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.)

Birds of a Feather

Flock together.

Evidently there's a seagull convention in town. Hundreds of birds have descended on Lake Almaden, for the past several days. As for this old bird, I joined a smaller gathering—with three old friends who rarely ride with our old bike club, if at all. They just get together and ride on their own, and today I managed to join them.

When I had learned that these long-time club members had struck out on their own a couple of years ago, they told me they were too slow. I encouraged them to lead some slow rides, as this was something I'd been hearing more and more from other members. “If you post them, they will come!”

They were not persuaded.

In a sense, I get it. Maybe you just don't want the responsibility any more. Or you might post a slow ride, have fast riders show up (chasing leaderboard stats), and end up not riding as a group anyway. It's easier just to ride with a few like-minded buddies.

I was delighted to catch up with old friends, folks with whom I'd shared many ambitious rides in years gone by. Riding to (and from) our rendezvous point gave me about 30 miles for the day, less than 600 feet of climbing, and a pretty decent bagel at our coffee stop.

What's not to like about that?!

A Bit of a Slump

I haven't been cycling enough, especially up hills. Time to find some motivation and course correct.

I got up the first hill; certainly not my best time, but not my worst, either. Having started in the late morning, I felt comfortable about heading out Hicks Road on my own—expecting to avoid the unease I'd felt on an evening ride, passing sketchy characters that seem to hang around out there.

I was wrong.

As I approached Reynolds, a car passed and then did a u-turn at that intersection. Why, I wondered. Why drive on this road unless you have a reason to travel through? Near the dam, another car lingered behind me; I moved to the right when I could, only to have the driver pull into the same space and (you guessed it) make a u-turn.

What's going on? Were they meeting up with the motorcyclist I'd seen loitering on the opposite side of the road, miles back?

I decided to linger awhile at my u-turn spot (just before the grade kicks up close to 14%). With a little delay, I was hoping to avoid encountering any of those guys on my return. I paused for a close-up view of the section of pavement that had collapsed last winter, adding a second one-lane section to Hicks. Will they ever repair this road?

I felt somewhat reassured when I began to see cyclists heading in my direction. And, invasive as it is, I stopped to appreciate the beauty of a perfect Bull Thistle bloom. [If I'd had clippers, I could have prevented this one from going to seed. Reminder: Pack clippers.]

Climbing an adjacent hill on the return, my short (15-mile) journey entailed about 1,200 feet of elevation gain. Must do more of this ...

Make It Better

The power went out at 6:15 a.m. Our utility company had notified us repeatedly (as recently as last night, via robocall) that they would be replacing a nearby pole and the power would be off for four or five hours ... starting at 10:00 a.m. [Um, in what timezone?]

I got dressed and walked down the street to chat with the workers. [I wasn't the first resident they'd met.]

I'd planned to while away the outage at our local library, but their doors wouldn't open for several more hours. So, what now?

Well, there's nothing like a bike ride to improve my mood. Might as well make a day of it. (The power came on again, shortly before I departed; presumably other customers called the company and explained that “10 a.m.” means that the little hand is on the “10” (not on the “6”). I continued with my plan.

I headed directly toward the San Tomas Aquino Creek Trail, following it to the Bay. With only myself to amuse, I indulged my budding amateur naturalist's curiosity, stopping as often as I pleased.

So many birds! Including my first green heron.

I chose a bench on the shoreline to enjoy my sandwich, then cruised past buildings I am no longer privileged to enter.

What else might brighten my day? A fresh fruit tart! And I knew just where to find one, on my route home.

Next week will mark six months since my (former) employer voted me off their island. A friend recently asked how I'm adjusting to retirement.

“I've come to feel sorry for the people stuck in all those office buildings, sitting at their desks all day, day after day after day.” I'm relieved that I'm no longer one of them.

Take a sad song and make it better.

Unplugged

It seems as though everyone walks around with their eyes locked on their little screens, their ears plugged with buds. Walking their dogs. Pushing their children in strollers. What are they missing?

Biking through Almaden Valley neighborhoods, I picked up the distinctive chirping of an electronic timer as a man headed back into his house. Moments later, a mockingbird mimicked the intervals of the timer's beeps precisely, close to the same pitch.

Pausing to enjoy my snack at the Bernal-Gulnac-Joice Ranch, I noticed how the porch roof shaded the front rooms and the trees shaded the house. Tried-and-true approach to offset the summer's midday heat.

I watched a small bird make repeated trips to the upper reaches of the towering front tree—ducking into a hole to feed offspring in a nest.

