WFH: Week One

The camellias are still blooming. What a glorious mess they make! I'll no sooner rake up the fallen flowers than I'll hear “plop” as another drops to the ground, as if to mock me.

The week opened with a backache that worsened when I'd lie down to sleep. Adding to that misery, my body was disinclined to get a full night's sleep. It was high time to improve the ergonomics of my workspaces. I use my dining table for video conferences because it offers a nicer background than the desk in my office. But those chairs were not meant for continuous hours of sitting. Once my “new” monitor arrived, I was happy to spend most of my workday in a proper chair, at a proper desk, in my home office.

Many years ago, after doing the math and reflecting on the inconvenience of making trips to a gym, I invested in my own equipment. [Which, sadly, mostly sits unused.] It was high time to lubricate the chains and get moving. I was determined to get some serious exercise into my daily routine, and my back felt better when I was upright.

I've read a few reports over the years that the best time to exercise is before breakfast. Not being a morning person, and needing to get out the door early on most mornings, that just wasn't happening for me. Until now. No more morning commute! Door-to-door, that saves an hour of my morning (and my evening). I can wake up naturally (no alarm!), work out, shower, eat breakfast, and start my workday.

Even I was surprised at how quickly my body tuned itself up. I rapidly graduated from a 20-minute session to a 30-minute session, then to a more challenging program, and then to ramping up the intensity.

To challenge my brain at the same time, I cracked open my copy of the original Cosmos series (which, inexplicably, I had never seen). So many things I hadn't learned, not to mention things learned and forgotten! Did I ever know that Eratosthenes calculated the circumference of the Earth more than 2,000 years ago?

During the last week of February, I had made a trip to San Francisco—on public transit—for a business meeting. Light rail to Caltrain to BART, and the reverse. I was wary of my fellow travelers and had kept my distance. The weather was chilly; I wore gloves. I brought my own travel-sized bottle of hand sanitizer and was particularly mindful of what I touched.

This week brought news that two exhibitors at the associated conference had subsequently been diagnosed with the novel coronavirus, COVID-19. The news ricocheted around the few of us who had attended the meeting; we confirmed that none of us had ventured near the conference space, nor interacted with anyone from the exhibitors' company.

Our bike club's big annual tour was only about six weeks away; should we cancel it? Other spring events were shutting down or postponing. As the week opened, we stayed the course but wondered if the county would issue or deny our permits. Riding your bike is one thing, congregating at rest stops and for the meal at the finish is another. Could we adequately ensure that people kept a safe distance from one another?

As the week drew to a close, the CDC recommended canceling events of 50 people or more for the next eight weeks. And that was that: there could be no celebration of cycling on our scenic roadways, this spring.

The week opened with 37 confirmed cases of COVID-19 in our county (population, about 1.9 million), and closed with 114 (a 200.8% increase). I decided to distract myself by watching a movie, and chose this year's Best Picture winner, Parasite. Which led to another night of disturbed sleep.

WFH: Week Zero

The message landed in my inbox on Thursday night: As of Friday, March 6, working from home was an approved (voluntary) option.

Restrictions had been escalating rapidly at the office—no international travel, all visiting workers required to return to their home locations, exhortations to stay home even if you were sure your sniffles were nothing more than seasonal allergies.

I was uncomfortable about the close quarters on our commuter shuttles. Just a couple of weeks ago I'd moved several rows back when the guy in the seat behind me kept coughing. And coughing. And coughing. Maybe it would be better to bike to work, now.

But then, I'd become increasingly uneasy with the (deficient) hygiene practices of some of my coworkers. A woman who leaves the restroom without washing her hands; this week, a guy who repeatedly sneezed into his napkin at lunch, repeatedly touched it to his nose, and then ... set it right down on the countertop. [This, after all the public news and all the warnings we'd received internally.] Common sense, as the saying goes, is not all that common.

