Free Day

My employer generously gave us an extra day off, unexpectedly extending the holiday weekend from three days to four.

If only we could .... go somewhere.

Evidently, many people decided to do just that: the highway leading to the coast was clogged almost as badly as on a hot summer Saturday, and our streets were gridlocked with drivers who cut through town because they think it will save them a few minutes. Either way, they crawl through 3-4 miles of bumper-to-bumper traffic.

Essential trips? For the doggie peering out the rear window of that Hyundai Tucson?

I had a mission to complete: just two more photos, and I would have collected all 34 images (!) for our bike bingo challenge. Yes, I'd already “won” with five squares in a row on one card. But ... but ... there are six cards.

Those last two photos were a bit of a challenge to collect without traveling on busy thoroughfares. I'd decided that the surest way to find a white Nissan Versa was to visit a dealer's lot. I headed out, made my first turn, and ... stop! There was the elusive vehicle, one block from home.

I took that as a sign to scrap my original route, opting for the nearest Target instead.

For bingo, it seems only fair not to re-use any image to complete a line on two different cards. On the way home, I decided to collect a few extra photos (plus this unplanned scenic vista).

Not to mention photos for a seventh card of my own design ... keeping the traditional “bike shop” in the center, I'd plotted twenty four new images. Places that people miss visiting right now, places that might take people a bit farther from home, and places they might not otherwise have noticed.

Didn't seem like much, but somehow I managed to climb 500 feet and cover 20 miles just noodling around.

WFH: Week Ten

Friday morning my heart sank when I discovered that my clock had stopped. How would I get it repaired, now? Wait a sec ... 4:05 (give or take, the clock had been running a little fast) ... I woke up during the night and thought it was odd that the window blinds were rattling, ever so slightly. The windows were closed, no breeze ... was it an earthquake?! [Yup.] Evidently it woke me, though I didn't feel the wave; yet it was strong enough to interfere with the swinging pendulum of my clock, the epicenter more than 250 miles away.

During my morning workouts, I have been exercising my brain by watching the original Cosmos series. Sometimes I need a break and listen to a contemporary podcast, instead. And sometimes, I get stuck. I've watched episodes 8 and 9 two or three times.

Why did the nuclear force sound like magic, to me? Protons, electrons, and neutrons I remember from basic chemistry, but (alas) I never studied physics. I was reminded of a time—long before we had the world of knowledge at our fingertips [thanks, Google]—when I approached a colleague with a physics degree: “I abase myself before you, but ... I realized today that I don't remember how gravity works.” He laughed. [cf. Gravitation]

And speaking of Google, of course I was familiar with the origin of the name. But I had never before heard the term googolplex (Episode 9), and now I see just how clever a name is the Googleplex.

The dissonant yellow blossoms that pop up on my red salvia bush seem out of place, but remind us that the world is imperfect. I'm grateful to be working, grateful to have work as a distraction, and grateful to be able to work from home. This is my life in 2020, and I see no change on the horizon.

Ten years ago this week I enjoyed one of my favorite organized rides, Strawberry Fields Forever. This year's edition has been postponed, optimistically, to October.

Five years ago, I lost my mom. It has been five years, already? I was fortunate to spend most of her last day with her. That morning, I knew. Somehow I understood that day would be her last. Both of her children were at her side, bringing her whatever comfort and peace of mind might come from knowing that she was not alone when she took her last breath that night—a privilege that all-too-many heartbroken families cannot have, today.

Long before I heard Carl Sagan intone “We are made of star stuff,” I absorbed it from Joni Mitchell:

Well maybe it's the time of year
Or maybe it's the time of man ...

We are stardust
Billion-year-old carbon ...

Life is for learning.

The week opened with a confirmed 2339 cases of COVID-19 in our county, and closed with 2453 (a 4.9% increase).

Bernal Bingo

Rain in the forecast might yet reawaken some green in those golden hills.

I mapped out another modest ride to share with my chief biking buddy, with some bonus miles for me.

Some of my coworkers have set up a challenge, which I hear is making the rounds: a bingo game to get us outside and (in our case) onto our bikes. Easy-peasy: last week I filled one row (bingo!) with less than five miles of riding. [Which, you know, is not much for me.]

They've set up six bingo cards, so ... why not tackle all of them? [Overachiever ...]

If nothing else, I guess I'll get better at taking selfies (which, is really not my thing). Here's one square: a lake (Calero).

I'd strategized which photos I'd need to “win” a line on each remaining card. But then, when we met to start today's ride, I realized I was looking at five squares, right there! Why not go for all (34) of them? [Overachiever, x2]

To make it more challenging, I won't re-use any photos to fill a row: That is, I will use a unique photo if I pick a row on a card that repeats an image I've already used (e.g., two different churches, gas stations, crosswalk signs).

Fire truck and helicopter are not part of the game. (It was a training exercise, there was no actual emergency in progress.)

