In Friendship

I reached out to my former teammates about repeating last fall's volunteer gig with the California Climate Action Corps. This year's event was more modest: just volunteer, without the speeches, t-shirts, and party.

Given two options, they chose to return to San José's Japanese Friendship Garden.

In addition to weeding (by hand, regrettably without the proper tools), we cleared debris from the still-empty koi ponds.

Before:

Work in progress (debris piled on burlap, for removal):

Last year they seemed to have more volunteers than they knew what to do with; this year, there were just a handful of us. And the spiral wishing well that delighted us last year had since been vandalized, and apparently set on fire.

My disappointment in my fellow human beings is evidently unbounded. But today, some of us gave our time and energy to make this little pocket of the world a nicer place.

Trekking Through the Tarweed

Even though I'd already hiked in the Cherry Springs area, I signed up again when a friend was keen to explore it.

The pond was particularly lovely today.

We began our trek up what remains of the road.

The trail, however, had a surprise in store for us.

Passing through the fallen tree was less straightforward than this might appear—it involved a bit of a jump (off some bouncy branches) on the far side. [No hikers were harmed in the process!]

There is some elevation gain on this hike, but the drive up to the pond gave us a head start.

Our guide pointed out “The Rock,” which I'd missed on our first visit. Peeking out beyond the nearby slope and some trees, it does beg for some exploration. Perhaps there will be path to it, one day.

We paused in the shade for a view across the valley. What a privilege it is to be here, in an area that is minimally disturbed. Even so, I found a piece of litter (which of course I picked up and carried out).

There is always something new to learn! Today: woodrat (aka pack rat) nests.

Almost certainly, I've hiked past nests without noticing them—now, I'll keep an eye out! A docent talked about how they're constructed (taking advantage of the terrain, tucked against a rock or a tree). The pups would be sheltered deep within the nest, for protection.

Another question was about the profusion of fall blooms (hayfield tarweed). Why now? Why not during spring, like so many other flowering plants?

Competitive advantage (pollinators).

There is always something new to learn.

A Rare Breed

Our little group of Friday friends was up for a more ambitious ride today: past the Calero Reservoir, over Bailey to the Coyote Creek Trail before stopping for a treat on the return leg.

A man approached me as I headed back toward the table where we'd gathered for our coffee stop. What was on his mind?

“You're a rare breed,” he said. I imagined he was surprised to see four older folks on bicycles, but that wasn't it.

I gave him a quizzical look. “You waited, and held the door open for that guy!”

“It's the courteous thing to do. I bet you do the same,” I said. He smiled.

By riding to and from our rendezvous point, I finished with a healthy 39 miles and about 1,000 feet of climbing. More to the point, I've been enjoying these relaxed Friday rides. There are times for vigorous workouts, and there are times (and places) to be social and just have a good time. Like today!

Mockingbird Hill

Perhaps it is not unusual that I so often hear mockingbirds when I cruise through Almaden neighborhoods. Seven of us met at an entrance to Almaden Quicksilver County Park that I had not visited until now: Mockingbird Hill. I've often biked past the street that leads to it; I didn't expect such a large parking lot at the trailhead.

Our leader emphasized that we would not be taking the Hacienda Trail. Repeat: We will not be taking the Hacienda Trail. (Evidently it's steep. How steep? I just might have to find out, some other day.)

We made our way to a picnic table in a clearing that looked familiar.

The air was clean and clear, and our route afforded several great vantage points for observing sprawling San José and the Diablo Range across the valley. There were the white domes of Lick Observatory atop Mt. Hamilton; sadly, I have not been up the mountain yet this year. There was a short window of time, between closures for road repairs, when it would have been possible to bike the full distance. I am determined to bike to the top before the weather turns cold, albeit without the lower (closed) section. [Stay tuned.]

Today was a day for hiking, not pedaling. Along the way it's natural for hiking (and conversation) partners to shift around, and I'm enjoying getting to know my pals better. The workout (with views!) was a bonus: 5.5 miles.

Day Two, Too

On Day One of Waves to Wine in 2005, I sported my Champagne Club jersey from 2004 (which I also chose to wear today). It's an eye-catching design; whenever I'd wear it, I'd get questions about the event—which is a key reason for having these jerseys: to promote the cause.

