Sparkling Surf

Although we planned to visit the Fiscalini Ranch Preserve later, I was on my own this morning and decided to do some exploring. I found a trail entrance off Main Street and followed it across a field to ... Highway 1. Not having studied a map online, nor found one at the trailhead, it wasn't clear how to proceed. Walk across the highway?! After turning back, I watched a couple do just that.

Apart from a tangled mass of flowering shrubs in one section and moss-festooned trees on a hillside, this section of the preserve was unremarkable.

I resisted having a piece of pie at lunchtime (not enough exercise today). We found some shade on the patio behind the cafe, and when I glanced up ... what to my wondering eyes did appear?

We were seated beneath an Aermotor. [Of all things!]

After lunch we headed for the coastal section of the Fiscalini Preserve, which we first experienced in misty gray tones.

The sun broke through as we strolled along the Coastal Bluff trail. It must be spectacular when the wildflowers are blooming, given all the bush lupine shrubs we passed. But there were still lovely plants to behold.

Critters, too. [This ground squirrel wasn't striking a pose, but expecting to be fed.]

We extended our adventure by visiting Moonstone Beach. Arriving surfers jogged with their boards to join those already bobbing in the water.

I know nothing about how to surf, but this being California, I have naturally seen my fair share of surfers. And I would say they've all pretty much looked the same. Until I saw this guy.

In a word: Wow. I'd never seen anyone like him, completely at one with his board and the wave. Chill.

Brushing the sand from our shoes, we returned to town. Tomorrow: Morro Bay.

The Road Ahead

Today we biked. We headed for Old Creek Road, which I last climbed in 2018. There would be ample opportunity to enjoy the scenery and take photos this time, as we were not hewing to a schedule.

I added a new Aermotor to my collection—this one with Morro Rock barely visible in the background.

We didn't expect to ride into the mist; we left clear skies behind us. There was a storm brewing to the south, and we later heard that there had even been a touch of rain in Morro Bay. (We stayed dry.)

We paused near the waterfront in Cayucos before making our way to Old Creek Road.

The ghost bike was still there, though now hoisted overhead with a bittersweet message (“HOME”) on an arrow pointing to the sky. Looks like it needs a little maintenance, as I imagine the intention was to point the front of the bike upward.

I captured Whale Rock Reservoir from the same vantage point as last time; the Pacific was not visible today, but the bush in the foreground was in bloom.

After the first crest, a sign warned “watch downhill speed.” [So noted.] On a bike, though, it's advisable to keep your eyes on the road, not your bike computer. It was a fast section (my stats suggest a top speed around 37 mph).

There was nothing memorable about the pavement in 2018, but it was creamy fresh now—a joy to ride.

Although my ride buddy recommended it would be fine to descend Santa Rosa Creek Road, I was unconvinced; I have vivid memories of a road in terrible condition (not to mention a steep climb, whichever way you tackle it). And oh, gosh darn, it was actually closed to through traffic today. Let's hope they're repaving it.

We regrouped at the summit on Highway 46, where I took the traditional photo. [Recall that we started our ride essentially at sea level.] The clouds were moving in; we felt lucky for the blue skies we'd enjoyed this morning.

After a quick pit stop at our motel, we hopped back on our bikes for the short trip into town. After completing 40 miles with something short of 3,000 feet of climbing, a slice of olallieberry pie would tide me over nicely until dinner.

Shed a Little Light

What have we here?

A mysterious field of dandelion heads?

For me, this little getaway couldn't have come at a better time. I decided to join my chief biking buddy on a road trip to the Central Coast. This was a perfect escape—in part because I didn't need to do any planning.

The field began to come alive as light faded from the sky.

Colors lit up as the sun set ...

... until all the hills bloomed electric.

Tucked in a corner were towers of light; not blocks of ice, but stacks of clear glass bottles.

Sensorio Paso was wondrous!

Aladdin

“Come down and ride with us, you'll meet Aladdin!” my comrades said. “Who's Aladdin?” I asked. (I chuckled this morning when one of the words in the NY Times Spelling Bee game was C-A-M-E-L.)

Like cyclists in Le Tour de France, we pedaled past a field of sunflowers. I've biked through this intersection many times before, but always in the cooler months when the ground is bare.

Continuing on our way, we found a couple of four-legged critters who represent the very essence of the adage “Eat to live, live to eat.” With all that body mass, it's understandable that they don't move around much.