I could contribute a more challenging card, but it wouldn't be fair for me to play it. Coffee shop. Historic marker. Little Library. Museum. Town limit sign. Windmill. (An Aermotor, of course.) Hmm ...

Another personal best on a hill this week (1,520 feet of climbing overall). I hadn't planned to ride quite so far (48 miles), or be out for quite so long. I had plenty of water this week, but I was hungry. Very hungry. So hungry that I thought I had captured all of the shots I'd planned for today before heading home, but rode past three of them.

Must. Ride. Again.

WFH: Week Nine

How about some local fauna to go with the local flora? Anna's hummingbirds enjoy my feeders as well as my garden.

One bonus of spending all this time at home is catching sight of some less common visitors. I've spotted a single Bewick's wren and Nuttall's woodpecker this spring. California scrub jays are common, including one that briefly perched with a stem or twig that looked to be a good 15 inches long; they must be nesting nearby. The crows can be quite pesky. I wondered what set them off yesterday at 6 a.m., when I woke to the most raucous ruckus I've heard to date.

The house finches have been flitting about; they had been nesting in the attic (!) but disappeared after I moved into the house, many years ago. (And after a determined squirrel took up residence, counter-measures were taken to screen off all favored points of entry.)

Most days, I take a break to enjoy my lunch outside. Western fence lizards quickly scurry for cover in the bushes when startled. Honey bees busy themselves with the lavender in my garden, while the bumbling black carpenter bees have better luck with the red salvia. (They're too heavy for the pliable lavender stems; I wonder how they manage to fly, at all.)

Ten years ago this week I conquered Fremont Peak, a climb I have rarely repeated.

One year ago I celebrated Bike to Work Day with like-minded colleagues; this year, the event has been pushed out to September ... but we may still be working at home.

This week, I ventured out on my first bike ride in ten weeks.

My victory for the week was upgrading my Internet service. Over the past two weeks, it had degraded to the point of being unusable (upstream, 600 kbps). To head off an expected disagreement with my service provider, I invested in a new modem, first. So far, so good ... 10 Mbps upstream. [Yes, that sounds pathetic to those of you who live in places with modern infrastructure.]

This week's entertainment included the rarely-seen By Jeeves. Sure, it wasn't a critical success; but, you know what? It was goofy. It made me laugh. And I haven't laughed in a while.

The week opened with a confirmed 2231 cases of COVID-19 in our county, and closed with 2339 (a 4.8% increase).

Bike (Not) to Work Day

The morning started with a poignant reminder from Google Photos that on this date in 2013, it was Bike to Work Day.

It was time. Time to go outside and ride my bicycle.

“Why aren't you riding?” friends had asked. I was being conservative, however unlikely an accident might be. So many families had dusted off their bikes, pumped up the tires, and headed out. I've watched them cruise past ... without helmets ... on the wrong side of the road ... and wondered why I was worried that I might crash.

The lupine is still blooming.

My chief ride buddy and I agreed to ride together, not together. To ride within sight and often within earshot, but to stay apart. There is comfort in not being alone on the road.

We rode up and over a hill to visit the Guadalupe Reservoir. Much to my surprise, given that I have not been out for a ride since February 29, my time up that climb was a new personal best. (Thanks to my workouts and weight loss.) I also set a new personal record on one of the descents—despite having to slow and come to a full stop for a turkey that decided to cross in front of me. Lucky bird, because the car that had been politely tailing me also stopped.

I scripted a route to explore a nice neighborhood on our way to New Almaden. Although I'd expected to return the same way, we scrapped that in favor of a flatter option. My legs were feeling it (different muscles), but my main concern was having enough water. (Should have brought two bottles.) The day was warming up, and when we reached the parking lot for Almaden Quicksilver Park we found the water fountain shrouded in plastic and thoroughly taped up. I can't say I understand the calculus of risk, there.

The patriotic New Almaden community was decked out with American flags and many signs thanking our essential workers. I've been here many times before, but never noticed the historic plaque (California State Historic landmark 339-1) across from the park commemorating the nearby site of the state's first mine (cinnabar). Signs warn people not to eat any fish they catch in the local waters (contaminated with mercury).

Neither of us had noticed a tall red tower on the hillside before, either. The parking lot was full; this park is best hiked when the weather is cool. Although I had planned to ride as far as the Almaden Reservoir, we agreed it was prudent to turn back.

By the time we were done we had covered 34 miles and climbed 1,685 feet; not bad for my first outing in 10 weeks!

WFH: Week Eight

I'm sure our local transportaton agency had the best of intentions when they posted these signs, but ... they're rude. [My mode of transportation was my own two feet.]

I've been puzzled by the people I see walking (or biking) through the neighborhood—alone, not another human in sight—wearing masks. Puzzled by (healthy) colleagues struggling to get groceries delivered. Puzzled by people leaving packages, mail, and groceries in the garage for 24 hours or wiping them down with disinfectant. But, I'm over it. If it brings them peace of mind, let it be.

