Incarnation 100

On Thursday, I stayed at work later than usual to wrap some things up since I would be taking the day off on Friday. Waiting for a later-than-usual shuttle, a cyclist started chatting with me. “You're the one who did the Death Ride, right?”

I have a special privilege at work: every four weeks I am one of a handful of people who talk to incoming employees on their very first day. As part of our introduction, we share a fun fact about ourselves—I mention that I've done the Death Ride, and I tell them that they could do it, too! [This does make an impression.]

Our new employee was curious about my folding bike; he'd used a folder commuting to his former job. “Where?” Santa Rosa. “Oh, I'm doing a ride up there on Saturday, the Incarnation 100.” Turns out his wife used to work for one of the beneficiaries (The Living Room) and he'd done the ride in the past. Small world?!

I had never heard of this ride until a couple of weeks ago when a friend invited me to join her. [Sure, why not?]

A mile or two into the ride, I spotted a cell phone on the street and (of course) stopped to pick it up. A few miles later, we stopped at a Peet's for my ride buddy to get a caffeine fix. By now it was clear that this was a very small event, and we wondered if we would, in fact, see any fellow riders.

At the next traffic light, we caught up to a guy who had just passed us. With earbuds in both ears (a no-no, by the way), he didn't hear me say “Good morning!” But he did turn around, and ... and ... it was the new guy from work!

After chatting with me, he and his wife decided to come up and do the ride: 100k for him, 30 miles for her. “See you on Sweetwater Springs!“ he called out as the light turned green.

Think about this chain of improbable events—what are the odds?!

But, back to the ride story ... It was sobering to ride past the Santa Rosa neighborhoods that were consumed by fire last fall. If you didn't know, you wouldn't guess that those wide open fields were once suburban subdivisions, and you might wonder at the blackened trunks of nearby redwoods that survived.

I've long been a fan of the historic Wohler Bridge. I know there are scenic backroads in Sonoma County; I've ridden on them. On this ride ... not so much. [But, a very worthy cause.]

I was not familiar with Sweetwater Springs, rumored to have a painfully long section of 18% grade (in reality, closer to 14%). I should have looked it up in my copy of Summerson's Complete Guide to Climbing (by Bike) in California: “two sections of sustained double-digit grade.” [I did my share of uphill walking.] I seemed to be leapfrogging two guys along the way and began to wonder if they were sweeping me. [No, as it turned out.] I would come around a bend to see them standing with their bikes, and then they'd remount and continue. [They, too, were challenged by this climb.] I got some kudos when I pedaled past one of them, but I couldn't afford a breath to say thanks.

There were a surprising number of banners strung up on barns and fences promoting this ride—surprising given how few riders there were. (200? 300?) Trails were a welcome respite from busy roads with fast-moving (though, well-behaved) traffic.

The route could have used a few more arrows. We inadvertently took a shortcut when we missed one trail junction. [Oh well.] Near the end, a clutch of riders had forked left and were standing up at street level, confused. I called out when my ride buddy headed toward them, and then all fell in line behind me. It helps to understand that, in urban areas, the main trail dips below cross-streets; you only want the street-level fork if you're exiting. I finished the day with 61 miles, and ... only 2,375 feet of climbing?

We were entertained by a live band and refueled with a meal at the finish. I pulled out the stray cell phone to see if I could determine its owner, but its battery had run dry. [Note to self: next time, put the thing in airplane mode until you have time to deal with it.] No one had reported a lost phone at the event, but I was able to hand it off to one of the event's tech-savvy guys. In all likelihood, it belonged to one of the locals; sorting it out after carrying it home to the South Bay would make its return complicated.

My best memory of this ride came on a trail. Among the cyclists we passed were a dad and his young daughter riding her own little bike, her helmet adorned with a tiara. It is especially important to slow down and call out in advance for the kids, who tend to weave unpredictably. Dad coached his pint-sized pink princess to stay to the right, and as I rolled past I smiled and said “Good job!” Before we were out of earshot, I overheard a tiny voice behind me.

“She made my day! She said I'm doing a good job!”

Aww. She made my day.

Chicks!

The chicks are bustin' out!

This year, I learned that egrets lay blue eggs (!). I found a shell cast off from a Great Egret's nest for all to admire.