So that Thursday night, I found a good deal online for a nice “open box” monitor. We'd be in this for the long haul, I reckoned, and my laptop screen would get tiring. External keyboard? [Check.] External mouse? [Check.]

Friday felt ... different. I've worked from home before, typically when I've recovered enough from a cold to be productive, but not recovered enough to mingle with my colleagues. I was focused, I was productive, and I was content to close the laptop at the end of the workday. But I also felt ... lonely.

I was uncertain about traveling to the city on Sunday for the first ballet I would see this season, A Midsummer Night's Dream. I'd never seen it, and San Francisco Ballet hadn't performed it in more than 30 years. I decided I would drive—steering clear of public transit—and if it seemed at all sketchy after I was there, I would leave.

The mayor of San Francisco made the choice for me, shuttering all city-owned venues on Saturday. In our county, the week opened with 7 confirmed cases of COVID-19, and ended with 37 cases (a 5.29x increase).

On Sunday, I made a trip to the office to rescue the plant that lives on my desk.

Over the coming weeks, I'll share some reflections to preserve the memory of this time. And for some color, I'll share a photo of some bit of local flora, for cheer. Hopeful for the future, something is always in bloom.

Thanks to a Guy Named Joe

Once upon a time, some charitably-minded athletes (cyclists, mainly) had an idea. What if you could raise funds for worthy causes, just by riding your bike? Running was okay, too. As GPS-enabled devices became common, it was easy to record and verify the distance you'd traveled. Smartphone apps later made it even easier to track and upload activities.

Plus3 was born. Strava did not yet exist.

I signed up in November, 2008. In the early days, the founders lined up non-profits (like Trips for Kids) and companies willing to donate a pot of money (like Ritchey). Each Plus3 member chose a cause, and each activity earned points that allocated small amounts from a sponsor's pot for that cause. The payout rates shifted over time, but even pennies add up.

The idea, in part, was to motivate people to be more physically active. There were leaderboards, challenges, and prizes, and many more qualifying activities were added (like healthy habits, volunteering, carpooling). The model shifted toward the corporate world: to encourage employees to be active and make healthy choices, a company would sponsor a cause.

That shift seemed brilliant to me (but, what do I know?). My employer had run a similar sort of program in-house to encourage “self-powered” commuting. When they shut it down, I failed to persuade them to engage with Plus3. They chose, instead, a personal-incentive-based program where cyclists (only) can redeem points for things (water bottles, socks, tote bags). [Sigh.]

Plus3 found a niche for some early, loyal members (like me) who weren't aligned with their new model. There were only a handful of folks in our little corner of Plus3, and I didn't notice how much the overall participation had dwindled until they sent me a message at the end of last year that they were shutting down.

Plus3 moved more than $3 million to charities around the world; my personal tally, they tell me, was $1,942. Mostly by riding my bike (more than 3,100 trips) and walking (more than 1,900 trips). Over 11 years, I logged about 40,000 miles and more than 5.5 million steps.

I was sad, but a colleague who spent many years in the non-profit world was not surprised. It seemed like such a great idea, and a sustainable model, to me. But, what do I know?

About a Mile

I should know better. I really should.

A short hike, my friend promised. “Keep it under three hours, and I'll join you; I have other things to get done today. And my body got a workout yesterday.”

I haven't hiked the full length of this trail in many years. We passed the spot where we'd turned back on our last trek.

“How much farther?” I'd ask. “About a mile,” he'd reply. [I knew better.]

There's a flowering plant I've not seen before. That's the thing about visiting a trail in different seasons, there are always surprises.

This trail has some wickedly steep sections. It's popular with mountain bikers; we kindly yielded the way as they dodged the rocks and ruts.

To the junction, he'd said. [Of course this would take more than three hours. I knew that.] “Look how close we were, a year ago—an easy 1.6 miles away!” [And another 4.1 miles down to the road, with no car waiting at this end.]