After all, there are still (still!) people who haven't gotten the memo, like the woman I saw during my walk who sneezed ... into her bare hand. [Sigh.] 'Tis the season for springtime allergies ... but sneeze into the crook of your arm. Please.

Everything gets dusted with yellow-green pollen, and here's a major source: oak trees in bloom.

Our first hot days of the season reminded me that I'd intended to make some curtain panels that will fit a particular bare window, to block the sun from baking my upstairs hallway and pumping heat into my office. How many times have I thought about that, and even taken measurements? [Don't ask.] This week, finally, I tackled the job. It was embarassingly easy (and quick).

Ten years ago this week I savored a springtime commute (by bicycle). Oh, how I miss those rides!

One year ago this week I pedaled through the damp redwood forest, despite being somewhat under the weather. That would not happen, now.

One month ago, I was 1.5 pounds heavier. I've settled into a workout routine that's 30 minutes of cardio, plus another ~15 minutes of resistance and floor exercises, four or more times per week. Supplemented with the occasional walk into town (it's still there!) and yard work.

When I made the first batch of this lentil soup a few weeks ago, I opted to keep it vegan. This time, I picked up the bacon it called for ... and that made all the difference.

A highlight for the week was a visit with my chief cycling buddy, spent chatting at a sensible healthy distance outdoors in the garden. We both needed that.

After watching On the Basis of Sex, a snippet of a poem by Mary Oliver echoed in my head:

Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

I think (I hope?) my time on the planet has been a net positive, albeit on a much smaller scale.

The week opened with a confirmed 2084 cases of COVID-19 in our county, and closed with 2231 (a 7.1% increase).

WFH: Week Seven

One last, perfect, red camellia of the season.

The time I spent washing windows last Sunday was well invested. Spotted with dirt, I was finding them increasingly dispiriting now that I spend most days gazing at the world through them. [Of course, that also meant it rained on Monday.] Eight down, eight to go. [Or fourteen, if I get ambitious.]

There are more vehicles driving out of the neighborhood. People are getting antsy; I can understand that. This is all starting to feel less like an interlude and more like the next act of the play we call “real life.”

Lots of people are walking, and biking, through the neighborhood. Tempting as it is to ride, I have taken the conservative approach and stayed off the bike. Because, however unlikely a crash might be, I don't need to risk burdening our stressed medical workers. My inner voice would torture me without mercy: “They asked you to do one thing: Stay home. How hard is that?”

My hair is longer than it has been in many years; some of my colleagues have resorted to buzz cuts.  Ten weeks after my last haircut, it's now long enough to be annoying, and just long enough to tie back in a stubby ponytail.

The spring weather was spectacular on the date scheduled for this year's Tierra Bella, which (like so many other cycling events) could not be held.

One year ago this week I visited an unfamiliar part of the state and cycled in a new event, thanks to my regular ride buddy. When I'm comfortable getting back out there on a bike, I wonder how I'll do? [I won't be tackling a metric century, that's for sure.]

Ten years ago this week I biked to Half Moon Bay for lunch, following a route I don't think I have repeated, in full.

Fifty years ago this week marked the debut of Earth Day. Being a somewhat precocious youngster, in addition to whatever activities our school set up for us, I took it upon myself to do more. My parents humored me as I dragged trash out of the then-undeveloped wooded area behind our house. Years later, my coworkers and I would routinely eat outdoors (weather permitting), and it was our habit to leave each site cleaner than we found it. To this day, I am regularly dismayed at the sight of the discarded tires, appliances, and furniture I pass when biking on our back roads. I pick up small stuff, whenever I can—biking, hiking, or just walking around the neighborhood. And big stuff, too—with help! It was fitting to watch Koyaanisqatsi this week; somehow, I'd never seen it (till now).

I took in two more “Best Picture” winners that I'd not seen before, Unforgiven [1992? really?] and The Shape of Water. It was satisfying to see some bad guys get their just deserts; I needed that.

And to close out the week, the star-studded Take Me to the World: A Sondheim 90th Celebration. What a privilege to see so many intimate, emotional performances; more than one artist seemed on the verge of tears at the end of their song. And a beautiful tribute, while the honoree is still here to enjoy it.

The week opened with a confirmed 1903 cases of COVID-19 in our county, and closed with 2084 (a 9.5% increase).

WFH: Week Six

I'm not a television viewer, but was exposed to the airwaves in order to watch the broadcast of Jesus Christ Superstar last week. I'm not sure what I expected, but the combined stream of commercials for prescription drugs and those that were pandemic-themed did nothing but heighten my anxiety.

Those drug commercials are ridiculous. Seriously. Soothing music, lovely images, and a legalistic recitation of possible side effects (all ghastly, and pretty much the same from one remedy to the next). This is what people watch, all the time?