Note to self: start visiting the rookery in June, not May. Sure, there were a few birds last month. But today they were on full display.

When I chatted with some folks from the local Audubon Society chapter last week, they told me they'd counted 110 nests at the rookery this year. (Apparently there are more nests in trees on the far side of the nearest building, too.)

Hungry chicks were squawking, while latecomers were building nests and fanning out their fancy feathers.

Our group had a latecomer, too: It was all chicks when we set off, till one lone male rider came barreling along to join us.

Without the headwinds we faced last time, I expected we'd find more birds along the shoreline. Maybe it was too early for lunch; apart from some snoozing mallards, we saw only a few egrets (Snowy and Great).

Everyone was mesmerized by the colony and temporarily forgot their own hunger pangs. (I will definitely move the start time for this outing up by half an hour, next time.) They were even willing to stop rolling toward lunch when I spotted a pair of Black-crowned Night-Herons on their nest.

With some errands, 56 miles and 1,000 feet of climbing for me; an essentially flat 27 miles for the main loop.

Hard to say what I enjoy more, the birds or introducing new people to the birds. It's all good.

Short and Shady

The rest of the group planned some challenging climbs, which (today) would be grueling in the heat.

I opted for the easiest climb, with a nice loop around the reservoir to cover some distance.

I eyed the redwoods towering over my head, across the ravine. I had to look down to see the base of the trees, and up (way up) to see the tops. They're that tall.

Far from the bustle of the valley, far from the highway packed with people heading for the coast for a respite from the heat, I reveled in the deep shade of a redwood grove. Moments of bliss, with just the sound of the birds and the creek tumbling over rocks.

An itty-bitty ride, just 12 miles with 1,115 of climbing.

Upside, Downside

The upside to the closure on the backside of Calaveras Road is the near-absence of traffic. [We shared the road with a total of three motorcycles, all well-behaved.]

The downside is that we can't ride all the way to Sunol, as is our wont. [Despite the helpful pointer from one member of our group that the road goes all the way. You're new here, aren't you?] Another member with intimate knowledge explained that although they did repair the slide damage, they've decided it's easier to keep it closed for a few more months and not have to sweep the road every weekend to clear the gravel dropped by trucks working on the dam.

It's not unusual to hear something rustling in the brush on back roads. Birds and lizards can make a surprising amount of noise in the dry leaves, especially if they set off a small cascade of debris. I glanced to my right and this time saw a small doe scampering away.

It was promising to be a hot day, though it turned out to be rather pleasant. I still face “the wall” with due trepidation, but as I grind my way up I admit it's not as bad as it used to seem. By the time we were heading back, a welcome wind had picked up. The hillsides had a golden hue, carpeted with sticky monkeyflower in bloom.

Round trip offered a mere 27 miles and 2,000 feet of climbing—and that will have to do until the road goes through again. Signage claimed September. [Promises, promises.]

Berry Cool Day

There was a reason why I was eager to take it easy yesterday, and that reason was today. Time for one of my favorite events on the greater Bay Area cycling calendar: Strawberry Fields Forever.

We have an abundance of choices for organized rides, and I've sampled many of them; this is my mainstay. I've missed it for assorted reasons over the years—sometimes by choice (rain). For the first time in many years, a friend signed up to join me.

There were a couple of places, early on, that could have used some route-marking arrows. My ride buddy grew concerned, but I assured her we were on the right road, headed in the right direction. I hope the newbies always had other riders in sight, to follow.

The “May Gray” might have been less than picturesque, but it did ensure we had a comfy temperature all day.

Somewhere along the way, near the Elkhorn Slough, a tall, pink poppy next to the road caught my eye. That's odd, I thought; how did that get here? [A few days later would bring the largest opium poppy bust in California history. The growing fields? Near Elkhorn.]

The route takes us along Hazel Dell Road, which had been closed due to storm damage dating to the winter of 2016-2017. The road was open, and we shared it with some cars, but ... wow, I wouldn't drive it. One of the washed-out sections was barely one lane wide, with no protection or reinforcement creekside. Even on a bike, the condition of the road gave me pause.

It's not uncommon to run into friends on this ride. One found me as we enjoyed our apple pie and fresh lemonade at Gizdich Ranch, another as we were about to head home. My ride buddy looked up from her plate at the finish and spotted a friend ... seated across the table.

