Parade Route

A short ride with a holiday theme was the ticket today. And of course there were hills to climb.

The rider who joined me assured me that a particular “short-cut” was legit, and after completing our final climb we passed through an open-space gate to clamber up some rocks, enjoying our snacks with a view.

Our holiday reward was the 61st annual Los Gatos Children's Christmas Parade. The Recreation Department even had a balloon!

A crowd (and personal) favorite is the irreverent Cucuzza Squash Drill Team. Tottering out-of-step down the street, wielding their vegetables with Italian music blaring, they are nothing short of hilarious.

There were marching bands and dance troups, Cub Scouts and Girl Scouts and Indian Princesses. Rowers rowed (on machines) under the canopy of a racing shell.

Canine Companions for Independence walked alongside their humans. Crowds filled the sidewalks to view more than 200 floats and groups parade through downtown.

The perennial highlight is Jiffy Market's float, which features a pair of daredevil ramps (along with a crew of certified daredevils). The first rider raced down the street, launched into the air, landed and pedaled on. [Child's play, comparatively speaking.] His compatriots launched higher, one spinning a twist and the other flipping a full 360º in the air before touching down.

As for me, I strive to keep both wheels, upright, in contact with the pavement. I was more than content to cover 17 miles and climb 1,825 feet.

But who doesn't love a parade?

Tunnel of Leaves

New high-temperature records were set today: 78F in Gilroy, 80F in San Jose. I peeled off the arm warmers early; later, I shed the vest.

It was incongruent to see cars pass with Christmas trees lashed to their rooftops. Too early, and definitely too warm.

We biked the length of Redwood Retreat Road, and although I spied one large redwood at the end, mostly we were shaded by other trees. Fallen leaves littered the roadside—only fallen leaves, a welcome sight after miles of broken glass, trash, and smashed car parts. What if a bottle was worth more than the beer it contained? Imagine a refundable $10 deposit, per bottle. Would that dissuade punks from tossing their empties on the road?

And is no one responsible for clearing the debris after a car crash? There was a disturbing spread along Santa Teresa, perhaps from a red truck that met a very violent end. Do they leave the remains as a cautionary tale? We cycled past at least three roadside memorials today.

There were lovely sights, too. Deer, goats, horses, cattle, llamas. Sweeping vistas, fall colors. A barrier closed Mt. Madonna Road shy of the spot where we normally turn around (at the end of the paved road). Inquiring minds want to know ... and so we eased on by. Nothing remarkable about that last stretch; perhaps the unseen unpaved side bore the brunt of last winter's wrath.

Shortly after a pit stop at a local library, one of my ride buddy's tires exploded with a loud “Pffft!” [Uh oh.]

A few inches of her front tire had slipped off the rim, exposing a sliver of the tube. [In retrospect, we should have replaced the tube, then and there.] The tire was not losing pressure (or so it seemed). I released enough air to slip the tube back inside the tire, and the tire back on the rim. A CO2 cartridge made for a quick re-inflation and we continued on our way.

The weirdly warm weather also suppressed the headwinds that traditionally plague the return trip. I pulled out ahead, believing that I still had her in sight. [I was wrong about that.]

Back at our starting point, I admired the sunny yellow ginkgo leaves. Today was the day for many of the local specimens to drop their leaves; we had been showered with them as we started riding this morning.

When my ride buddy had not appeared after ten minutes or so, I set out to find her. As I'd feared, the tire had gone flat; luckily, another rider helped get her back on the road. Thus, I rounded out the day with a respectable 63 miles but a measly 2,625 feet of climbing—despite leading us on a scenic diversion along some steep residential roads.

Lesson for the day: Heed the hiss. Swap the tube.

Coming Attractions

'Twas the night before ... Thanksgiving?

The weather outside is ... (not) frightful.

Wait, what's going on here?

An unexpected treat on a bonus ride home!

The morning commute traffic has been light all week; the evening commute ... miserable. With most people ducking out early today for the long holiday weekend, I decided a round-trip was feasible. Timed just right, the sky would have some light left by the time I got home. It was weirdly warm today—I enjoyed my lunch outdoors, no jacket needed. And for most of the ride home, no jacket needed.

