Hamilton, the Musical

When Hamilton: An American Musical first appeared on the scene, I was puzzled by the buzz. Friends were eager to travel across the country to see it, tickets were all-but-impossible to find and the prices were astronomical.

Years later, tickets are still difficult to find and they're still pricey. I got lucky and was able to buy a pair, so I invited my chief culture-and-biking buddy to join me.

Traffic being what it is (in a word: awful), I suggested that we spend the day in San Francisco. I recommended the California Academy of Sciences, and she was game. I had only visited once before, at night, so I was eager to check out the green roof. [Yes, that's a view atop the building in the photo above.]

Some school-age denizens made a beeline for the “shakey house” and we followed their lead. It's set up like the dining room of a vintage Victorian, but with serious grab bars. The first simulation was the magnitude 6.9 Loma Prieta quake (1989); the second was the 7.9 San Francisco quake (1906). [Hint: you need those grab bars.] The simulation of the 1906 quake ran longer, but soberingly shook us for only about one third of the duration of the actual event. [And that was plenty.]

I was particularly impressed by an enormous specimen of silicon dioxide (quartz), weighing in at 1,350 pounds.

The museum is located right in Golden Gate Park, which we thought we might also explore—but the museum had so much to offer, we stayed until the closing bell.

Bordering the green in front of the museum is a monument to Francis Scott Key, commissioned by James Lick (familiar to us Lick Observatory fans). There seemed to be no particular connection to San Francisco, though this area is known as the Music Concourse.

It was a hot autumn day, and the fountains looked particularly refreshing. [We stayed dry.]

The musical was playing at the Orpheum Theatre, and I made the mistake of leading us down Golden Gate Avenue and Hyde Street, through drug-dealing-central of the Tenderloin. [I won't make that mistake again.]

As for the show, well ... I enjoyed the character portrayals and absorbed the outlines of Hamilton's life and impressive role in the founding of our country. The music, for me, was entirely forgettable. [Give me Lerner & Loewe, or Rodgers & Hammerstein, or even Andrew Lloyd Webber.] It didn't help that it was over-amplified and the lyrics often unintelligible to my ears. Surtitles would have been a welcome addition. The piece (and performance) I remember most was King George III's; in my opinion, he stole the show.

But what do I know. See for yourself.

Gusty Gutsy

Could I still do it? Could I still ride 100 miles down the coast? Last year, on the alternate route, I dropped back to 100 km due to the heat. But that would not be a factor this year.

You've done it before, I told myself. This will be the eleventh time. Of course you can do it. A 25-mile ride is nothing, this is just four of those.

The start was different this year. Although it's not a race (for most of us), this year they had us line up in three groups. Group 1 would finish by 1 p.m, group 2 by 2 p.m, group 3 by 3 p.m. Where is group 4? [There was no group 4.] I normally place myself at the front, to stay with the pack as long as possible, but I dutifully found a place at the back. Once we were rolling, I was able to catch some of the group 2 stragglers, at least.

Our “neutral” 15 mph start was no such thing, as I averaged 17.1 mph for the first 30 minutes. The route was also a bit longer, with a sharp uphill turn from Rancho San Carlos onto Carmel Valley Road, because they positioned us to start in the opposite direction. I didn't need that extra mileage or elevation gain ... and there were urgent choruses of SLOWING! from the pack whenever the pace would suddenly drop and we would bunch up. At one point George Hincapie effortlessly sailed past me as if I were coasting [but I was pedaling, hard]. Maybe he got a late start, because he should have been at the front.

Group 2 was ready to depart right after I arrived at the first rest stop, and group 3 followed only a few minutes later. There were plenty of domestiques (in hot pink jerseys) to look after us; I didn't want to get caught up in a group of stragglers, so I was careful not to tarry.

The weather was, in a word, perfect. Warm enough to forgo even arm warmers, and once we slipped out from under the marine layer, the views were as spectacular as I'd ever seen on this ride. Mother Nature was, perhaps, making amends for the damage that closed the route to us the past two years.

