Emerald Hills

All too soon emerald will fade to olive, olive to gold, gold to brown. The rains will stop. [Right?]

This could be it: the best chance to enjoy Calaveras Reservoir and the surrounding hills at their peak.

Up the wall, which has become less daunting after so many ascents. My heart rate topped out at 181 bpm.

The hills did not disappoint, but there were fewer wildflowers than I've seen here in the past.

How I wanted to drop down the back side, now that the road is (finally) open again! And I would have, had anyone else in the group chosen to continue. But not alone, not today; not without more riding in my legs this season.

Loitering at the turnaround point paid off, as a long stream of motorcycles thundered past; we were grateful not to be sharing the narrow curves with them.

A modest 2,070 feet of climbing over 27 miles, on a shimmering clear day.

Sun Day

It had been a month since I'd joined a club ride. Finally, a weekend day without rain, with no other commitments! A ride that would follow a local loop. A ride with a leisurely start time—I could bike to the start! Not too hilly. Not too flat. Not too long. Not too short.

The challenge was to stay with the group, as our (unspecified) route twisted indirectly through unfamiliar neighborhoods. No worries, though; I knew I could make my own way easily enough if I fell behind.

We regrouped in Saratoga at the always-impressive Villa Montalvo after climbing the first of the four hills we'd tackle today.

I suffered less than I'd expected I would; a little cross-training and a little fair-weather bike commuting paid dividends. And spring flowers perked up our spirits.

For the day, 28 miles with 1,960 feet of climbing.

Just right.

Wintry Fun

My recent Heavenly trip whetted my appetite for more. I have some (very!) good friends in Utah, with a standing invitation to visit. Somehow I keep letting each winter slip away without planning a trip. Work interferes, and then there are social commitments—like season tickets to San Francisco Ballet.

March, already. Was it too late? [No!] It has been a good year for snow in Utah, too.

I continued warming up at Deer Valley. Although I picked up my skis (Völkl Aurora) a few years ago, they are still “new” to me. The first time I took them out, I worried that my friends had overestimated my skills in recommending these. After reading some reviews this year, it clicked: be more aggressive. Words from an instructor at a long-ago Snowbird Women's Ski Camp echoed in my head. Pep is a better skier than she thinks she is.

Biking, hiking, skiing—all involve lots of leg muscles. But not the same leg muscles. I took a day off, joining my friend on a short, snowy hike in the neighborhood—before spending the next three at my favorite place to ski: Alta.

So much snow! Fresh snow, just before I arrived in town. Picture-perfect skies. No crowds.

No snowboarders. [Sorry, not sorry.]

My confidence returning, I turned onto a black diamond slope after lunch. Pep is a better skier than she thinks she is. It was fine.

I picked up enough speed to make it, easily, uphill to the top of Razor Back. Several times. [I'm likin' these skis.]

I was also liking the lack of bumps. I mean, they're there if that's what you want. And I don't mind flirting with them, now and then. But they're not my thing.

I'm in it for the sheer joy of gliding down the hill.

And the views.

“If you've left anything behind,” my friends warned, “you'll have to come back for it.”

Deal!

Hikers in the Mist

So much rain. So many bike rides canceled.

“Want to go for a hike?” a friend asked.

El Sombroso, he said.

We started up the Woods Trail. 12 miles, he said. [Yikes!]

It was misty.

It was rainy.

Sometimes the sun came out and the cube atop Mt. Umunhum appeared.

There were cascading streams.

And so much green.

There was much talk of newts (but we saw only two).

There were other hikers, including an intrepid group who were delighted when we offered to snap their photo.

The route was, actually, closer to 13 miles.

My legs would ache for days ...

Sierra Snow Day

Snow Day!

Growing up, that meant no school. Today it meant ... no work!

The trip to South Lake Tahoe went smoothly, though chain controls were in effect (that includes you, Mr. Bus Driver!). A few of us had front row seats for a little drama that played out between the (male) passenger and (female) driver of a sedan. He pulled out the chains. He read the instructions. He circled the car. He read the instructions some more. He walked out of view, presumably to observe the process on other vehicles. He reappeared and read the instructions again. The driver grew impatient. We considered taking up a collection to pay the $20 fee for one of the professionals to do the job, but we figured that would just add insult to injury.

I haven't skied in three years and planned to take it easy. [Where does the time go?] Of course, I went straight to the top of the mountain.

The trees were pretty, even if my skiing was not. Two years ago, I missed out on skiing at Squaw when I was humbled by the altitude. I had donated blood shortly before that trip; I would not make that mistake again.

It's another snowy year in the Sierras, bringing an official end to California's seven-year drought. Not that we should stop conserving ...