I slipped into the park, and ... surprise! Of course! Displays need testing, bulbs need replacing, before the gates will open for the first visitors (less than 10 days from now).

How lucky to get a sneak preview, without the crowds. A fine reward for wrapping up a workday with 36 miles and a wee bit of climbing (700 feet).

Leaves of Gold

Brrr! Frost on the rooftops, this morning.

To warm up, I chose to park a couple of miles from the spot where we would rendezvous with today's leader. To be honest, the parking lot I chose was also somewhat more convenient for me. And I felt better about leaving my car there; the only litter was a smattering of Cheerios—no broken glass, no beer bottles or cans.

We would be tracing a route similar to a ride I led a few years ago, and pretty much for the same reason: on a cold day, it's prudent to stick to roads that are well-exposed and low.

Along the way I caught a whiff of a politicized topic that has been sensationalized in the press of late. “I'm glad I'm not in the workplace now, I'd be afraid I'd get accused of sexual harassment if I gave a lady a pat on the back for doing a good job.” [Sigh.] Actually, probably not. Context matters. But how about using your words instead of your hands? The lady would rather have your support when she's looking for a raise or a promotion.

I did not interject. [I just want to ride my bike.]

Our group of nine splintered after the first two climbs, with some riders eager to tackle a couple of the steeper hills in the neighborhood. [I was not among them.]

When two riders opted to follow me, I regretted not having studied the map last night. I had brought a copy of my old route (and managed not to get us lost).

After we finished the third climb, I was conflicted about skipping the fourth. Continue straight to my car? Or backtrack, to climb the road we'd just descended.

I gave my companions the choice, still unsure I'd head for the hill if they declined. “Let's do it!” they said. We paused to peel off our jackets and watched a coyote trotting across the field next to us. It changed course once it finally noticed us.

In all, an efficient 2,730 feet of climbing over 29 miles. Somewhere along a descent it appears that I topped out at 42.3 mph, which was perhaps a tad over the posted limit. [A tad.] Perhaps.

Sweet Panoche

It seems that there is only one Panoche, and I can attest that it is a special place, indeed. Once the gray gloom burned away, it was possible to shed my jacket and bask in the sunshine.

I get so overwhelmed by the majesty of this place that I often forget to pause for photos. There is too much to take in, and photos don't really do it justice.

You're not far from the rolling hills around Paicines before you enter another dimension—rock formations dating back millions of years.

It also seems that I have typically ridden this route in the spring, and somehow not since 2014.

East of the summit, the road is still cratered with potholes. I chatted with two women who were riding to Panoche for the first time, assuring them that they could not get lost, nor would they miss the Inn (our turnaround point).

I was surprised to find native morning glories blooming alongside the road when we reached the Panoche Valley. This late in the year, I didn't expect to see any flowers.

This view captivates me every. single. time. The road leads directly toward this formation, ultimately too close for a close-up.

Three years on, the grapevines in Paicines have become well-established.

For the day, a spectacular 55 miles, with a modest 2,795 feet of climbing. Till spring ...

(Not) Hicks

Having been off the bike for a month (where does the time go?!), a “flat” ride was enticing. Dangerously unhealthy air quality, travel, and rain had all conspired to erode my fitness. This has been my theme for 2017, and clearly I need to find some indoor substitutes.

Not today, though; the skies were sunny and the air was brisk. Puffy clouds didn't block much sunshine, but the hills did. The day never really warmed up.

The plan was to follow an easy route to two local reservoirs, Guadalupe and Almaden. We headed first for Guadalupe, which meant cycling along Hicks Road—stopping at the base of the real climb. Two riders split off and rose to the challenge; the rest of us stayed on plan and made a sensible u-turn.

The water level is low as we prepare for winter (another rainy one, we hope). Deer were grazing in the fields exposed at the southern end of the reservoir.

We stopped short of reaching Almaden Reservoir, despite taking a more direct route than our leader had mapped out. When one rider's energy was flagging, the group opted to stay together and turn back, finding lunch along the way.

40 miles, 1,440 feet of climbing: Not Hicks, but not flat.