My mom has been gone for nearly five years (already?), and I am relieved that she is not here, now. Even if she might have weathered this storm, we would not have been able to keep her calm in a sea of catastrophic 24x7 news reports.

I still smile when I think of the Thanksgiving we spent in Manhattan. When she was young, she had worked in the city. When she was older, she grew afraid of it (thanks to the nightly news). Somehow, I persuaded her that we should spend the weekend there and see the parade, live. We had dinner at Tavern on the Green and walked around Rockefeller Center in the sunshine. Another night, I scored a pair of tickets to see Showboat by waiting at the box office for a cancellation, but that left no time for dinner before the show. I figured we'd duck into a hotel restaurant later; flipping through her Playbill, Mom pointed to an ad and said “Let's go here.” And there we went, strolling up 7th Avenue after 11 p.m. (!) to the Carnegie Deli. Reality: 1, Nightly News: 0.

Five years ago today I sought solace where I can always find it, along the shoreline, as I prepared to lose her. I could use a coastal walk today. But that's out of reach, for now.

Ten years ago this week marked my first bike ride to the Panoche Inn—which immediately became one of my favorite routes.

One year ago this week I stopped a moving minivan with my bicycle (without any damage to me, or the bike).

Our cooking class for the week was Molten Chocolate Cake, which looked surprisingly easy. Our chef made a point of taking ramekins out of the oven at different times, to demonstrate what happens if you don't let them bake long enough (or, too long). He mentioned a recipe that's possible to freeze (before baking), which would make this practical (since I'm not going to eat four of them). [Well, I could, but ... I would certainly regret that.]

For entertainment, I watched the 25th anniversary performance of The Phantom of the Opera, which was so stunning I watched it twice. I was lucky enough to see it on Broadway during its initial run, but not again since. I particularly loved seeing four former Phantoms (plus the Phantom of that night's production) reprise The Music of the Night. I wish I could have seen all of them in the role. “Silently the senses abandon their defenses ...”

I finished The Adventurer's Son, fully empathizing with the family's frustration, anger, and despair as the authorities clung to the warped narrative they'd concocted. Which the media ate right up. [Nightly news, see above.] And by quoting from her poem Sleeping in the Forest, the author introduced me to the work of Mary Oliver.

This week I heard that one of my colleagues had fallen ill with COVID-19 (and recovered); that's the first case for someone personally known to me. The week opened with 1621 confirmed cases in our county, and closed with 1903 (a 17.4% increase).

From another poem by Mary Oliver:

When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.

I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.

WFH: Week Five

As it turns out, there are a few pink blossoms tucked deep inside my white camellia bush. Two distinct shades, in fact.

Ten years ago this week I eyed the weather forecast and skipped the event I'd planned to ride.

One year ago today I managed not to lose my footing on a slippery hike that got me and my hiking partner thoroughly muddy. In the pre-pandemic era, we were mulling over the timing for a return trip this spring. That was then.

This is now. Given that asymptomatic people can spread the virus, we're all supposed to wear face coverings now when we're near other people—keeping a safe distance from one another is also necessary, but no longer deemed sufficient.

I have fabric, I have thread, I have skills ... and a sewing machine.

The machine was an uncharacteristically extravagant gift for my 13th birthday. [Which makes it, yes, quite old.] I grew up in a family with a grandmother who crocheted, and embroidered, and sewed outfits for me. It was a way to save money—well-understood by those who had weathered the Great Depression and rationing during the second World War. I had learned to sew using her classic black Singer machine.

Time to figure out how to treat my Singer to some long-overdue lubrication, and get to work.

There are many patterns for fabric masks circulating online, and I decided to make two varieties. After reading an article in Popular Science, I was intrigued by the idea of using NWPP (non-woven polypropylene). What a great use for some of the surplus reusable bags in my collection! I could easily sacrifice three that I would never use. After deconstructing, laundering, and doing some geometrical planning, I had enough material to make three three-layer Surge masks.

I can also make a lot (A Lot) of simple fabric masks.

I borrowed The Adventurer's Son from a local library, thanks to Libby. (The library buildings, of course, are closed.) And yes, I know that story does not have a happy ending. “Movie” of the week was a contemporary performance of Jesus Christ Superstar (with Alice Cooper as Herod?!).

I watched the talk Larry Brilliant gave when he was awarded the TED prize. “Early detection, early response,” he said. In 2006.

Someone chalked “Hello” on my driveway, and that called for a response. Did I have some chalk? (Yes!)

The week opened with 1207 confirmed cases of COVID-19 in our county, and closed with 1621 (a 34.3% increase).

WFH: Week Four

“You should take a vacation!” our friendly HR automaton scolded me (again). No matter that sheltering-in-place is hardly a “vacation.” [Use it or lose it.] Needless to say, trips I'd been plotting for March and late April could not proceed.

