Um, A Hike

We didn't start out to hike on Mt. Umunhum.

But when the Kennedy Trail proved too steep for my hiking buddy today, he suggested we relocate a few miles. Paradoxically, there are less daunting trails to be found on the flanks of Mt. Um.

The Bald Mountain trail offered unfamiliar (to me) perspectives. Like the road I climbed to the summit, just yesterday, by bike. And a sky-high view of the Almaden Reservoir and hills to the east. (I've biked there, too.)

For good measure, we crossed the road to hike some of the Mt. Umunhum trail. We took in the views from the Guadalupe Creek Overlook (though I spied no water) before heading back.

Um, enough is enough!

Sittin' on Top of the World

The Cube beckoned.

The Cube, of course, has taunted us for decades. And yet, after we finally got access, I had not cycled to the top.

It was time.

The curious crowds have thinned by now; the novelty has worn off.

Our group headed up the “easier” side; today, I managed to climb that without pausing (or, walking). But the road to the summit ... that could be a different story.

With no marker to memorialize the old White Line of Death, I could not tip my helmet in tribute. I recall there were some steep pitches before we'd reach that point; I managed to climb them.

The pavement is fresh, there are signs warning drivers not to pass cyclists on blind curves, and even a few dedicated spots for us to pull aside. Not needed today, as there were fewer vehicles than cyclists on the road.

One of the strong cyclists in our group rode just ahead, narrating a veritable play-by-play. “From that saddle, you can see the ocean.” (Obscured by the marine layer, today.)

“There's one more steep section after this one, at the top.” [Gulp.]

It's intimidating when you can see the whole stretch looming above you. Or maybe it's worse when you can't see it, and you fear that it will just go on and on ...

I expected that I'd grind to a halt, and walk. But. I didn't!

Victory was mine! At long last, I have vanquished Mt. Umunhum!

Then I nearly passed out. Having not Thought This Through, I had skipped filling a bottle with my electrolyte mix and was ill-prepared for the effort I'd expended. Fortunately, I had stuffed a package of gel blocks in my pocket.

We chatted and explored the views in all directions before heading (cautiously) down.

Back on flat land, I was startled when something dropped onto the road near me. (Fortunately, not on me.) Branches don't go “plop!” when they hit the ground, but ... squirrels do.

Resilient little rodents. Whether they were fighting, or getting friendly, they scampered away.

A brilliant idea came to me as I pedaled toward home: Lunch! Get a proper sandwich; no PB&J for me today. After 41 miles and a 3,660 feet of challenging climbing, I deserved it.

A Ride to Remember

I had a hunch where the ride would be headed on this Memorial Day, and I was right. A place last visited, years ago, on Veterans Day (with the same ride leader).

Some leaders prefer not to share their route, in written or electronic form; today's leader is one of those. Some think that approach encourages the group to stick together, but it also means you need to keep the other riders in sight.

And so it was that I came to be lost. (Briefly.) Evidently I had not fully slid my water bottle into its cage, and it popped out shortly after we started down the trail. One rider paused at the point where the group exited the trail, but ... did they continue straight, or make a turn?

We opted to go straight, but around a bend there were no riders waiting for us. Backtracking, we met a rider who'd been dispatched to search for us.

“The escapees have been caught!” he joked as we rejoined the group.

Seems it was a day for water-bottle mishaps: We followed our leader to a supermarket, where she bought a bottle for herself (having left hers in the car, at the start).

We twisted and turned through the deserted streets of downtown San Jose, finding ourselves the only visitors at the Veterans Memorial.

Socializing with a small group afforded the opportunity to learn more about a fellow rider. Recognizing Best Buddies on my jersey, she shared inspiring stories of some of the special-needs students she'd worked with as a speech therapist.

No hills today, but a decent distance: 37 miles, 460 feet of climbing. And memories, shared.

May(Be)rnal

Later in the day, I was halfway up my first hill on the way to Bernal when I realized there was another reason I felt so light.

I'd left my saddle bag at home. [Sigh.]

I'd taken it off the bike because it needed a little repair work (still pending). I turned back, choosing not to risk stranding myself without supplies to deal with any mechanical issues, however unlikely.

After that false start, I opted for a flatter route. Encountering a bunch of teenagers riding straight at me (wrong way) in a bike lane, my mood went from not-great to worse. “Other side,” I said as I gestured to each one of them. They studiously ignored me, which is why I mostly don't bother chiding wrong-way cyclists any more. But five or six of them, together? Just too egregious. One was wearing a helmet, at least.