If a picture is worth a thousand words, you can see why I loved the original Waves to Wine route.

I thought I would opt for the longer route today, which wended its way north of Santa Rosa on roads where I have cycled many times. But then I worried about feeling too tired for the long drive home; why didn't I plan to stay an extra night up here? I dialed it down to the 40-mile route.

If anything, the fog was more dense this morning. We did pass some vineyards, and the grapes looked harvest-ready.

The scenic highlight today was along Occidental Road, where I spied more than two dozen (!) egrets (and a few ducks) in the muddy shallows of Laguna de Santa Rosa. I couldn't pass up this sight without stopping (and carefully crossing the busy road).

Speaking of busy roads, I was unnerved by the route's 3.5 mile stretch of Roblar Road: 45 mph speed limit, lots of fast-moving traffic, and no shoulder. On the uphill sections, I debated whether to step off the bike for a respite. Close to the event's venue, this would have been more enjoyable in the outbound direction—there would be less traffic early in the day.

A passing cyclist admired the yellow flower on my saddlebag, then lifted the tail of his jacket to show off his jersey—one-of-a-kind, handpainted with giant yellow flowers (and glitter)! He hailed from Colorado, part of a team (“Wild Bunch,” I think) that includes an artist who creates the jerseys. They even raised additional funds at one event by donating and auctioning off a jersey. He educated me about the Bike MS Passport Program, which looks ... interesting. By raising the requisite amount, you're entitled to ride in as many Bike MS events as you'd like the following year, without any additional requirements—all over the country. (Of course, you pay your own associated travel costs.)

As I crossed the finish line, the announcer called out “Champagne Club!” Yes, this jersey's design is outstanding. And evidently she's been involved with this event for many years.

A good meal and a refreshing shower after my 40-mile ride revived me for the trip home.

2024? (Maybe.)

Day One, Done

Waves to Wine was the first charity ride I'd done, way back in 2003. I was the stoker on a recumbent tandem, and I didn't even have a bike jersey to wear on the first day. We followed the 75-mile route on both days; the first day being a loop from Santa Rosa out to the coast and back. It was spectacular!

For me, fundraising was intimidating. To meet the minimum required, I figured I'd just write a check and have my employer match my donation. With prodding from a gregarious coworker who had a background in sales and marketing, I gulped and sent a fundraising plea to 65 friends and relatives. Some donated, some did not, and I raised enough funds for the National Multiple Sclerosis Society to be awarded a “Champagne Club” jersey (which I proudly wore the next day, as well as today).

In 2006, the organizers changed the routes, complicated the logistics, and generally messed up the event; I switched my fundraising allegiance to Best Buddies. This year someone close to me was diagnosed with MS and I decided to sign up for Waves to Wine again, 20 years after my first ride.

To see any waves on Day One, the logistics now entailed starting in San Francisco and riding over the Golden Gate Bridge. [Been there, done that.] I opted for a shorter loop, starting and finishing in Rohnert Park. That would also avoid returning to San Francisco by bus at the end of Day Two.

The area was blanketed in fog. After the sun broke through, the most scenic part of the route was along Chileno Valley Road.

There were a few white swans on Laguna Lake (not something I'd seen there before). Having spotted a red-tailed hawk on this road years ago, I kept glancing upward. [And ... yes!]

I also spotted a couple of old-timers: one guy in the standard-issue jersey from 2003, and another sporting a circa 2001 Champagne Club jersey. Like me, he missed the original route and the homey vibe of the old event; he lamented the sense of community that's been lost. The finishing area is now staged with canopies for the larger teams; people don't seem to mingle as they had in the past.

Much of the route followed busy roads. I averaged a fast-for-me 13.8 mph over the 44-mile route—probably because I wasn't distracted by the scenery. Visibility was low for the first hour or more; with fewer participants than I remember in 2003, I was riding solo for most of the day. I was glad I had brought a taillight, and regretted not bringing my front light.

As I approached the finish line, the DJ was blasting Katy Perry's Firework and I finished with an exuberant smile. You'll have to take my word for that, because I never did find an image from the photographer who was stationed there. [I found Snoopy, though.]

