Picture Perfect

My first trip to the top of Mt. Hamilton by bicycle was in October, 2003 (on a recumbent tandem), followed by a repeat in 2004. My first solo trip was in 2005; the group started just above Joseph Grant County Park (midway) and biked out and back on Kincaid Road as well. After that, I pedaled to the top every year (mostly recorded here), from the bottom ... until last year. I was deterred by road closures, and later wasn't confident I was fit enough to make it to the top.

I wasn't so sure today, either. Then I thought about Remco Evenepoel visualizing victory at the Olympic road race in Paris two weeks ago, imagining what an iconic image it would make to cross the finish line solo at the Eiffel Tower. Then, he did it.

I planted an image in my head, standing in front of the main entrance at Lick Observatory atop Mt. Hamilton.

Much to my surprise, a good friend had driven up to meet me at the top—not only snapping photos, but bringing lunch!

I expected to see more cyclists on such a beautiful day.

Not my fastest time up the hill, but not my slowest either! On the way up, I'd thought about pausing for a quick snack, with a particular tree-shaded overlook in mind. Not finding it, I just kept going. On the way down, I saw why: Only a low stump remains, a casualty of the fire in 2020.

A couple of miles from the bottom, I caught up to a vehicle and slowed to keep a safe distance between us. With a bike rack on the rear (empty), the driver understood that I could outpace him and graciously waved me to pass when it was clear.

I'll be back. Soon.

Pedal Power

It's been ... a while.

I joined a club ride today, and one of the stronger riders captured a photo of me coming up a hill (trailed by a few others).

We had a friendly group of people, most of whom I knew. On a “regular” bike, I was in the minority; more than half of the riders were on e-bikes. Coasting on a downhill, I was surprised to pass two of them—but of course, they had every advantage on the climbs.

The group bifurcated, with the stronger cyclists and battery-powered cyclists waiting for the rest of us at various points. [Until they didn't.]

Despite taking it easy on the ride home, my overall pace was still faster than the expected pace for the ride ... and yet I trailed the pack. It brought back memories of the first club I'd joined, many years ago, which I left after being routinely dropped (and sometimes lost) on group rides where everyone rode faster than the advertised pace.

It was nice to see folks I hadn't seen in quite some time, and to catch up with those who lingered for lunch at the end of the ride. It was less nice to ride off the back, knowing that if I paused to snap a photo I would only fall farther behind. [Hence, no photos.]

I completed more than 47 miles with some 1,600 feet of elevation gain by riding to meet the group en route (and back). Would I join another club ride? (Maybe.)

Or maybe not.

A True Test

There were two ways to get a look at the recently-burned section of Almaden Quicksilver Park from Hicks Road. I chose the route less traveled.

The visible burn scar was open land, probably mostly grass; the nearby trees and shrubs appeared to have been spared. No official cause has been given, but nearby residents reported hearing fireworks that night.

Realizing that I need to spend more time on a road bike, and curious to test my new lower gears, I had decided to tackle the “easier” side of Hicks Road. [Which is not actually easy.] I told myself I could always abandon the climb and retrace my route, downhill, to return home.

Of course, I wouldn't surrender. I also wasn't strong enough to pedal up the steep section, even with more climbing-friendly gearing. [I walked.] A passing cyclist asked if I was okay. “Yes,” I replied. “For some definition of okay.”

Descending the steeper side was fast (and twisty); I was relieved when the familiar hairpin at Guadalupe Creek was in view. The rest of the ride would be tame.

Until I spotted a deer at the side of the road. Where there is one, there are often more. [Three, in this case.]

When you stop for a closer look, or to snap a picture, they typically flee. [Not these three.]

I opted for the flat route home, completing 29 miles with some 1,600 feet of elevation gain. Will I try that climb again? (Maybe.)

Or maybe not?

A Different Plan

We had a plan. The plan was to hike the Mount Umunhum trail to the summit.

Then someone sparked a wildfire near the southern end of the Guadalupe Reservoir a few days ago, in a remote section of Almaden Quicksilver Park, and the road we needed to reach Mt. Umunhum was closed.

The fire was out, but crews remained nearby. With no certainty about when the road would be open, it was time for an alternate plan. Keeping it (relatively) local, the Kennedy trail would offer a similar uphill workout—a bit steeper, but with the same option to turn back whenever we'd had enough.

It wasn't especially warm, but it was humid (for the Bay Area). “Enough” worked out to be the landmark tree-in-the-middle-of-the-trail, giving us about 1,000 feet of climbing and a total distance of about 4.7 miles.

One of these days I'll make it to the junction with the Priest Rock trail again. One of these days.

Ride Up Grades

“Don't buy upgrades, ride up grades.” [Advice attributed to champion cyclist Eddy Merckx.]

But maybe there's a limit to that? An age limit, perhaps? If I swapped out my rear cassette for one with more teeth, is that a downgrade?

I came up with lots of reasons why I should abandon today's plan to check out my new gears climbing Bernal. It was early afternoon (too warm). The climb is exposed (too warm). I haven't been on the bike, really, in a couple of weeks. I felt tired. I was hungry.

Then I remembered a key takeaway from a talk by a nutritionist many years ago: If you're out there on the bike and you feel like pulling over to take a nap under the nearest shady tree, you're low on fuel—your brain isn't starving. [Right. I was hungry.]

Up I went. [Not my fastest time, nor my slowest.] Thirty miles and some 1,100 feet of climbing.

Ride up grades.

A Walk in a Park

It's been quite a while since I visited Alum Rock Park—in part, due to storm-related closures. Today's route was similar to the one we trekked in 2022 during my “summer vacation.”

The (open) trails were passable ... though we found some tricky bits where loose soil tumbles onto trails. There will certainly be more sliding when wet weather returns.

Hikers (and cyclists) yield to horses. Always.

There were historic elements of this park that I failed to notice on my last visit. This land has been a public park for quite some time (more than 150 years).

Puzzled by some of the features, one of my fellow hikers explained that the park's mineral springs were an attraction in the park's early days. And as soon as she shared that, I connected a distinct odor of sulphur with those mineral stains.

Zigzagging up the South Rim Trail, we crossed paths with a gentleman who told us (unsolicited) exactly how many more switchbacks we'd traverse before reaching the top. [Five.]

There was little color to be found this far into the dry season. One hopeful California fuchsia, budding and blazing red, stood out.

We covered about 5.7 miles, some laden with heavy packs as they prepare for a multi-day backpacking adventure. [Not I.]

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.