Getting to Aladdin entailed some hill-climbing. [Well worth it.] His buddy gave up grazing the dry grass to join the party. (The congnoscenti had come bearing gifts: fresh carrots.)

The photo is akilter because you'd better be quick when you poke your phone through the fence for a clear shot. It was jarring when he'd bang into the fence, but that didn't seem to bother him. (Don't you know the reach of those massive pointy things attached to your skull?!)

And now for Aladdin's glamour shot:

With no magic carpet to transport us back to the start (and our lunch), we pedaled onward. A fun-filled 31 miles, 880 feet of climbing on the outer reaches of Silicon Valley.

Here a Bird, There a Bird

Egrets or your money back! (I promised.)

But first, there were many other shorebirds to see. White Pelicans, American Avocets, Cliff Swallows ... hmm, there's an idea.

We did see egrets (both Snowy and Great) hunting in the shallows. And a stately Great Blue Heron.

I led us off-route on an impromptu detour to view the cliff swallows nesting on Google's fancy new building adjacent to Moffett Field. I wasn't sure how that would play out, but I was prepared to beg forgiveness. [No issues.] After all, we were just a bunch of bird-brained cyclists milling about and peering up at the mud nests. Three chicks peeked out of one, chirping frenetically until a parent swooped in with lunch.

At the rookery, the Black-crowned Night Herons were deep in the foliage, too well-camouflaged for inexperienced eyes to pick out. The egrets, however, did not disappoint. I even managed to find a blue eggshell in the brush, much to the delight of my little tour group.

The chicks are pretty big now; we witnessed some furious feeding action, whetting our own appetites for lunch. [And, as I've found on every one of these outings: Zareen's was a hit, with one enthusiastic rider proposing that we should plan some future rides just for lunch.]

One more bonus awaited: Back at the start, it was the last day to score some fresh apricots from Sunnyvale's Heritage Orchard.

A couple of riders had biked to the start; with one headed in my direction, I enjoyed a little company for some of the ride home. A fun time was had by all; and for me, a hearty 53 miles with 1,020 feet of climbing.

Most Pleasant

A little mid-week jaunt, with our small group gathering for coffee before heading back. A few stronger riders detoured for an extra steep climb [in both senses, that] along the way.

As always, it seems, I brought up the rear. The other riders were good about regrouping, and sent me off the front for the descent of Mt. Hamilton Road. Trailing me, they likely didn't catch sight of the pair of fawns that crossed in front of me. There was no sign of mom, so I suppose they were old enough to be on their own—but they still had their spots.

A most pleasant ride through summer's golden hills: 30 miles with 1,160 feet of climbing.

Bluebird of Happiness

I spied with my little eye ... an unusual pair of deer in the brush while climbing Alpine Road. Never be surprised to be surprised!

The northern end of our route today was more than “misty.” By the time we reached our turnaround point, we were windblown and our sunglasses speckled with drops. I considered heading back to intercept our remaining two riders, but once we stood with our backs to the wind we agreed we could stay the course.

We were fortunate to arrive early enough to lounge alongside the lavender at the Pulgas Water Temple; by the time we left, they were closing off access to the grounds for a private wedding.

We had parked our bikes nearby in the grass, where a California Bluebird commandeered my handlebar as a handy vantage point for worm-spotting.

We wondered how some of our comrades had fared today on their route to the coast; we learned that several had turned back, but the one we met at our rendezvous point was fully decked out in his winter gear, the very picture of determination (and preparation). Content to be the fair-weather riders we are, we had wrapped up 33 miles, 1,740 feet of climbing—finishing dry, with a tailwind.

Coalition Coffee

Our regional bicycle coalition has reached out a few times, seeking to engage with local bike clubs. Normally I couldn't get involved, as they always want to meet up on weekdays. My “summer vacation” presented a rare opportunity.

I suggested that we might attract a few folks from our club if we met for coffee in one of the smaller towns or neighborhoods (as opposed to downtown San Jose), as we're not really urban cyclists.

My expectations were low—I thought I might be the only participant. Much to my surprise, four other cyclists turned out.

The conversation played out more or less as I anticipated. The coalition's mission is to get people using bikes for utilitarian trips (e.g., errands, commuting); our club is about riding recreationally, in groups. Sure, some of our members do ride their bikes solo for more than just staying fit or having fun; but that is not our purpose. The coalition is an advocate for infrastructure that we don't use (and sometimes even avoid).

