The Shore

I've been overdue for a visit to the other coast, and what better time than summer to enjoy the shore?

Gulls are the most common shorebird, but great egrets (and cormorants) can be found in the marshes.

Ospreys, once an uncommon sight, are thriving. Channel markers are popular (and successful) nesting sites.

We cruised past a pair of (docked) clam dredges. Recreational boats outnumber commercial boats, by far.

I connected over a fine lobster roll sandwich with a long-time friend. Crabs are more commonly caught, this far south, but evidently some local lobstering is successful.

Have you wondered why they call these beach cruisers? This density was reminiscent of bicycle-centric Amsterdam. Evidently bike theft is not a big issue here. They're low-value, but ... still. This is not a sight you would see in the Bay Area.

When we broke out our lunches, I was surprised that the gulls were not aggressive. Instead, they waited patiently for a family to pack up and leave before swooping down to search for tidbits dropped by the kids.

I enjoyed a couple of thunderstorms, saw one firefly and my first spotted lantern fly. (This one hopped away, but I summarily dispatched the next two I found.)

One thing I don't miss is the oppressive humidity. A storm rolled through, but brought no relief. Fortunately, it didn't interfere with the weekly fireworks show.

Barbecues, boat rides, birds, beaches. Summer fun at the Jersey Shore.

Lexington Loop

This is why I ride.

We're having another heat wave—topping out at 104°F in my neighborhood, this afternoon. Which is why I was determined to go for a ride this morning.

I chose a lightweight jersey, but questioned my choice as soon as I stepped out of the car into the blazing sun. The material was thin and well-ventilated, but the color was ... not light.

Part of me wanted to extend today's route with a little more distance and climbing; another part of me dreaded slogging uphill on exposed, sun-baked roads on the return.

There was a road crew metering traffic around some tree work. Being the only moving thing on the road (coming, and going), they flipped their sign from stop to slow as I approached. “That's me, slow!” I joked as I passed.

Instead of returning the same way, I decided to pass Lexington Reservoir on the west side. I'd heard that the road had been passable for a while, and now the “road closed” signs were gone. I knew I needed the climbing I would have done on the east side, but not in today's heat. And I was curious. [I didn't stop to snap a photo at the damaged section. Next time ...]

My route adjustment was the right choice. Only a relatively short uphill stretch in the sun; after that, the rest of the (long) exposed portion was downhill. [Woo-hoo!] Fifteen miles and some 1,400 feet of elevation gain (vs. 16 miles and about 1,700 feet had I chosen to return on the east side).

Next time ...

Serendipity

We chose Bear Creek Redwoods for our hike today because it would be cool(er); we also got an early start.

There's really only one loop here; we decided to follow it clockwise today.

And so it was, toward the end of our hike, that we crossed paths with an avid iNaturalist contributor. His unusual camera gear caught the attention of the avid photographer in our group—who normally doesn't join us for these jaunts.

I shared that he'd find quite a few butterflies ahead (like the two pictured above, a painted lady and a Mylitta crescent, feeding on a bull thistle flower).

He, in turn, led us to a plant that none of us would have noticed, otherwise. From the trail, it seemed nothing more than a fading stalk that had already shed its flowers. I wouldn't have given it a second glance.

An orchid enthusiast among us later identified it as a Platanthera transversa.

And I thought I had a keen eye! [Sigh.] And yes, there's a tiny spider at the top. [Bonus points.]

Biking and Birding

Now that's a serious nail.

When I spotted it, I chose walking over pedaling, so I could pick it up. (On yesterday's ride I collected four nails—three of which were rusty—and a large sheared-off bolt.) How do so many pointy things end up on the road?

I was in the mood for a long ride and headed toward the bay. It occurred to me that I could reverse the loop and enjoy a tailwind, but I hadn't plotted out the best route for that. And a fresh fruit tart on the return leg is becoming a tradition.

A giant shadow passed me on the trail along the shoreline—cast by a brown pelican flying not far above my head. The bird was skittish, but I managed to get a few photos.

And of course there were egrets, hunting in the shallows.