I had not thought to photograph the results of our labors last week, but the grasses and blackberry vines were just where we piled them—shrunken now that they've dried out and collapsed.

The girls prefer their coop in the heat of the day, but will often pop out if they notice a visitor. (Probably hoping that one of the volunteers has arrived with juicy fruit and vegetable scraps.) Their names and temperaments are featured on a placard; this one is called “Cinder.” She's a handsome bird with her “cape” of fancy feathers, and supposedly mellow. [I beg to differ.] I'd say she rules the roost, having watched her bully another hen incessantly.

Take in the sights and sounds of the world around you. Unplug.

Test Flights

When I saw the size of the chicks last weekend, I knew that prime viewing season would soon draw to a close. When I extended another invitation to ride, I was joined by two cycling friends and a neighbor whose horizons I would broaden.

Along the bay, when we paused to watch a black-necked stilt strutting on the trail we found ourselves in the midst of some sort of avian drama, with three of them swooping over and around us.

Not much water flowing from Stevens Creek to the bay, but the banks were abloom.

Along the way, we had seen cormorants and grebes, swallows and ducks, and (of course) egrets.

My hunch was correct: the fledglings were starting to venture out of the nest, like this little black-crowned night heron.

My mind still boggles that these birds, with such broad wing spans, maneuver through the foliage of sycamore trees to establish their nests.

Somehow there is magic to be found on each visit to the rookery: for the first time, today, seeing fledglings extending and flapping their wings.

Opting for a different route home, my exercise for the day was cycling 53 miles (with something under 1,000 feet of climbing).

Honoring Steve

Today's ride honored the memory of a friend's husband, suddenly and unexpectedly lost earlier this year.

Our easy East Bay route included a stop at a park with a unique playground—designed for children with special needs, featuring play areas inspired by regional landmarks. Imagine a swing designed to accommodate a wheelchair!

There was a strong turnout (43 cyclists), and our leaders were attentive to keeping us safe and on track. Being unfamiliar with the area, I appreciated that (despite having a detailed route to follow).

A celebration of Steve's life followed; the luncheon included his favorite dishes—his family joked that he'd always made the menu selections.

My connection was with Judy, Steve's wife; we'd first met at a cycling event 18 years ago. So many members of their cycling club rose to share stories about how kind and thoughtful he was: graciously sweeping group rides, encouraging riders during their low moments, fixing their bikes.

I recalled a moment that Judy shared with me recently, when she arrived at a cycling event and learned that one of the organizers had forgotten his helmet: She reached into her car and pulled out a spare. “Steve always kept a spare helmet in the car,” she explained.

I can't think of a better way to honor his memory. Be kind. Be helpful.

Feathered Friends

As many times as I've done this ride, I've always seen something different. First up today was a black-necked stilt. Somehow I think I would have remembered those long red legs, if I'd seen this bird before.

Expecting to find good viewing at the Shorebird Egret Rookery today, I had invited a few friends to join me. One was new to this adventure, so I explained that we would be stopping along the way whenever I spotted an interesting bird.

As usual, there were other people gazing upward at the rookery. It's fun to educate casual observers, and (as usual) I managed to surprise them with a cast-off eggshell I found in the grass. I needn't have looked so hard, as I later found two that had been carefully set aside (and added mine).

The chicks were raucous! A fellow bird-lover remarked that there were more nests this year than she'd ever seen here. Continuing the trend I've noticed, there were many more black-crowned night heron nests.

Surely that's a mark of success? If a nesting site works, stick with it.

Snowy egrets were plentiful, so I was particularly delighted to find a great egret showing off some fancy plumage.

When I set out this morning, I wasn't sure how I'd manage. By riding to (and from) the starting location, I basically double the distance (for a total of 51 miles, with about 1,000 feet of climbing). Taking the most direct route home, I didn't expect I'd be dodging my way through a beach-traffic-jam (so late in the day!). But with at least two alternate routes toward the coast still blocked for repair from last winter's storms, this may be the theme for the summer of 2023.

Luckily I can get around on my bike.

Deflated

An Amazon van rolled up, taunting me. “That thing you wanted? It's right. In. Here.”

A floor pump? [I think. Not.]

The driver had stopped at the park to take a break and use the restroom.

Tools and bike bits spread around me, I sat in the shade. There was that, at least.

My problem was self-inflicted. It was a warm day, and I really didn't need to inflate my tires close to the rated maximum PSI. Really.

I was enjoying my snack in a shady spot near the hens, when ... Pffft! Parked in the rack, basking in the sunshine, a tube burst. [In the rear tire, of course.]