I raised a few of my pet peeves (to no beneficial effect): Bike lanes that get created with much fanfare and then not maintained, like the stretch on Highway 9 between Los Gatos and Saratoga that has been narrowed to about 8 inches (swallowed by the encroaching hillside). Protected lanes, bordered by curbs or dotted with bollards, that leave no room to dodge an obstacle or to pass a slower cyclist—and which gradually accumulate piles of leaves and litter.

They did talk about an upcoming initiative with the local water authority, which is seeking creative ways to help the public appreciate our dwindling reserves during the drought. Our rides frequent many of the local reservoirs and creeks, so I offered to help put together some routes. I reminded them, though, that getting near any of our reservoirs will likely involve more elevation gain than the average casual cyclist could manage.

My return route passed some percolation ponds (a couple of which are completely dry); there is still water flowing in the creek. In the end, this was an opportunity to complete a utilitarian bike ride (13 miles, less than 300 feet of climbing), to be social, and to enjoy a slice of marble pound cake. [In no particular order.]

Bird Scout

On Tuesday's outing, a rider asked whether I would lead another visit to see the egrets. [Hmm. It's been a while.] We set a tentative date for the ride.

I knew the nests would still be active, but wasn't sure if there would be any surprises on the 25-mile loop I'd developed for that ride. One way to find out ...

I took the most direct route to reach the starting point; following my nose, I managed to find the same turns I'd optimized a few years back.

Available restrooms? [Check.] No scheduled detour at the stadium? [Check.] Connection to the Bay Trail? [Oops. Not through the dump.] Route through the Google campus? [Revise.] Lunch stop? [Check.]

Egrets? [Of course.] For variety, I captured a shot of a Great Blue Heron along the Bay Trail instead.

With no need to complete the loop today, I stopped for a bakery treat on the way home. After 56 miles and ~1,200 feet of climbing, I'd earned a sweet reward.

South County

Today presented an opportunity to join a group of friends in southern Santa Clara County who have been meeting and riding together for years. So many years that, when they gather for a post-ride lunch, the people in the café know them by name.

The day would be a hot one, leading to some uncertainty about the planned route. [We forged ahead.] I was puzzled to see four strong riders join the group—until their plan to add a short, steep climb emerged. [Not for me, today.]

Before heading to the end of Redwood Retreat, we paused at Chitactac-Adams Heritage County Park. I didn't explore the educational center; I expect the rest of the group has been there, done that.

I was surprised to find us spinning along at 17 mph (or more) at times, giving me an average speed of 13.3 mph over 27 miles (though with less than 1,000 feet of climbing). My comrades have clearly been making the most of their retirement years!

A Misbegotten Hike

We had a plan, and that plan would include exploring some territory unfamiliar to me. My chief biking buddy invited me to join a small group hike at the Fremont Older Open Space Preserve.

But the best laid plans ... were shredded by the local mountain biking community. [Being road cyclists, we were clueless.] I'd never seen so many vehicles near the bottom of Parker Ranch Road. [Turns out there's a trailhead there.] A veritable parade of cars snaked up Prospect and circled the parking lot at the top before heading back down.

Plan B was hatched: we headed for the Picchetti Ranch Open Space Preserve instead.

My biking (and hiking!) buddy recommended the Zinfandel trail, having been here before. We caught a glimpse of water in the drought-afflicted Stevens Creek Reservoir.

The other end of the trail dropped us at a familiar spot along Stevens Canyon Road, where we often stop for a break after biking to the end of the pavement.

The creek has not gone dry. [Yet.]

A cheeky Western Fence Lizard narrowly missed being trodden underfoot as we returned, surprisingly not darting into the brush when I stopped to snap a photo.

Hiking a little over 4 miles, I developed a better understanding of some local terrain: from Montebello to Stevens Canyon, through the woods. All good.

The Wright Stuff

Visiting the site of Wrights Station was one of my buddy Steve's favorite routes. He always relished the opportunity to introduce fellow cyclists to its history.

Today I was on my own. Four of us had set out together; one turned back, as expected, after the first climb. I toyed with the idea of following the other two on a longer excursion to the end of Highland Way, but knowing the day would get hotter I reckoned I would lose the motivation to drop down to Wrights Station (and then climb back up).

And I did want to visit Wrights today. I lingered on the bridge, alone with my thoughts. I'd never noticed fruit among the foliage, till now. Bright red orbs, others golden yellow. Maybe I'd never been down here at just the right time, or maybe too busy chatting with my fellow cyclists to look around.