So this week, and next, are short weeks. My laptop is powered off.

Neighbors are doing what they can to spread cheer. I strolled into town, to the Post Office, before the rains would move in and erase this fanciful stretch of sidewalk.

I decided to make a loop, rather than retrace my steps, and found an unexpected bounty of wild lupine in an otherwise weed-strewn patch of dirt. While I paused to snap a photo through the fence, a woman who'd been walking nearby and chatting was more bold. “There's an opening in the fence. Why not pick some? They're only going to die.”

Here's the thing about walking through a familiar neighborhood during different seasons. You just might discover a blooming dogwood tree—which you'd never expected could grow here.

The rain was coming for us, but my umbrella was ready.

The lupine wilted pretty fast, but perked right up with some fresh water. I tucked a few into my garden; some had pulled clear of the ground with their roots, when I'd tugged at them.

Ten years ago this week I enjoyed a long ride to the Pinnacles, before it became a National Park.

Five years ago this week I cruised past the wildflowers and reservoirs of south county.

One year ago this week I frolicked on the hills and curves alongside the Calaveras Reservoir. They will fade to brown before I next see them.

One month ago today, I was two pounds heavier. Eating healthy (and less), along with my morning exercise routine, is paying dividends.

My movie choice for the week was Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri. To counteract that darkness, I also streamed Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, which was ... very trippy and very 60's. (Universal Pictures is sharing one Andrew Lloyd Webber musical on Fridays, free, for the next few weeks.)

The week opened with 646 confirmed cases of COVID-19 in our county, and closed with 1207 (an 86.8% increase).

WFH: Week Three

The beauty of the white camellia is fleeting, as the blossoms are quick to turn brown. Somewhere on that same bush there are light pink blossoms, but it might be too late in the season to find one.

Ten years ago this week I sauntered up the Bay Area's benchmark climb at a leisurely pace.

Five years ago this week I benchmarked my new wonder bike on a familiar descent. [Wow, it's been five years, already?]

One year ago this week I chose a sensible local ride.

This week, I realized that the days are all muddling together, blending into one stressful, unending day. I started putting marks in the squares of a good old-fashioned paper calendar. WFH. Post Office. Grocery store. I'm still taking the conservative approach and not biking outdoors.

I was all set to try a new lentil soup recipe, one that made the news recently because a nurse (who was about to retire) ate it for lunch every day. For 17 years. I had picked up everything I needed ... or so I thought. I pawed through my collection of spices. And then, made another pass over all the jars and tins. Nope. No whole coriander seeds.

The markets are sold out of many things, but I didn't expect to find an empty space on the shelf where those seeds should be. A clerk was restocking spices in the next market I visited, and I got lucky: there were just a couple of packets left. [Hmm, did everyone get the same idea from that story?]

I skipped this week's pastry lesson (Crêpes Suzette) in favor of a competing session (fried rice). The trick, we learned, is to open a circle in the middle of the mounded rice and scramble the eggs there before mixing it into the rice. (Aha!)

For entertainment, I watched a recorded performance of A Midsummer Night's Dream, which San Francisco Ballet was able to share (for one week only) with those of us who had purchased tickets. Puck was, well, puckish ... Cavan Conley stole the show, I thought. The dancers took their bows to an empty house and not to the applause they deserved. They've promised to perform this work again next season. (And hopefully, by then, we will be able to enjoy it live.)

The week opened with 302 confirmed cases of COVID-19 in our county, and closed with 646 (a 114% increase).

WFH: Week Two

My decision to walk into town, despite the occasional rain shower, was an unexpectedly lucky one. There were a handful of others out and about, including parents leading two young kids. (”Where are we going? Why?“) Everyone gave each other plenty of space.

I stopped at the post office, finally recycled some old eyeglasses in the Lions Club's collection bin, and was the only customer in a large clothing shop. I had a gift credit to spend, and expected there would be few shoppers early on a Monday afternoon. I was the third customer of the day, they told me; and I might have been the last.

Shortly after I got home, our county issued a “shelter in place” directive, shutting down all non-essential businesses as of midnight.

That order spawned raging debates on multiple cycling mailing lists about whether cycling was, or was not, permitted, and whether a six-foot gap between cyclists would be an adequate protective distance. Outdoor activity was considered an “essential activity,” but cycling was not specifically mentioned; it took a few attorneys to clarify what “by way of example and without limitation” means. Our club canceled all upcoming group rides. Solo rides, or rides with members of your own household, would be fine.

But, what if you crash? This would not be the time to add to the burden on our already-stressed healthcare system.

More of my colleagues were adjusting to working from home, which went from voluntary, to recommended, to mandated. We're trying to preserve the social structure of our team, gathering most mornings and afternoons for 30-minute coffee/tea breaks. Getting to meet their children, as well as their pets, helps to lift everyone's spirits.