Thirty miles in, I wondered again about whether I could still do this. Seventy miles to go? Eh, 33 miles isn't a big ride, this is just three of those.

I was prepping to leave the second rest step when I heard the ride “sweep” roll in. [Uh oh.] I don't think I'd ever been that close to the back of the ride at the halfway point. I hustled out of there and understood that I needed to stop taking photos or risk being swept into a support vehicle.

The hills slow me down. “Keep on grinding,” a voice behind me called out. [Grrr.] I'm sure he meant well, but it's times like this when I wish I was wearing my Death Ride jersey. [Respect.] I adopted he following approach:

Me:  Have you done this ride before?
Domestique:  No, this is my first time, the views are incredible!
Me:  Ah yes. I've done this route ten times, and the views today are one of the top two—if not the best—I've seen.

I'd explain that I usually finish around 4 p.m., and once they were reassured that I was smiling (not struggling), we had some nice chats and they turned their attention to the strugglers. “You'll see people walking on the pair of hills after the lunch stop,” I told them.

But not so many, this year—I only passed one walker. Until I nearly got toppled by some powerful wind gusts, and I dismounted for a short stretch (self-preservation, that). On the next climb, I rounded a sharp promontory and got blasted with sand and twigs. The gusts were so fierce and unrelenting that I nearly lost control of the bike. I had a flashback to the day my bike got slammed into the guardrail, up north. There was no guardrail here; I got off the bike and walked until the road direction shifted me out of harm's way.

I couldn't resist a few more photos. For some perspective, that line cut high into the hillside (below) is the road (CA 1).

I descended with caution, concerned about the effects of a crosswind at speed. I was anxious to get down to the flat section, where I expected the (tail)wind to boost me. I usually sweep past a few riders on the home stretch, and today was no exception. After passing a domestique shepherding a spent rider, there was another guy in my sights. I didn't expect to catch him, so I was surprised to find that I was closing the gap. (Until he noticed me and dug deeper to stay ahead.)

I crossed the line at 4:18 p.m. after 101 miles and 6,405 feet of climbing, average speed 12.6 mph, top speed 41.1 mph. Not my fastest time, but not my slowest, either. [I can, in fact, still do this.]

Enough time to catch a massage, collect my luggage, and dash off to the hotel to get cleaned up for some partying.

At the barbecue, Zack Gottsagen and the filmmakers were talking about making The Peanut Butter Falcon. If you're not clear about what folks with intellectual and developmental disabilities can achieve, well ... see the film and learn the backstory.

At the after-party, I was disappointed to learn that we would no longer enjoy the privilege of swimming in the Neptune Pool. As much as I thought, each time that I bobbed and floated in that amazing place, that I might never again have the chance, I did always hope for another opportunity.

I wrapped up the night with another brief tour of the castle, which has become more standardized each year. Gone are the days when the guide would ask what you wanted to see, and improvise. I don't recall visiting the Celestial Suite in the past, all the way into the top of one of the towers. The resident bats are gone, too; repelled by a clicking electronic device mounted in the eaves.

The first time I signed up for this event, it was the route that lured me. I didn't expect to return, again and again. I never expected that I could raise as much money as I have, over all these years.

I'm looking forward to next year, to riding and raising funds to help people like Zack be respected and achieve their full potential.

That's what we all deserve, isn't it?

Monterey by Day

How many times have I headed down to stay in Monterey the night before the Best Buddies Hearst Castle Challenge? [Many times, though not the past two years when the ride started in San Simeon.]

And how many times did I think “I should get there earlier and spend some time in Monterey.” [Many times, but I never actually did. Till today.]

I arrived at the Aquarium in time for one of their signature features: a diver feeding fish in the kelp forest tank.