High overhead, something caught my eye: a bright orange dragonfly perched at the top of a thin, bare branch.

Could I get a closer look with my phone's zoom lens?

It was challenging to hold steady enough to focus, but ... color me impressed. My subject was most cooperative, posing with wings spread and staying still.

I climbed back up from the creek, regretfully leaving the shade of the redwoods to return to the hot side of the hill after cycling 18 miles, with ~1,700 feet of climbing.

Hilly Thursday

A mellow social group headed for the hills today, venturing as far as the Almaden Reservoir.

There is an impressive bridge under construction near the reservoir that will change the alignment of the road, when completed. The reservoir was surprisingly full; this riding group stays together, so I didn't pause for a proper photo—just this snapshot of the tail end. (Which would be dry, this time of year, were the reservoir less full.)

A nice little morning ride—a decent 34 miles, with about ~800 feet of climbing.

Apex Predator

A mid-week ride was headed for one of my favorite places in the redwood forest, just over the ridge of the Santa Cruz mountains.

I wasn't a fan of the starting location the leader had chosen, and knowing that they'd leave me in the dust within the first few minutes anyway, I opted to start from a better spot that also cut off a few miles. (The ride leader didn't mind.)

Knowing it was going to be a hot day I also started earlier, and [spoiler] they never caught me. In part because they also tackled a steep climb that I bypassed. Doing that once was more than enough for me.

I'm pretty sure that Stetson must have been an old logging road. It's in terrible condition (has been, for as long as I've known it); but I expect the residents prefer it that way.

I paused, alone, to savor the aroma of the forest and bask in the silence. Lovely, blessed, silence.

We normally regroup at the Skyland Church and I thought the group might catch me there. I lingered in the shade and was treated to a little wild kingdom action. There, at the tippy-top of a very tall tree, sat a hawk. Probably a red-tailed hawk, as those are the most common around here; without binoculars, I couldn't be certain.

A smaller bird, with great determination, repeatedly swooped and dived at the hawk. In this shot, I would characterize the hawk's reaction as “Ask me if I care.” The dive-bomber almost certainly has a nest nearby, likely in that very tree.

The day was warming up, and with a bit more climbing ahead of me, I tore myself away from the avian drama and headed back. In all, a very pleasant (solo, rather than social) 23 miles, about 2300 feet of climbing.

Late to the Party

That sinking feeling ... when you roll into the park where the ride will start and there isn't a cyclist in sight. [Uh oh.]

I'm so accustomed to rides starting at 9:30 a.m., I was running on autopilot. That explains why I happened to notice one of our club members pedaling down a side street as I brushed my teeth this morning. He's getting an early start, I thought. [Nope. He was planning to arrive on time.]

If I'd caught my mistake before heading out, I could have intercepted them en route. [But no.]

I texted my ride buddy and headed for the reservoir; I wasn't planning to ride the steeper sections of today's route, anyway.

After catching her, we rode out past the ever-shrinking Guadalupe Reservoir. Roadwork is in progress (chip-sealing), and I noted that a side road that we “enjoy” climbing [so to speak] was blanketed in a thick layer of gravel.

Having passed a couple of deer on my way to the start, I was wary as I approached the last climb. Good instinct: two more crossed the road ahead of me, then stopped to stare. By the time I fished out my phone to snap a picture, they'd decided to saunter off into the brush.

I finished the ride I'd intended, though not as planned: 23 miles and likely 1,200 feet of climbing.

Wherever You Go

Yesterday, birding. Today, biking.

What's up with these mid-week jaunts?! [No, I'm not playing hooky.] I'd decided something of a “summer vacation” was in order this year. [Remember those? Or maybe you're a schoolteacher, enjoying them still.] I'd plotted and planned, banked up my vacation days and marked my work calendar “OOO.”

Weekday riders tend to be retired (or have flexible schedules). It's fun getting to know folks I would rarely meet, otherwise. These outings are about camaraderie, not so much the scenery. They're about conversation and coffee, and (of course) riding our bicycles.

It's convenient for me to bike to the starting point. Driving there, followed by unloading and setting up my bike, would not be faster. [Plus, I get more exercise.]

Today's route would mean two round-trips home—our leader had settled on a coffee stop in my home town. Should I cut it short, leaving them to return back to the start? [Nah.]

The second round-trip would feed not only my hunger for more exercise, but also my curiosity. Our leader seems to carry a veritable atlas of local roads in her head (no GPS needed), and I wondered what neighborhoods she'd choose on the way back.

