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!
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?!
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?
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 ...
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.
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.
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!
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?
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.
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.
Biking through Almaden Valley neighborhoods, I picked up the distinctive chirping of an electronic timer as a man headed back into his house. Moments later, a mockingbird mimicked the intervals of the timer's beeps precisely, close to the same pitch.
I watched a small bird make repeated trips to the upper reaches of the towering front tree—ducking into a hole to feed offspring in a nest.
Take in the sights and sounds of the world around you. Unplug.
Well, except for a little problem with my hiking boots. As I approached my car at the end of yesterday's hike, I was dismayed to discover one sole flopping loose. [Hey! These boots are not that old! There is plenty of tread on that Vibram sole!]
A design flaw, perhaps? Rather than being glued in place, the grippy sole was affixed to a rigid plastic undersole by a few plastic pegs—some of which had snapped off. Which meant that, if I were to hike today, it would be in my heavier, cold-weather boots. On a hot day.
So be it.
I was intrigued when the group settled on a hike in that very section, giving me a new perspective on the dam and Hicks Road. Recalling a crazy guy I'd seen across the reservoir a couple of years ago, I was happy to be part of a group.
We were all happy to be part of a group when we heard a rustling noise, and then a loud crash. A runner who had passed us on the trail turned back to check on us, worried that someone might have been crushed. Somewhere nearby, in the canyon below us, a tree (or large branch) had given way.
Six miles on a hot day in heavy boots ... I sure was happy to pull them off when we finished!
There is no shortage of opportunities to do volunteer work in the Bay Area, and that's probably true wherever you live. I'm not ready to commit myself to a rigid schedule, so I've been looking for suitable one-time events. That also means I can keep an eye on the weather forecast before signing up, and gives me the chance to sample the various organizations that are eager for help. Who knows, maybe someday I'll settle on one and become a regular?
Given how often I swing by the Bernal-Gulnac-Joice Ranch on my bike, it seemed most fitting to join the Friends of Santa Teresa Park for one of their monthly “beautification” days. We started with a short walk to the Santa Teresa Spring, which I'd never explored.
Before we got started, I recognized an old cycling friend I hadn't seen in years. We were both surprised (and delighted)—but she was there to hike, not work.
We were given a choice of attacking invasive star thistle (prickly) or blackberry vines (thorny); I opted for the latter. We were only expected to cut the vines down to their roots; they were too well-established and entangled in the ceanothus bushes to consider digging them out. Which means this problem will persist, indefinitely. A drainage channel ran alongside the fence where we worked, and one hardy vine had established itself below a grate. I was frustrated that I couldn't pry the (hinged) grate loose and had to settle only for what I could lop off at the surface.
Our hosts made sure we stayed hydrated, and generously shared some apricots fresh off their tree. After wrapping up, I finally toured the historic ranch house and wondered (as always) at how simply people lived. A room for sleeping, a room for cooking, and a parlor.
I regret not taking some before-and-after shots to showcase our work, but rest assured that our hosts were impressed at how much we accomplished. The blackberry crew eradicated every vine in sight and raked all the cuttings into a few piles for county parks staff to collect.
Take a look around and pitch in sometime. If you appreciate open space, know that there is so much more work to be done than the local staff can complete.
Volunteer naturalists from the local open space authority would be leading the hike: that's why.
I was glad I mustered enough enthusiasm to show up; there were three naturalists and three hikers. I was looking forward to learning on this outing, but certainly didn't expect one-on-one time.
I think I earned some trail cred early on, when I called out “columbine!”after the group breezed right past it.
We had a slow and casual stroll, stopping often to admire butterflies and identify plants. It became clear, once one of the leaders pointed it out, that invasive plants colonize the disturbed areas (e.g., adjacent to the trail), gradually crowding out the natives.
Elsewhere, the native plants—like this dense patch of (native) deerweed—are better able to stand their ground.
Look in the mirror. Don't take the efforts of your fellow hikers so much for granted. Step up. Even though you biked 50+ miles yesterday. (Different muscles.)
There would be views, there would be flowers and butterflies and lizards and The Cube.
A little over seven miles and 1,000 feet of elevation gain (give or take), plus good stories shared along the way.
Along the bay, when we paused to watch a black-necked stilt strutting on the trail we found ourselves in the midst of some sort of avian drama, with three of them swooping over and around us.
