Point Lobos

Oddly, I have biked past the Point Lobos State Natural Reserve more often than I have visited. My last visit was in January, 2013. Even in winter, the Reserve was over capacity that Saturday; on our bicycles, we had cruised past the line of vehicles waiting for their chance to enter.

On a weekday, with schools back in session, I was surprised to find a few cars ahead of me. I was even more surprised that I passed three parking areas before I found an open space, which thus anchored my hike.

I headed south along the South Shore Trail, to the Bird Island Overlook. Inland, the sky was blue. Toward the sea: gray.

Of course I stopped to capture this view (without realizing how canonical it is). You can see why.

I spied a red wrapper in the brush, and naturally I could not leave it there. I didn't realize that a gentleman in a motorized chair was watching me. “Thank you,” he said. I smiled. “Of course!” In all, I picked up (and properly disposed of) at least six pieces of trash, including a disposable coffee cup (with its plastic lid!) tucked into a rock seam at the water’s edge. [People ...!]

I hunt litter; birds hunt lunch. The first time I passed this Great Blue Heron (trailside), it caught a lizard. Unbothered by the quiet hiker just a few feet away, the bird was fixated on the ground at its feet. Suddenly it dipped its head, shook its rump back and forth, and plucked the reptile from the brush.

Returning along the same trail, I came upon the bird again. When I saw the same behavior, I knew what was about to happen. This time, it speared an unlucky vole—which it swallowed, whole.

I hiked north to the Cypress Grove Trail, fully circling the grove.

I explored more of Point Lobos today than ever before, meandering slowly on a trek of five miles, give or take.

The hunting heron was the clear highlight of my visit to Point Lobos; the snow globe jelly (Modeeria rotunda) was the highlight of this trip's visit to the Monterey Bay Aquarium.

Such wondrous things to behold! Get out there and explore the world.

Asilomar State Beach

Not that I need an excuse to visit the Monterey area, but when I decided to attend an event at the Aquarium I opted to spend a couple of days down there. With a new adventure in mind, I scored a State Parks Pass again at my local library and headed south.

This sign made me chuckle. Wile E. Coyote! At home, it's not unusual for neighbors to report coyote sightings, time and again. [Get over it. They live here. And keep your cats indoors.]

As it was a clear evening, it dawned on me [ha] that I could catch the sunset.

Why not? I was near the beach at Asilomar.

And so the sun set on another day.

Redwoods in the Mist

I was only vaguely aware of the Bear Creek Redwoods Open Space Preserve, still harboring a belief that it was a closed area. And this year it was closed—temporarily—until a few weeks ago. Heavy damage from last winter's storms (to Bear Creek Road, as well as in the Preserve) had finally been addressed.

My friends had hiked here many times in prior years; evidently it's been open to the public since 2019.

I scouted the parking lot last week. My friends had warned me that parking could be an issue, even on a weekday with schools back in session. There were only a couple of vehicles, but it was later in the day. Would we find the lot empty, because people weren't yet aware that the Preserve had re-opened? Or would it be packed with hikers eager for access after months of closure?

As it turned out, we nearly had the place to ourselves. And it was magical, today.

The fog thickenend and swirled around us, the higher we climbed. We followed the Alma Trail to the Redwood Springs Trail, completing a loop of some 5.3 miles. Given the fog, we opted not to extend our route to the Bear Creek Summit.

Save that for next time ...

B is for Bob

The last time I saw Bob, he needled me (as he was wont to do) about retiring. Little did we imagine that the door would close on my professional life four days later, or that he would be gone in less than four months.

Bob had retired before I'd met him, and he was a poster child for early retirement. From my perspective, he was unambiguously making the most of his time on this planet.

It was a fluke that our paths crossed. Back in 2005, I started chatting with three cyclists at a rest stop during the I Care Classic. I'd been tailing them, as we were riding at a similar pace. The very next week, I was surprised to find them at the Foothill Century and we exchanged contact information. Thanks to those encounters, I was drawn into a circle of East Bay cycling friends that included Bob's wife.

In 2011, Bob and Pat persuaded me to join them on one of their frequent European cycling tours. We summited the Stelvio, Gavia, and Mortirolo passes in the Italian Alps, and I was hooked. I would go on to share more adventures with them in Austria, France, Germany, Italy, Liechtenstein, and Switzerland.

Before we gathered to pay tribute to Bob today, a group assembled to honor his memory with a bike ride. (I'll note that the route, intentionally or not, traced the outline of the letter B.)

There was a thread in the stories people told at our celebration of Bob's life: “I'm not sure Bob liked me, but ... ” was the common lead-in to some thoughtful or kind thing that Bob had done. He could be gruff, but ... yes, he liked you.

Bob's brother shared a sentiment that hit home: Your life isn't about how much time you live, it's about how you live your time.

You lived your time well Bob, and you deserved more of it. We miss you.

Rancho San Antonio

As close as it is, I had never hiked in Rancho San Antonio. Many years ago I'd biked through on the road, on group rides, which gave me a limited (distorted) perspective on what the park might have to offer. [Besides too many people.]

Unlike other county parks, admission is free—which likely contributes to its popularity. Even on a weekday, with schools back in session, we carpooled to improve our chances of finding parking spaces. Conveniently bordered by residential neighborhoods, evidently many people will drop in for a quick jog.

Near the little farm area, a curious cycle-mobile was hitched to a bike rack. (Front wheel drive.)

Technically, most of the acreage is the Rancho San Antonio Open Space Preserve, adjacent to the county park; and there's much more of it than I'd imagined.

We climbed high enough to enjoy a view clear across the valley to Moffett Field, San Francisco Bay, and beyond.