Wherever you go, there you are ... 33 miles and about 500 feet of climbing later.

Birds of Belgatos

And now for something completely different.

I decided to take advantage of a bird-watching session offered through a local library, and to treat myself to a suitable pair of binoculars.

I was a bit skeptical about our destination—a little neighborhood park. [Oh ye of little faith!] As the bird-watching expert jabbered away, her back to the sky, I spotted some drama overhead: a hawk being chased by a (somewhat) smaller bird. Feeling it would be rude to interrupt her outright, I simply raised my arm and pointed. “A Cooper's hawk, chasing a Red-tailed hawk; she must have a nest nearby.” [Okay, things are looking up. Literally.]

And indeed, she did have a nest nearby.

Although we spent most of the session planted in one corner of the park, a few steps away from the parking lot, we spotted two of the juveniles perched in a tree after we took a short stroll uphill. They were waiting for mom to fly in with their next meal, and tolerated our gaping and gawking for quite a while before they took wing.

To return to their nest, as it turned out; where we discovered a third juvenile.

We watched an American Robin pluck a big juicy grub out of the park's lush field of grass, and several Western Bluebirds and a Black Phoebe foraging as well. We saw familiar Dark-eyed Juncos, Anna's hummingbirds, a Lesser Goldfinch, and an American Crow; circling overhead, a pair of Red-tailed hawks a-courting and a Turkey Vulture.

An eye-popping yellow bird darted through some branches: a Hooded Oriole. A Chestnut-backed Chickadee teased us—now you see me, now you don't. [An oriole and a chickadee, in California? What do I know ...] We also glimpsed a White-breasted Nuthatch scooting up and down a tree trunk.

Without our expert guide, I would have been able to identify only the birds that were already familiar to me. The rest would have registered as ... Tiny bird. Brown bird. Another tiny bird. Yellow bird.

I walked away impressed. I would never have imagined I could see so many different birds while standing in one spot at the edge of a neighborhood park!

Viva Calle, San Jose!

“Have you seen the house with the creatures?” one of our riders asked. While the rest of the group assembled at our rendezvous point, she led us down a side street to behold an amazing sight.

Perched on the rooftop (and, well, all over the house) were fantastical ceramic figures.

Whimsical, one-of-a-kind little masterpieces of a creative mind.

The popularity of Viva Calle has led the city of San Jose to schedule the event more frequently. Not volunteering for this one, I was ready to go exploring. Better yet, with a small group of folks from the club.

To get there, we started off on the Los Gatos Creek Trail. Maybe it wouldn't be too busy on a Sunday morning? [Wrong.] But the first near-catastrophe came early, when a less-experienced rider wobbled in front of me and almost toppled off the edge of the trail as I descended behind him.

I gave him more space after that, but finding that he flagged going up each little rise on the trail, I decided to slip past him.

Then he repeatedly took to cruising on the left side of the trail, over the line. Even after I gently reminded him to stay to the right. [And I thought the biggest challenges today would present themselves in the free-flowing crowds on the event route.]

Arriving before things got busy, we piled into a photo booth for a group shot. The green screen technology took some liberties with our attire(!) to promote the event. There was music, there were artists painting live, there were booths promoting health and the outdoors, there were food trucks.

It was fun to see so many people wheeling around—mostly on bikes, but there were some colorful and talented folks twirling around on inline skates, too. You did need to keep your wits about you (as you were mixing it up with lots of unpredictable people in motion), but I didn't witness any crashes. [Which seemed somewhat miraculous.]

Our group splintered and came together again before riders branched off to head more directly home. With only three of us returning to our starting point, our leader agreed to forego retracing our route on the trail. [Whew.] In all, 28 flat miles (500-ish feet of climbing).

A Slice of San Jose

Those pesky Canada geese ... everywhere. The white specks in the treetops on Almaden Lake's island are nesting egrets (and their noisy chicks).

When I decided to take a bit of a summer vacation, I imagined many restorative days of biking and hiking ahead. But after somehow tweaking my back three weeks ago, I reluctantly admitted it would be best to give it a rest.

Enough of that.

Time for a test ride. Today's leader eschews route sheets and rarely shares a plan in advance, so we all trail her like obedient little goslings (lest we get lost). I imagine her favored routes would become familiar after a while, but to me they're fresh adventures.

With today's flat slice of San Jose, I covered 31 miles with less than 700 feet of climbing.

And my back? No better, no worse. Might as well keep moving.