I added a bit of climbing on the way home to finish with about 1,300 feet of elevation gain over 45 miles. Another beautiful day of biking and bird-watching!

Forest of Nisene Marks

I hadn't hiked in the Forest of Nisene Marks State Park in ... a very long time. [Two decades.] I decided to head toward the coast in the early afternoon, which gave me a little spare time to go exploring before an early evening get-together.

Our redwood forests are almost fully second-growth, having been heavily logged over a century ago.

On my last visit, we explored some trails in the upper section of the park; today I parked near the entrance station and wandered through some of the lower section. My intended route didn't pan out when I couldn't find the continuation of the Terrace trail on the opposite side of Aptos Creek, but I still enjoyed my time in the redwood groves.

Remembering Keith

This is how I will remember Keith.

My friends were stunned that day when Keith shared his age (less than a month shy of 94). He came out for a ride I led to see the birds; he was on an electric bicycle then, but ... still. If I make it to that age, will I still be cycling?

I remember a presentation Keith gave about a cycling tour he'd completed in Germany. He'd served as a meteorologist with the Army Air Force during World War II, so needless to say he had a full appreciation of weather patterns. When he found himself riding north along a river—battling strong headwinds—he took a boat to the northern terminus of his route, hopped off and biked south. He crossed paths with the rest of the group again somewhere along the route.

Another story stuck with me from one of Keith's presentations. He was touring on his own (in his eighties, then) and found himself in a place that had changed since his guidebook had been published. He was perplexed. A woman in her backyard not only sorted out the route for him, but invited him in for a meal.

The only other time I rode with Keith involved cycling up a pretty steep street. He might have been the last one to the top, but he made it. On a regular bicycle. At the age of 84.

His failing eyesight ultimately kept Keith off the bike. His last ride with the bike club was at the age of 95—he even co-led a 21-mile ride to celebrate his birthday that year.

To celebrate his 100th birthday, we gathered at San Jose's Municipal Rose Garden. He seemed happy to be surrounded by old friends—and with his birthday cake!

Keith has left us, now; but his adventures and good humor will not be forgotten by those who knew him.

Share the Trail

We often visit Almaden Quicksilver County Park. The location is convenient for many of the folks in our group, and we have a couple of reliable, not-too-strenuous hiking loops.

As the hot spell continues, we've roused ourselves for an earlier start (to be done before we bake).

Last week, on our most familiar loop, a hiker ahead of us alerted us to a coyote. A woman behind us was pushing a small dog in a stroller, and we were all concerned for their welfare. Circle the wagons. A few us hung back to form a group with her.

The coyote showed no interest, trotting through the tall grass in search of proper prey.

We hiked a different (longer) loop this week, and a surprise was in store near the end.

An animal merged onto the trail ahead of our group. From a distance, I guessed “coyote” ... it had pointy ears, but didn't have a bushy tail. Then I saw it walk like a cat: bobcat! It stayed on the trail, periodically turning to look at us.

This is a nice trail, why not use it? Those two-legged creatures are keeping their distance. Maybe they're stalking me, but I could easily outrun them.

Cruising Up the Canyon

One of the advantages of cycling with a bike club was learning about lots of interesting places to ride (and more motivation to ride them). Now that I'm mostly cycling on my own, it's been easy to fall into a bit of a rut, cycling along a small set of familiar, comfortable routes.

But an advantage of cycling on my own is the freedom to start pedaling when it's convenient for me, rather than conforming to a club's calendar. Today I reminded myself that I was perfectly capable of biking up Stevens Canyon on my own. [And that's what I did.]

I knew it would be shady and cool along the creek, and that there would be other cyclists on the road. [Surprisingly, not many.]

On the weekends, this quiet (dead-end) road has been getting an inordinate amount of traffic. High-speed traffic. Thanks to construction on Highway 9 (ongoing for a couple of years, now), drivers learned a bypass from Stevens Canyon onto Redwood Gulch Road. I haven't climbed that super-steep road in years, and I certainly wouldn't do it now (on a weekend).

