A Challenged and Challenging Challenge

After riding down the Pacific Coast ten times for Best Buddies in the Hearst Castle Challenge, this year would be different.

That view never gets old, so why change the route?

Mother Nature, that's why. Last winter's storms first undermined a bridge over Pfeiffer Canyon; and then, as if knocking out a bridge wasn't enough, a massive chunk of hill slid down onto Highway 1 at Mud Creek. The road repairs may not be complete by this time next year.

Our destination (Hearst Castle) is a constant, but ... you can't get there from here. The ride must go on, and thus Plan B was hatched. All routes would start (as well as finish) in San Simeon, at Hearst Memorial Beach, instead of the traditional start in Carmel Valley.

I struggled mightily over which route to pick. Forego the 100 mile route and opt for the 100 km route instead? Yes? A more scenic climb up Old Creek Road (vs. Highway 41). No! I've always done the century; if I skipped this year, I wouldn't know whether I could have done it. Either way, late in the route (mile 37, or mile 78) I'd face a steep climb on Santa Rosa Creek Road. (Going rogue, following Highway 46 all the way to the coast, did cross my mind.)

But I stayed the course. All 101 miles of it. From San Simeon, through Cayucas, to Morro Bay.

Up Highway 41, into the Los Padres National Forest, to Templeton.

In keeping with this year's track record, my level of training was not where I needed it to be. A record-breaking heat wave, enhanced by bad air (from distant wildfires), kept me mostly off the bike over the preceding ten days.

The sun broke through and started baking us as we climbed inland; I started feeling a bit twitchy around mile 60; a bit of bonk was creeping up on me. [Uh oh.]

We would be tackling Santa Rosa Creek Road in the downhill direction, descending the wicked wall. I'd wager that a handful of participants (at best) had ridden this road before, in either direction. The climb from Highway 46 starts out gently.  I knew it had to get steep, recalling my wild ride last year. “Is this the climb?” a nearby rider asked, clearly not impressed. “No, it gets steep.” (He thought an earlier climb today was steep.) “No no no, this gets steep.”

A rider walking up the hill came into view. It didn't look all that bad.

And it probably wasn't all that bad, at that point. But with 78 miles and more than 4,300 feet of climbing behind me, my legs simply gave out. For the first time, I considered what it might be like for pro riders in Grand Tours to finish a long stage at the top of a mountain. Sure, I've pedaled up some of those climbs. But not with 100+ miles in my legs. (By the way, our peloton today included Big George and Christian Vande Velde, so there just might be a new KOM on Strava's leaderboard.)

The pavement is in terrible condition, making the technical descent to the coast even more tricky. There were occasional signs cautioning “Rough Road,” but it would have been more honest to mark the few sections of smooth pavement, instead. The ever-vigilant Best Buddies staff must have emptied a full can of purple paint marking the cracks and potholes. In a couple of places, they had consistently sprayed “Very Steep Decent,” which made me laugh. There's nothing decent about a steep road.

There was no warning about the loose dog. He turned to face me, and of course decided to give chase. Having expected that, I dug deep and sprinted, hoping to outrun him. [I did.]

There was no warning about the loose head of cattle, either. He was walking up the road and bellowing. I slowed, glad that it wasn't one of the longhorns I'd seen earlier, but unsure how he'd react. He moved to the opposite side of the road, focusing on the herd on the other side of the fence and bellowing mournfully. [Whew.]

There were no bikes at the rest stop at the base of the road (even though I'm slow, that was a first). I knew there were riders behind me, and I knew that most of them would not have an easy time coming down the hill. Of course, they might have given up and hopped in a SAG wagon, but that didn't occur to me. [They hadn't.]

The next challenge was heading north on Highway 1. The name of that challenge was “Headwind”—payback for 10 years of tailwind. This year, we had a crew of domestiques (!), outfitted in yellow jerseys emblazoned with “Get on my wheel!” My guy pulled me for a few miles before swinging off to wait for others, and I relished every inch of that draft.

Mother Nature had one more surprise for us: Hurricane Irma. [Say what? We're in California.] This year's entertainment at the post-ride barbecue was to have been KC and the Sunshine Band ... but they were stuck in Florida. At the last minute, the organizers pulled an LA-based band out of a hat—Soulville California Band. And the dance floor was packed!

