Apex Predator

A mid-week ride was headed for one of my favorite places in the redwood forest, just over the ridge of the Santa Cruz mountains.

I wasn't a fan of the starting location the leader had chosen, and knowing that they'd leave me in the dust within the first few minutes anyway, I opted to start from a better spot that also cut off a few miles. (The ride leader didn't mind.)

Knowing it was going to be a hot day I also started earlier, and [spoiler] they never caught me. In part because they also tackled a steep climb that I bypassed. Doing that once was more than enough for me.

I'm pretty sure that Stetson must have been an old logging road. It's in terrible condition (has been, for as long as I've known it); but I expect the residents prefer it that way.

I paused, alone, to savor the aroma of the forest and bask in the silence. Lovely, blessed, silence.

We normally regroup at the Skyland Church and I thought the group might catch me there. I lingered in the shade and was treated to a little wild kingdom action. There, at the tippy-top of a very tall tree, sat a hawk. Probably a red-tailed hawk, as those are the most common around here; without binoculars, I couldn't be certain.

A smaller bird, with great determination, repeatedly swooped and dived at the hawk. In this shot, I would characterize the hawk's reaction as “Ask me if I care.” The dive-bomber almost certainly has a nest nearby, likely in that very tree.

The day was warming up, and with a bit more climbing ahead of me, I tore myself away from the avian drama and headed back. In all, a very pleasant (solo, rather than social) 23 miles, about 2300 feet of climbing.

Late to the Party

That sinking feeling ... when you roll into the park where the ride will start and there isn't a cyclist in sight. [Uh oh.]

I'm so accustomed to rides starting at 9:30 a.m., I was running on autopilot. That explains why I happened to notice one of our club members pedaling down a side street as I brushed my teeth this morning. He's getting an early start, I thought. [Nope. He was planning to arrive on time.]

If I'd caught my mistake before heading out, I could have intercepted them en route. [But no.]

I texted my ride buddy and headed for the reservoir; I wasn't planning to ride the steeper sections of today's route, anyway.

After catching her, we rode out past the ever-shrinking Guadalupe Reservoir. Roadwork is in progress (chip-sealing), and I noted that a side road that we “enjoy” climbing [so to speak] was blanketed in a thick layer of gravel.

Having passed a couple of deer on my way to the start, I was wary as I approached the last climb. Good instinct: two more crossed the road ahead of me, then stopped to stare. By the time I fished out my phone to snap a picture, they'd decided to saunter off into the brush.

I finished the ride I'd intended, though not as planned: 23 miles and likely 1,200 feet of climbing.

Wherever You Go

Yesterday, birding. Today, biking.

What's up with these mid-week jaunts?! [No, I'm not playing hooky.] I'd decided something of a “summer vacation” was in order this year. [Remember those? Or maybe you're a schoolteacher, enjoying them still.] I'd plotted and planned, banked up my vacation days and marked my work calendar “OOO.”

Weekday riders tend to be retired (or have flexible schedules). It's fun getting to know folks I would rarely meet, otherwise. These outings are about camaraderie, not so much the scenery. They're about conversation and coffee, and (of course) riding our bicycles.

It's convenient for me to bike to the starting point. Driving there, followed by unloading and setting up my bike, would not be faster. [Plus, I get more exercise.]

Today's route would mean two round-trips home—our leader had settled on a coffee stop in my home town. Should I cut it short, leaving them to return back to the start? [Nah.]

The second round-trip would feed not only my hunger for more exercise, but also my curiosity. Our leader seems to carry a veritable atlas of local roads in her head (no GPS needed), and I wondered what neighborhoods she'd choose on the way back.

Wherever you go, there you are ... 33 miles and about 500 feet of climbing later.

Birds of Belgatos

And now for something completely different.

I decided to take advantage of a bird-watching session offered through a local library, and to treat myself to a suitable pair of binoculars.

I was a bit skeptical about our destination—a little neighborhood park. [Oh ye of little faith!] As the bird-watching expert jabbered away, her back to the sky, I spotted some drama overhead: a hawk being chased by a (somewhat) smaller bird. Feeling it would be rude to interrupt her outright, I simply raised my arm and pointed. “A Cooper's hawk, chasing a Red-tailed hawk; she must have a nest nearby.” [Okay, things are looking up. Literally.]

And indeed, she did have a nest nearby.