A couple of years ago, one of our colleagues completed a curriculum for professional pastry chefs. (To relax, he insisted.) He'd share his assignments with us; what a joy it was to find some wonderful treat on your desk in the morning. An experienced instructor, he has decided to give us a weekly lesson. This week, chocolate soufflé. It looked so straightforward ... especially with his electric mixer to whip those egg whites.

As the week progressed I felt anxiety mounting. How will this end? Is it just a matter of time before every one of us falls ill? And recovers, or ... doesn't?

For my cinematic distraction of the week, I watched He Named Me Malala, from which I learned more than the facts of her story, but also gained a window into attitudes and beliefs that are utterly unfamiliar to me.

The week opened with 114 confirmed cases of COVID-19 in our county, and closed with 302 (a 165% increase).

WFH: Week One

The camellias are still blooming. What a glorious mess they make! I'll no sooner rake up the fallen flowers than I'll hear “plop” as another drops to the ground, as if to mock me.

The week opened with a backache that worsened when I'd lie down to sleep. Adding to that misery, my body was disinclined to get a full night's sleep. It was high time to improve the ergonomics of my workspaces. I use my dining table for video conferences because it offers a nicer background than the desk in my office. But those chairs were not meant for continuous hours of sitting. Once my “new” monitor arrived, I was happy to spend most of my workday in a proper chair, at a proper desk, in my home office.

Many years ago, after doing the math and reflecting on the inconvenience of making trips to a gym, I invested in my own equipment. [Which, sadly, mostly sits unused.] It was high time to lubricate the chains and get moving. I was determined to get some serious exercise into my daily routine, and my back felt better when I was upright.

I've read a few reports over the years that the best time to exercise is before breakfast. Not being a morning person, and needing to get out the door early on most mornings, that just wasn't happening for me. Until now. No more morning commute! Door-to-door, that saves an hour of my morning (and my evening). I can wake up naturally (no alarm!), work out, shower, eat breakfast, and start my workday.

Even I was surprised at how quickly my body tuned itself up. I rapidly graduated from a 20-minute session to a 30-minute session, then to a more challenging program, and then to ramping up the intensity.

To challenge my brain at the same time, I cracked open my copy of the original Cosmos series (which, inexplicably, I had never seen). So many things I hadn't learned, not to mention things learned and forgotten! Did I ever know that Eratosthenes calculated the circumference of the Earth more than 2,000 years ago?

During the last week of February, I had made a trip to San Francisco—on public transit—for a business meeting. Light rail to Caltrain to BART, and the reverse. I was wary of my fellow travelers and had kept my distance. The weather was chilly; I wore gloves. I brought my own travel-sized bottle of hand sanitizer and was particularly mindful of what I touched.

This week brought news that two exhibitors at the associated conference had subsequently been diagnosed with the novel coronavirus, COVID-19. The news ricocheted around the few of us who had attended the meeting; we confirmed that none of us had ventured near the conference space, nor interacted with anyone from the exhibitors' company.

Our bike club's big annual tour was only about six weeks away; should we cancel it? Other spring events were shutting down or postponing. As the week opened, we stayed the course but wondered if the county would issue or deny our permits. Riding your bike is one thing, congregating at rest stops and for the meal at the finish is another. Could we adequately ensure that people kept a safe distance from one another?

As the week drew to a close, the CDC recommended canceling events of 50 people or more for the next eight weeks. And that was that: there could be no celebration of cycling on our scenic roadways, this spring.

The week opened with 37 confirmed cases of COVID-19 in our county (population, about 1.9 million), and closed with 114 (a 200.8% increase). I decided to distract myself by watching a movie, and chose this year's Best Picture winner, Parasite. Which led to another night of disturbed sleep.

WFH: Week Zero

The message landed in my inbox on Thursday night: As of Friday, March 6, working from home was an approved (voluntary) option.

Restrictions had been escalating rapidly at the office—no international travel, all visiting workers required to return to their home locations, exhortations to stay home even if you were sure your sniffles were nothing more than seasonal allergies.

I was uncomfortable about the close quarters on our commuter shuttles. Just a couple of weeks ago I'd moved several rows back when the guy in the seat behind me kept coughing. And coughing. And coughing. Maybe it would be better to bike to work, now.

But then, I'd become increasingly uneasy with the (deficient) hygiene practices of some of my coworkers. A woman who leaves the restroom without washing her hands; this week, a guy who repeatedly sneezed into his napkin at lunch, repeatedly touched it to his nose, and then ... set it right down on the countertop. [This, after all the public news and all the warnings we'd received internally.] Common sense, as the saying goes, is not all that common.

So that Thursday night, I found a good deal online for a nice “open box” monitor. We'd be in this for the long haul, I reckoned, and my laptop screen would get tiring. External keyboard? [Check.] External mouse? [Check.]