My internal soundtrack during the ride was the Hollies:

The road is long
With many a winding turn
That leads us to who knows where
Who knows where
But I'm strong ...

I love this charity, and I keep coming back—for the Buddies. He ain't heavy, he's my brother.

Ladies, Some Naked

There were an uncommon number of women climbing Tunitas Creek today: women in groups, women alone, me and my ride buddy.

Mere photos can't capture the majesty of riding through a redwood forest. I paused a couple of times—not because I needed to, but because I could.

I could stop in the cool shade of the towering trees.

I could stop and listen to ... utter silence. No motorcycles. No cars. Not even the sound of the wind in my ears or the soft whir of my tires on the pavement. Beautiful, blessed silence.

Of course there were motorcycles, and cars, and other cyclists. But mostly, there were none of those.

We rode close enough to the coast to be touched by its chilly foggy breeze.

Naked Ladies (Amaryllis belladonna) were abundant along Purisima Creek Road. The flowers pop months after the plant's foliage has disappeared (inspiration for the name). Last week I learned that, to children, these blooms mean “Back to school!”

On the way up Kings Mountain this morning, I doubted whether I had the stamina to complete our planned route. (Evidently, I did: 44 miles, 4,975 feet of climbing.)

We did trim a few miles by not heading into town with the rest of the group for lunch.

I usually wear a club jersey on a club ride, but that leaves so many fine specimens hanging in my closet.

“Grüße!” called out a passing rider. (Or at least that's what I think he said, in part.) I suppose it's only natural to expect that I, bedecked in a design featuring the Swiss flag, might speak the language.

Another rider in a full Movistar kit told me he has the same jersey, and almost wore it today. Now, that would have been a sight!

Redwood Rain

I stepped out of the car, just a few miles from home, and was surprised by the chill. [Uh-oh.] I didn't expect to need an extra layer. Micro-climates. I pulled out my arm coolers, which I'd brought for extra sun protection. They would have to do.

I'd caught a glimpse of thick fog in a sheltered valley on the drive up to the start, and hoped we would stay above it. [Nope.]

By the time we reached Summit Road, the fog was thinning but still blowing sideways from the coast. It looks like steam ... but it's cold. And of course, wet. In the forest next to the road, there were pockets that sounded like steady rain as the condensing fog dripped from the branches of the redwood trees.

“If I ever move away from here, it's the redwoods I'll miss most,” one of our riders remarked. How very fortunate we are, to be cycling through the redwood forest just a few miles from home.

The surface of Highland Way continues to deteriorate, battered by last winter's storms. Slides have reduced it to one lane in a couple of places, and some fresh boulders are perched at the road's edge. This is not a place to linger when there is any likelihood of earth movement.

We made our way up to a high point on Loma Prieta Road. The agricultural fields around Watsonville were just barely visible, if you knew where to look; Monterey Bay and the peninsula were obscured by the marine layer.

And as close as we were to their peaks, we had hazy views of Loma Prieta and Mt. Umunhum. Only then did I realize that there was another layer above the fog, a thin layer of smoke. From where, we wondered, as we looked at the hillside scorched by last summer's Loma Prieta blaze.

37 miles, 3,535 feet of climbing. For an out-and-back route, what goes up must also come down. Translation: That's a lot of climbing over a short distance. I suffered.

Velo Vittles

The main event today was not the climb (up Highway 9); it was lunch.

For a few years, one of our club members has hosted a barbecue to raise funds benefiting the National Multiple Sclerosis Society. He captains a team for Waves to Wine each fall.

Waves to Wine was the first charity bike event I supported, back in 2003 (as the stoker on a recumbent tandem). I learned that I could raise funds successfully, earning a “Champagne Club” jersey straight away. I returned on the tandem in 2004 and transitioned to riding solo in 2005.

The event had a friendly, homespun vibe those first three years; the logistics were simple, with two loops based out of Santa Rosa. Big changes came in 2006: complicated logistics, a move away from the fabulous old routes, and disorganized execution. I still support the cause through my friends who do the ride, but switched my riding allegiance to a new charity (Best Buddies).

This year was the first time I attended Craig's barbecue. Of course, I donned my favorite Champagne Club jersey (circa 2004) for the occasion.