Although we spent most of the session planted in one corner of the park, a few steps away from the parking lot, we spotted two of the juveniles perched in a tree after we took a short stroll uphill. They were waiting for mom to fly in with their next meal, and tolerated our gaping and gawking for quite a while before they took wing.

To return to their nest, as it turned out; where we discovered a third juvenile.

We watched an American Robin pluck a big juicy grub out of the park's lush field of grass, and several Western Bluebirds and a Black Phoebe foraging as well. We saw familiar Dark-eyed Juncos, Anna's hummingbirds, a Lesser Goldfinch, and an American Crow; circling overhead, a pair of Red-tailed hawks a-courting and a Turkey Vulture.

An eye-popping yellow bird darted through some branches: a Hooded Oriole. A Chestnut-backed Chickadee teased us—now you see me, now you don't. [An oriole and a chickadee, in California? What do I know ...] We also glimpsed a White-breasted Nuthatch scooting up and down a tree trunk.

Without our expert guide, I would have been able to identify only the birds that were already familiar to me. The rest would have registered as ... Tiny bird. Brown bird. Another tiny bird. Yellow bird.

I walked away impressed. I would never have imagined I could see so many different birds while standing in one spot at the edge of a neighborhood park!

Viva Calle, San Jose!

“Have you seen the house with the creatures?” one of our riders asked. While the rest of the group assembled at our rendezvous point, she led us down a side street to behold an amazing sight.

Perched on the rooftop (and, well, all over the house) were fantastical ceramic figures.

Whimsical, one-of-a-kind little masterpieces of a creative mind.

The popularity of Viva Calle has led the city of San Jose to schedule the event more frequently. Not volunteering for this one, I was ready to go exploring. Better yet, with a small group of folks from the club.

To get there, we started off on the Los Gatos Creek Trail. Maybe it wouldn't be too busy on a Sunday morning? [Wrong.] But the first near-catastrophe came early, when a less-experienced rider wobbled in front of me and almost toppled off the edge of the trail as I descended behind him.

I gave him more space after that, but finding that he flagged going up each little rise on the trail, I decided to slip past him.

Then he repeatedly took to cruising on the left side of the trail, over the line. Even after I gently reminded him to stay to the right. [And I thought the biggest challenges today would present themselves in the free-flowing crowds on the event route.]

Arriving before things got busy, we piled into a photo booth for a group shot. The green screen technology took some liberties with our attire(!) to promote the event. There was music, there were artists painting live, there were booths promoting health and the outdoors, there were food trucks.

It was fun to see so many people wheeling around—mostly on bikes, but there were some colorful and talented folks twirling around on inline skates, too. You did need to keep your wits about you (as you were mixing it up with lots of unpredictable people in motion), but I didn't witness any crashes. [Which seemed somewhat miraculous.]

Our group splintered and came together again before riders branched off to head more directly home. With only three of us returning to our starting point, our leader agreed to forego retracing our route on the trail. [Whew.] In all, 28 flat miles (500-ish feet of climbing).

A Slice of San Jose

Those pesky Canada geese ... everywhere. The white specks in the treetops on Almaden Lake's island are nesting egrets (and their noisy chicks).

When I decided to take a bit of a summer vacation, I imagined many restorative days of biking and hiking ahead. But after somehow tweaking my back three weeks ago, I reluctantly admitted it would be best to give it a rest.

Enough of that.

Time for a test ride. Today's leader eschews route sheets and rarely shares a plan in advance, so we all trail her like obedient little goslings (lest we get lost). I imagine her favored routes would become familiar after a while, but to me they're fresh adventures.

With today's flat slice of San Jose, I covered 31 miles with less than 700 feet of climbing.

And my back? No better, no worse. Might as well keep moving.

Interloper

I was in the neighborhood, so why not meander through the campus. A stroll down memory lane, as they say.

When I took a tumble at the broken-up base of the sharp descent from the Stevens Creek Trail to the end of Crittenden Lane, I could not have imagined that one day—25 years later—it would be luxuriously transformed, graded gently and paved smooth.

Corporate campuses in the Valley rise and get recycled as technologies wax and wane. In this neighborhood, territory that was occupied by Sun Microsystems and Silicon Graphics in their heyday has since been absorbed by Google. Many buildings remain, and new ones have been erected.

If this were your workplace, you just might find the place attractive enough to return to the office.

What will become of this place, 25 years hence? The revolutionary design of the building where I did my graduate work (nearly brand new, at the time), did not age well; I learned recently that it has been torn down.