Round trip: 8.2 miles, ascending approximatley 1,900 feet. I should know better. I really should.

Chillin'

Back to the scene of the flat ... this time, with my eyes peeled for puncture-perfect debris.

What a nice, social group assembled today—including some new faces! I had a good time chatting with one guy who slowed to my pace. He's scheduled to leave on a trip to Italy [uh-oh] that starts with a cruise [uh, no] and then some cycling. Earlier this month, I had been researching options for a European cycling adventure; no longer a viable option, this year.

Off the back as usual, I snapped only one photo when we regrouped on San Felipe.

I expected an easy ride today; instead, it felt hard. Less climbing, more distance, and ... a cold headwind. Those 36 miles (and 2,475 feet of climbing) wore me down, more so than last week's taxing climb. [Headwind, I tell you. Headwind.]

Roadside Picnic

The acacias were in bloom, offering an occasional spot of cheer on today's climb.

It's been nearly four years since I paid my dues on this road.

A wary doe eyed me before sprinting up the hillside, but otherwise I was the only creature in sight after most of the group passed me.

Did I really climb this, once, in less than 63 minutes? [Yes.] That was then, this is now (94 minutes), including 2+ minutes of walking. I wasn't really suffering—the grade isn't steep enough for that. But after the first 3+ miles (and 1400+ feet of ascent), a lapse of attention brought me perilously close to the edge of the pavement. Getting my concentration back, by walking for a stretch, seemed prudent.

Someone with a sense of humor tacked a sign to a tree. [In truth, you're not “almost there,” but it made me smile.]

I was surprised not to see the rest of the group descending long before I reached the top. I hoped they weren't waiting for me. Or for our birthday boy, the ride leader, who trailed somewhere below me. [I did wait for his triumphant arrival.]

With the top at 3,045 feet, it was chilly. [Duh, it's February.] The wind picked up speed as some fog rolled in, making for a cold descent. If only I'd thought to bring long-fingered gloves ...

The desent is a quick one; I had deliberately chosen not to bring the fast bike today, with this descent in mind.

The ride ended where it began, at the side of the road, but now with a pop-up picnic to celebrate our leader's milestone birthday. As he lamented what he's lost as he's gotten older, I reminded him that precious few of his age cohort could even consider biking up Soda Springs Road. [Or any road, for that matter. Seriously.]

I rode 17 miles, with 3,020 feet of climbing. When you consider that this route is an out-and-back, what came down must have gone up ... that means I climbed 3,020 in 8.5 miles. How slowly I did that, matters not to me.

Up the Hill

Consider it a walking meeting, with the added bonus of occupying our full attention (no distracting phones or laptops). Two of us ducked out of the office just early enough to hit the trail by 4:45 p.m. Enough daylight for a short—sometimes steep—hike.

It's been rather a long time since I've trudged up the Kennedy Trail, which is silly considering how nearby it is. (Thankfully, dry today.)

Up the hill, and back down: about 3.5 miles and maybe 700 feet of climbing. Highly recommended as a way to de-stress at the end of the workday.

Bici

If I could bike 37 miles in a day (albeit in two sittings), I should be able to do the flat version of the club's beloved “Bici” ride. Its namesake bicycle shop closed several years ago, but a suitable gathering place for the start was found nearby.

Prepared to go it alone, off the back, I set out on my adapted version of the route—which avoids a formerly desolate stretch of road, a freeway interchange, and (more recently) a busy Costco. I think the crowd was somewhat puzzled, as they waited to turn left at a traffic signal, when they saw me sail ahead on the road they were about to join.

They waited for me at the tops of the climbs, and I was surprised that most people would be skipping the hillier variation of the ride today. Eventually off the back, I expected to capture a photo of the reservoir I would pass; but that was not to be. A strong rider caught up to me after fixing a flat and slowed to my pace, to chat.