Month-of-May ascent of Bernal completed: 40 miles, 1,300 feet of climbing for the day.

Cachagua

Some years back, I had planned to ride this loop (in the counter-clockwise direction). Not knowing what to expect, I drove it first. (Yikes! Steep!) There's a reason our club tackles this in the opposite direction.

Mother Nature had a different plan for that day: a wet one. Ride scuttled.

I was excited when my friends suggested this route for day two of our little getaway, and cast my vote for riding it clockwise. I also expected the wind to pick up later in the day and didn't look forward to battling headwind for miles and miles on our return.

I was somewhat apprehensive about biking on Carmel Valley Road, but there was very little traffic. It was a long, gradual climb ... until it kicked up a notch before our turn onto Tassajara, and then Cachagua.

Unfamiliar territory is both fun and a bit daunting, not knowing what's ahead. The more the road descended, the more I wondered how much we'd climb on our way out. (Altogether, we covered 27 miles, with 2,220 feet of climbing.)

We'd played leapfrog with the local UPS delivery van—the speed-racer of a driver was obviously intimately familiar with the road and beating his truck mercilessly. Ahead of my friends, I slowed when I saw the roadway covered with sand, near a bridge over a creek. Thinking there was a reasonable path through, I didn't stop. [Well, until I fell over.] On the plus side, deep sand cushioned my fall (somewhat) and I was able to wave down my friends to stop (in case their judgment was no better than mine).

I had forgotten that last year's fires tore through this canyon. What remains is strangely beautiful, but I regret not enjoying it before it burned.

Back in Pacific Grove, I had ample time for a coastal stroll after getting cleaned up. The deer are much too tame (and the bane of residential gardeners, I'm sure).

I managed two strolls, in fact: before and after dinner.

I have a hunch that I would never tire of these views.

17 Mile Drive

It will be fine, I told myself. We're vaccinated. We won't be indoors with other people.

It was time to leave the nest (for a couple of days). More than 16 months have passed since I spent a night away from home. Certainly the longest such stretch of my adult life; maybe even, in my entire life.

A pair of biking buddies planned a short getaway to Pacific Grove and coaxed me to join them. I teetered on the edge for quite a while before committing.

They've made this trip before, so I was game to follow their routine—which entailed meeting up and biking the famed 17 Mile Drive before checking into our motel.

There were more bicycles than vehicles on the route; not only were we ahead of the summer tourists, we were all taking advantage of free admission. No toll for cyclists: a dedicated lane bypasses the booth.

I did a bit of exploring on my own, after we finished our loop; I had some photos in my mind's eye, but the moment had been lost—the sky had become overcast, turning the blue sea gray. Noodling around (I wonder what's up this street?), I found a building topped with beautiful images (evidently empty, formerly used by NOAA), rounding out my biking for the day with 27 miles and 1,360 feet of climbing.

The next record to fall was dining at a restaurant (comfortably, fully, outdoors)—another indulgence I've foregone for a similar span of time.

We strolled along Monterey's Cannery Row, which was fairly busy, before I introduced them to the prime sea lion viewing to be had on the Coast Guard pier.

Yes, this was the right thing to do. It was fine.

Bike to Wherever Day

This year's spin on “Bike to Work” Day was “Bike to Wherever” Day. I scoped out the list of “Energizer Stations” and scored one just a couple of miles from home that I could visit before starting my workday. No actual Hobee's blueberry coffee cake (a coupon, instead), but I did pick up a mandarin orange for a snack. They had a supply of paper Bikeways maps (in Spanish); I rely on maps online, anyway.

At work, this was “Bike to Wherever” Week, with a challenge to see if our global workforce could log enough human-powered miles to circumnavigate the globe. [Achievement unlocked.] I did my part: 130 miles, for the week. (Including a properly long 27 miles after work, today.)

I do miss leading the usual crowd of suspects to work. Maybe, next year?

Wistful Wednesday

Well, I guess my fellow cyclists just aren't into after-work rides any more. With most offices still shuttered due to the county's pandemic health restrictions, it's not as though they would have to tangle with commuter traffic to get to the starting point.

It was a chilly evening, with strong, gusty winds. Being the sole rider, I considered whether I should simply abandon. [Yeah, right. Like I'm gonna do that.]