I was the first patron to arrive; a bit early for lunch, but cyclists do get hungry. Grills were lined up along the edge of the driveway, and a pair of canopies from the MS Society shaded the tables. I chatted with a mechanic who has volunteered regularly at Good Karma Bikes (alongside our host), as well as friends and neighbors who stopped by. One guy's eyes grew wide when he heard I'd cycled up Highway 9 on my way to lunch. “I've scuba dived, I've dived for abalone ... I've never biked up Highway 9!” [More dangerous than free-diving for abalone? I beg to differ.]

Highway 9 isn't too crazy, even on a summer weekend, if you get an early start. On the way down, a Porsche trailed me patiently enough until it was safe to pass. Seemed fair enough, as we were both traveling in the neighborhood of the speed limit. (Um, roughly.)

One plate of ribs, beans, salad, corn muffin. Plus fresh lemonade. Thus refueled, I pedaled on home. Thirty miles with 2,580 feet of climbing—no map to share, as my GPS took a nap along the way.

Feathers and Friends

There was at least one club member who was disappointed to miss last week's outing. And the birds are still there, so ... let's do it again!

Another strong turnout, including a couple of people who rode with us last week. Plus four biking friends who were curious enough to come over from the East Bay.

This week, it was windy along the bay. Really windy. Which meant that most of the birds were hunkered down to hunt in coves where the levees offered something of a wind break. There were a couple of snowy egrets close to shore. The wind helped ruffle some feathers, giving us a look at the distinctive plumage that adorns the back of a snowy egret's head.

Behind Moffett Field, this red-tailed hawk wasn't too concerned with us. “Wish I could get a better picture, if only it would turn around,” said one rider. “The bird needs to face into the wind, otherwise think what would happen with its feathers,” I suggested. Just as I'd put the camera away [of course], a brazen seagull swooped down over our heads to harass the hawk, leading to an aerial bird fight. (Just threats, no victim ... today.)

Last week I sensed that people would have preferred to head straight back after lunch, so this week we visited the Garden of Tasty Treats first. That worked out well, people were excited to pose for photos with their favorite droids. And as much fun as that can be, the birds are a tough act to follow.

One of the Black-crowned Night-Herons was out of the nest, perched on a branch for all to admire.

The rookery more than made up for the meager sightings along the Bay. People laughed and rooted for some fledglings that were flapping around, testing their wings and making it a few feet off the ground to a window ledge. Commotion in one nest drew our eyes upward, where we had a clear view of snowy egrets feeding their young. I passed around my binoculars for everyone to get a closer view.

I was explaining how the National Audubon Society came to be, protecting these birds from being hunted to extinction. “Their logo features an egret,” I said. “Mike designed that!” exclaimed one rider, proudly. [Say what?!] We had a bona fide celebrity on our ride. The guy wearing the jersey that was covered with logos (for brands that you would recognize) was the graphic designer who created them!

For me, 52 miles with 1,000 feet of climbing. (For everyone else, 26 miles with 340 feet of climbing.)

Much to like about this route, if I do say so myself!

For the Birds

The results are in: my route was a resounding success!

Twelve people joined me for the inaugural ride—including one rider on a folding (!) recumbent. “We'll all stay together,” I promised (wondering how I would keep track of such a large group).

They were a great bunch, though; when one rider flatted, another jumped in immediately to carry out the repair. “I like to do this,” he insisted. The rest of the group chatted away, and one rider pulled out a bag of grapes to share.

In the ponds along the Bay Trail, we saw more egrets (and American Avocets) in one place than most people had ever seen. You'd think they were as common as sparrows.

Haze spoiled the view of the Diablo Range across San Francisco Bay, but the waters reflected a deep blue sky.

It's getting late in the season for the rookery, but we were not disappointed. Two fuzzy chicks were visible in their nest, with their attendant parent; they'd hatched a couple of weeks ago. Everyone was surprised to see these graceful birds nesting in the branches of sycamore trees; with their broad wingspans, it all seems so improbable. One rider remarked that he could stay there for hours, watching them.

Both Snowy and Great Egrets nest here; I explained how they were nearly hunted to extinction (for their fancy feathers—to adorn women's hats).

