Pierce Be With You

Tempted as we were by a route in the coastal hills, my chief biking buddy and I opted to stay local. With high winds in the forecast, we wondered how the riders who headed for Mt. Diablo today would fare. Hopefully, they would make a safe choice.

We chatted with some riders at the end of Stevens Canyon; like us, they had opted out of joining their club's ride (also to Mt. Diablo). Discretion is the better part of valor.

There was still some water flowing in Stevens Creek (barely); the level in that reservoir, of course, is consequently low.

Although the climb up Mt. Eden (and even Pierce) seemed less arduous than usual, soon enough we were grateful to be heading back to our starting point to finish out with 32 miles and 2,020 feet of climbing.

This being a warm weekend, Saturday's migration to the coast was in full swing; traffic on a road that feeds the highway was basically at a standstill as we sailed alongside in the bike lane.

Crossing over the highway, both southbound lanes were bumper-to-bumper as far as the eye could see. Where do they all go, and what do they do when they get there? And I always wonder, is it worth it?

Roop de Roop

I remember struggling up Roop Road, the first time I climbed it; I needed to pause when the grade kicked up.

Not so, today. Though, knowing what to expect tends to help.

Another year without our club's signature event. I was hoping that someone would offer to lead rides along the traditional routes, so we could ride them anyway (without any support, of course). [And sure enough, someone did.]

Seeing no point in driving all the way to the “official” starting point (where there are no facilities available), I suggested an alternative location to my chief riding buddy. Game on!

Then I thought, why not share our plan with another rider who might be interested. [She was.]

Then I thought, why not open it up more broadly?

And that is how I ended up with 16 riding companions, though only four of us completed the full route. One of those was a guy I last saw, improbably enough, on a remote road in Northern Ireland.

A panicked deer raced alongside us in a field; wary that it would jump onto the road, we kept our eyes on it. It changed course (whew!) when a car approached in the opposite lane.

The group splintered after the first loop, and my ride buddy and I found ourselves alone. We took a break at the Uvas Reservoir, where we would normally find our lunch on the supported edition of this ride (for members who volunteer during the actual event). I know we're experiencing another drought, but the reservoir looked even lower, to me, than I remember during the last extended drought. And, it's only the beginning of May ...

We finished our abbreviated “100k” (55 miles, 2,220 feet of climbing) with a welcome boost from a strong tailwind. (How else would I be cruising at 20+ mph, with 50+ miles in my legs?!)

With that image of the shrinking reservoir top of mind, when I got home I re-installed my five-gallon bucket in my shower before I stepped in. It's high time to catch what I can (for the garden)—don't send a gallon or more down the drain before the water runs warm.

Historic New Almaden

One of my local cycling friends had reached out a while back, wanting to enjoy a ride together. The catch is, she's less comfortable on the road than on mountain bike trails. [Hmm, I should tap her for an easy trail ride one of these days ...]

I had proposed an excursion to New Almaden (with some hills through residential neighborhoods along the way). I offered the option to return by climbing Hicks, but she had declined (fearing too much traffic).

Ironically, when I saw the local Alfa Romeo club heading up one of our hills as I set out, I knew where they were going. [Hicks. Perhaps Mt. Umunhum, too.]

And, I was right—and my friend unnerved—when the parade of Alfas came down through New Almaden (albeit on the other side of the road).

My friend has lived, and biked, in this area much longer than I have. She pointed out one of the historic cottages in New Almaden where one of her coworkers had lived, and happily agreed to continue to the public end of Alamitos Road. There we found a shady glen next to the creek where we stopped to chat and enjoy our snacks.

How many times have I biked past the intersections with Bertram Road and wondered what was back there? Although our club rides have introduced me to so many wonderful backroads, the traditional routes rarely venture off their well-established paths. It's been fun, riding on my own, to be a renegade and go exploring.

And so it was today, when my friend asked if I'd seen the Hacienda Hotel and turned onto Bertram Road.

The early history of the hotel, from the sign:

Built after the tragic 1875 fire destroyed the original 1848 adobe hotel. First two-story hotel in California. Used by the Almaden Quicksilver Mining Co. for unmarried employees & and to house visitors to mining settlement.

Oh, the historic sites I've bypassed, all this time! A social and educational 32 miles with a healthy 1,300 feet of climbing.

Lunch Run

Thinking about a couple of errands I needed to run today, I hatched a plan: go by bike, and pick up a sandwich for lunch!

As I pondered the route, I realized that heading out on the local (mixed use) trail was not only the most scenic route, it was also the best route. It's a popular (and too populated) trail, normally, but maybe not so bad on a weekday? [Haha.]

Well, at least it was less crowded than usual.

Going by bike was also a big win, traffic-wise: road construction has been clogging a local thoroughfare for months (and, months to come). Eight miles, a measly 180 feet of climbing, and a nice lunch to enjoy in my garden. Working from home has its perks.