I was amused to see that the local population of cliff swallows quickly embraced their new habitat. Somehow I doubt this was architecturally intended.

A thin, muddy stream of Stevens Creek was flowing toward the Bay, enough (for now) to sustain some of the marsh plants. Enough to draw your attention away from the high-voltage transmission towers.

A well-intentioned (but deteriorating) fitness trail was torn out and redone with native plants a few years ago. A loop on this trail was great for walking one-on-one meetings, and this morning I fell into line behind a few turkeys. [Literally.] The birds were completely indifferent having me on their tail. [Okay, I know where this is going ...]

I was tempted to uproot an invasive thistle plant along the trail, but couldn't tackle that without gloves. The native flora have flourished (and thus, the return of native fauna).

I continued my trek to the nearby rookery. The egret chicks were a-chattering, and some adults sat tall on their nests.

The black-crowned night herons were present and accounted for, too.

Twenty-five years hence, I likely won't be here. But if the trees and the plants are, the birds will be.

Remembering Steve

The last time someone asked me about Steve was the day he drew his final breath. At the time, I had no idea.

Ride leaders have their own styles, and I liked Steve's. It wasn't long before he recruited me to co-lead with him. At first he wanted to pre-ride (!) every route we mapped out. That was too much for me, and I managed to persuade him that we might not need quite that level of preparation.

He also shunned offering route sheets, insisting that without them the group would need to stay together. True enough, but that locks everyone into the pace of the slowest rider; I suggested that we would attract more riders if the jackrabbits could dart ahead and wait for others to catch up. He was also insistent that we plan our lunch stop for noon—later than that and he would assuredly be grumpy.

Steve had a silly sense of humor. I don't think we ever passed a horse without Steve asking “Why the long face?”

We rode thousands of miles together, and led nearly 60 rides over the course of nine years. One of my favorite memories was the day we took Caltrain to San Francisco, where we would join a group to ride across the Golden Gate Bridge and onward to Tiburon. It was Steve's birthday, and he had “permission” to ride so long as he got home in time for dinner.

I boarded the train a couple of stops before he would; I festooned the bike car with crêpe paper streamers and brought mini-cupcakes to share with all. As we arrived in San Francisco the conductor announced the last stop over the intercom, adding a spirited “And Happy Birthday, Steve!”

After Steve retired, we rarely rode together—he shifted to weekday rides and focused more on achieving milestones than riding socially. Then he disappeared.

I'd reach out to him periodically, letting him know that club members were asking about him. It would be some time before he was ready to tell me that he'd been diagnosed with Parkinson's and that he'd probably had it for years before being diagnosed. I thought back to a ride we'd co-led in 2014. He'd introduced me to that route, yet when we stopped at an intersection on the return, he didn't know which way to go. After that, we led only one more ride together.

Steve was a model ride leader: Thoughtful, patient, kind, encouraging. At his memorial service today, friends and family members filled in more pieces of his life story. I recalled words that had resonated with me at another memorial service a few years ago, exhorting us to stay present in the lives of our friends, to ensure that they can see how much we treasure our friendship. I am sad that Steve had isolated himself from our community, but he did not want his diagnosis shared. I know that his cycling buddies would have enjoyed spending time with him much more than memorializing him.

I will always cherish the memories of the adventures I enjoyed with Steve, and in that sense carry forward a thread of his life in mine.

Bike to Work Day, 2022-Style

We had a reputation, in years gone by, for rolling up to this “energizer station” with a group of two dozen or more cyclists.

Today? Me and six guys. But hey, it could've been just me.

At least one was joining us for the first time, so ... that's something. And we welcomed one colleague on a vintage special-edition folding bike. I was impressed that the thing was still functional, having been disappointed in its build quality on a test ride, back in the day.

We were sorely disappointed to find no Hobee's coffeecake this year. I know the volunteers meant well, but a cookie thickly coated with sugary icing is not appetizing at 8 a.m. [Not to me, anyway.]

A day or two ago, one of my steady co-leaders had sadly tested positive for Covid-19 and thus had to stay home; one of the other riders gamely stepped up to steer folks to our rendezvous point.

I knew what to expect at the office: The ventilation in our building's shower room has not been improved, but (like last week) I would be the only one to use it.

At the end of the day, I pedaled (solo) back home; the usual round trip of 40 miles and about 1,000 feet of climbing, the usual (gradual) uphill return.