And then we got really lucky. As if the egrets weren't impressive enough, the Black-crowned Night-Herons were also on their nests. I knew there were two nests, and roughly where they were; but I wasn't confident they were still nesting.

My plan for lunch worked out well: enough choices to satisfy everyone, be it falafel, sushi, or curry.

We wrapped up where we began, near the small apricot orchard that Sunnyvale has preserved (and cultivates).

For me, a total of 53 miles with 1,080 feet of climbing. For everyone else, about 26 miles with 280 feet of climbing.

One enthusiastic rider exclaimed “I could do this ride every week!”

[Hmm, now there's an idea.] I have a couple of tweaks in mind ... stay tuned.

MacMurray Ranch

I have cycled 100 miles, eleven times, to raise funds for Best Buddies International over the past 10 years. And while the organizers offer a few training rides leading up to the Hearst Castle Challenge, I typically skip those—club rides and bike commutes keep me fit.

At the same time, some of those training rides are enticing. Like the opportunity to bike some backroads in the wine country of Sonoma County. It's been years since I've biked up there.

The logistics always discourage me. I'm not up for driving more than two hours in the early morning to reach the starting point. Wine Country hotels are expensive, and fussy about demanding two-night minimum stays.

This year I explored Airbnb. Not only did I find a convenient location, I made some new friends in the process.

The ride started and finished on the private grounds of the MacMurray Ranch.

There was just one problem. I came down with (yet another) cold. [What is going on, this year?!] If I had been at home this morning, I would have stayed there—nursing my full-blown cold symptoms in bed.

Riding the longer 40-mile route was out of the question. If I'd had any doubts before I got to the ranch, they evaporated when I caught sight of my fellow riders. Can you say, “hammerfest?” [Yes, I thought you could.] I probably shouldn't be riding at all, but ... here I am. Twenty miles isn't much, really.

I got off to a rocky start. I'd brought my older road bike along, and although I'd carefully leveled the saddle when I reattached it after my recent Five Countries tour, I had not sufficiently tightened the bolts, nor had I given it a test ride. Before we rolled out of the driveway, it shifted and tilted when I hit the first bump. [It would be mile 15 before I finally got it properly clamped.] On the plus side, I'd replaced the speed sensor on that bike (also untested) and it was operating just fine.

With a hot day forecast, I was glad not to push myself hard. We headed straight for the Wohler Bridge, but time lost to the saddle shenanigans cost me the photo stop. I've crossed it many times on a bicycle, back in the days when it was part of the original Waves to Wine ride.

The short route, 21 miles with 540 feet of climbing, was a little taste of rolling Wine Country hills. Back at the ranch, we enjoyed lunch and a speech by a Best Buddies Ambassador. “Only 500 people (worldwide) have been diagnosed with the neurological disorder I have,” he explained. “How lucky am I!” Doctors told his parents he could never ride a bicycle; last year, he did the 30-mile route in the Hearst Castle Challenge. This year he's training for the 60-mile route.

How about you? 15, 30, 60, or 100 miles? You can sign up here.

Tour de Moffett Park

You've heard of the Tour de France, but what about the Tour de Moffett Park? [Uh huh, thought so.]

I made sure I biked to work today, having snagged an entry in the (non-competitive) Tour de Moffett Park.

This was the 14th (!) annual tour, which seems organized to lure people from the various companies in our neighborhood onto their bikes for a mid-day ride. Free lunch! Raffle prizes! What more do you need to know?

It was somewhat less than well-organized, with a mere three people set up to sign in some 400 (!) registered riders. As we stepped away with our route sheets, they encouraged people to ride together.

I had chosen the “long” route, of course (11 miles), and changed into my cycling gear for comfort. The rider behind me said “You look like you know what you're doing, I'm gonna follow you!” A second guy tagged along, and I took care to keep them in sight.

Much of the route was familiar from my weekend test ride, so it happened that I did (pretty much) know what I was doing.

I didn't win a prize, but I did score an extra lunch (many riders signed up, fewer actually showed up ... sigh). With ice cream and toppings for dessert, I definitely took in more calories than I burned.

I had plans for that extra lunch: Dinner in the park, on the way home!