Augusta Raurica

The work week over, I headed west to visit some friends near Basel.

Saturday started with a visit to Augusta Raurica, a site near the Rhine that had been a bustling Roman city for a few hundred years (with more than 15,000 inhabitants) .

Some features remain, some have been restored. Over the centuries, people naturally reclaimed stones from the abandoned city for new buildings. The amphitheatre faces stone steps leading up the hill to what remains of the temple.

A section of the aqueduct is displayed, along with statues and carved stones that have been excavated. This triumphant warrior, victorious over the foe trampled by his mighty steed, is long gone but not forgotten (nearly 2,000 years later).

We next drove to the top of Schartenflue, to begin a hike along the ridgeline.

The plan was to hike to Seewen, but the trails were unmarked after leaving the summit and (not surprisingly) we strayed off course. We made our way to the town of Hochwald instead.

The views were limited, but what's not to like about tromping through the forest on a crisp fall afternoon?

We finished the day with a performance of La Traviata in Basel.

At the first intermission, another patron struck up a conversation with my friends. When he turned to me, they explained that I don't speak German. “English,” I smiled. Evidently he was a fellow American ... and not familiar with the story line. “No,” I assured him, the dazzling setting for the first act was not a “beauty parlor” by day.

Opera is not my thing, really, but Corinne Winters was riveting as Violetta. After the final act, I thought we might never leave the theatre—there were that many curtain calls. Simply, wow.

Herbst in Zürich

Autumn in Zürich. It was surprisingly warm, with flowers blooming. Leaves were still changing color and falling.

Each morning I'd pass this lonely elephant and giraffe in a local park. Children were on their way to school, no time for playful climbing. I felt sad about graffiti on the elephant's ear; there seemed to be more graffiti everywhere, this trip.

While the iconography on street signs is sometimes baffling, the message near some tram tracks was clear enough (even for those of us who don't know that “gleis” means “track.” [Except that, now we do!]

I could have biked to the office, but didn't feel confident enough about the rules and traffic patterns. My route entailed crossing up and over some railway tracks, with elevators on both sides. Cyclists, however, are meant to take the stairs: note the narrow trough at the base of each railing. Cyclists need not portage their bikes; they simply roll the wheels along the edge as they climb and descend the stairs. [Brilliant!] This accommodation is not an add-on: it's part of each concrete step.

The days were shorter, this time of year; the sun had long set by the time I walked back to the apartment each evening. The bridge over the tracks was photo-worthy, at night.

The days were also packed with meetings, leaving no real time to explore. I was proud, though, to master the route to and from the office, navigating by landmarks rather than GPS after the first day.

As Friday approached, my colleagues seemed disappointed that I would already be heading back. Hmm, two weeks, next time? [I'm in!]

The Uetliberg

A rainy day in Zürich. A rainy Sunday, in fact. Most places are closed—shops, and such. I considered buying a train ticket and riding off in some scenic direction (pretty much any direction, here), but rain would spoil the views.

I slept in, instead, which apparently banished any jet lag. When I arrived last night, I was indecisive about choosing a place to eat. Then it dawned on me: I'm staying in a corporate apartment during this visit—shop, and cook!

Watching the radar map, the afternoon promised a break in the weather. I set out for the Uetliberg, finding myself walking uphill almost immediately after turning the first corner.

If you were the owner of this tiny pink bike, of course you'd secure it with a pink cable lock. Note the rim brakes—no silly coaster brakes!

There was a detailed topographic map at the base of the trail I found, labeled with numbered segments and their distances. Most had one word in common: steep.

I had no idea where I was, relative to the map. Up the trail! [“Up” being the operative word.]

Fall, as it turned out, was a marvelous time for this climb. I've lived in (dry) California so long I'd forgotten the earthy fragrance of wet leaves.

They weren't kidding about steep. From time to time, I paused to get my heart rate down. There were no trail markings along the way; I just followed my nose.

During most of the climb, I didn't see another person. It was so quiet I could hear my throbbing pulse.

A closer look at the topo map, later, suggests that I chose the steepest path—the segment from point 7 to point 5: Uetlibergweg to Gratstrasse, continuing along Gratweg to reach the tower atop the summit. [A mere 2.6km, in all.]