Luckily just one tube blew, because I don't carry two spares.

It's been a (long) while since I've needed to repair a flat on this bike, away from home. At least I was in a comfortable spot.

Step 1: Let some air out of the tube in the other tire, lest it suffer the same fate.

Repair Attempt 1: Use C02 cartridge. [Fail.] I thought the inflator was compatible with Schrader valves. I guess not.

Attempt 2: Use pump. [Fail.] Clever design, easy to use. If only I could unscrew the cap to pull out the hose.

Fallback Option 1: Phone a friend. [Fail.] Text message. No response.

Option 2: Call AAA? [Likely to be sitting here, waiting, for hours.]

Option 3: Wander through the neighborhood, begging for a floor pump?

Attempt 3: Keep trying to unscrew the cap on the pump. [Yes, I'm the stubborn, self-reliant type.] Success!

After gingerly riding the first three or so miles, my confidence grew that I would make it back home under my own power.

On these tires, 85 PSI should be plenty. Maybe more than enough. [Really.]

Lesson learned.

Lunch with the Girls

It's been a while. A while during which I missed two of my most favorite biking events.

I managed to catch a head cold—first time I've been sick since The Before Times—and it was a doozy. A scratchy throat that I'd chalked up to gasping for air on steep climbs was the harbinger.

If I took it easy, I figured I could manage a simple local route today, with a sandwich to sustain me. Though maybe I'd still need a nap when I got home ...

There was some aerial drama on the way: First, a crow harassing a red-tailed hawk; tables turned a mile or two later, with a mockingbird harassing a crow.

There's always something new to see, if you pay attention.

Pecking order is on full display at the ranch; the smallest hen wears a protective shield on her back because the bully who rules the roost keeps plucking out her feathers. Her neck is pretty bare, too.

The surprise for me was a doe, contently grazing next to the historic house and none too bothered by my presence. A regular visitor, I'm guessing, as a loud chorus of “Deer!” had rung out when I shared this site with dozens of excited schoolchildren on a field trip a few weeks ago. (She high-tailed it out of there, that day.)

Wild kingdom, right here on the suburban fringe of San José.

I Care Classic

This was definitely not your grandma's I Care Classic ...

I hadn't signed up for this ride since 2007, when I rode the 100-mile route. That was memorable for an epidemic of punctures (induced by goathead thorns). Biking along, the route heading into Gilroy was lined with cyclists fixing flats. At the next rest stop, I discovered that I had one, too. I remember one rider who abandoned, having flatted both tires (twice). Being buffeted by fast-moving semi trucks on Highway 25 was also unforgettable.

The designated routes have changed since then. The 100k route now incorporated two familiar, nasty-steep climbs; determined not to walk, my heart rate flirted with its maximum on the first one (Estates Drive, 15% grade), followed later by a stretch exceeding 12% on Mantelli Drive. I saw three people doing this route on ElliptiGOs; they told me they made it because they do have low gears.

Before 2007, I had done the metric route twice (2005, 2006). That route was ... friendlier. (Though I will say today's short climb up Roop Road felt like nothing after Estates Drive.)

When I reached the rest stop at Santa Teresa and Watsonville Roads, set up right at the (congested) intersection, I thought “You've got to be kidding me.” Traffic was backed up in all directions. It's a four-way stop, but impatient motorists don't necessarily wait their turn. I ran into a cyclist I know, and we had the same thought: the safest way to make the left turn was to walk the bike across the road.

A mile or so later, two cyclists flagged me down. They saw only a red arrow for the 100 mile route on the pavement. With the route on my device, and knowing the area, I was able to reassure them that we had not gone off course.

The day was heating up, and by the time I got to the last rest stop (also awkwardly placed, tucked around the corner at the Oak Glen intersection), I just wanted to be done. Having already taken my own pit stop at the Uvas Reservoir, I blew past. (I'd considered taking a short-cut up Willow Springs Road, but figured I'd cause a ruckus by going off-course past that rest stop.)

Thus, I finished with the expected 62 miles and some 2,400 feet of climbing. (As you've probably guessed, I won't be signing up for this event again.)

The Workhorse

I'd been intending to take my classic old bike somewhere for maintenance; it was overdue. A flat tire (on the rear, of course) spurred me to take a closer look. That tire was ... done. And if I had been more attentive, I wouldn't have trashed the rear cassette by riding (how many miles?) with a worn-out chain. [I know better.] After 31 years of reliable riding, I really can't complain. (I had already worn out, and replaced, the shifters.)