Unfortunately, I somehow irritated something in my back on an after-work ride yesterday. Today's riding didn't feel great, but luckily didn't exacerbate it. Methinks I'll be off the bike for a while, until it's sorted out.

Goin' Down to Strawberry Fields

After a two-year pause we returned to the strawberry fields, riding to benefit Cyclists for Cultural Exchange.

Fifty-five years later, Lennon's lyrics still resonate. But then, hasn't it ever been thus?

Living is easy with eyes closed

Misunderstanding all you see

The ride's organizers, I expect, were in a bind this year. They honored our registrations for 2020, many of which were locked in at early-bird prices far short of 2022's reality, but warned us that there would be no post-ride meal this year.

Without any advance planning, I ran into several cycling friends at the start. That sort of thing often happens at this ride. They got a head start, but I would later wave as I passed them on the course.

Disoriented in the morning fog, it took me a moment to register that I'd turned onto the road leading to the first rest stop—not some new tweak to the course. [That would come later.]

I paused, as usual, at the Elkhorn Slough—just then, a flock of pelicans swooped in and put on quite a show.

The course had been changed, a bit. Focused on following on a bunch of riders ahead of me, I consequently missed one unfamiliar left turn; I was puzzled that my GPS directions seemed off and I wondered why the organizers would route us to turn left onto a busy road with fast-moving traffic. [Highway 1, actually.] It was easy enough to recover by exiting immediately, joining the riders who had made the correct turn and crossed above the highway. [Whew.]

I needed a stream of self-talk to get up the steep hill to Royal Oaks Park. You've done this before. You've done this every time. You can do it today.

The eponymous berries were plentiful, at every rest stop (not just at the finish). I sympathized with the volunteers doing their best to appease the swarm of hungry cyclists during the lunch rush—they were sorely understaffed.

At Gizdich Ranch, I perched at one end of a bench to enjoy my slice of apple pie and chatted with a couple of cyclists who were new to the ride (and, loving it). One had traveled all the way from Davis!

Hazel Dell, Corralitos ... I haven't been riding enough to prepare for this event. Thankfully the last 12 miles are basically downhill.

After 64 miles and some 3,500 feet of climbing I was delighted by an unexpected half-sandwich and a crêpe at the finish. And strawberries. More strawberries. [With chocolate sauce.]

Game On

Bike to Work Day is going to be A Thing again this year, now that we have officially “returned to office.” Although I've traditionally led a group of coworkers to the office for this event, I figured I would just do my own ride this year.

Then two of my regular partners-in-leading reached out, and ... I ... just ... couldn't ... say ... no.

Oddly, instead of adhering to the usual third-Thursday schedule for the event, the Bay Area “energizer stations” will only be available on Friday (and Saturday and Sunday, go figure).

Okay, then: Friday it will be. There's no actual celebration at the office, anyway; and as far as they're concerned, you'll earn your schwag by bike-commuting any day that week.

Ride leaders get extra schwag (a Bike-to-Work-Week t-shirt), and they suggested we pick them up over lunch today and share tips with one another.

Was I going to drive to the office? [Of course not.] Besides, a preview ride seemed warranted before the big day.

The company is so big now ... We met in some newly-redone building, unexpectedly eating indoors. [Yikes!] I have not shared indoor space with other people for a meal since The Before Times. I recognized two of the other leaders, and tried to relax. [This is fine ...]

As it happened, we had some teammates visiting from an overseas office and there was a plan for a group dinner tonight. [Outdoors!] At a restaurant that was conveniently on my typical route home, so of course I said yes. [It was fine.]

Some of my newer colleagues found it inconceivable that I would bike 16 miles home after dinner. [Shrug.] Forty miles, and 1,000 feet of climbing, for the day.

No Peaches Here

Our cycling comrades arrived late yesterday afternoon, with epic tales of their own to share. (They had worked a side trip into their journey south, to bike a rarely-visited road.) Spoiler alert: It was windy.

We caught up, poolside, with snacks before feasting on sandwiches that one of our crew had coordinated for us. [I'm so lucky to be a part of this party, as a party-planner I am not.]

As we completed a round of introductions, a guy piped up playfully from the far end of the pool to introduce himself. In the small-world, truth-is-stranger-than-fiction department, I came to learn that he's in executive management for a large firm, running an organization responsible for the same line of work I'm in. Compounding the oddity of all this, I had recently interviewed an applicant from the staff he proudly crowed about—and [spoiler alert] he did not do well. [This, of course, I kept to myself.]