Barnacles were hungry, too. There are many clever exhibits to engage visitors, like this one: turn a wheel to set the current moving in the tank and watch the barnacles extend their feathery feet to filter food as it flows by.

There are so many strange sea creatures, and the Aquarium does a masterful job of presenting them. I was fascinated watching the squid fluttering forward, arms extended. Such big eyes! What do they make of us, staring at them from the other side of the glass?

A short visit is better than no visit ... make the time for it.

Residential Ramble

Despite being a holiday, the ride pickings today were slim. And given that the leader for the ride I chose was feeling under the weather, the ride was not as advertised. [Sigh.]

Nonetheless, there were diversions. Like the young woman who showed up on a mountain bike (a “guest” rider) who insisted on twisting the straps of her large (tote-bag-sized) purse through her handlebars. “How long will the ride be?” she asked. I gave her an estimate; another rider joked that we'd be home before dark. She turned back before we'd traveled half a mile (all for the best, I reckon).

I've passed this somewhat eccentric property many times, never noticing (till now) that two Aeromotors are on display. Not surprising, I suppose, given the array of distractions to see there [motorcycles, rusting farm equipment, an antique car].

Instead of heading for the (scenic) reservoirs, we meandered through residential neighborhoods. One of the benefits of riding with a long-time local leader is discovering new places. Just as I was wondering where we were and how we would safely cross the freeway, we popped out onto an interchange-free overpass at Lean Avenue that was entirely new to me.

A few of us had biked to the start; returning home, two of us were stopped at a traffic signal when a driver rolled down his window and leaned toward us. “Watch out for that Mustang, he's been all over the road,” he warned. I'd passed that distinctive black-and-gold car with caution as we'd approached the red light. It wasn't clear where he was headed, having stopped short of the intersection, straddling two lanes. Was he planning to turn right? Or go straight? [We waited for him to head down the road—straight—when the light turned green.]

Then there was the guy riding his bike, hands-free, while playing his guitar. That takes some real skill, but I was glad we were traveling in opposite directions.

With the extra miles riding to and from the start, a reasonable (but very flat) 32 miles—only 320 feet of climbing. Not much labor for the day.

Page Mill Pests

One of the downsides of being a slow climber is being pestered by bugs. Gnats. Little flies. Big flies. Sometimes the bugs eat you, and sometimes ...

There was an old lady who swallowed a fly
I don't know why she swallowed a fly ...

She swallowed a fly because the annoying creature flew into her mouth as she was crawling up another hill on her bicycle, gasping for air. [Didn't turn out so well for the fly, but I suppose the cyclist got a little extra protein.]

I haven't climbed Moody or Page Mill in years. I wondered if I could make it up Moody. [Yes.] Was it as grueling as I remembered? [Yes.]

As much as I wanted to descend the far side after reaching the end of Page Mill, to climb back up West Alpine, my ride buddy and I just couldn't bear the flies. With agricultural areas over there, we feared more of the same (or worse). My legs were done, anyway.

I suggested that we should descend straight down Page Mill, to make our ride a little longer (and to avoid plummeting down Moody, not one of my favorite descents). We ended up climbing 2,480 feet over 27 miles, which was enough. Maybe even more than enough.

The Descender

“That lady is fast!”

“She's a descender,” our ride leader replied.

We had been ready to move on after the last rider had regrouped, and there had been some chatter about who should go first. [I took off.]

I was puttering about at home this morning when I realized that today's ride would start at 9:00 a.m, not the 9:30 a.m. I had in my head. I scrambled to get myself together and pushed a fast pace to the start. Not the easy warm-up I'd planned, given that I'm slowly recovering from last Saturday's blood donation (my 77th!).

I rolled up at 8:45 a.m. and ... no one else was there, yet.

We enjoyed our snacks under the redwoods at Uvas Canyon County Park after climbing up Croy Road. The road had been damaged one winter, and somehow I haven't visited in more than three years.

There was some chatter about who should go first. [I took off. Again.]