Hamilton in Recovery

The summit teases: so close, yet still far away.

Feeling strong, I was determined to make good time on my way up the hill. No lolly-gagging for me today.

I tried to commit a few photo-worthy sites to memory, scenes to capture on the way down.

Some trees survived the inferno. Some did not. The slopes seem so barren, now.

The usual 39 miles and 4,940 feet of climbing for the day, though I will say that the uphill stretches on the way down feel less bothersome these days. Gusty winds encouraged me not to loiter at the top and to be prudent in my descent.

It will take time, but the landscape will heal. It will be different, that's all.

Right Place, Right Tom

A lucky day for another trip up Bernal—just in time to admire a couple of wild toms strutting their stuff.

As we continued with the rest of our route, well behind the rest of our group, we found ourselves mixing it up with Too. Much. Traffic. Too Much Fast-Moving Traffic.

I wanted to do this ride today because I expected we'd find the peak of spring wildflowers along the route. (And, we did.)

The wildlife was a bonus. The deer weren't much troubled by my presence.

We were relieved that the forecasted headwind was not as fierce as predicted. A field full of poppies stopped us in our tracks; evidently this was the first time we have taken the trail at this time of year. Now, we know.

I managed to achieve new personal best times on both the Bernal and Bailey climbs today! My after-work ride routine is paying off (last week, more than 137 miles). With today's 41 miles (and 1,500 feet of climbing), I closed out this week with more than 142 miles. Training works.

Bernal Beckons

It was too beautiful a day not to ride. I hopped on my bike in the afternoon and pedaled in search of poppies in their prime. I knew I could find some at the base of Bernal, but along the way I found a better patch.

Along the way I pondered whether to climb Bernal. [Or, not.]

My legs complained as I climbed Shannon. Yesterday's ride wasn't hard, but evidently it was hard enough.

Pretty patch of poppies found, I could have turned around. [Of course not.]

Go the distance, I told myself. [To the base of Bernal.]

There, came the moment of reckoning. How silly, not to go up the hill. It's not that far, I told myself.

I can take it easy, I told myself.

April ascent of Bernal, done: 29 miles, 1,280 feet of climbing. And, oddly enough, a new personal best time for the climb (by a whopping 44 seconds?!). [So much for tired legs.]

High Land

The restorative beauty of wild lands is one of the great treasures of our region. These deep, tree-studded canyons are not in the foothills of the Sierra mountains—they're basically in San José's backyard.

With the promise that today would be one of our first “warm enough” days, my ride buddy agreed to ride through some redwoods.

Warm enough not to shiver in the shade. Cool enough not to siphon off too many vehicles desperate to escape the traffic jam they create on the way to the coast.

The rutted sections of Highland Way are worse than I've ever seen. As in, several places where you need to hunt for strips of pavement between gaping holes. Outbound, I committed a few particularly gnarly spots to memory for a safe return trip. Not surprisingly, the worst stretches are under the trees (which compounds the challenge of seeing them).

The Soquel Demonstration Forest was a particular draw today—busier than I have ever seen it, vehicles lining the road well past the trailhead. Those trails would be far too busy to enjoy them.

No problem for us; we stayed on the “road” and managed to cover 31 miles with 2,480 feet of climbing.

Marching Up Bernal

March will soon be a memory, but I had not yet checked my monthly box for climbing Bernal. In no particular hurry, I opted for the hilly route. After yesterday's ride, my legs burned. [What was I thinking?!]

An afternoon start meant there were few cyclists out and about. I waved at neighbors relaxing in their front yards, watching the world pass by.

After the first bend, I realized that I would have had a clear view of the snow-capped peaks across the valley if only I had walked a little ways up the hill two weeks ago. [Live and learn.]

No records set today, a leisurely 30 miles and 1,280 feet of climbing.

So Much Green

As I started my ride the tune looping in my head was Blue Tango, which had popped up on the radio as I drove to our meeting point. But once the rolling hills along Calaveras Road came into view, my internal soundtrack flipped to something decidedly more prosaic.

Green Acres is the place to be ...

This is a very popular cycling route—a route where you can count on seeing more bicycles than cars. Today drew out even more cyclists than usual, likely with a common inspiration: Catch the peak of green-ness here; there will be no more rain this season, and warmer temperatures will quickly fade the grasses.

As I passed one of the small groups clustered above the top of The Wall, one guy called out “Well, hello there!” in a tone of voice you might expect to be followed by “Come here often?” I have no idea what that was about; a femme fatale, I am not. [Made me laugh, though.]

I was surprised to see the aftermath of last year's fire; I had forgotten that some of this area had been affected. My heart sank when I saw that one photogenic spot, where I have often stopped, had burned.

When we reached the Sunol Regional Wilderness Preserve, the parking lots were already full. But on a bicycle? No problem, the ranger blocking the entrance just waved.