Come on, show 'em what you're worth
Make 'em go, "Ah, ah, ah"
As you shoot across the sky

Nine One One

Black smoke. Was there a controlled burn today? That seemed unlikely, given where I guessed the source was.

Black smoke meant that no one was trying to extinguish the blaze (yet). More and more it billowed, and soon enough my hunch was confirmed. One of the quasi-permanent structures along the creek was being consumed by flames. A few souls have been erecting shelters on the water company's land for the past several years, undeterred by the “No Trespassing” signs that reference the relevant section of the penal code.

Several vehicles had stopped on both sides of the road; one man was on the other side of the fence, taking photos. I parked myself and my bike safely on the sidewalk.

Why wasn't the fire department already here? Had everyone assumed that someone else had already called it in?

It used to be the case that if you used a mobile phone to call 911, the call would be routed to a central dispatch center staffed by the highway patrol. After (too) many rings, I discovered my call had connected to San Jose's emergency response, and ... that all dispatchers were busy, please stay on the line. [Sigh.] Surely someone had reported this fire by now?

Standing there with my cell phone in hand, a driver pulled up alongside. “It's been called in, they've dispatched and they're on the way,“ he reassured me. And so we waited, helplessly watching as the main fire sparked two or three spot fires. Thank goodness it wasn't windy.

Paramedics were first on the scene. There was no hydrant nearby, but evidently some of the fire trucks carry a water supply. The smoke turned from black to white, and I pedaled away.

Many years ago (and many miles away), I had been puttering in my garden when it finally registered that I was hearing a high-pitched tone. Recognizing it was a smoke alarm, I dashed into the house to confirm it wasn't mine. (Whew.) But where was it?

As I approached my neighbor's house, I realized it was theirs. I had seen them leave earlier, but maybe someone was still at home? No one picked up the phone. I walked back, wondering what I should do. I gazed up at the kitchen window and saw smoke swirling. I ran back to my house and dialed 911. I was stunned to hear sirens before I could head back outside. Within thirty seconds? Definitely less than a minute.

As it happened, my neighbors returned to see the fire department on the scene, using a giant fan to exhaust the smoke.

“Thank you for saving our house!” they exclaimed. The fire captain turned toward me and pointed. “She's the one who saved your house,” he said.

That day I learned the importance of not being a bystander.

Social Miles

For much of the year, clouds are not a common sight in this area. Today's sky was positively brooding—a welcome shift from summer's monochromatic blue.

Friday's ride with friends included a stop for refreshments; I extended the route by riding to (and from) our rendezvous point. Thirty-one miles, including a spin through a lovely, unfamiliar neighborhood. (Technically private, my companions had been introduced to the route by another friend who lived there.) No one seemed to mind us passing through—four harmless old people on bicycles.

I hopped back on my bike on Saturday, meeting up with my regular biking buddy for a trip out through New Almaden to the reservoir.

With a two-day bike event coming up next weekend, I needed to get more training miles in. I led us past the Almaden Reservoir on Alamitos Road until the pavement got spotty. Riding to and from our rendezvous point gave me a total of 34 miles for the day (and 132 miles for the week, not too shabby).

I guess I'm ready for next weekend. To be sure, though, I'll get in some more miles (and climbing) before then.

Rules of the Road

Friday night, around 9:30. A crash. Sirens. Paramedics. Teens gathering, two sitting on a curb comforting one another. Teens streaming past on e-bikes.

It's all over social media, one shared. Another said the rider had been pinned under the vehicle. (A large GM model, with evident front-end damage.) Said he'd been riding a Super 73 e-bike (which, if you look it up, resembles a regular motorized dirt bike—not a traditional bicycle). “Minor injuries,” a neighbor later asserted. (Hard to believe, honestly.)

I don't know what happened. Looking at the road markings left by the police who responded, and being familiar with the signals at that intersection, I can hazard a guess.

Northbound e-bike rider saw the traffic signal flip from yellow to red.

Southbound driver, waiting to turn left, got the green arrow and proceeded.

E-bike rider assumed the driver also had a red light and chose to run the light, not expecting the vehicle to turn.

All road users need to respect the rules of the road. Which requires knowing the rules of the road.

