoscenti had come bearing gifts: fresh carrots.)

The photo is akilter because you'd better be quick when you poke your phone through the fence for a clear shot. It was jarring when he'd bang into the fence, but that didn't seem to bother him. (Don't you know the reach of those massive pointy things attached to your skull?!)

And now for Aladdin's glamour shot:

With no magic carpet to transport us back to the start (and our lunch), we pedaled onward. A fun-filled 31 miles, 880 feet of climbing on the outer reaches of Silicon Valley.