A young woman wearing a face mask, on an electric bicycle, was clearly uncomfortable on the road; she pulled over and stopped when there was a car behind her. I passed her and reached the end of the road long before she did, despite stopping to watch some butterflies (woodland skippers) on the aptly-named butterfly bush.

I imagine her partner thought this would be a pleasant, non-threatening ride for her—and maybe it was, once she got past the intersection at Redwood Gulch. I took off before they did, mindful that she would likely not be comfortable descending through the canyon at speed.

I considered a couple of options for my return route, settling on one that involved the least amount of climbing. I did, however, include one (short) gratuitous hill in both directions, because ... why not. Forty-one miles and some 2,000 feet of elevation gain for the day. [And sore legs.]

The Places You Go

Three minutes into the ride, I was sweating. I should have gotten an earlier start, although it wasn't even 9:30 a.m. Should I just turn around and go home? [Nah.]

I wanted to reach Almaden Reservoir; maybe I should just aim for the Hacienda entrance at Almaden Quicksilver Park and skip the climb to the dam. [Nah.]

There was a hint of a breeze, in addition to my self-generated airflow. It's hottest when you stop and the sun is beating down on you. [So don't stop.]

Keep pedaling, past the reservoir, past the intersection with Hicks Road, into the welcome shade of the trees along Herbert Creek.

I stopped to admire the view as I returned and watched a bunch of dragonflies zooming near the water's edge. Good luck getting a photo, I thought; they're zipping along, scooping up their prey. But I got lucky—one took a break and perched nearby (a widow skimmer, I learned). I'd never seen one of those before!

Should I stop for lunch on the way home? The price to pay would be more riding in hotter conditions. [Worth it, I decided.]

After 32 miles and a modest 800 feet of elevation gain, I wasn't feeling too bad when I rolled in—and found the thermometer registering 99°F. (Yikes!) Maybe the food helped?

Or maybe it was thanks to another happy day going places on a bicycle.

Giro Bello

Waiting for my chief cycling buddy to roll into the rest stop, I eavesdropped on a conversation nearby. One of the ride ambassadors (people who cycle along the course to assist others or summon help) was recounting his battery-related woes. Riding without route navigation because his bike computer hadn't been fully charged and ran out of juice. Stuck riding in one (challenging) gear because he forgot to charge the battery powering his electronic shifters, which ran out of juice. The other guy suggested that he should let the air out of his tires for a real challenge.

Ha, I resemble that remark. [Unintentionally.]

I'd heard the distinctive hiss of a rapidly deflating tire. I hadn't ridden through any (visible) debris. My front tire looked fine. I neglected to check the rear. Why was I working so hard yet going so slow? Lack of fuel? Lack of fitness? [Spoiler alert: a tiny wire fragment.]

I hung my bike on a rack at the lunch stop, and for no particular reason, squeezed the rear tire. It was utterly flat. Looking at my ride stats, I plodded along on that deflated tire for about two miles. No one else had noticed, either—I'm sure they would have said something.

I couldn't budge the quick-release lever, which was way too tight after I'd had the bike serviced recently. Spare tube in hand, I rolled the bike over to the mechanic's tent, grateful that I wouldn't have to struggle to replace the tube. “No problem,” he said. “Get your lunch, and keep your spare tube; I have tubes.” Ah, the perks of a supported ride!

Many organizations host bike events to raise funds for charitable causes, big and small. Today's was run by the Rotary Club of Santa Rosa, with routes similar to the Wine Country Century. [But on a much smaller scale.]

There are a few iconic, must-stop photo ops along this route. That barn. The Wohler Bridge over the Russian River.

I first crossed this bridge in 2003 on day two of Waves to Wine, raising funds to support the work of the National MS Society. I've crossed it many times since, almost always capturing a shot of my bike on the bridge. Now I have an action photo!

I'd chosen to wear my favorite Waves to Wine jersey, the one that invariably gets questions from other riders. Yes, Waves to Wine still happens (in September), though sadly this scenic route is no longer a part of it.

Such a nice ride, on a beautiful day—giro bello! Sixty-six miles and about 3,000 feet of climbing up and down the back roads of Sonoma County.