I had (blissfully) forgotten how hard tonight's climbs would be. Whose idea was this, anyway? [Oh yeah, my idea.]

Time for some self-talk. [Pep talk.] You've done these climbs before. You're in better shape now.

Should I skip Overlook? [Oh, c'mon, it's only a little over a mile.]

An uphill, seemingly unending mile. (For the whole route, just 14 miles, but 1,680 feet of climbing.)

There was another cyclist on Overlook, evidently doing hill repeats. [So, quit yer whining.]

When my heart rate spiked much higher than I expected, I questioned my “in better shape” assertion. Until I looked at the data.

Faster, by more than a minute, on the first climb.

Faster, by three minutes, on the last climb.

Just like Greg LeMond said: “It never gets easier; you just go faster.”

Look at it this way: you suffer for a shorter period of time.

WFH: Week Sixty-Two

A very important milestone for me this week: I am, at last, considered fully vaccinated against COVID-19!

When I successfully booked the appointment for my first shot I was, in a word, stunned. To be honest, I had been deeply cynical. Congratulations, you're eligible! Good luck trying to get scheduled.

After several tries over the course of two days, when I landed a slot it felt like I'd won the lottery. I was surprised at how happy, how relieved—euphoric, even—I felt. Post-shot, I discovered Tweety Bird on my arm—which brought another smile to my face!

I don't think I've ever felt lucky to run a fever and have chills before, but on the day after my second shot those reassured me that my immune system was working.

I'm not planning any radical adjustments to my lifestyle, but I welcome the chance to spend more time in the company of my vaccinated friends. And even though I have been comfortable joining (socially-distanced) groups for our club's rides, I had held back from leading rides until I'd had my first shot.

When will I feel comfortable returning to the office? The plans are uncertain, and ... let's just say, I'm not eager to be in the vanguard.

Nearly one million county residents are now fully vaccinated (nearly half the population). Still, the county has tallied 118,569 reported cases of COVID-19, and tragically 2,137 confirmed deaths—which is heartbreaking and horrible to contemplate.

Being There

I was in my usual place (in-between)—faster than the slower riders but slower than the faster riders. Though I did manage to hang with them longer than I expected, climbing Metcalf. Steep climbs are not my forte.

That's where I heard the sound of a crash, and a male voice call out “Oh fudge!” (or, some word like that). I couldn't see him, as he was above the embankment next to the road, in the motorcycle park. The cyclists trailing me evidently could see him, as I heard them shout “Are you okay? Don't move!”

Much to the confusion of the fast group waiting at the top of the hill, I turned directly into the park and headed for a building that looked official. I couldn't give them details, but I could share what I'd heard. The rangers were aware of an ATV crash; maybe that was the same one. Or maybe not.

With the rest of the group, I explored a stretch of road (Las Animas) that was unfamiliar to me. Lovely ranch land, but as a (remote) dead end, not a place I would venture alone.

The group split, with a few of us opting for a shorter route through the foothills. As my ride buddy and I took a break, a lone cyclist appeared. He seemed hesitant, but sporting a Paris-Brest-Paris vest, he was certainly the self-sufficient type.

He was, however, not familiar with the area. I confirmed which road was Metcalf, and which was San Felipe; this was where he expected to be. “Are you randonneuring?” I asked. Indeed he was. And he was looking for an electrical box at this intersection. [Hmm.] An odd place for an electrical box ... oh, wait, there's a white box on the far side of that utility pole. “That's it!” He darted over, snapped a photo, and continued his ride.

And so did we. A meager—but eventful—26 miles (with 2,460 feet of climbing) for us. Just being there, though, was what counted today.

After-Work Ride

Some years ago, there were a few ride leaders in our club who capitalized on long summer days to organize regular after-work rides. For various reasons, those ride series faded away.

I dug up the route sheets I'd saved and studied old ride listings for hints about which ride to lead when. I was looking forward to reviving a series last summer, and then ... our world fell apart.

I consoled myself with mapping the routes and bided my time.

Which brings us to tonight, when our county is in a better place than we were a year ago. Though some restrictions remain in place, with clear guidelines our club rides have stayed safe.

Would anyone show up? [No, as it turned out.]

For this first week, I had chosen a route that I would comfortably ride alone. [Just in case.]

I know some people are reticent to ride late in the day, fearing traffic; I had wondered that myself, before I'd joined a few rides. It's dinnertime; these roads are not busy.