I found a picnic table near the lake, and soon discovered the downside. The beggar squirrel I could fend off; the yellowjackets were intimidating. I dispatched two of them, and the rest buzzed off to find a friendlier food source.

For the day, some 48 miles and 1,020 feet of climbing. I threw in a gratuitous hillclimb on the way home ... which might have offset one or two spoons of ice cream (with chocolate sauce and rainbow sprinkles).

Test Ride

I have an idea for a (flat) ride, and I've been mulling over the route. Much of it will be on trails. Technically, five trails.

It's more fun to ride with a buddy, so I persuaded a friend to be my test rider. Knowing that a portion of the trail might get pretty rough (it did), I opted to ride my hybrid on this exploratory tour. (I'll  route to avoid that stretch in the future, which is exactly why I wanted to do a test ride.)

We'll pass Levi's Stadium.

We'll skirt along the marshland at the edge of San Francisco Bay.

We'll even pay a visit to the Garden of Tasty Treats.

The hybrid's too heavy to load into my car, so I rode to the start (and, back home)—57 miles in all, with 880 feet of climbing. Watch this space; actual ride coming ... soon.

Some Like It Hot

We knew the day would warm up; the forecast included warnings about “fire weather:” low humidity, hot air, and gusty winds that would quickly cause any fire to burn hot and fast. When a heat advisory was added to the mix, we missed that news.

We were surprised to see the golden fields of Joseph D. Grant County Park charred. We'd also missed that news, of a fire that burned here a couple of weeks ago. The roadway, and some of the brush, was stained pink with the residue of the fire retardant that would have been sprayed by a low-flying tanker.

Some majestic trees have been lost, but the ranch's historic homestead was unscathed. Close call.

We regretted not getting an earlier start; I envied cyclists who were already descending. By the time we reached the park, about halfway to the top, the heat was taking its toll on me. I found myself stopping more and more often, and it was taking longer than usual for my heart rate to recover.

I thought about aborting the climb. (That would have been the sensible choice.) I kept going. I was mystified by cyclists outfitted head to toe in heat-absorbing black gear; I'd planned to wear my Death Ride jersey in solidarity with those doing the 2017 edition today, but nixed that in favor of pure white.

The gusty winds from the northwest materialized, but offered little relief—the air was just too hot. Was the breeze evaporating the sweat from my arms that fast, or was my dry skin a warning of heat exhaustion?

When the observatory comes into clear view, you still have a ways to go. And I was, uncharacteristically, nearly out of water. Like virtually all the cyclists we saw that day, I repeatedly aimed for a (rare) patch of shade and stopped to rest.

This was a ride of many firsts. The first time I've seen so few cyclists on the mountain. My slowest ascent, to date (and hopefully, ever). The first time I drained both bottles of water on this climb. The first time I saw streaks of dried salt on my bike shorts. The first time I bought and consumed two full cans of Gatorade at the summit. (Thank you, Lick Observatory, for stocking that.)

The temperature in San Jose today topped out above 100F. I was so glad not to be one of the riders in Markleeville. Thirty-nine miles with 4,670 feet of climbing were more than enough for me.

Independence Day

The morning began celebrating our national holiday with like-minded folks (cyclists, of course) at our club's traditional pancake breakfast. Having learned the hard way last year, I set out earlier to be sure the tables and chairs hadn't already been taken down when I arrived. I'm happy to do my part with that chore, but not when the tear-down starts a full hour before the post-breakfast rides begin.

It wasn't much different this year, with chairs being folded and stacked while people stood patiently in line at the griddle.

My ride buddy and I parted ways at Montebello, which she was determined to climb; I was more keen on the shade of Stevens Canyon and a shorter outing: 38 miles with a manageable 1,765 feet of climbing.

Our route passes the Sunnyvale Rod and Gun Club's property, where members were evidently celebrating their right to bear arms (with like-minded folks). The sound was a prelude to the illegal fireworks that will erupt later tonight.

There were lots of families picnicking in the parks, kids splashing in the creek.

All the bridges on the upper portion of Stevens Canyon Road have been replaced. Not only are the old wooden crossings gone, the new editions seem more deluxe than needed for this secluded dead-end road. The homeowners have some clout, perhaps.

They certainly put out the unwelcome mat: There is no shortage of “No Trespassing” and “Private Road” signs along the way. Or one, simply stated: “Go Away.”