This bike is a comfortable old friend, well-suited to casual rides. Though my days of bicycle commuting are behind me, I've nonetheless been racking up the miles on my trusty steed.

Too heavy to load into my car, I had pedaled it to a well-regarded family-owned shop for some TLC. A shop with a mechanic that would happily get it into shape, not frown and try to sell me a new bike.

Gone are the chronically misaligned, shrieking brake shoes. Also gone is the mismatched 8-speed rear shifter (it's a 7-speed cassette, but I guess that's all a previous mechanic had on hand when he replaced it).

This mechanic commented that the hubs had absolutely no grease in them. [Hubs are something of a mystery to me, and evidently had been ignored by all those who had serviced this machine, till now.]

Biking it back home seemed effortless. I hadn't had a sense that there was anything wrong about the ride, before; but there certainly was a difference now.

And I knew just where I wanted to stop for the glamour shots my old friend deserved!

Biking to Paradise

There are many beloved cycling events in the region, and one that I'd never explored was the Chico Wildflower. [Until now.] When my cycling buddy agreed to join me, the adventure was on.

We chose the metric (100km) route, though it turned out this was not the optimal route for seeing wildflowers.

The route included a bike path early on (the Steve Harrsion Memorial Bike Path), and I was charmed by the “sprocket arch” as we rolled onto the trail. After capturing a photo of my cycling buddy passing under the arch at the far end, a bystander offered to get a picture for me in a re-enactment. He was serious about his picture-taking—lingering at that very spot for the ideal shot (lighting, shadows).

We're in Butte County ... and there you have it: a butte.

I remembered hearing that a historic covered bridge was lost when the Camp Fire rampaged through this area in late 2018. I never imagined that I would visit the site. As I cycled up Honey Run Road almost four and a half years later, I was surprised at the extent to which the landscape is recovering. But it is not as it was; exploring with Google Streetview, for example, you can compare footage from 2012 and 2021 in some places. A home tucked in the woods (2012); a bare slab in a field in 2021. I expected that we would pass through the burn zone on the way to Paradise; it was sobering to experience this twisty, narrow backroad—so ill-suited for a quick escape. Lives were lost on this road.

My photo of the creek was taken from the modern bridge that that was built years ago to carry traffic over Butte Creek, just north of where the historic bridge stood.

A passing cyclist helpfully called out “Lake Oroville” when I stopped to admire the lake (a reservoir with its own recent drama).

Spinning along at a comfortable pace, another passing cyclist said “nice cadence!” [Words said to me ... never. Until now.]

Heading back through the agricultural fields of the Central Valley, there were snow-capped peaks in the distance and puddles of yellow wildflowers nearby. There were also piles of trees that had been felled; scuttled, perhaps, due to our extended period of drought.

There was a towering plume of smoke to the south; assuredly a controlled burn, perhaps reducing some of those trees to ash?

On a happier note, there was a party at the finish. Of course, I'd chosen to wear a jersey featuring a wildflower (a giant California poppy), and enlisted a fellow cyclist to help me commemorate my ride: 63 miles, with more than 2,400 feet of climbing.

The Ride of Spring

It was that time of year. The time when cyclists converge on Calaveras Road while the hills are green and festooned with flowers.

When I proposed this route, a couple of friends shared that one of the local clubs would be out in force. [Plenty of road for all of us.]

It was a thrill to see so much water in the reservoir! Landslides that had blocked the road a few weeks ago had been cleared, allowing us to head for our planned stop at the Sunol Regional Wilderness Preserve. As luck would have it, we arrived just as a ranger began turning would-be visitors away. Alas, no more parking spaces ... for vehicles. We cruised right on in and settled at a picnic table in a grassy field near the ranger station. Knowing where to find us, two friends left their club crowd to join us.

Leapin' lupines!

Having dreaded the climb up the Wall this morning, I surprised myself by being a mere six seconds slower than my best (known) time. Not to mention a new personal best (by 25 seconds) on the steady 2.6 mile climb after leaving the park. I guess I'm in better shape than I thought? Though my legs were sore after finishing the ride with 30 miles and over 2,700 feet of climbing. (Sore, in a good way.)

Dive Right In

When I woke up this morning, my body was nagging me to take it easy. I decided to wait a while before telling my cycling buddy that I wouldn't ride, in case she'd feel obliged to back out in solidarity. I imagined sitting in a park, reading, while my compatriots cycled in and around San Miguel.