I don't know what the answer is, but I do know that kids are riding powerful, heavy electric-powered “bicycles,” mixing it up (at speed) with vehicles on the road without the requisite knowledge. I nearly collided with a pair of them recently, myself.

In my case, I had paused for oncoming traffic before I could make a left turn onto a side street. Two boys, side by side at a stop sign, suddenly pulled out as I initiated my turn. They managed to stop; one nearly toppled over. Would they have done the same on a pedal-powered bicycle? (I doubt it.)

Regulations won't fix this. Enforcement won't fix this.

Teach your children. Ride smart.

Quicksilver

Today's hike was the reason I didn't linger longer in Monterey. Not only had I signed up for a docent-led history hike, I had suggested it for my former team's hike-of-the-month—and seven people turned up! (Plus one more, for our post-hike lunch.)

Our guide led us on a modest hike, framing his narrative across three periods of human activity. First, that of the native Ohlone people—who dusted themselves with the red ore they dug from a cave. Next came the settlers who recognized that ore for what it is (cinnabar) and what it yields (mercury). Finally, to the modern era: environmental work to clean up the toxic aftermath of the mining and restore the land to a more natural state.

When I moved to this area, I have a vague memory of being advised against hiking in this park on warm summer days, to avoid any latent vapors rising from the soil. True? Maybe not. But it is true that the local waterways are clearly posted with warnings not to eat any of the fish (due to high levels of mercury).

I had not realized that there were structures still standing.

Maybe some things are best left undisturbed? Evidently this rotary furnace was used until 1976, which seems ... recent, even though nearly 50 years have passed. As incongruous as it is, it made sense to build it here to process the ore on site rather than transport the raw material elsewhere. (Unfortunatley with little or no awareness of the ensuing contamination.)

Crushed ore was heated to release mercury vapor, which condensed in the system of pipes to be collected in liquid form. One thing that didn't get discussed today was the health impact on those who worked with these substances.

Trees were felled to feed the furnaces. Large, isolated trees likely marked the former sites of workers' homes. I was intrigued by a blooming plant that seemed both familiar, and yet unfamiliar. It turned out to be Spanish broom (invasive). As we were near the area known as “Spanish Camp,” that made sense: residents must have introduced it.

As we retraced our route along Wood Road, our guide revealed that the meadow we crossed was also the result of human activity: a hill had been leveled for soil to cap the area where the contaminated materials had been moved (location undisclosed and off-limits, within the park).

The hike was short on distance (less than four miles) but long on learning: cultural, historical, and chemical (how mercury is used to extract gold).

Point Lobos

Oddly, I have biked past the Point Lobos State Natural Reserve more often than I have visited. My last visit was in January, 2013. Even in winter, the Reserve was over capacity that Saturday; on our bicycles, we had cruised past the line of vehicles waiting for their chance to enter.

On a weekday, with schools back in session, I was surprised to find a few cars ahead of me. I was even more surprised that I passed three parking areas before I found an open space, which thus anchored my hike.

I headed south along the South Shore Trail, to the Bird Island Overlook. Inland, the sky was blue. Toward the sea: gray.

Of course I stopped to capture this view (without realizing how canonical it is). You can see why.

I spied a red wrapper in the brush, and naturally I could not leave it there. I didn't realize that a gentleman in a motorized chair was watching me. “Thank you,” he said. I smiled. “Of course!” In all, I picked up (and properly disposed of) at least six pieces of trash, including a disposable coffee cup (with its plastic lid!) tucked into a rock seam at the water’s edge. [People ...!]

I hunt litter; birds hunt lunch. The first time I passed this Great Blue Heron (trailside), it caught a lizard. Unbothered by the quiet hiker just a few feet away, the bird was fixated on the ground at its feet. Suddenly it dipped its head, shook its rump back and forth, and plucked the reptile from the brush.

Returning along the same trail, I came upon the bird again. When I saw the same behavior, I knew what was about to happen. This time, it speared an unlucky vole—which it swallowed, whole.

I hiked north to the Cypress Grove Trail, fully circling the grove.

I explored more of Point Lobos today than ever before, meandering slowly on a trek of five miles, give or take.

The hunting heron was the clear highlight of my visit to Point Lobos; the snow globe jelly (Modeeria rotunda) was the highlight of this trip's visit to the Monterey Bay Aquarium.