Friday felt ... different. I've worked from home before, typically when I've recovered enough from a cold to be productive, but not recovered enough to mingle with my colleagues. I was focused, I was productive, and I was content to close the laptop at the end of the workday. But I also felt ... lonely.

I was uncertain about traveling to the city on Sunday for the first ballet I would see this season, A Midsummer Night's Dream. I'd never seen it, and San Francisco Ballet hadn't performed it in more than 30 years. I decided I would drive—steering clear of public transit—and if it seemed at all sketchy after I was there, I would leave.

The mayor of San Francisco made the choice for me, shuttering all city-owned venues on Saturday. In our county, the week opened with 7 confirmed cases of COVID-19, and ended with 37 cases (a 5.29x increase).

On Sunday, I made a trip to the office to rescue the plant that lives on my desk.

Over the coming weeks, I'll share some reflections to preserve the memory of this time. And for some color, I'll share a photo of some bit of local flora, for cheer. Hopeful for the future, something is always in bloom.

Thanks to a Guy Named Joe

Once upon a time, some charitably-minded athletes (cyclists, mainly) had an idea. What if you could raise funds for worthy causes, just by riding your bike? Running was okay, too. As GPS-enabled devices became common, it was easy to record and verify the distance you'd traveled. Smartphone apps later made it even easier to track and upload activities.

Plus3 was born. Strava did not yet exist.

I signed up in November, 2008. In the early days, the founders lined up non-profits (like Trips for Kids) and companies willing to donate a pot of money (like Ritchey). Each Plus3 member chose a cause, and each activity earned points that allocated small amounts from a sponsor's pot for that cause. The payout rates shifted over time, but even pennies add up.

The idea, in part, was to motivate people to be more physically active. There were leaderboards, challenges, and prizes, and many more qualifying activities were added (like healthy habits, volunteering, carpooling). The model shifted toward the corporate world: to encourage employees to be active and make healthy choices, a company would sponsor a cause.

That shift seemed brilliant to me (but, what do I know?). My employer had run a similar sort of program in-house to encourage “self-powered” commuting. When they shut it down, I failed to persuade them to engage with Plus3. They chose, instead, a personal-incentive-based program where cyclists (only) can redeem points for things (water bottles, socks, tote bags). [Sigh.]

Plus3 found a niche for some early, loyal members (like me) who weren't aligned with their new model. There were only a handful of folks in our little corner of Plus3, and I didn't notice how much the overall participation had dwindled until they sent me a message at the end of last year that they were shutting down.

Plus3 moved more than $3 million to charities around the world; my personal tally, they tell me, was $1,942. Mostly by riding my bike (more than 3,100 trips) and walking (more than 1,900 trips). Over 11 years, I logged about 40,000 miles and more than 5.5 million steps.

I was sad, but a colleague who spent many years in the non-profit world was not surprised. It seemed like such a great idea, and a sustainable model, to me. But, what do I know?

About a Mile

I should know better. I really should.

A short hike, my friend promised. “Keep it under three hours, and I'll join you; I have other things to get done today. And my body got a workout yesterday.”

I haven't hiked the full length of this trail in many years. We passed the spot where we'd turned back on our last trek.

“How much farther?” I'd ask. “About a mile,” he'd reply. [I knew better.]

There's a flowering plant I've not seen before. That's the thing about visiting a trail in different seasons, there are always surprises.

This trail has some wickedly steep sections. It's popular with mountain bikers; we kindly yielded the way as they dodged the rocks and ruts.

To the junction, he'd said. [Of course this would take more than three hours. I knew that.] “Look how close we were, a year ago—an easy 1.6 miles away!” [And another 4.1 miles down to the road, with no car waiting at this end.]

Round trip: 8.2 miles, ascending approximatley 1,900 feet. I should know better. I really should.

Chillin'

Back to the scene of the flat ... this time, with my eyes peeled for puncture-perfect debris.

What a nice, social group assembled today—including some new faces! I had a good time chatting with one guy who slowed to my pace. He's scheduled to leave on a trip to Italy [uh-oh] that starts with a cruise [uh, no] and then some cycling. Earlier this month, I had been researching options for a European cycling adventure; no longer a viable option, this year.

Off the back as usual, I snapped only one photo when we regrouped on San Felipe.

I expected an easy ride today; instead, it felt hard. Less climbing, more distance, and ... a cold headwind. Those 36 miles (and 2,475 feet of climbing) wore me down, more so than last week's taxing climb. [Headwind, I tell you. Headwind.]

Roadside Picnic

The acacias were in bloom, offering an occasional spot of cheer on today's climb.

It's been nearly four years since I paid my dues on this road.

A wary doe eyed me before sprinting up the hillside, but otherwise I was the only creature in sight after most of the group passed me.

