Engineering Cyclists

Today marked the 25th anniversary of Bike to Work Day in the Bay Area; for me, number thirteen.

Every year packs a few surprises. This year my new co-leader brought Penny (in her pink goggles).

We had the best lighting, ever, for our traditional group shot. This would be the first time I led an all-male group on Bike to Work Day.

There were about two dozen of us, including one guy on an “electric unicycle.”

When we swarmed the Cupertino Energizer Station, they told us we were early this year. [We're famous. Or infamous?]

Later, as we passed a construction site, a hard-hatted worker in a bright orange vest smiled and high-fived every one of us.

This would be our first year without my usual co-conspirator. We missed his smiles (and his mobile donut rig), and he missed riding with us. To commemorate the occasion nonetheless, he designed and 3D-printed bespoke tire levers as gifts for the group. [Engineers! I love 'em.]

Our organization's all-hands meeting was in progress when I rolled in. [Who scheduled that on Bike to Work Day?!] Luckily, I was not too late to score a jelly donut.

Nor was I too late to find a place for my bike on a rack in our building. (Whew!)

Two guys joined me for the return trip at the end of the day; somehow it always seems shorter when I have some company.

In all, 37 miles, 800 feet of climbing, and no rider left behind. [I do need to live up to that inscription on my (personalized) tire levers!]

Wine Country Century

Racers have an expression for this: It's known as getting “chicked.”

You made me pass you,
I didn't want to do it,
I didn't have to do it.

What's worse than being passed by a chick? [If you're a guy.]

Being passed by a chick with gray hair and a flower tucked into the back of her saddlebag.

Maybe I was a little naughty. Or playful. [But they started it.]

I get irritated when a bunch of guys pass me and then ... slow down. I mean, I'm slow enough, don't block the road and make me ride slower. Especially when I have some momentum.

I pulled around, called out “On your left!” and started passing. That was enough of a blow to one vulnerable ego that he stood and applied some serious power to the pedals. [Whomp. Whomp. Whomp.]

I have seen this movie before, but this time it played out differently.

I had momentum. He didn't. I held my lead.

When a friend suggested we sign up for the Wine Country Century, I agreed. In 2007, it was my first century. [It's an easy one.]

As the date approached, she reached out again. Would I mind dropping down to the metric (100km) route, instead? She had misunderstood the other women who'd enticed her to sign up. [Sure, no problem.]

The first time I did this ride (in 2004), I rode the metric. New to cycling, I was the stoker on a recumbent tandem, which was handy for picture-taking.

What do you see on this ride?

Grapevines, mostly.

And colorful rest stops, with treats for every palate.

Lots of cyclists. Too many, maybe.

Also, some old friends (who relocated up here). I was focused on the snacks, not the volunteers, until I heard my name!

The first time I visited this area, I was astonished to ride past acres, and acres, of grapevines. Translate those into actual grapes ... All for wine? Some grape juice, maybe? No raisins, or table grapes, or jam?

The Santa Rosa Cycling Club does a great job with this popular event, no question. The riders? Not so great. Too many close calls involving groups of cyclists oblivious to their surroundings, riding three or four abreast, chatting with their friends.

It's a gentle route—only 1,770 feet of climbing over 61 miles. Flat. Some rolling hills, sure. Basically, flat.

A Touch of Cold

It was inevitable, really. Sharing a road trip and hotel room with my ailing biking buddy last weekend all but ensured that I would get sick, too.

Dry air, I told myself when I detected the first hint of a sore throat. [Wrong.]

Luckily it didn't hit me quite so hard, and I really did want to ride my bike today.

From the highway, I saw the fog capping the Santa Cruz Mountains. [Uh oh.] Warm enough for a vest and arm warmers, I'd thought. [And I should know better.]

I could always do the first climb and turn back. [Right, like that's gonna happen.]

The redwoods rained big drops on us, at the top. The road was thoroughly wet. Visibility was fine, as the fog bank was above us.

Kind of mystical, really. And I think all that moisture helped me cough out some of my cold.

A brisk 23 miles with 2,320 feet of climbing.

Black Chasm Cavern

I have my biking buddy to thank for introducing me to the wonders of caverns; that was something my family never explored.

Before returning home, we headed for the nearby Black Chasm Cave near the town of Volcano, and ... wow!

This is no run-of-the-mill cave (which, still, would be fascinating).

Look closely at that photo above, and notice the thin white crystalline structures poking horizontally out of a seam in the rock.

But ... but ... gravity, you say? How can this be? Well, evidently, scientists haven't quite figured that out. [Yet.]