Heavenly straddles the state line, and I made a point of crossing into Nevada. The contrast was stark: dry and brown to the east, blue and white to the west.

Just when I was getting comfortable, we were advised to head down the mountain. The winds (already strong) were picking up, lifts were shutting down, and I couldn't afford to miss the gondola that would return me to the right base. [Sigh.]

Must. Ski. More. [Stay tuned.]

Spin, Dry

So much rain.

So much cabin fever.

So little fitness.

A modest route drew a good-sized group today, despite the chilly air. Uncharacteristically, there were more gals than guys on the ride. Lots of pink (bikes, accessories, jackets, jerseys).

We started with a visit to Alum Rock Park. The water was flowing well in Penitencia Creek.

Our destination, San Felipe Road, is a welcome rural respite along the southeastern flank of San José.

Streams coursed through the fields: water finds a way.

Cyclists found a way, too—though we constrained ourselves to paved roads. There was ample cardio challenge for me over 37 miles and 2,305 of climbing, though my legs felt stronger than I expected.

Dividends from just a couple of rowing machine workouts on rainy days. There will be more of those.

Yahrzeit

There is likely a new tradition for our club to ride the hills south of Hollister on this day, for it was on Presidents' Day in 2018 that a beloved member was struck and killed here.

Our tradition represents an adaptation of yahrzeit, which marks the anniversary of a death. Our multicultural minyan (of cyclists) gathered at the ghost bike to remember Jon with a recitation of the Mourner's Kaddish (English translation).

We adapted the custom of placing stones at the grave, to place them at this memorial site. And some of our club members had clearly learned more about this tradition. One had chosen a rock at the top of one of the most difficult climbs in our area (Bohlman Road), then carried it in his saddle bag for 200 miles of riding before placing it here. (Jon had completed nearly 50 double centuries.)

Another cyclist (who could not ride with us today) came prepared with a spread of brushes, jars of bright enamel paints, and an assortment of smooth rocks. I was drawn to a particular stone, immediately. “Never Forget Jon” was the message from me.

Afterward, we were left with our thoughts as we pedaled along the back roads. Knowing that we were seeing some of the same sights that Jon saw, that day. Blue skies, green hills, the light of the sun in winter. This year, some of the higher peaks were dusted with snow.

A wild sow and her little brown piglets streaked through a field and across the road in front of me. We abbreviated our planned loop to an out-and-back (24 miles, 1,150 feet of climbing) after hearing that a key connector was flooded.

May the tradition of this day be carried forward in memory of Jon, even past the time of those of us who once rode alongside him.

Crystal Blue Persuasion

The thing is ... it was 32°F on Wednesday morning. [Well, 32.2°F, to be precise.] And 32.7°F on Thursday.

The thing is ... the forecast was showing 100% chance of rain on Saturday; the sky today was clear and oh-so-blue.

The thing is ... there would be little traffic, since many people were extending their holiday time off.

The thing is ... I have not been getting enough exercise.

The thing is ... my morning calendar was clear.

The thing is ... no more excuses!

[Yes, that's more than one thing. I know.]

I pulled myself together, pumped up the tires, and pedaled off on my first ride of 2019. I skipped the club outings on January 1st, because ... I couldn't think of a good reason to go for a bike ride when the thermometer registered 33°F. [Yes, it was colder this morning; but I would be rewarded with a flaky chocolate croissant and a nice warm shower once I arrived at work.]

Look over yonder, what do you see?
The sun is a-risin', most definitely

The ride was ... ah, “invigorating” (once my frozen fingers stopped throbbing). There were very few people out and about, but the birds were twittering. I wondered how they managed, in the cold.

And then ...

On a city street I was startled by a sudden explosion of feathers.

It was an equally startled juvenile Cooper's Hawk, who was loath to abandon its squirrelly meal. [The carcass was still too meaty to carry off, I think.] I parked the bike and sidled ever closer, next to a conveniently parked car, without spooking the bird. [Much to the dismay of a crow with its eye on the prize, cawing high above us in a tree.]

I took the lazy/longer/flatter route (19.5 miles), which still amounted to 260 feet of climbing. [Well, I did go up the gratuitous hill. No excuses.]

It warmed up to 34°F on Friday, and the roads were even emptier. Three days, three rides to work.

There'll be peace and good, brotherhood ...

Closing Out 2018

I've admired this homeowner's display for the past few years, and each season I think “I should take a picture,” but I'm usually more keen to get home than to stop. And then, right after Christmas, the lights go out.

This year, I remembered. This year, I stopped.

Another year has passed. I managed to bike to (or from) work 62 times. Not bad, considering that each trip is 18+ miles. And overall, I biked more than 2,385 miles, climbing more than 105,172 feet along the way. More than last year. Less than next year? [We'll see.]