Rather a sharp contrast to the impromptu hospitality of the homeowner in Scotland, a few weeks ago, who invited our entire group into his home to use the bathroom.

Happy Independence Day.

And Again

Calaveras was so lovely last week, we decided to pay a return visit. Looks like repairs will be starting this week on the lower section that's closed, so it was definitely the right call to ride it today.

This week we added a prelude, the challenging climb up Felter—all the way to the vista point on Sierra Road. At least one of our riders had not been there before. A few hardy souls chose to climb Calaveras before Felter; I prefer to tackle the tougher climb first. (I have climbed Felter last, albeit after the full return climb from Sunol, and it hurt. A lot.)

In addition to the usual turkey vultures and a red-tailed hawk, I spotted a Western Bluebird, and an interesting bird I couldn't identify. Plus a small herd of alpacas.

Near the dam, we chatted with a worker exiting the gate. We asked about the closure, about the slide damage blocking the route to Sunol. He said the repairs were done, but the road was closed at the dam by “Homeland Security.” “Drinking water,” he explained. But there has been a reservoir here for more than 100 years,  and the road has passed through this valley for a long time indeed. I expect the closure has more to do with the construction site than with the water below. The project's web site continues to peg the closure on winter storm damage.

As we headed back along the reservoir, a minivan passed us (heading up). What's not to understand about “Road Closed” signs? Not to mention an actual barricade.

Eventually they discovered that they had to return whence they came, passing us again. Frankly, driving a minivan on the curvy ups and downs of Calaveras Road would not be my idea of a fun time.

Back at the park where we started, a whimsical piece of art caught my eye. Was it new, or was it the effect of the breeze setting it in motion?

A more challenging outing this week: 34 miles with 3,345 feet of climbing. Despite having to share the upper road with two vehicles, it was so worth the trip.

All That Jazz

Today was my day to test a cycling route to my new office. I'd studied maps and thought about traffic patterns.

Most of the route would be the same (pleasant). The last few miles ... not so much.

For this segment, evidently I had chosen well—I was surprised to find myself turning onto Sunnyvale's “Bike Route 600.” [There are a few such signs posted around town, with mysterious route numbers; I have found no information online about these.]

I continued down a quiet residential street, knowing I'd have to make an uncontrolled left turn at the end. I could see more traffic on that throroughfare than I expected; two cars sat, waiting to make the same left turn I wanted. This could be challenging ...

Could be. Wasn't. Cars were backed up by a red light on the cross street; here, I had the advantage. The cars couldn't turn left, because there was no room for them. Bicycle? No problem! I eased right on through to the bike lane.

A pair of bike/ped bridges carried me above 14 lanes of freeways: eight lanes of 101, six lanes of 237. (Both jammed with traffic.) The second bridge deposited me conveniently near the company café that is the highlight of my new commute.

Best croissants I've had outside of Europe. The best.

The last mile entails crossing through one of the messiest intersections I have ever seen. In the morning, it's doable. In the evening ... it's terrifying. Drivers weave aggressively as they jockey for position in the correct lane for the desired freeway in the desired direction. It would be safest to load my bike and ride the shuttle home.

Light rail, for the win! Direct from my building's parking lot, to the platform, without using any road at all. Roll the bike aboard, disembark a couple of stops later—one block from a road that was part of my former commute route!

It might seem counter-intuitive to head southwest when my destination is southeast, but this solution saves time (and a little distance). Crucially, it spares me from navigating through that traffic engineering nightmare.

On a whim I routed through town, deciding to check out the mid-week summer evening concert. The town plaza was packed with jazz fans, and ... I confirmed that I was not one of them. I listened to a few minutes of Paula West covering Bob Dylan's Like a Rolling Stone. It didn't work, for me. Some notes went up, some notes went down, some notes went up, some notes went down. There was no depth, no emotion, no soul.

Not a fan.

My new commute, well ... it's okay. About 36 miles today, with 1,080 feet of climbing.

Carefree, Car Free, Calaveras

Wishing to avoid competing with beach traffic (much of the population of the Bay Area heads west on summer weekends, clogging all roads), we headed east instead. My ride buddy suggested we go for a cruise on Calaveras, and a few like-minded souls joined us for a short trip: a mere 21 miles (1,845 feet of climbing, though).