One must always take care on the bumpy and rutted section through Sveadal, but after that ... well, the bike is fast. A little faster than I'd like, I was thinking, as I rounded a curve. I reminded myself that it was fine. Just fine.

The rollers slowed me down, and another rider caught up. “You're fast, downhill!” [And slow, uphill.] “And you're good!” Yeah, that takes 'em by surprise, since I'm nearly always off the back otherwise.

Somehow, we had headwind in both directions, which isn't fair! After I got home, I realized I needed to run an errand, and the obvious solution was to get back on the bike. [Eh, it was a flat few more miles.] For the day, 58 miles with 2,090 feet of uphill (and downhill!).

The Goldilocks Ride

I wasn't enthused about the challenging rides on offer today. One was too far away. One was too much like my commute. One was too steep.

One seemed just right: an easy ride with a leader I didn't know, who happens to lead a lot of rides. (Seventy-one this year, including today's.)

I knew it would be short, and I wanted to avoid the regular weekend traffic snarl, so I biked to the start.

The bike lane near the hockey arena (San Jose Sharks) made me smile. How many levels of approval did it take for that? [Maybe none?]

Our small group puttered down the Guadalupe River Trail, exiting for a coffee stop.

After which, well, things pretty much fell apart.

Our ride leader was certain that something had fallen out of her saddle bag and was determined to circle back on the route to look for it. She waved the rest of us forward, to continue on our own.

Without a route sheet.

I stayed with one guy who said he knew how to get back to the park in Willow Glen where we'd started. [Except that ... he didn't actually know.]

Lost in a maze of residential streets, we needed to find a route across the creek. [I pulled out my phone, which he characterized as “cheating.”] But I wanted to get home in time to get cleaned up and head over to the blood center to donate before they closed for the day.

A flat 40 miles, with a mere 440 feet of climbing (including one more wrong turn, my fault).

As it turned out, my timing was just right: The blood center staff had finally overcome some technical (computer system) difficulties that had caused them to turn away walk-ins most of the day. Donation, done!

Ribs!

Each year one of our members hosts an almost day-long barbecue as his team's fundraiser for the MS Society's Waves to Wine ride, and it's become a tradition for some club rides to meander over there.

I was well on my way to the starting point when it occurred to me that I'd left my donation check on the kitchen table. [Sigh.] Today's ride would be a little bit longer than I'd planned ...

Sometimes I find my fellow riders exasperating. Here they are, spread all over the road. Again.

After a nice ride with some mellow hills, I parted ways with the group to retrieve my donation. The roads were clogged with vehicles headed for the coast, so I was relieved to be pedaling past them. (Which was part of my motivation for leaving the car at home today.)

Our host was puzzled when I handed him the check. “How many plates do you want?!“ he asked. “Just one,” I smiled. [I had rounded up.]

The ribs were excellent, as always, and I arrived in time to chat with some of my riding companions. It was an unexpected treat to connect with some club members I haven't seen in some time, too.

49 miles, 2,160 feet of climbing (altogether) to earn those ribs!

Meeting on the Mountain

Back to the workday grind.

Wait, you say—that doesn't look like the office.

And, you're right! It's the Mt. Umunhum trail.

A colleague suggested that we cut out early, beat the traffic, and catch up in the car and on a hike (uphill, of course). Before our team was transplanted to a different office, walking meetings along a creek or toward the Bay were not uncommon. Now we're trapped in an office park surrounded by parking lots and freeway interchanges, without so much as a continuous strip of sidewalk. [Let's go!]

I was fascinated by this plant along the trail, which I've never seen before.

After three weeks away, it's taking some time to re-adjust. “Why did you come back?” he asked. [Good question ...] Because, well ... they're not going to let me stay there, are they?

Technical topics, trees, and trekking: 4.5 miles, 500 or so feet. Unfortunately, not enough daylight to make it to the summit and back down—but totally worth the walk.