I picked up a trail map at the visitor center (I should come back here for a hike, sometime). We also scored brightly-colored bandanas, featuring the native flora and fauna, courtesy of the East Bay Regional Park District. Truly a memento of this time, the artist worked images of face masks into the design.

Our timing was spot-on: While we were there, they'd re-opened vehicle access. The line of cars stretched ... a long, long way. The fee-free access period is about to end (though, the pandemic is not); it will be interesting to see how popular the parks remain in the weeks ahead.

On the way back, I noticed a small roadside memorial ... next to a gap in the barbed-wire fence.

30 miles and 2,720 feet of climbing felt just right, today. I shared photos with some colleagues (trying to encourage more of them to get out and explore). One of them exclaimed “I didn't know there was that much green in the entire Bay Area!”

Land spreadin' out so far and wide ...

On Paying Attention

I've been determined to enjoy an after-work ride most days, which is easier as the sun sets later and later. My challenge is to ride as far as possible and yet get home before the sky fades to black. These rides are mostly unremarkable.

Not so, today.

Cycling on the road demands a high level of attentiveness. There are road hazards: debris, potholes, cracks. There are animal hazards: squirrels, deer, turkeys, even the occasional peacock. And of course, human hazards: wrong-way cyclists, vehicles with inattentive drivers (and, sometimes, passengers).

I had my eye on a compact exiting a parking lot, puzzled by a metallic cylinder on the car's roof. Was it a camera? Judging the distance and predicting the driver would turn in front of me, I slowed. The passenger's hand reached up just as the (nearly full) can of Red Bull splashed to the curb, demonstrating one of the many ways that cups, bottles, and cans come to litter our roadways.

Stopped at a traffic signal, I was studying the play of late afternoon light on the hills and thinking about getting a good photo. A white pickup truck paused on the opposite side of the intersection before merging into the (empty) lane.

THWACK!

The sedan behind the pickup truck inexplicably accelerated and slammed into it. I'd call it a fender-bender, but the sedan's front fender was smashed and dangling; the pickup's rear fender might have been scratched, but not likely bent.

When the signal turned green, I was able to ease past the crash; probably stunned, they blocked traffic for several minutes before they pulled forward.

I got my photo, along with 22 miles and 400 feet of climbing.

Brrr...eezy

Celebrate the first day of spring!

Cañada is a road you'll share with more bicycles than motorized vehicles ... though, in which group should we count those electric bicycles? Maybe it should depend on whether the cyclists are actually pedaling?

It's also a road that's popular with triathletes, who were making excellent time with an assist from a strong tailwind. [Well, in one direction, anyway.]

Not the longest ride, today; we knew about that wind (and a bit of a chill). It was a perfect day to seek sunshine, not shade. And a perfect day to be cozy in my wool jersey—it's not just for frosty winter mornings!

Extending our route slightly to add a little distance and elevation gain, we finished with 26 miles and 1,100 feet of climbing.

Snow Top

There was time for an after-work ride. [This time of year there should always be time for an after-work ride.]

Hints of “normal” (a new normal?) life are emerging, like the football practice taking place on a school's front lawn.

As I passed the usual parking-lot spin class, the instructor enthusiastically called out “We have a new rider!” She was, of course, not referring to me (an actual cyclist) but to someone in the class. I was so tempted to wave ...

I didn't expect to see Mt. Hamilton's peaks dusted with snow!

Where could I get a clear view? I turned up Bernal, but on the heavy commute bike I would not tackle the climb. I meandered a bit, the light was fading ... not the best shot, but the best I could manage. As I paused, a car clattered by—with a flat tire, the rim smacking the pavement. How does a driver not notice that? Or did he simply not care?

Closer to home, there was another clattering—the distinctive sound of an empty helmet hitting the pavement. Empty, because (inexplicably) the cyclist was not wearing it. And he looked like the sort of rider who should know better.

29 miles, 460 feet of climbing: A bit longer and flatter than my regular commute home would be, if I weren't commuting home from, well ... home.

Sun Day

You know the view is picture-worthy when a Serious Cyclist (a guy) stops to take a photo. Honestly, I'm not sure I have ever witnessed such a thing. [Until today.]

Club rides resumed last month, but today's route was the first that seemed “just right.”

My chief ride buddy and I were the first to sign in and start rolling, ahead of the rest of the group. I was surprised that they didn't catch up until we paused at the top of the second hill. We quickly decided to be on our way, and somehow one guy (a new member) followed. Right on my wheel, downhill. [Hmm.] I expected him to pass ... but when the road leveled out he matched my pace to chat.

We parted after the next regroup; instead of joining the crowd at Starbucks, I'd mapped us a route to head straight back. Today's outing would be a bit longer than we've managed, lately, and we knew there would be a strong headwind.

And indeed, after 38 miles and a mere 1,240 feet of climbing, I was pooped. Even though the headwind wasn't nearly as bad as we'd expected.

Oh, wait ... I didn't think to mix up a bottle of Skratch. Time to reconstruct my routine!