Out by the Guadalupe Reservoir (another harbinger of drought), I grew uneasy when I heard a man shouting incoherently. Barely clothed, I figured he was crazy; a passing cyclist suggested he was tripping. [Maybe, both?] I was relieved that he was on the far side of the reservoir.

This outing would be shorter than my routine after-work rides, but hillier: 18 miles, 1,320 feet of climbing.

Maybe next week someone will join me?

Pierce Be With You

Tempted as we were by a route in the coastal hills, my chief biking buddy and I opted to stay local. With high winds in the forecast, we wondered how the riders who headed for Mt. Diablo today would fare. Hopefully, they would make a safe choice.

We chatted with some riders at the end of Stevens Canyon; like us, they had opted out of joining their club's ride (also to Mt. Diablo). Discretion is the better part of valor.

There was still some water flowing in Stevens Creek (barely); the level in that reservoir, of course, is consequently low.

Although the climb up Mt. Eden (and even Pierce) seemed less arduous than usual, soon enough we were grateful to be heading back to our starting point to finish out with 32 miles and 2,020 feet of climbing.

This being a warm weekend, Saturday's migration to the coast was in full swing; traffic on a road that feeds the highway was basically at a standstill as we sailed alongside in the bike lane.

Crossing over the highway, both southbound lanes were bumper-to-bumper as far as the eye could see. Where do they all go, and what do they do when they get there? And I always wonder, is it worth it?

Roop de Roop

I remember struggling up Roop Road, the first time I climbed it; I needed to pause when the grade kicked up.

Not so, today. Though, knowing what to expect tends to help.

Another year without our club's signature event. I was hoping that someone would offer to lead rides along the traditional routes, so we could ride them anyway (without any support, of course). [And sure enough, someone did.]

Seeing no point in driving all the way to the “official” starting point (where there are no facilities available), I suggested an alternative location to my chief riding buddy. Game on!

Then I thought, why not share our plan with another rider who might be interested. [She was.]

Then I thought, why not open it up more broadly?

And that is how I ended up with 16 riding companions, though only four of us completed the full route. One of those was a guy I last saw, improbably enough, on a remote road in Northern Ireland.

A panicked deer raced alongside us in a field; wary that it would jump onto the road, we kept our eyes on it. It changed course (whew!) when a car approached in the opposite lane.

The group splintered after the first loop, and my ride buddy and I found ourselves alone. We took a break at the Uvas Reservoir, where we would normally find our lunch on the supported edition of this ride (for members who volunteer during the actual event). I know we're experiencing another drought, but the reservoir looked even lower, to me, than I remember during the last extended drought. And, it's only the beginning of May ...

We finished our abbreviated “100k” (55 miles, 2,220 feet of climbing) with a welcome boost from a strong tailwind. (How else would I be cruising at 20+ mph, with 50+ miles in my legs?!)

With that image of the shrinking reservoir top of mind, when I got home I re-installed my five-gallon bucket in my shower before I stepped in. It's high time to catch what I can (for the garden)—don't send a gallon or more down the drain before the water runs warm.

Historic New Almaden

One of my local cycling friends had reached out a while back, wanting to enjoy a ride together. The catch is, she's less comfortable on the road than on mountain bike trails. [Hmm, I should tap her for an easy trail ride one of these days ...]

I had proposed an excursion to New Almaden (with some hills through residential neighborhoods along the way). I offered the option to return by climbing Hicks, but she had declined (fearing too much traffic).

Ironically, when I saw the local Alfa Romeo club heading up one of our hills as I set out, I knew where they were going. [Hicks. Perhaps Mt. Umunhum, too.]

And, I was right—and my friend unnerved—when the parade of Alfas came down through New Almaden (albeit on the other side of the road).

My friend has lived, and biked, in this area much longer than I have. She pointed out one of the historic cottages in New Almaden where one of her coworkers had lived, and happily agreed to continue to the public end of Alamitos Road. There we found a shady glen next to the creek where we stopped to chat and enjoy our snacks.

How many times have I biked past the intersections with Bertram Road and wondered what was back there? Although our club rides have introduced me to so many wonderful backroads, the traditional routes rarely venture off their well-established paths. It's been fun, riding on my own, to be a renegade and go exploring.

And so it was today, when my friend asked if I'd seen the Hacienda Hotel and turned onto Bertram Road.

