Big Wheel

It's been an odd year. Cold weather. Wet weather. (Lots of that.) Not a whole lot of blogging going on because, well, not a whole lot of cycling going on.

And then came the Cold of the Century. Three weeks of misery (and counting). Yesterday I despaired that I might not be able to ride at all, today (Bike to Work Day). I assured my co-conspirator that I could, at least, lead people the few miles to our rendezvous point. From there, he might not only have to take the lead—he might have to manage the group alone.

Our peloton was smaller this year. Normally, a few weeks before the big day, I promote the ride and start egging people on; but I had no energy for that. When we reached the bridge leading to the Stevens Creek Trail, a woman and her daughter counted off: one, two, ... twenty-four of us. One rider had turned off before that.

Uncharacteristically this year, we were gruppo compatto for most of the route; at the first energizer station [rest stop], a few speedier riders usually split off. Not this year.

A couple of first-timers joined our crowd of mostly-familiar faces. And we celebrated a new first: an odd number of wheels. [Think it through.] A tricycle? [No.] A unicycle.

Who would ride a 36-inch unicycle some 20 miles to the office? Mixing it up in a line of bicycles, in stop-and-go traffic? In the lead, I didn't get to watch him (or to witness the facial expressions of the drivers who passed us). Having watched him dismount, I'd characterize it as a controlled fall, essentially. “There's nothing to it,” he insisted. “You land on your feet.” [Right. You land on your feet. I'd land on my butt. Or worse.]

Once I started moving, my body just kept moving. Maybe I could ride home after all; I felt surprisingly good.

Until I stopped moving. Suddenly, I was tired. My last real bike ride (also a commute to work) had been six weeks ago.

Twenty-four miles for the day. I made it.

So did my followers: No mishaps, no dropped riders, lots of smiling faces, and only one flat tire.

Schwanensee

When they heard I'd be spending the week in Zürich, my friends were eager to hear about my adventures. “It's a trip for work,” I explained. They seemed unconvinced.

Day one began with a 7 a.m. breakfast in the two-story library (33,000 books) at the hotel (in a building that once housed a brewery). The chandeliers were crafted using original beer bottles. The day ended around 7:30 p.m., at which point my boss and I headed out of the office for dinner.

Lather, rinse, repeat. Much good work got done.

One evening was reserved for dinner with the team. Another evening, a colleague and his partner hosted us for a Moroccan-inspired dinner at their apartment. (It was amazing.) I conspired to keep one evening free. In Zürich, as in San Francisco, it's ballet season.

On my way to the Opera House on a lovely spring evening, I strolled through the Arboretum.

What could be more picture-perfect than swans on Lake Zürich?

Tonight's performance? Swan Lake.

I learned that the Opernhaus Zürich has a somewhat surprising history. Not all cultural treasures are treasured, it seems.

I thought the restoration was stunning.

The performance, featuring Anna Khamzina and Tigran Mkrtchyann, was ... interesting. I'm most familiar with Helgi Tomasson's interpretation (which, as fate would have it, I had seen just four days earlier in San Francisco). Alexander Ratmansky's revival includes elements that were unfamiliar to me, truer to the historic Petipa version. Some seemed superfluous or even confusing; other moments I will regret missing whenever I see Tomasson's version.

I walked back along the edge of the Arboretum, where this mosaic fountain drew me in for a closer look. Public fountains spouting drinking water are pretty common, but none so lovely as this.

After a moment's hesitation (walking alone, at night, in a foreign city), I backtracked to cross the bridge for a clear view of the Fraumünster and Grossmünster churches. It was worth it.

When my colleagues in Zürich asked if I had visited before, I summarized my bike trip (2015). “You've seen more of Switzerland than I have!” they'd respond. Not on this trip, though. Next time ...