Coastal Perspective

The winter sun sits low in the sky.

The sea calms me. I doubt that I could be happy living far from the shore, though of course so many people do.

Memories of Christmases past give way to the present, and a newer tradition of hiking on this day. We wandered along the Half Moon Bay Coastal trail, and some spurs, for a nice 6-mile walk.

My gift today was to enjoy the beauty of this world, the clear skies and sunshine, and the company of a good friend.

Ghost Bike Dedication

Winter rains have started to green the hills, but today the sun shone upon us.

We gathered in memory of Jon. His wife and son, his friends, members of his congregation and our bicycle club, and the folks from the ranch who graciously gave space on their land for a ghost bike.

Memories were shared, prayers read, tears shed.

From there we rode the familiar Cienega Loop in the unfamiliar direction (northward), rolling in at 33 miles with 1,480 feet of climbing.

In the afternoon, we bore somber witness in the courtroom at the final hearing. When Jon's widow read her statement about the impact of Jon's loss on their family and the community, it was as though everyone in the room froze in place: no one stirred, no one made a sound. The judge, having accepted the defendant's plea of “no contest” to the misdemeanor charge for killing Jon, sentenced the driver to a jail term of 150 days. He will return to his life. To his wife. To his children.

Jon is gone forever, and we will never know why.

Tailwind?!

I was non-committal about riding today. Did I really want to set the alarm to wake up early enough on a Saturday morning to haul myself to the start of a bike ride? [No.]

If I wake up naturally, I told myself, I will go. [And so I did.] It was also convenient that this particular ride would start at the leisurely hour of 10 a.m.

This is a route that the club rides regularly, and I fully intended to join the group earlier this year. I had pulled myself together that day, loaded up the car, drove down to the starting point, and just as I pulled into the parking lot I realized ... I had left my bike shoes at home. [Sigh.]

I would not make that mistake today.

'Tis the season; an ambitious homeowner was working on his Christmas holiday display. I wonder if Santa and a sack of presents will materialize in that sleigh two weeks from now?

Blue skies to the east, gray skies to the west. A storm is approaching from the south, which blessed us with an uncharacteristic tailwind for the return leg. Woo-hoo! I looked forward to that reward as I faced the modest headwinds on the opening leg.

What a treat to sail along at an effortless 18 mph for the last ten miles! 40 miles, 1,085 feet of climbing for the day.

Alviso

More time off the bike. Five weeks, now. Not a single ride in November. [Well, not counting three miles most weekdays, to and from my commuter shuttle.]

My chief biking buddy and I were determined to get out for a ride today, and I opted to join her on one of her favorite outings: to Alviso, mostly on trails. To keep the distance manageable, I shortened my trip by hopping on the light rail to reach our starting point (and, to return).

Having learned my lesson last time, I definitely needed something less taxing.

I was delighted by the full-size sculpture of Lupe, the Columbian mammoth, along the Guadalupe Creek Trail (near where her remains were discovered). After that story faded from the news back in 2005, I had forgotten all about it.

I have never seen the surface of San Francisco Bay so still. In addition to black-necked stilts in the shallows, we saw a floating flock of white pelicans (and a few egrets and great blue herons along the way).

It rained yesterday, which helped clear out the smoke from the catastrophic Camp Fire that had choked the region for weeks. Even though the fire burned about 200 miles to the northeast, our air quality was (at times) hazardous. Even though all my windows were closed, I smelled the smoke in my house the morning after the fire started.

We didn't get too far on the levees before the trail became too muddy for us to proceed. We met another woman cycling on her own and invited her to join us. We parted ways on the return trip, opting for the unpaved trail on the opposite bank of the Guadalupe River.

The principal part of the ride was 24 flat miles (okay, okay: 320 feet of climbing), which I extended another 10 miles (and 200 feet of climbing) biking to and from the light rail station. Looking forward to repeating this ride in other seasons!

Use It

I struggled up Mt. Hamilton today. My heart rate was higher than it should have been. When I'd pause, it wouldn't drop as quickly as it should have, either.

But it was a beautiful day, and I kept going.

I wondered whether I should keep going. But I kept going.

[Stubborn? Who, me?]

I wanted to take advantage of what might be the last warm day of the season to head for the summit. I've descended it in the teeth-chattering cold before.

I was alarmed at how hard the climb was; I wasn't trying for a speed record. It was the usual 4,895 feet of climbing over 39 miles.

Maybe that sounds daunting? But it shouldn't be, for me. How many times have I climbed it? [More than 35 times.]

The reason it was hard today was not mysterious: My last bike ride was four weeks ago. [Yikes!]

Use it, or lose it.