Get Thee to a Rookery

The route I regularly use to bring friends to the rookery was not ideal for my weekly riding companions. I mapped out a shorter, pavement-only alternative, and today we took it for a spin.

I'd explained that binoculars weren't really needed, which they understood once we rolled in.

My feathered friends did not disappoint, though for the first time in so many visits a flying egret nailed me on the shoulder (splat)! (Hit one of my buddies, too.)

The birds have been nesting in this area for many years (decades?), despite the trees being surrounded by office buildings (currently, a Google campus). They're accustomed to coexisting with people: workers strolling from one building to another, birders equipped with serious camera gear, and ordinary gawkers like us. By not interfering with them, we are privileged to observe them at close range. Snowy egrets feeding chicks, fledglings testing their wings, well-camouflaged juvenile black-crowned night herons eyeing us through the branches.

Once I'd settled on where we'd start the ride, the rest was easy: I had honed much of the route through so many bike-commutes over the years. Although some of today's route didn't exist when I'd needed it, I found one stretch through a neighborhood that I should have discovered long ago. [Will use again.]

We paused for pastries (of course!) on our way back to the park where we'd started; from there I pedaled home, giving me a healthy 42 miles and some 1,400 feet of elevation gain for the day.

Next order of business: wash that jersey!

Revisiting Saratoga Gap

The weather was warm, several key folks from our group were traveling, and it seemed clear there would be no hike today unless I organized one. [So I did.]

How about ... something “new” to this group, outside the regular rotation. Something shady. [Or, mostly so.]

Saratoga Gap! A few months ago, my former teammates introduced me to a loop that could fit the bill today.

Success! Three people came along and enjoyed the route, which was definitely more peaceful on a weekday. Consensus: “Would do again!”

A fairly easy hike, we covered 4.6 miles at a good pace, finishing with plenty of time for everyone to continue on to their afternoon commitments.

When I got home, I was surprised at how sweaty I was. Wait, I know this feeling: it's humid! Remnants of a tropical storm brushed the Bay Area, even delivering a thunderclap and brief downpour. (Luckily, not enough to soak the hiking boots I'd left outside to dry.)

A Training Ride

Rather by accident, last year I learned about a three-day fundraising ride that's been taking place annually for more than 25 years. (So of course, I signed up.)

Today was the first “training ride,” and since I'm a newcomer to this event I figured I ought to show up. This would also give me a chance to gauge myself relative to some of the other riders.

The ride started in Aptos, entailing an early morning for me to get there. The coastal fog was a plus (and I was properly dressed for it). Truth be told, I was not looking forward to driving back to the hot valley later; but loitering in the coolness would mean enduring the miserable summer weekend traffic jam to get home.

The ride leader was casual about the route, having mapped it using only Google Maps. [From that, I'd created my own copy on RideWithGPS. Just in case.] Our group was small (five, plus the leader) and familiar with the area. The plan was to ride ~17 miles, with an option to extend the route depending on who showed up. We passed muster en route and agreed to the longer version. (Last year, apparently, someone showed up in shorts and sandals.)

The group? A fit-looking woman who said she hadn't been on a bike since November. A young woman (visiting) on a borrowed bike with flat pedals. An older guy who knows he can't ride like he used to. [I so wanted to show him how to adjust his helmet straps properly. It's a thing I do. But I forced myself to stand down, these people knew one another and might not welcome unsolicited advice from a newcomer.]

Some of the route was familiar to me: we passed the road that leads to the first rest stop for Strawberry Fields Forever. We rode through Manresa State Beach, my second (and last) camping experience. Our extension took us to Sunset State Beach (which I had never visited, until now).

For a first training ride, I expected something simple. Something easy. I wasn't expecting about 1,600 feet of elevation gain over 24 miles.

I was humbled. I started out with the front of the pack; as we returned, I was fully off the back.

Time to get serious.

Busy Birds

It's that time of year again: time to check on the rookery. Before I invite others to visit with me, I always do a preview.

The waters of the bay were higher than I've seen on any previous ride. A fellow cyclist even stopped to remark the same. High tide, sure; but still puzzling. [Until later, as I was riding home and remembered that the moon is almost full—two more days.]