This turned out to be, absolutely, brilliant. Best. Day. Ever. on Calaveras.

Because ... portions of the road are closed. It is, temporarily, a veritable playground for cyclists (and, hikers).

The lower portion, between Piedmont and Downing, was blocked for all vehicles. Climbing that has never been so delightful!

I dreaded The Wall, but it wasn't terrible. A racer encouraged me, as he flew past, without a hint of condescension.  No zigzagging, I was riding straight up ... at about a third of his pace.

The upper portion of the road was closed at the dam, and will be for some time: it is, essentially, a road to nowhere. And especially with the lower closure, there is no reason for any motoring enthusiast to make the trek.

Ah, if only it could always be so.

Sunnyvale Community Services

“I know you just finished leading a volunteer project,” the email message read. “But we have a few that are still leaderless, and we heard you might be willing to help out.”

I'm a softie (and, the folks who run our company's annual volunteer service extravaganza know it).

I browsed the list to see if any would sync with my schedule.

Not that one. Nope, not that one, either.

I found a winner: Sunnyvale Community Services.

We often hear about the high cost of living in the Bay Area these days, and the challenges faced by low-wage earners, the jobless, senior citizens—but it's not a new problem: SCS has been in operation since 1970. They provide much more than food support for those in need. Caseworkers help folks with all sorts of setbacks—from finding a mechanic to fix a broken car, to emergency financial help to pay the bills. It doesn't take much, when someone is living on the edge, to topple over. SCS is there to catch them before they fall, before the damage is too great (loss of a job for want of a car, loss of an apartment for missing a rent payment).

Some non-profits need brain power; today, SCS just needed more hands.

Our task was to load grocery bags with non-perishables: canned green beans, refried beans, spaghetti sauce, peaches, tuna, plus peanut butter, dry beans, raisins, rice, and quinoa. [Quinoa?!]

We quickly became a well-tuned machine: some folks fed the assembly line with bags and food (and recycled the cardboard and plastic packaging); others formed the assembly line to pack each bag “just so” (forming a stackable package), while others wheeled the finished products to waiting pallets and stacked them.

Six hundred bags packed and stacked in less than 90 minutes!

Plein Air

Spinning in a studio is really not my style.

The first real heat wave of the summer was upon us, so a short morning ride seemed best.
Reynolds Road is always longer and harder than I remember. The top is just around that bend ... no. It's the next bend ... no. We had a tight group today, and for one rider it was a special trip indeed—especially the descent.

Two months ago, she had crashed here (over the edge, into the ravine) on the way down. The road is twisty, and steep; if you're inattentive, you can pick up more speed than you can manage.

It will take more than one trip on Reynolds to vanquish the fright, but she toughed it out. (I sent everyone else down first, because if anyone had an issue, there was no way I'd manage a hill repeat to help.)

Along the way we met five club members—one hiker, the rest on wheels. You'd think we lived in one small town, not a sprawling suburb-opolis packed with millions of people.

We finished our ride in a shady park filled with artists displaying their work (fundraising sale). They'd spent time in town over the past week, painting local scenes—some of which had already been snapped up.

Our hungry band of cyclists got lucky: Trader Joe's was supporting the event, handing out plates of cheeses, crackers, and grapes (complimentary!). Then we got even luckier: one very generous rider treated us to cookies and bottles of juice when he returned with his lunch.

18 miles of cycling with 1,730 feet of climbing—in the open air.

Last Call

What happens if you build an office park in the middle of a freeway interchange?

We're about to find out.

Although I've worked for the same company for more than a decade now, I've hung my helmet in many different buildings (five, to be exact). Next week, make that six.

This time, my team is being shunted to a satellite campus in a neighboring city. And there are many things I will miss: the views, the green space, the straightforward commute.

Today was my last chance to bike the familiar route. I was a bit of a greyhound this morning, averaging more than 14 mph to arrive in time to get cleaned up before my first meeting (9 a.m.).

I routed myself through the egret rookery, raucous in the early morning. On the way home, I dawdled.

Much of the route to our new location will remain the same; overall, it will be a bit shorter. It's the last mile that will be a challenge.

Stay tuned.