We regrouped at a coffee shop, and when it was time to leave I found myself leading a small posse. I alerted them that I would be deviating from the “official” route near the end, to avoid that same unpleasant stretch of road. They endorsed my variation, which wends alongside a “linear park” through a relatively new neighborhood, and encouraged me to recommend it to the ride leader.

I was gratified that 38 miles and 765 feet of climbing didn't wear me out. It was a treat to have company for almost all of the ride; after all, that's why we show up for these club rides, isn't it? And who knows, maybe next time I'll find that my twist has been adopted for the traditional route.

February is Feasible

The unseasonably warm weather was irresistible.

There is just enough daylight to make it home without ducking out of work too early.

I had debated pulling the headlight off my helmet, as I haven't really needed it for the short rides home from the shuttle. Leaving it in place was a good call, as the last couple of miles turned legitimately dark.

A little over 37 miles, with 780 feet of climbing for this flatter version of my round-trip commute.

The next morning, my body reminded me that I haven't been getting enough exercise. [Must work on that.]

A Flat Ride

When a yellow sac spider settles in for a nap on your downtube, it's a sign that you should be getting out more. (I used a twig to peel off the sac; the spider, I imagine, will be surprised to wake up many miles from where it fell asleep.)

I was looking for a short and easy ride, but not quite so short as it turned out ...

It was a chilly and overcast morning as the group gathered, discussing the pros and cons of tubeless tires. A couple of us felt that they seemed like more trouble than they're worth. I rarely get flats; I suggested that some tubeless riders end up with more trouble because they think they're invincible and stop watching for debris in their path. [We joked that now I'd tempted fate ...]

We turned out of the parking lot and ... immediately stopped, as the leader's Garmin was finicky. A little bit ahead of the group, I waited for her to pass. I had my eye on the other riders as I started to roll. I did not have my eyes on the road.

Wait, I said; there's something stuck to my front tire ... no, through my front tire.

We had not even traveled one-tenth of a mile. Feeling as deflated as my tire, I told them to continue without me; I was just going back home. I didn't feel like fixing it in the cold, and I didn't feel like making the group stand around even longer than we already had.

I collect road debris whenever I can. Preferably, with my hands.

Winter Sports

It's not all about the bike. [Well, it's mostly about the bike.]

Our HR system started admonishing me “You should take a vacation!” [Challenge accepted.]

Off to Utah, home to the best snow on earth. And the home of good friends who welcome a stream of visitors, mostly during ski season. Great skiing is just a plane ticket away—it's easier than going to Tahoe.

They encouraged me to give their Peloton bike a try. I'm not really a spin class fan, but ... why not? The beginner workout got my heart pumping. And the advanced beginner session reminded me why I'm not a spin class fan. It's not cycling. It's a workout, for sure; but I'm happier on a rowing machine or a StairMaster. [Personal preference, that's all.] Spinning my legs at a cadence of 90+ rpm bears no semblance to cycling.

Case in point: some of my colleagues are HIIT fans, and they've tried enticing me to join them. “You'd kill us on the bike!” one said. It's not about the cadence, she insisted; the goal is distance, 3/4 of a mile in a minute. [Hahahahahahaha.] In other words, 45 mph. A pro cyclist might average 31 mph in a time trial.

But this isn't about the bike, it's about the skis. Alta had already collected more than 400 inches of snow this year, and mid-week I had the lift (and often the trail) to myself. On the last day, I shared a chair with a woman who exclaimed “Challenger [a black diamond run] is beautiful, they've groomed it!” Turned out she was 83 years old. “My husband passed away at 95,” she shared. “And he kept skiing till the end.”

I had been puzzled why one of my favorite runs was roped off, until it opened on the last day and I realized there's a slide path down the face of an adjacent peak.

One run stood out on this trip, one so special that it will live on in my memory: The snow was the consistency of flour. I've never experienced anything like it.

Looking forward to many happy returns. The best snow on earth.

In With the New

Wintertime,
And my fingers are freezing.
Rooftops are frosted;
The sun is low in the sky.