Did I really climb this, once, in less than 63 minutes? [Yes.] That was then, this is now (94 minutes), including 2+ minutes of walking. I wasn't really suffering—the grade isn't steep enough for that. But after the first 3+ miles (and 1400+ feet of ascent), a lapse of attention brought me perilously close to the edge of the pavement. Getting my concentration back, by walking for a stretch, seemed prudent.

Someone with a sense of humor tacked a sign to a tree. [In truth, you're not “almost there,” but it made me smile.]

I was surprised not to see the rest of the group descending long before I reached the top. I hoped they weren't waiting for me. Or for our birthday boy, the ride leader, who trailed somewhere below me. [I did wait for his triumphant arrival.]

With the top at 3,045 feet, it was chilly. [Duh, it's February.] The wind picked up speed as some fog rolled in, making for a cold descent. If only I'd thought to bring long-fingered gloves ...

The desent is a quick one; I had deliberately chosen not to bring the fast bike today, with this descent in mind.

The ride ended where it began, at the side of the road, but now with a pop-up picnic to celebrate our leader's milestone birthday. As he lamented what he's lost as he's gotten older, I reminded him that precious few of his age cohort could even consider biking up Soda Springs Road. [Or any road, for that matter. Seriously.]

I rode 17 miles, with 3,020 feet of climbing. When you consider that this route is an out-and-back, what came down must have gone up ... that means I climbed 3,020 in 8.5 miles. How slowly I did that, matters not to me.

Up the Hill

Consider it a walking meeting, with the added bonus of occupying our full attention (no distracting phones or laptops). Two of us ducked out of the office just early enough to hit the trail by 4:45 p.m. Enough daylight for a short—sometimes steep—hike.

It's been rather a long time since I've trudged up the Kennedy Trail, which is silly considering how nearby it is. (Thankfully, dry today.)

Up the hill, and back down: about 3.5 miles and maybe 700 feet of climbing. Highly recommended as a way to de-stress at the end of the workday.

Bici

If I could bike 37 miles in a day (albeit in two sittings), I should be able to do the flat version of the club's beloved “Bici” ride. Its namesake bicycle shop closed several years ago, but a suitable gathering place for the start was found nearby.

Prepared to go it alone, off the back, I set out on my adapted version of the route—which avoids a formerly desolate stretch of road, a freeway interchange, and (more recently) a busy Costco. I think the crowd was somewhat puzzled, as they waited to turn left at a traffic signal, when they saw me sail ahead on the road they were about to join.

They waited for me at the tops of the climbs, and I was surprised that most people would be skipping the hillier variation of the ride today. Eventually off the back, I expected to capture a photo of the reservoir I would pass; but that was not to be. A strong rider caught up to me after fixing a flat and slowed to my pace, to chat.

We regrouped at a coffee shop, and when it was time to leave I found myself leading a small posse. I alerted them that I would be deviating from the “official” route near the end, to avoid that same unpleasant stretch of road. They endorsed my variation, which wends alongside a “linear park” through a relatively new neighborhood, and encouraged me to recommend it to the ride leader.

I was gratified that 38 miles and 765 feet of climbing didn't wear me out. It was a treat to have company for almost all of the ride; after all, that's why we show up for these club rides, isn't it? And who knows, maybe next time I'll find that my twist has been adopted for the traditional route.

February is Feasible

The unseasonably warm weather was irresistible.

There is just enough daylight to make it home without ducking out of work too early.

I had debated pulling the headlight off my helmet, as I haven't really needed it for the short rides home from the shuttle. Leaving it in place was a good call, as the last couple of miles turned legitimately dark.

A little over 37 miles, with 780 feet of climbing for this flatter version of my round-trip commute.

The next morning, my body reminded me that I haven't been getting enough exercise. [Must work on that.]

A Flat Ride

When a yellow sac spider settles in for a nap on your downtube, it's a sign that you should be getting out more. (I used a twig to peel off the sac; the spider, I imagine, will be surprised to wake up many miles from where it fell asleep.)

I was looking for a short and easy ride, but not quite so short as it turned out ...

It was a chilly and overcast morning as the group gathered, discussing the pros and cons of tubeless tires. A couple of us felt that they seemed like more trouble than they're worth. I rarely get flats; I suggested that some tubeless riders end up with more trouble because they think they're invincible and stop watching for debris in their path. [We joked that now I'd tempted fate ...]

We turned out of the parking lot and ... immediately stopped, as the leader's Garmin was finicky. A little bit ahead of the group, I waited for her to pass. I had my eye on the other riders as I started to roll. I did not have my eyes on the road.

Wait, I said; there's something stuck to my front tire ... no, through my front tire.

We had not even traveled one-tenth of a mile. Feeling as deflated as my tire, I told them to continue without me; I was just going back home. I didn't feel like fixing it in the cold, and I didn't feel like making the group stand around even longer than we already had.

I collect road debris whenever I can. Preferably, with my hands.