Cliff swallows nesting under the eaves at the school,

great egrets hunting in the shallows of the slough.

61 miles, 2,895 feet of climbing, and more strawberries and chocolate ganache than I could sensibly eat.

Sky High

The rest of the group had ambitions to climb some popular hills to the north. Knowing that I would quickly be dropped, I was less keen on spending a few hours alone on one of the busier stretches of Skyline.

I headed south, solo. Less traffic (once you're past the entrance to Castle Rock State Park). The park was busier than usual, evidently hosting some event. Land has been cleared for the future entrance, but the pace of progress is slow. It's been more than two years since I led a bunch of volunteers hauling out debris that had been left on the grounds of the former Christmas tree farm.

I was most curious about the road repairs necessitated by the harsh storms of the 2016-2017 winter. A portion of the road washed out then, undermined by the development of a new gully.

I shared the road with a few cyclists (and fewer cars), climbing some 1,945 feet over 21 miles of peace. And quiet.

Wild Flower Hunting

The burn scars are gone; the fields have renewed themselves.

Three women (racers, evidently) passed me as we approached the first descent. Coming around the bend, I was gaining on them, and ... I dropped them. As expected, they caught me when the climbing resumed. “You started it,” they joked, “now you have to stay with us!” Ah, if only ... “I have no horsepower,” I confessed. “You've got great descending skills!“ they replied. I smiled. Yes, there is that.

In 2012, I managed ten and a half ascents of Mt. Hamilton. I missed March and December that year, but surely there were wildflowers in April and May. Why was today so remarkable? Was it the rainy winter, or was I just paying more attention?

I certainly never noticed the lilac bush at the summit. Because, how would you? Unless it was in full, fragrant bloom. Like today.

Yellow flowers along the driveway to the observatory.

Msny flowers I don't recall seeing before.

I started wondering how I'd identify them all, which got me thinking about how it is in our nature to name things. The flowers have no need for being named.

I noticed some yellow lupine on the way up, then regretted not pausing to get a photo. Regretted enough that I actually stopped on the descent.

The usual 39 miles and 4,890 feet of climbing, but I will never tire of this climb.

Even without the flowers.

Bike to Work Day Bunch

Bike to Work Day for me isn't just a another day to bike to work. That would be too simple.

It's a day to lead my colleagues to work.

There will always be riders to join me: some new, some regulars. We had an impressive contingent of first-timers, this year. Some sign up, some drop out, some know where (and roughly when) to meet us en route, and some ... just show up. One doesn't even work for the same company any more.

It all comes together, somehow.

With portable speakers on one rider's handlebars, the voice of Jim Morrison set the pace: Riders on the Storm.

By now, we have the timing well sorted out. Moments after we arrived at our rendezvous point, my co-leader rounded the corner with his group (eleven!) in tow.

After the traditional briefing (the most important rule: Have fun!) and group photo, our line of twenty-odd riders headed up the first bike bridge of the morning. Our route would carry us high above four different freeways, and more than one rider cackled gleefully at three lanes of bumper-to-bumper traffic stopped below. “Wave!” I shouted.

I can always count on extra help: The rider who darts over to press the “walk” button to give us a longer interval for crossing major streets. The rider who hangs at the back, offering encouragement and ensuring that we lose no one.

As usual, we invaded the “energizer station” in a neighboring town, refueling on coffee cake (and for those who wanted it, actual coffee). As usual, they were highly amused. Many photos were taken, including a ring of ankles bedecked in last year's colorful Bike to Work Day socks.

The biggest surprise was meeting one of our executives there. My co-leader and I had no idea that our organization's senior vice president was on that town's bicycle advisory committee. And he certainly wasn't expecting to see the two of us roll up, trailing two dozen cyclists.

This was also our bifurcation point, this year. Roughly half the group followed my co-leader to Mountain View, while I led the rest to Sunnyvale. [My, how the company has grown!] Our building's bike storage room could hold no more.

My co-leader was game to try my route home; I did my best to keep the pace brisk. (For my definition of brisk; slow, for him.) I rounded out the day with 38 miles and 880 feet of climbing, but that's not the whole story.

After Sunday's 53-mile ride, I can tell you that my legs were sore on Monday. [Eh, whatever. Get over it.]

