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 ...