My hunch was correct: the fledglings were starting to venture out of the nest, like this little black-crowned night heron.
Our easy East Bay route included a stop at a park with a unique playground—designed for children with special needs, featuring play areas inspired by regional landmarks. Imagine a swing designed to accommodate a wheelchair!
A celebration of Steve's life followed; the luncheon included his favorite dishes—his family joked that he'd always made the menu selections.
My connection was with Judy, Steve's wife; we'd first met at a cycling event 18 years ago. So many members of their cycling club rose to share stories about how kind and thoughtful he was: graciously sweeping group rides, encouraging riders during their low moments, fixing their bikes.
I recalled a moment that Judy shared with me recently, when she arrived at a cycling event and learned that one of the organizers had forgotten his helmet: She reached into her car and pulled out a spare. “Steve always kept a spare helmet in the car,” she explained.
I can't think of a better way to honor his memory. Be kind. Be helpful.
On the lookout for another volunteer gig suitable for sharing with my former teammates, I discovered that the Don Edwards San Francisco Bay National Wildlife Refuge was hosting a “weeding party” on a weekday evening at their Alviso location. Not far from the office, that seemed ideal! The idea was to support local pollinators by removing invasive plants from their butterfly native garden.
Their plans had shifted, but one former colleague and a friend were able to join me. Our assignment was to uproot and remove wild mustard plants, which were in abundance. These invasive plants spread a prodigious amount of seed and develop thick taproots, difficult to pry out of the rock-hard soil even with proper tools. I went hunting for the smaller plants that others overlooked, especially in the cool shade under the trees. I spotted a couple of invasive thistle plants lurking in a tangle of plants next to the pavilion and yanked them out, too.
Postscript: We later learned that we removed more than 75 pounds of invasive plants (mostly mustard). Now I can't stop seeing this scourge wherever I ramble around the Bay Area. I find myself tugging them out, or at least breaking off the stems before the flowers set seed. We won't win this battle, but we should carry on the fight.
A friend reached out for an easy hike today, and was game to visit Calero County Park when I proposed that. My regular hiking buddies would be there, too, but on a different (more challenging) loop.
It was a glorious day for a hike, and I learned that my hiking companion has a keen eye for spotting tiny creatures—and is patiently willing to indulge this amateur naturalist's curiosity!
As usual, there were other people gazing upward at the rookery. It's fun to educate casual observers, and (as usual) I managed to surprise them with a cast-off eggshell I found in the grass. I needn't have looked so hard, as I later found two that had been carefully set aside (and added mine).
Snowy egrets were plentiful, so I was particularly delighted to find a great egret showing off some fancy plumage.
Luckily I can get around on my bike.
An Amazon van rolled up, taunting me. “That thing you wanted? It's right. In. Here.”
A floor pump? [I think. Not.]
Tools and bike bits spread around me, I sat in the shade. There was that, at least.
My problem was self-inflicted. It was a warm day, and I really didn't need to inflate my tires close to the rated maximum PSI. Really.
I was enjoying my snack in a shady spot near the hens, when ... Pffft! Parked in the rack, basking in the sunshine, a tube burst. [In the rear tire, of course.]
Luckily just one tube blew, because I don't carry two spares.
It's been a (long) while since I've needed to repair a flat on this bike, away from home. At least I was in a comfortable spot.
Step 1: Let some air out of the tube in the other tire, lest it suffer the same fate.
Repair Attempt 1: Use C02 cartridge. [Fail.] I thought the inflator was compatible with Schrader valves. I guess not.
Attempt 2: Use pump. [Fail.] Clever design, easy to use. If only I could unscrew the cap to pull out the hose.
Fallback Option 1: Phone a friend. [Fail.] Text message. No response.
Option 2: Call AAA? [Likely to be sitting here, waiting, for hours.]
Option 3: Wander through the neighborhood, begging for a floor pump?
Attempt 3: Keep trying to unscrew the cap on the pump. [Yes, I'm the stubborn, self-reliant type.] Success!
After gingerly riding the first three or so miles, my confidence grew that I would make it back home under my own power.
On these tires, 85 PSI should be plenty. Maybe more than enough. [Really.]
Lesson learned.
Posts
All Comments