Three of us kicked back at a picnic table for more conversation (and, our lunch) after completing our loop. Having traversed more than six miles, I covered a bit more ground stalking and chasing a determined squirrel that expected a handout. Why forage when all those park visitors feed you?

Time to learn that this visitor is not like the others ...

Henry Cowell Redwoods State Park

I've made good use of the county parks pass I bought this year; by removing the friction of paying per visit, I have found myself eager to visit more of our parks. But a state parks pass? I just wouldn't use that often enough to break even.

Yet, I haven't been to a state park in years. We are blessed with so many beautiful places to hike that the price of admission discouraged me.

Then I learned that my library card allows me to borrow a pass that gives me free entry to most California State Parks. What a deal!

I've hiked in the Fall Creek section of Henry Cowell Redwoods State Park several times, but never gave any thought to visiting the main part of the park. Why not, today?

I didn't find an explanation for these carefully-arranged piles of sticks.

The redwood grove, near the visitor center, is the main attraction. One family included a backpack-wearing little girl whose demeanor suggested a scientist/naturalist/park ranger in the making. (Unlike the rest of her peers, who were mostly running around.)

Beyond the old growth trees of the grove, vestiges of logging remind us of what we have lost. Luckily, the CZU fires of 2020 spared this area; I still have not mustered the courage to approach Big Basin.

I made my way to the Observation Deck, where (in addition to the great views) I found a picnic table to enjoy my lunch. This turned out to be an unexpected bird-watching spot: a drinking fountain with a small reservoir of water attracted a robin and a goldfinch while I was there.

The deck offered a clear view in all directions, high enough to see the Pacific (no marine layer, today).

Happy to escape the heat on the other side of the hill, I spent the day meandering slowly along a route I'd mapped out (six miles, more or less). I chose well.

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.)

Many Shades of Green

At some point I learned that county residents get free admission to the the Hakone Estate and Gardens, once a month. I marked the dates on my calendar; today, I decided, was the day.

I remember visiting only once before, arriving on the back of a tandem bicycle—maybe 20 years ago. [We walked up the steep driveway.]

Unfortunately it was not a place for quiet contemplation today, with a group of children scampering about. They were mostly interested in the koi, though.

I explored every path, high and low. By the time I made it to the bamboo garden, I had that calm, rustling space mostly to myself.

I was surprised by the towering redwoods on the slopes above the traditional features of a Japanese garden. On a warm day, I appreciated the cool shade they offered.

Invasive species, like bull thistle, are making incursions on the margins. Managing these gardens seems like a daunting endeavor.

I was grateful to be nothing more than an idle visitor.

Turkeys Trot

I set off with a friend (and former colleague) who was game for another hike.

No, that's not us!

Looking for something on the mellow side, with good tree cover on a warm day, I remembered an impromptu choice from last summer—the Zinfandel Trail in the Picchetti Ranch Open Space Preserve. The water level in the Stevens Creek Reservoir was much healthier this year!

We took a bit of an unplanned detour when I steered us left instead of right, but all's well that ends well: We found ourselves flanked by tangled vines of ripening blackberries along the banks of Stevens Creek, and did our part to reduce the spread of this invasive species by plucking and eating an abundance of juicy berries (and their seeds, bwahaha).

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 ...

To the Tree (and Beyond)

Hiking up (and I do mean UP) the Kennedy Trail on a hot day did not seem like a natural choice, but we gamely followed our leader. The pace was brisk! I guess folks wanted to be done before the day really heated up. [Trust me, it was already hot enough.] I chose to lag behind.

As foretold, I could see the pond at Cherry Springs. And as I trudged along, I realized I had fixed my gaze on slope above the Kennedy Trail, yesterday—wondering, then, at the patches of reddish-brown mixed with green on the hillside.

There had been some chatter before we set out: Would I hike to the trail junction (as I typically do), or to “the tree?” I had no answer for that, not being familiar with the landmark. [Now I am—twinned oaks in the middle of the trail, about three miles up.]

We regrouped in the shade and agreed to continue a little bit farther before turning back, somewhat shy of seven miles when all was said and done. And we were done, indeed.

Cherry Springs

It was a stroke of good fortune that I learned of, and was able to join, today's hike. As we would be visiting a closed area of the Sierra Azul Open Space Preserve, participation was limited—by reservation only. As the date grew closer and spots remained open, I alerted two cycling friends (who eagerly joined). One, in particular, has biked up the road we'd take to reach our starting point more times than she could count. Having often wondered what lay beyond the locked gate, today we'd all get to explore it!

We carpooled up the hill and began our trek near a pond related to the eponymous spring, which flows perennially.

We learned that a developer had planned to build estate homes on this land over a decade ago, but backed out when the economy soured. Now it's protected: A conservation organization snapped it up when it returned to the market.

Escorted by volunteer docents and one open space district ranger, we learned about the land and (of course) the plants, both native and invasive. [Yes, even here, some invaders have taken root. As I did my best to obliterate some star thistle, I wished I'd added a pair of small clippers to my hiking kit.]

When I mentioned that I planned to hike the Kennedy Trail with some friends tomorrow, one of the docents told me that I would be able see the pond from there.

It was a short loop (about 2 miles)—but exciting to trek in a place where few have gone before us, to be treated to new perspectives in all directions.

Not to mention doing our part to curb the spread of an invasive plant by consuming as many ripe blackberries (and their seeds) as we could tug free, near the pond!

We were reminded that the mission of the open space district is to preserve the land (and thus the health of the ecosystem); their objective is not to make it all available for people to visit, as much as we might like that to be so.

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.