Warm toes? Warm fingers? Pick one, because you can't have both on a chilly winter morning. By the time my fingers stopped stinging, my toes were numb. [Eh, it's not really that cold here.]

And what better day for a bike commute, when the office is empty. Best time of the year to catch up: no meetings, no interruptions, no one else around. It was so quiet in the afternoon that one of my colleagues couldn't take it anymore and headed back home to work from there.

A fine day for an early departure, to get home before dark!

Turning Twenty

My last ride of 2019. Last ride before that third digit flips from one to two. It's a turning point whether you declare that the new decade starts two days from now, or a year and two days from now.

It had rained overnight, but I wanted to fit in one more ride this year. Be mindful of slick painted lines and slippery metal rails and grates and shards of glass that adhere to your tires ... The ride would make a mess of the bike, but I so look forward to indulging in a few winter round-trip bike commutes during this quiet time between holidays, when I can duck out of the office early enough to get home before dark.

One year, someone had adorned the bronze quail near the Mary Avenue bridge with handmade red scarves. This year, I found them pressed into service pulling Santa's sleigh.

I clocked more than 2,590 biking miles this year (more than last year), but did less climbing (some 103,000 feet).

But, what about the last ten years? Well. Let's add it up.

I don't track the short utility rides on my folding bike (generally 15 miles per week), but I did wear out its rear tire. On my full-sized bikes, I spent ...

• in excess of 2,513 hours
• pedaling more than 28,259 miles and
  
• climbing over 1,493,389 feet
• in a dozen different countries.

That's once around the earth (and then some). Akin to more than 51 ascents of Mt. Everest (but without being challenged by high altitude). And equivalent to spending over 104 days on a bicycle.

One pedal stroke at a time.

Me & Squirrel

A flash of gray fur, a rustling in the leaves next to the bike path. Catastrophe, miraculously, averted. It played out in less than the blink of an eye: the rascally rodent streaked across the path so close to my front wheel that the riders behind me thought it jumped through the spokes. (Luckily for the squirrel, and especially for me, it did not.)

I wasn't looking for squirrels. I wasn't thinking about squirrels. That was my mistake. Had I seen the creature nearby, I would have hissed loudly (that works!) and it would have turned tail to run away, fast.

I'd been off the bike for too long (a full month), recovering from my east coast cold. I didn't set the alarm last night; if I wake up early enough, I told myself, I will go for a ride. I thought it might be warmer than yesterday. [It was not.]

Thirty-five degrees Fahrenheit. (Less than two degrees Celsius.) That seemed like a good reason not to go for a bike ride, so of course ... I bundled up and went for a bike ride.

This ride leader's style might best be described as eclectic. She has a comprehensive understanding of back roads through San José neighborhoods, and without route sheets the group sticks together. To be honest, I'm not sure she necessarily has a route in mind when we set off.

I was surprised when she pulled over to stop at a seemingly random spot along the Coyote Creek Trail. On the opposite side of the creek, perched on a tree branch, was a bald eagle. I wasn't looking for bald eagles. [Our leader was.] I wasn't thinking about bald eagles. [Our leader knew to keep an eye out here, and now I do, too.]

It was a day for surprises. The next revelation was Malech Road. When we turned on Metcalf Road, I thought she was heading for the gate to Basking Ridge; but no, we turned ... right. I had no idea that road went anywhere. We regrouped at the top of the hill before heading down to Bailey for the return trip. [And away from the gunfire reverberating in the foothills.]

The last surprise, as I rode back home, was to be caught by another club member out for his own ride. He'd waited until the day warmed up before venturing out. [Smart, that.] We agreed that it was too cold for the club's hilly rides today; he had started up a challenging climb before thinking it through ... the descent ... would be so cold ... he turned back. And thus met me, along the way.

I managed 40 miles (with a mere) 695 feet of climbing. It felt good.