Kunsthaus Zürich

If the weather had cooperated, I would have headed back to the Alps—but alas, the forecast showed nothing but rain.

The common wisdom I've heard is that “Switzerland is closed on Sundays;” but evidently that's an exaggeration. Shops are closed, yes; restaurants (and museums!) are open.

I spent most of the day at the Kunsthaus Zürich, which seemed (to me) to be a nicely curated collection of works by well-known artists (Dali, Matisse, Monet, Picasso, Van Gogh).

This painting stopped me in my tracks, and I wanted to know more.

Otto Baumberger: Mass (1936)

The accompanying text was in German. I turned to Google Translate for help, and what I got was lyrical:

In his picture, Baumberger shows unemployed people during the Geneva unrest of 1932. In front of the cold row of windows of an anonymous façade, he places people who all look the viewer in the eye. They are mostly men, but in the foreground, in bright red, stands a woman, beside her a boy. Distress speaks from these faces, deprivation justified hopelessness. The title of the picture makes it clear that it is not about individuals, but about the mass, the wall of distress that they form together. Following a Käthe Kollwitz, Baumberger wants to make his ears heard here with his art. In the exhibition, the work stands for the socio-critical impetus that was important to many artists of the time.

A haunting image that, sadly, speaks to the world of today as well as it captures the world of its time.

There were many pieces throughout the museum by Giacometti which I didn't really like—with the exception of this painting, which was in a very different style than most of his work.

Augusto Giacometti: Contemplation (1907)

There were surprises in store, works by famous artists that were unfamiliar to me—and so different from familiar works that I would not have guessed at their creators. From a series of bronzes by Matisse,

Henri Matisse: The Back I-IV (1909-1930)

to a soft portrait by Picasso.

Pablo Picasso: Seated Woman with Hat (1921)

I never expected to see a piece painted by a girl (!) in the 17th century, but here was a self-portrait by an abundantly talented Anna Waser.

Anna Waser: Self-Portrait at the Age of Twelve As She Paints the Portrait of Her Teacher Johannes Sulzer (1691)

People-watching led to my favorite moment of the day. There were many families spending an afternoon in the galleries. I smiled as I watched these moms talking to their children about a particular painting; the young boy got so excited that he ran to get a closer look.

I have not found children to be a common sight in museums back home, unless they've been dragged there on an educational class trip.

And home is where I soon will be.

Auf Wiedersehen. Until we meet again.

Zürich, Take Two

One tip for traveling overseas with a bike is to buffer the trip with a day or two on both ends. From Burgdorf I headed back to Zürich, where the airport would be a short hop away.

A hunch and a little investigation paid off: When my train arrived, I headed straight for the “Left Luggage” office. For a small fee, I checked my bike bag. Not only did I not have to haul it back and forth to the hotel, they would transport it to the airport—where I would claim it a short walk from the airline's check-in counters. [I could get used to this ...]

After settling into my hotel on Saturday, I went for walk (uphill, of course).

This was fresh territory for me, having climbed above the city on the opposite side of the lake on a previous visit.

The higher I rose, the more it looked like the countryside.

 The afternoon light was dramatic, with a storm moving in.

I remembered to bring my umbrella. Steam rose from the pavement after some showers—something I haven't experienced for many years, as the rainy season in California is winter.

If you take a close look at how steeply the street drops off in my photo, you can see why I was happy not to be cycling here. I saw a sign marking a 22% grade on one hill, but I'd bet this street is steeper.

People do cycle here, however; and the infrastructure is done so well. In the photo above, we can see that the placement for bikes is separately allocated for cyclists turning left and for those traveling straight; and the “stop” line for vehicles is placed behind the bicycle markings. That way the cyclists are fully visible, and not expected to squeeze into the lane-width with a motor vehicle.

Back in town, I found a nice view of the Grossmünster towers as I strolled along the Linmat after dinner. One more full day before I head home ...