Such wondrous things to behold! Get out there and explore the world.

Asilomar State Beach

Not that I need an excuse to visit the Monterey area, but when I decided to attend an event at the Aquarium I opted to spend a couple of days down there. With a new adventure in mind, I scored a State Parks Pass again at my local library and headed south.

This sign made me chuckle. Wile E. Coyote! At home, it's not unusual for neighbors to report coyote sightings, time and again. [Get over it. They live here. And keep your cats indoors.]

As it was a clear evening, it dawned on me [ha] that I could catch the sunset.

Why not? I was near the beach at Asilomar.

And so the sun set on another day.

Redwoods in the Mist

I was only vaguely aware of the Bear Creek Redwoods Open Space Preserve, still harboring a belief that it was a closed area. And this year it was closed—temporarily—until a few weeks ago. Heavy damage from last winter's storms (to Bear Creek Road, as well as in the Preserve) had finally been addressed.

My friends had hiked here many times in prior years; evidently it's been open to the public since 2019.

I scouted the parking lot last week. My friends had warned me that parking could be an issue, even on a weekday with schools back in session. There were only a couple of vehicles, but it was later in the day. Would we find the lot empty, because people weren't yet aware that the Preserve had re-opened? Or would it be packed with hikers eager for access after months of closure?

As it turned out, we nearly had the place to ourselves. And it was magical, today.

The fog thickenend and swirled around us, the higher we climbed. We followed the Alma Trail to the Redwood Springs Trail, completing a loop of some 5.3 miles. Given the fog, we opted not to extend our route to the Bear Creek Summit.

Save that for next time ...

B is for Bob

The last time I saw Bob, he needled me (as he was wont to do) about retiring. Little did we imagine that the door would close on my professional life four days later, or that he would be gone in less than four months.

Bob had retired before I'd met him, and he was a poster child for early retirement. From my perspective, he was unambiguously making the most of his time on this planet.

It was a fluke that our paths crossed. Back in 2005, I started chatting with three cyclists at a rest stop during the I Care Classic. I'd been tailing them, as we were riding at a similar pace. The very next week, I was surprised to find them at the Foothill Century and we exchanged contact information. Thanks to those encounters, I was drawn into a circle of East Bay cycling friends that included Bob's wife.

In 2011, Bob and Pat persuaded me to join them on one of their frequent European cycling tours. We summited the Stelvio, Gavia, and Mortirolo passes in the Italian Alps, and I was hooked. I would go on to share more adventures with them in Austria, France, Germany, Italy, Liechtenstein, and Switzerland.

Before we gathered to pay tribute to Bob today, a group assembled to honor his memory with a bike ride. (I'll note that the route, intentionally or not, traced the outline of the letter B.)

There was a thread in the stories people told at our celebration of Bob's life: “I'm not sure Bob liked me, but ... ” was the common lead-in to some thoughtful or kind thing that Bob had done. He could be gruff, but ... yes, he liked you.

Bob's brother shared a sentiment that hit home: Your life isn't about how much time you live, it's about how you live your time.

You lived your time well Bob, and you deserved more of it. We miss you.

Rancho San Antonio

As close as it is, I had never hiked in Rancho San Antonio. Many years ago I'd biked through on the road, on group rides, which gave me a limited (distorted) perspective on what the park might have to offer. [Besides too many people.]

Unlike other county parks, admission is free—which likely contributes to its popularity. Even on a weekday, with schools back in session, we carpooled to improve our chances of finding parking spaces. Conveniently bordered by residential neighborhoods, evidently many people will drop in for a quick jog.

Near the little farm area, a curious cycle-mobile was hitched to a bike rack. (Front wheel drive.)

Technically, most of the acreage is the Rancho San Antonio Open Space Preserve, adjacent to the county park; and there's much more of it than I'd imagined.

We climbed high enough to enjoy a view clear across the valley to Moffett Field, San Francisco Bay, and beyond.

Three of us kicked back at a picnic table for more conversation (and, our lunch) after completing our loop. Having traversed more than six miles, I covered a bit more ground stalking and chasing a determined squirrel that expected a handout. Why forage when all those park visitors feed you?

Time to learn that this visitor is not like the others ...