The exposed rock at the top of the hill revealed that this land was once below the sea.

Of course I had to climb the tower. Access to the viewing platform involved feeding 2 Swiss francs into a machine. I found myself helping other confused tourists through the payment process, and the turnstile, before I was able to pass.

After sweating my way up the hill, I was glad to zip up my jacket and pull on my gloves. The storm front was blowing in; the winds were strong, and cold.

Both sets of stairs lead to the top; having climbed one, I descended the other.

Along the way, I found Jupiter, a feature of the Planetenweg. With the first raindrops falling, it seemed prudent to reserve my journey to the other planets for a future visit.

At work the next day, one of my colleagues exclaimed “You walked up?!” There's a tram that takes you to the top. [But, why?]

Pretty Pescadero

Last year we had a touch of rain for this ride; this year was picture-postcard perfect (but, windy). Good thing I'd tossed a jacket in my bag, at the last minute; it was 44F at the start. Volunteers were swaddled in quilts.

The moon was still high in the western sky as I set out on this year's Arthritis Bike Classic Pescadero ride. I arrived later than I'd planned, surprised by one-lane traffic controls on roads still being repaired from last winter's fury. Nonetheless, I managed to start pedaling a few minutes earlier than last year.

I paused to admire some fancy cattle up close: Belted Galloways, they are. Those white bands are lush and wavy. You might imagine running your fingers through that fur ... that is, until you realize that the dark hindquarters are covered (covered!) with flies.

There were a bunch of guys along Gazos Creek Road with binoculars trained on the opposite hillside. “What's up there?” I asked. “Birds.” Seriously? You make the effort to visit this remote road, and that's the best you can do? The group was so fixated, I thought maybe they'd spotted a condor. “Birds.”

The Pigeon Point Lighthouse looks best in morning light. I took care not to linger, as the headwinds were picking up early.

I chose the “45-mile” route again, which makes two loops centered on Pescadero. This year, one rest stop was hosted at the fabled Archangeli Bakery, where we sampled cinnamon bread as well as the amazing Artichoke Garlic Herb bread. Silly me, asking for half a piece of that bread ... of course I went back for more. As many times as I've been here, this was the first time I noticed the field of flowers next door.

A sign along Stage Road caught my eye, asking people not to feed the pigs, or the dog. Sure enough, there was one large pig and many little pigs. (They weren't photogenic, as pigs go, so I just rode on.)

Yesterday, on a rural Sonoma County road, a young man deliberately swerved his enormous pickup truck into four cyclists on a charity ride. This weighed heavily on our minds today, as we reassured ourselves that normal drivers don't wield their vehicles as weapons to assault other human beings. [The culprit was found and arrested, in large part thanks to video footage from a passing motorcyclist's helmet cam.]

Happily, an uneventful day of riding for me: 44 miles, with some 2,565 feet of climbing.

Snowflakes

How I loved our family traditions at Christmastime, growing up. Cherished ornaments, homemade cookies, beloved carols, and of course ... brightly-wrapped presents. A special time. My mom shared stories from her childhood, of decorating the tree on Christmas Eve.

Not in September. Which is when I spotted the first display in a local department store this year. [Really? A month before Halloween?] At this rate, maybe we'll wrap back around the calendar and start pulling out the trappings in December. [If only.]

We're starting to run low on daylight; my opportunities for an evening ride home from work are fading with the sunset. (The full 18 miles, in the dark, is too stressful. I've tried it.)

I had every intention of making the round trip this week; my schedule was free of early meetings on a couple of days. But it wasn't until this morning that I woke up feeling well-rested and pulled it together.

A few quail scurried across the road in the morning, then winged it when they realized they weren't outrunning me.

In the evening, malfunctioning barriers along a little-used railroad line created an unexpected neighborhood traffic jam; I re-routed myself accordingly.

The sun had dropped below the hills, but there was enough daylight to pass through Vasona Park. Where they have, already, begun to set up the displays for the annual Fantasy of Lights. Which doesn't light up until December 2 (almost two months from now).

Merry ... October.