This is a cave filled with bizarre, delicate helictites. [The things you learn!]

 They grow every which way, sometimes spiraling into curlicues.

Far, far down, there's a lake. [Keep a tight grip on that phone.] And thank you, Night Sight; this place was meant for you.

The cave is a National Natural Landmark, an official designation that was unfamiliar to me—despite having visited six other sites in California.

Twenty-nine to go ...

Sierra Century

Plymouth, California? Not Massachusetts?

When my chief biking buddy suggested a new adventure, I signed right up.

A somewhat quirky place, which also happened to be hosting a gathering of military aficionados.

The view from the room at our nondescript roadside motel was unexpectedly, and spectacularly, pastoral.

Despite an untimely injury and an even less timely cold, my cycling buddy still made the trek (and, completed the short route).

As for me, well, with all the rain and recent travel, I questioned whether I really could complete a (hilly) metric.

As it turned out, yes, I could.

The first twenty-one miles were essentially flat, and the last seventeen—downhill!

It had been unseasonably hot the day before, but conditions were just right for the event.

We started together, but our routes eventually diverged. Mine headed into the forest.

The wildflowers and green hills will soon fade away.

Sierra snowmelt will keep the streams rushing for some time, though, given our historic winter.

I never expected to see a Civil War cannon in California, but there it is: the Old Abe Volcano Blues Cannon.

The last rest stop was across from the Daffodil Hill ranch, where a few late-bloomers lingered in the garden. When I walked over to look for the noisy peacock, I was surprised to find him perched right at the fence.

My longest and hilliest ride, to date: 67 miles, 4,250 feet of climbing.

Thanks to Captivating Sports Photos for some awesome action shots! Rounding a curve, at speed, I thought ... good luck with that. They delivered!

Contact

I am a creature of habit. And so it is that, when stopped at a traffic light, you will find me thus:

Standing over my bike.
Right foot planted flat on the ground.
Left foot, unclipped, resting on the pedal.
Right hand engaging the rear brake.

I don't know why or when I developed this habit, but there it is.

And so it was this morning, when I learned that my bicycle can stop a rolling car.



Positioned on the bike sensor at the least-favorite intersection of my commute, I had noticed a minivan stop a few feet behind me.

Waiting at this seemingly interminable light, I thought no more about the minivan. Until ...

WHAM! The nose of my saddle punched my lower back.

What the ... did some cyclist just slam into me? I certainly didn't expect to find my rear wheel wedged [WEDGED!] under the front bumper of the aforementioned minivan.

Unable to free my wheel, I motioned (angrily) to the driver to BACK UP.

The wheel, and the tire, were fine—the latter despite being severely pinched by the minivan.

My habitual stance, whatever its origin, saved me from being (at best) knocked to the ground.

And while yes, this might have happened at any intersection, I have a new habit: Bypass this intersection, where the long wait drives people (literally) to distraction.

Pro tip: When stopped, keep your foot (or your hand) on the brake!

Aloha, Kauai

And now the time has come to say farewell ...

to wild surf and rocky shorelines,

to Ocean Rescue standing by,

to silvery fishes

and flamboyant fowl,

to colorful geckos,

and fiery flowers.

Farewell to the resident hyacinth macaw

and pineapples growing in the lobby.

I adored my view.

I think I shall not wait so long again to return.

Okolehao Trail

Let's get muddy!

We headed north to the other side of the island, and first stopped to visit the Kilauea Point National Wildlife Refuge.

The dots of white speckling the hillside on the far side of the cove are not flowers, but birds. Thousands of nesting shorebirds.

A stately nene took a break from dabbling in the dirt, perhaps to admire the view.

Lured by curious noises near the parking lot, I spied a couple of juvenile birds in their nest—wedge-tailed shearwaters, I think.

The Okolehao Trail is part of another National Wildlife Refuge (Hanalei). We were fortunate to arrive as another hiker was exiting. “Take a stick,” she advised. There was an ample supply at the trailhead.

We wouldn't have gotten far without them. The trail was steep and slick; for some stretches, a mesh “carpet” afforded just enough traction.

Something rustled in the brush and paused to peer out at me—an immature gold dust day gecko.

We met a few hikers on the trail, including one barefoot guy with a baby. I marveled at those without walking sticks. (The guy with the baby finally turned back when he reached a particularly gnarly stretch.)

We did climb high enough for a clear view of Hanalei Bay, but not high enough to reach the summit (much to the regret of my hiking companion). But I'm in it for the sights, so I was happy.

Not many flowers, but this fungus was a lovely color.

It all comes out in the wash.

We managed to cover a little over two miles, round trip.