The early history of the hotel, from the sign:

Built after the tragic 1875 fire destroyed the original 1848 adobe hotel. First two-story hotel in California. Used by the Almaden Quicksilver Mining Co. for unmarried employees & and to house visitors to mining settlement.

Oh, the historic sites I've bypassed, all this time! A social and educational 32 miles with a healthy 1,300 feet of climbing.

Lunch Run

Thinking about a couple of errands I needed to run today, I hatched a plan: go by bike, and pick up a sandwich for lunch!

As I pondered the route, I realized that heading out on the local (mixed use) trail was not only the most scenic route, it was also the best route. It's a popular (and too populated) trail, normally, but maybe not so bad on a weekday? [Haha.]

Well, at least it was less crowded than usual.

Going by bike was also a big win, traffic-wise: road construction has been clogging a local thoroughfare for months (and, months to come). Eight miles, a measly 180 feet of climbing, and a nice lunch to enjoy in my garden. Working from home has its perks.

Hamilton in Recovery

The summit teases: so close, yet still far away.

Feeling strong, I was determined to make good time on my way up the hill. No lolly-gagging for me today.

I tried to commit a few photo-worthy sites to memory, scenes to capture on the way down.

Some trees survived the inferno. Some did not. The slopes seem so barren, now.

The usual 39 miles and 4,940 feet of climbing for the day, though I will say that the uphill stretches on the way down feel less bothersome these days. Gusty winds encouraged me not to loiter at the top and to be prudent in my descent.

It will take time, but the landscape will heal. It will be different, that's all.

Right Place, Right Tom

A lucky day for another trip up Bernal—just in time to admire a couple of wild toms strutting their stuff.

As we continued with the rest of our route, well behind the rest of our group, we found ourselves mixing it up with Too. Much. Traffic. Too Much Fast-Moving Traffic.

I wanted to do this ride today because I expected we'd find the peak of spring wildflowers along the route. (And, we did.)

The wildlife was a bonus. The deer weren't much troubled by my presence.

We were relieved that the forecasted headwind was not as fierce as predicted. A field full of poppies stopped us in our tracks; evidently this was the first time we have taken the trail at this time of year. Now, we know.

I managed to achieve new personal best times on both the Bernal and Bailey climbs today! My after-work ride routine is paying off (last week, more than 137 miles). With today's 41 miles (and 1,500 feet of climbing), I closed out this week with more than 142 miles. Training works.

Bernal Beckons

It was too beautiful a day not to ride. I hopped on my bike in the afternoon and pedaled in search of poppies in their prime. I knew I could find some at the base of Bernal, but along the way I found a better patch.

Along the way I pondered whether to climb Bernal. [Or, not.]

My legs complained as I climbed Shannon. Yesterday's ride wasn't hard, but evidently it was hard enough.

Pretty patch of poppies found, I could have turned around. [Of course not.]

Go the distance, I told myself. [To the base of Bernal.]

There, came the moment of reckoning. How silly, not to go up the hill. It's not that far, I told myself.

I can take it easy, I told myself.

April ascent of Bernal, done: 29 miles, 1,280 feet of climbing. And, oddly enough, a new personal best time for the climb (by a whopping 44 seconds?!). [So much for tired legs.]

High Land

The restorative beauty of wild lands is one of the great treasures of our region. These deep, tree-studded canyons are not in the foothills of the Sierra mountains—they're basically in San José's backyard.

With the promise that today would be one of our first “warm enough” days, my ride buddy agreed to ride through some redwoods.

Warm enough not to shiver in the shade. Cool enough not to siphon off too many vehicles desperate to escape the traffic jam they create on the way to the coast.

The rutted sections of Highland Way are worse than I've ever seen. As in, several places where you need to hunt for strips of pavement between gaping holes. Outbound, I committed a few particularly gnarly spots to memory for a safe return trip. Not surprisingly, the worst stretches are under the trees (which compounds the challenge of seeing them).

The Soquel Demonstration Forest was a particular draw today—busier than I have ever seen it, vehicles lining the road well past the trailhead. Those trails would be far too busy to enjoy them.

No problem for us; we stayed on the “road” and managed to cover 31 miles with 2,480 feet of climbing.

Marching Up Bernal

March will soon be a memory, but I had not yet checked my monthly box for climbing Bernal. In no particular hurry, I opted for the hilly route. After yesterday's ride, my legs burned. [What was I thinking?!]