In honor of Bike to Work Week this year, I dialed it up a notch. [Okay, maybe a couple of notches.] There was also a round-trip commute on Monday (36 miles), plus one-way trips on Tuesday and Wednesday (together, 36 miles). That adds up to 110 miles of commuting and 2,920 feet of climbing for the week. Last year, I wasn't confident I'd make it past the rendezvous point.

Friday's a rest day. I need my legs for Mt. Hamilton on Saturday.

Early Nesters

We paused at a park along the way, where a rider called out our first sighting: a hummingbird hovering overhead.

There were plenty of mallards and swallows along San Tomas Aquino Creek, but the prize was a well-camouflaged Black-crowned Night-Heron in the tall grass on the opposite bank.

The headwinds were surprisingly strong. (Builds character. And clears the air.)

Another rider knew a thing or two about birds. Terns! American Coots (male and female).

And of course, egrets. Majestic Great Egrets gliding gracefully above the surface of the bay. Snowy Egrets hunting in the shallows.

The willows are sprouting their leaves, and the birds are back—building and feathering their nests. Early birds claim the best branches.

So many fancy feathers to preen!

This being the start of Bike to Work Week, it seemed only fitting to bike to (and from) the start for today's ride. Which meant 27 mostly flat miles for the group, but 53 miles and 1,100 feet of climbing for me. My longest ride of the year!

Three Bikin' Babes

Looming gray clouds must have convinced my fellow cyclists to stay home this morning. There were no showers on the local weather radar map.

Two women joined me, both excited to share “This is one of my favorite routes!” (Mine, too.)

As I had hoped, the cool (and gloomy) weather meant that we would contend with little traffic; on a hot summer day there will be a steady stream of impatient drivers diverting off the freeway onto the original Santa Cruz Highway. Today, we had the redwoods to ourselves.

A male turkey fanned out his tail feathers for his hen (but not for my camera).

Some of these back roads, I believe, were originally logging roads. They've been paved since then, but ... not regularly. Every rainy winter breaks up more of the pavement, or worse—last winter a car was trapped in a hole (where the road had given way). I couldn't be sure which stretch of smooth, fresh pavement corresponded to that repair. But I can say that no section of road gets repaired before its time. [Which, in some cases, may be a century. Or more.]

A young buck eyed me warily.

Mama T Rex is still defending her hatchling from a diving pterodactyl.

A few drops of rain fell from the sky, barely noticeable. Which was good, because it was much chillier than I expected; I regretted not donning wool socks this morning.

The hillsides were dotted with wild iris, purple vetch, and some very tiny flowers unfamiliar to me.

The patio at the Summit Store was overrun by cyclists—another club's ride overlapped with a bit of ours. Three or four people emptied out of a car, bundled in puffy insulated jackets, and stared at us as if we were a herd of exotic creatures.

Yes, this is what we do on the weekend. 38 miles, 3,370 feet of climbing—even when it's gray and gloomy.

The Mighty Eucalyptus

I set off for home late on a blustery afternoon. No need to hurry, I told myself, with all that wind.

It's not unusual for me to pass a long line of cars along one stretch; some drivers prefer that route, even though a couple of stop signs cause traffic to back up.

Most of them, I expect, regretted their choice today.

I have to admit that I'm not a particular fan of eucalyptus trees. It's wise not to linger near them. Especially on windy days. Or hot days, when they sometimes explode.

I dismounted and took to the sidewalk, chatting with the firemen who were clearing the lane that they could. “It's not often we get to walk to a call,” they noted. (Their station is right across the street.)

Fortunately, there was no one in the path of that falling limb. “It was a close call,” a fireman said.

I can't begin to count the number of mornings I've pedaled beneath that monster and its neighbors, but I can tell you I'll be sprinting in the future.

Sounds of Spring

Oh, that enticing ribbon of road! One rider claimed to see the snow-capped peaks of the Sierras in the distance, but there was too much haze for me. I was tempted, oh-so-tempted, to head down the other side of Patterson Pass, but that was not part of today's plan.

Another rider matter-of-factly identified the repeated trill of a nearby western meadowlark. They'd seen peacocks, too; I had recognized their cries but I didn't catch a glimpse. None of us could miss the spectacle of hundreds of red-winged blackbirds swarming in a brushy field we'd passed. What a cacophony!