There were birds to see along the way: egrets, great and snowy.

Eared grebes, feeding their ride-along offspring.

There were more fledglings than I expected at the rookery, but I should have remembered that from last year's visit.

With a stiff headwind along the bay (and a full loop of 45 miles with some 1,200 feet of climbing), of course I stopped at for a (now-traditional) fresh fruit tart on the way home. Stay tuned for next week's visit (with friends)!

A Shady Canyon

My former teammates and friends were ready for another hike, but apprehensive about the heat. Uvas Canyon came to mind, and when I was able to secure a parking pass we were in!

I'd suggested that we rendezvous at another park along the way, and I would transport the group from there. While I waited, a perky little gopher kept popping up nearby—and I managed to capture a few shots.

I knew we'd have plenty of cool shade.

Summer is nigh, so I was less confident we'd see the park's famous waterfalls.

I didn't tell them about the stream crossing in advance ... but they were intrepid and sure-footed explorers. Some even more than I!

I'd encouraged them to bring lunches, which I'd stashed in a cooler while we hiked. I shared some brownies, others shared strawberries, and we lingered over lunch and conversation longer than we spent hiking the trails.

A good time was had by all!

Wild Things

You never know what you might find on an ordinary bike ride.

My biking companions missed the great blue heron as we cycled along the Coyote Creek trail.

I stopped, though, for both Pacific gopher snakes (deceased)—so they saw those. The second one might have lost a battle with a foe—I think I spotted a puncture wound. (The first one appeared to have lost its life to a vehicle.)

A pair of grackles made me chuckle. Just like the people relaxing along the shores of Almaden Lake, they'd found a shady spot to enjoy the view.

Forty miles and about 1,100 feet of climbing along the way. [But it's not all about the bike.]

History, Natural and Not

This almost looks like a painting of rainbow trout, but it's the real deal. You can see some reflections in the glass, and if you look closely you might make out the dark figure of the photographer in the center with a fish head.

Last year this exhibit was more fun; they tossed some food into the tank and the frenzied fish gave us a good splashing.

We were enjoying an early morning visit to the Monterey Bay Aquarium, 90 minutes or so before the doors opened to the public. We wandered out when we needed feeding (around lunchtime).

A friend had recently raved about the gardens at the Carmel Mission, so we decided to pay a visit.

The buildings and historical pieces were fascinating; I thought I'd been here before, touring it during a visit with my mom, but nothing looked familiar. I'm fairly sure she picked up a Christmas tree ornament (featuring the mission) for her collection. The garden was pretty, but not outstanding. Kudos to those who faithfully restored the place, which might otherwise have been razed given its state of disrepair when they took it on.

Saving the best for last: no visit would be complete without a leisurely meander along the coastal trail.

I never tire of these views, especially in the late-day sunshine.

Monterey Bay at its fog-free best.

New Views

An opportunity for early-morning access to the Aquarium on Saturday was a good excuse to spend a long weekend in the Monterey Area. [Not that I need an excuse ...] I invited a couple of friends to join me, and my chief biking buddy was happy to head down early enough on Friday to go exploring.

A little research had turned up an unfamiliar state park: Garrapata. How could I have biked past this park on so many rides down the coast, and not seen it? Well, there's no parking lot (and no admission fee); I studied the map to understand where to park along the roadside and hoped we'd find a spot.

In a word: Wow!

I expected coastal views. I didn't expect brilliant flowers. I'm already looking forward to another visit—next spring, if not sooner.

We didn't complete the loop I'd planned along the coastal bluff, heading back across the highway to explore a bit of the inland canyon instead.

Then we headed for another park, away from the fog and into the sunshine: Garland Ranch Regional Park.

Of the potential hikes I'd mapped out, the waterfall loop beckoned. It was a good challenge, and in the counter-clockwise direction we would reach the waterfall toward the end.

I bet it's impressive when the water is flowing; it was barely a trickle now. But I did spot a flower I'd forgotten having seen before (prettyface). Evidently it caught my eye back then, too!