An afternoon start meant there were few cyclists out and about. I waved at neighbors relaxing in their front yards, watching the world pass by.

After the first bend, I realized that I would have had a clear view of the snow-capped peaks across the valley if only I had walked a little ways up the hill two weeks ago. [Live and learn.]

No records set today, a leisurely 30 miles and 1,280 feet of climbing.

So Much Green

As I started my ride the tune looping in my head was Blue Tango, which had popped up on the radio as I drove to our meeting point. But once the rolling hills along Calaveras Road came into view, my internal soundtrack flipped to something decidedly more prosaic.

Green Acres is the place to be ...

This is a very popular cycling route—a route where you can count on seeing more bicycles than cars. Today drew out even more cyclists than usual, likely with a common inspiration: Catch the peak of green-ness here; there will be no more rain this season, and warmer temperatures will quickly fade the grasses.

As I passed one of the small groups clustered above the top of The Wall, one guy called out “Well, hello there!” in a tone of voice you might expect to be followed by “Come here often?” I have no idea what that was about; a femme fatale, I am not. [Made me laugh, though.]

I was surprised to see the aftermath of last year's fire; I had forgotten that some of this area had been affected. My heart sank when I saw that one photogenic spot, where I have often stopped, had burned.

When we reached the Sunol Regional Wilderness Preserve, the parking lots were already full. But on a bicycle? No problem, the ranger blocking the entrance just waved.

I picked up a trail map at the visitor center (I should come back here for a hike, sometime). We also scored brightly-colored bandanas, featuring the native flora and fauna, courtesy of the East Bay Regional Park District. Truly a memento of this time, the artist worked images of face masks into the design.

Our timing was spot-on: While we were there, they'd re-opened vehicle access. The line of cars stretched ... a long, long way. The fee-free access period is about to end (though, the pandemic is not); it will be interesting to see how popular the parks remain in the weeks ahead.

On the way back, I noticed a small roadside memorial ... next to a gap in the barbed-wire fence.

30 miles and 2,720 feet of climbing felt just right, today. I shared photos with some colleagues (trying to encourage more of them to get out and explore). One of them exclaimed “I didn't know there was that much green in the entire Bay Area!”

Land spreadin' out so far and wide ...

On Paying Attention

I've been determined to enjoy an after-work ride most days, which is easier as the sun sets later and later. My challenge is to ride as far as possible and yet get home before the sky fades to black. These rides are mostly unremarkable.

Not so, today.

Cycling on the road demands a high level of attentiveness. There are road hazards: debris, potholes, cracks. There are animal hazards: squirrels, deer, turkeys, even the occasional peacock. And of course, human hazards: wrong-way cyclists, vehicles with inattentive drivers (and, sometimes, passengers).

I had my eye on a compact exiting a parking lot, puzzled by a metallic cylinder on the car's roof. Was it a camera? Judging the distance and predicting the driver would turn in front of me, I slowed. The passenger's hand reached up just as the (nearly full) can of Red Bull splashed to the curb, demonstrating one of the many ways that cups, bottles, and cans come to litter our roadways.

Stopped at a traffic signal, I was studying the play of late afternoon light on the hills and thinking about getting a good photo. A white pickup truck paused on the opposite side of the intersection before merging into the (empty) lane.

THWACK!

The sedan behind the pickup truck inexplicably accelerated and slammed into it. I'd call it a fender-bender, but the sedan's front fender was smashed and dangling; the pickup's rear fender might have been scratched, but not likely bent.

When the signal turned green, I was able to ease past the crash; probably stunned, they blocked traffic for several minutes before they pulled forward.

I got my photo, along with 22 miles and 400 feet of climbing.

Brrr...eezy

Celebrate the first day of spring!

Cañada is a road you'll share with more bicycles than motorized vehicles ... though, in which group should we count those electric bicycles? Maybe it should depend on whether the cyclists are actually pedaling?

It's also a road that's popular with triathletes, who were making excellent time with an assist from a strong tailwind. [Well, in one direction, anyway.]

Not the longest ride, today; we knew about that wind (and a bit of a chill). It was a perfect day to seek sunshine, not shade. And a perfect day to be cozy in my wool jersey—it's not just for frosty winter mornings!

Extending our route slightly to add a little distance and elevation gain, we finished with 26 miles and 1,100 feet of climbing.