Frogs croaked, goats bleated, sheep baaed, wild turkeys gobbled, cattle mooed, cyclists panted.

By the time I reached the base of Morgan Territory Road, I had recovered enough to make the turn with the rest of the group. Why not?

Why not? Because I had climbed the front side once before (and I remembered it well).

But, here I was, again. When I met an SUV coming down the steepest section, I stopped debating whether to attempt it. [I walked.]

I wondered at the rocky peak in the distance, so clearly visible from the park where we'd stopped, just past the summit.

The green hills will fade to gold all too soon, and the poppies will shed their petals and seeds.

Our return via Collier Canyon Road was unfamiliar, and unexpectedly lovely—a very pleasant surprise.

I've been commuting by bicycle with more determination, and it is paying off. My most challenging ride of the year: 43 miles, 3,090 feet of climbing, with no regrets.

Evil Twig

You know the old superstition that bad luck comes in threes?

First, one of the riders in our group broke his chain. [Fixed.]

Flying down Old Santa Cruz Highway, it sounded like I'd suddenly caught a piece of paper in my wheel. Strange, I didn't remember seeing anything like that on the road.

I slowed and stopped. Nothing there. Maybe it came loose. Maybe it was a leaf?

I started rolling again. Something wasn't right. Was something rubbing? Another cyclist pulled up behind me. He spun the rear wheel, listening. “Oh look, it's flat.”

I pulled out a fresh tube and set to work. There was a suspicious cut in the tire—all the way through. Which, sure enough, corresponded to the hole in the tube. “This is weird,” he said, as he folded the old tube. “Feel that? There's something inside the tube.”

As we loaded our bikes at the end of the ride, a minivan pulled up and dropped off a solo rider and his bike—which he proceeded to load into his car. Evidently he'd needed to hitch a ride back, unable to recover from his mechanical issue. (It comes in threes, I tell you.)

Our group of four had cycled a mere 18 miles (with 1,905 feet of climbing and more than our share of breakdowns).

Back at home, I sliced the tube and pulled out ... a piece of a twig, similar in size to the shaft of a pencil and roughly tapered at one end.

That pierced a tire? And tube? And lodged itself inside?

Off with both Mavic Yksion (Comp) tires, on with the Continental GP4000S tires I trust.

Daylight Bonus

With a forecast for a dry day, I eagerly prepared for a long-overdue bike commute.

Then I woke up, groggy, to a chilly morning (37F). As the minutes ticked by, I doubted I could make it in time to get cleaned up before my first meeting of the day. [I've starred in this movie before ... ]

If I'm tired now, how would I have the energy to bike back home?

💡 But wait! That's it! Take the shuttle now, bike home later! 💡

With no time to waste, I showered, ate breakfast, swapped the street clothes I'd packed with my bike gear, and dashed off to catch the early bus. [I did forget my water bottle. And evidently I'd neglected to replace the spare I keep at the office ... sigh.]

I made it (barely). The bus caught me as I raced to the pick-up point. Our oh-so-thoughtful driver greeted me: “I was trying to figure out who it was!” she said. [Not my usual folding bike.]

How did I forget about this option? During the dark winter months, I take the shuttle home if I bike to work. With daylight savings time in effect, there is no good reason not to do the reverse when early morning meetings make it impractical for me to bike to work. [I am not now, never have been, and likely never will be, a “morning person.”]

The ride home felt delicious! [Well, except for the obvious reminder that I need more saddle time. Ahem.]

Australian Museum

Crossing through Hyde Park, I happened upon a small flock of Sulfur-crested cockatoos that were poking about in the grass and mulch at the base of a tree. Having met them only as pets up till now, it was a treat to see them just being wild birds.

I was headed for the Australian Museum—another recommendation from a colleague. The entrance walk features reproductions of some famous fossilized footprints of indigenous people dating back 20,000 years.

In a natural history museum, there's no telling where I'll end up. Rocks and minerals. A captivating exposition about feathers and wings in the bird exhibit. Did their ancestors leave any trace on this land?

Yes, dinosaurs roamed Australia, and the museum has a cast of a Muttaburrasaurus.

So much to see! So much to learn! And never enough time.

All too soon I would begin the long journey east across the Pacific, returning home.

Till next time ...