A surprising number of folks on this escapade are riding e-bikes. They have been well-behaved, though—not zipping ahead and leaving the strictly human-powered bikes in their dust.

Nonetheless, the group fractured; a planned regroup went awry when the venue was closed and some stragglers were left behind. An alternate winery (Opolo) was proposed—and happily welcomed us; fortunately, I was part of the group in sync with the new plan. As folks settled in for a full-on lunch, my chief biking buddy and I bid our farewell and headed back to town. We'd find something to eat there before heading back to the Bay Area.

Having biked Peachy Canyon on my last trip to this area, I expected it would seem at least somewhat familiar. [But it was not.] Largely because much of today's route was entirely different, but in part because we rode it from the opposite direction.

We biked 41 miles and climbed about 3,500 feet before shedding our sweaty bike clothes for street clothes and starting the long drive home.

A Ride on the Wild Side

A few club members proposed a cycling getaway to Paso Robles—count me in!

My cycling buddy and I were on the same wavelength, both of us able to take just two days off. To make the most of our trip, we headed down one day earlier than the rest of the group. For Monday, I put together a route to see the elephant seals near San Simeon, starting from the coastal town of Cambria.

The challenge of biking north on Highway 1 is ... headwind. We knew the winds would be picking up as the day wore on, but hoped to escape the worst of it by starting early.

Good in theory. Bad in practice, after we effectively lost an hour when I cavalierly headed us east, instead of west toward the coast. [Note to self: You have reliable navigation at your fingertips; use it!]

Into the wind, we headed. Well aware of my cycling buddy's disdain for strong wind, I would pause periodically to get a pulse on whether we should keep going.

She was a trouper today, game to continue—never having seen this colony of elephant seals, she trusted me that it was worth it. [It was.]

A chatty fellow in town for yesterday's Eroica was all-too-happy to educate us about the event. Vintage-bike people are passionate about their machines.

The ever-strengthening winds were now in our favor: without pedaling, I found myself coasting back toward San Simeon at 18 mph! Hoping to grab a bite to eat at Sebastian's General Store, we turned off near Hearst Memorial Beach—and found the building gutted, in the process of a major renovation.

It was bittersweet to ride down that avenue of eucalyptus trees, recalling the finish line for so many Hearst Castle Challenge rides for Best Buddies. The “barn” where we'd gathered to collect our bags and get massages is now a fancy wine-tasting place, its patio private with no access for a view of the beach. I had always expected that I would keep doing that ride—maybe scaling down from the full century to the metric, as I got older; but seeing these changes drove home a reality that those events are now just memories. Great memories, certainly; but new editions will not be minted. Maybe it's not just that the pandemic, including the closure of Hearst Castle, disrupted the routine.

There were still beautiful vistas to behold as we sailed back toward Cambria. I paused on a bridge to watch the cliff swallows swooping and was surprised by a bonus: turtles! Three were sunning on a rock, and another two were paddling about in the silty water.

I wrapped up our flat-but-challenging 24 miles (less than 700 feet of climbing) at an average speed of 13 mph (courtesy of that tailwind).

Back in Cambria, I decided my lunch should be a slice of olallieberry pie at Linn's, and I was not disappointed. [Fruit. Carbs. Mmm.]

And before heading back to Paso Robles, my cycling buddy introduced me to a place I'd never been—the quirky little hamlet of Harmony. A pretty glorious day, I would say.

Remembering Doug

I was surprised, two months ago, that Doug didn't join us when we rode to remember Jon. Doug (sporting a Death Ride jersey) is the taller guy on the right in the photo above, taken at the site where we would later erect the Ghost Bike in memory of Jon.

Doug was a cut above—in 2019, he completed five double-centuries (those are one-day, 200-mile rides), distinguishing himself (yet again) as a California Triple Crown winner. I am not in that league, so I would rarely find myself sharing the road with Doug.

I hadn't known that health issues had led him to scale back his cycling—and that he was taking it easier, riding on weekdays—until the day he collapsed, at the top of a familiar short climb he'd ridden countless times before.

Thirty-nine of us came together for a modest ride at a gentle pace, in memory of Doug. A few of Doug's treasured jerseys had been gifted to some of his friends, who wore them proudly today in his memory.

And so, we keep rolling forward. For me, merely 36 miles with less than 800 feet of climbing today. But I will never forget Doug protectively trailing behind me on Airline Highway the day we captured that photo.