For Jon

The day was clear and although it warmed up in the hills south of Hollister, somehow there was a refreshingly cool breeze. This is how Jon would want to be remembered, we said, riding our bikes in the golden California countryside.

I rarely crossed paths with Jon; he was an accomplished long-distance cyclist, with tens of thousands of miles and 44 double centuries safely behind him. We did ride in the same group in January, when he turned up for a shorter ride (which he, of course, extended).

Before we set out on our bicycles this morning, eight of us made our way to the San Benito County courthouse to be present for the arraignment of the driver who killed Jon on February 19. The driver wasn't there, but we were. His attorney responded to the judge with a plea of “not guilty.” Of course, the man is guilty of taking Jon's life. The legal system must determine whether he is guilty of the precise charge that has been filed against him.

There is a beautiful sheen to the hills when the light strikes them just so.

We climbed Cienega Road from Hollister to Paicines and turned south onto Highway 25. Nothing stands out about the place where Jon lost his life that day. The roadway has no shoulder, but there is ample visibility: that stretch of road is razor-straight. It can be an easy place to drive very fast.

Thanks to the owner of the Paicines Ranch, we expect to place a Ghost Bike nearby, in Jon's memory.

The other riders in our group are much stronger than I am; there were at least two who have completed multiple double centuries—including one rider in the Triple Crown Hall of Fame. On our return to Hollister, I motioned that they should pass me as we approached an uphill grade on Highway 25. “No, this is fine,” they said. And I understood. On this road, on this day, they were my wingmen.

I dug deep on that hill, and managed to average 13.2 mph overall, climbing 1,560 feet over 38 miles.

Know that we will return, and that we will never forget.

Mellow Fellows

“You're doing great!” he said, as if I needed encouragement.

Where do I go, with that? I simply smiled. [You have no idea, do you?] I mean, I'm sure my fellow rider meant well.

I wanted a long-ish ride today, and opted for the only “flat” route on our club's calendar.

The riders-who-do-hills and the riders-who-do-not rarely mix it up in our club. Most of the faces were as unfamiliar to me as mine was to them.

We rode out to the Calero Reservoir, where we were approached by a confused minivan driver seeking Mt. Umunhum. [Which you could see, in the smoky distance, from where we stood.] After several cyclists gamely explained how to get there from here (with more turns than she could fathom), I said “Point your navigation system at Hicks Road, and that will take you there.”

I've been part of this movie before. These folks ride well enough, single-file, on a trail. On the road? They're all over the lane, only occasionally taking the hint that “car back” means single-up, and dashing the hopes of any motorist who planned to turn right on red at every traffic signal.

One rider gently chided me for passing him on the right. I apologized, and gently explained that it's hard to pass him on the left when he's not staying to the right. As in, about eight feet from the curb. I take that as comfort with riding two-abreast. Evidently I should not. [I gave him a wide berth, thereafter.]

Maybe I was just cranky today. When I set out, one of the first things I saw was a discarded cigarette that had burned itself out on top of a dried-up pile of needles shed by a redwood tree. How lucky are we that they didn't catch fire! How stupid do you have to be to toss a burning cigarette into the gutter? That's beyond careless.

When we stopped for a snack break, I approached a new-to-the-club rider. “Before we leave, let me help you adjust your helmet.” None of the other dozen riders in our group noticed, apparently, that her helmet was completely askew and tilted back on her head. “That feels much better!” she exclaimed.

It's the little things.

I tacked on a moderate hill climb at the end, finishing with 41 miles and 1,160 feet of climbing.