Then I looked at the route profile. The gradient on the big climb (~6 miles) was a whopping 2%, for the most part. Once I started moving around and ate some breakfast, I felt better. It's only 33 miles ...

The vintage warbird wasn't the only surprise of the day.

A “road closed” sign greeted us as we turned onto North River Road. With most of the group ahead of us (ebikes), we stayed the course. Until we met them, returning. Mud, they said. Can't get through, they said.

Many phones were pulled from pockets, alternate routes considered. Most of the group decided to revisit the closure, appealing to any passing pickup truck to carry them across. With almost 30 miles behind us, there was no enthusiasm for the detour I proposed. Three of us followed a rider who was confident about the route he had in mind, until I realized that we were heading south toward Paso Robles (rather than north, toward San Miguel).

After backtracking, our impromptu leader phoned one of the riders ahead. It was possible to cross, maybe even to ride; her shoes got wet.

There was no mud, simply the Estrella River crossing the road at a dip engineered for that purpose. Off with the shoes and socks, I was the first to wade across. The current was manageable, the textured concrete surface not slippery, and my lightweight bicycle easy to carry. At the far end, I pulled out a bandana and dried my feet. (I'd always figured it might come in handy, one day.)

Meanwhile, several SUVs nonchalantly drove right through—as did a bunch of guys on motorcycles. (We reassured them it wasn't slippery.)

In the end, that 33-mile ride turned into a 40 mile ride, with about 1,700 feet of climbing. I was glad I didn't sit this one out! Recovery day tomorrow, for sure ...

Sculpterra Loop

Day two. No recovery day, this. But there would be poppies!

Given my (un)fitness level, I knew it would be challenging to ride three days in a row; my body confirmed that this morning. Our social group was planning a 48-mile outing. [Ebikes.] I noticed that the route had an inner loop; skipping that (however beautiful it might be) made the day more manageable for me. Before we had GPS routes to preview, I would have soldiered on (and suffered).

I was glad that I'd previewed the route before we started, noting that we'd be taking the first left after crossing 101 (for a pit stop at Templeton Park). As happened yesterday, a couple of riders missed the turn and strayed off course.

One rider was glad to join me, and by the time we reached the Sculpterra Winery we were both more than ready to see it.

Our stray riders caught up to us, and after picnicking I led them back to town before the rest of the pack arrived. [No more wrong turns.]

Back at the Inn, I was surprised to see a couple of glum riders from the more aggressive group; their planned route had been thwarted by a road closure, and they didn't work out an alternative. For sure, I'd had more fun today: 40 miles and about 2,000 feet of climbing.

I don't mind being a slowpoke.

Sights to See

Back in Paso Robles for some spring biking. I clearly didn't explore enough of our lodging's grounds last year!

With plenty of free time in my life now, I could enjoy this multi-day excursion with old friends—and my chief cycling buddy was all in this year, too!

It just so happened that a red-tailed hawk was perched across from one of the places where we paused to regroup, and somehow someone spotted it.

We're here a month earlier than last year, with frost warnings (due to a cold spell). It didn't take much convincing to shift our planned start time from 9 a.m. to 10; other than the morning chill, conditions were just about ideal.

My cycling buddy and I cast our lot with the social (slower) group, but this year nearly everyone was on an ebike. (In fact, we were the only women in that group riding under our own power.) Although we biked through Peachy Canyon again, much of our route was new—with more elevation gain. With no turbo button for me to flick when the grade kicked up, I was thoroughly spent after 40 miles and more than 3,600 feet of climbing.

Saturday Surprises

There is always something new to see, even on the most familiar of routes.

However many times I've biked through this neighborhood, my eyes have likely been drawn to the same sights. Or focused on stop signs, potholes, and intersections. Or lost in thought. [Or all of the above.]

At the far end of my route today, I began to notice ... something. All the houses were painted in varying shades of beige. House after house, for blocks. Only one or two rebels dared to stray from the drab palette.

With that observation in mind, something unusual caught my eye a few miles away, on the return lap. Something that didn't blend in. Tucked behind a mass of trees and shrubs was a (very) pink house. And not just any pink house: A geodesic dome (gray roof, pink walls).

We've had some challenging weather, keeping me off the bike for weeks. [I'll admit it, I'm a fair weather cyclist.] There is also something to be said for not being within reach of falling tree branches (not to mention ... entire trees).

Another giant, squeezed between curb and sidewalk, felled by the fierce winds that knocked out power to tens of thousands of us. [For 32 hours, in my case.]

A bike ride is a reliable mood booster, even when the skies are gray and the route modest (27 miles).