The Hiking Club

An unusual event popped up on a local events calendar: A short hike led by someone from the county parks department, in conjunction with a visit to the local art museum (NUMU) to view an exhibition (The Hiking Club: A Vocabulary of Yearning). The artist (Linda Simmel) and the curator joined us for the hike and would later lead us through the exhibit, piece by piece, answering questions.

Given the advertised duration for the event, I knew the “hike” would be a short one. With rain in the forecast, I thought I might be the only person who would show up—and the hosts might wish I'd stayed home, like everyone else.

Ha! More than 20 people turned out. The group met at the museum and chatted over coffee, tea, and pastries before setting out.

Fittingly for a nature outing, we gathered near a different exhibit featuring embroidered renderings of endangered plants (the lost ones: iterations and murmurs, by Liz Harvey).

Rain didn't fall (nor did people fall) as we made our way along a sometimes-muddy, sometimes-uphill stretch of the Flume Trail before retracing our steps to the museum.

A grumpy old man came barreling down the trail and scowled “You can't block the trail!” Our guide rolled his eyes, and someone in the group quietly chuckled “Oh yes we can” as people politely stepped aside.

Our guide had suggested that we imagine the noise of the freeway as the sound of the ocean, instead; which, oddly enough, sort of works. He encouraged us to take in more of the world around us—advice that would certainly have benefited a certain grumpy old man. Our guide even shared a few magnifying glasses for getting a closer look at small things along the trail. Our group was clearly a mix of art lovers and nature lovers, and I was surprised at how engaged everyone was.

What I didn't expect from this event was to be culturally enriched. The artist focused on the techniques used to create the work, insisting that she doesn't work conceptually. But the people around me were adept at teasing out themes that had seemed hidden to the artist herself.

I wasn't the only one who saw a deeper meaning in The Wood, featuring a colorless, transparent outline of a woman in high heels striding toward, and merging with, a vibrant natural landscape.

A poem by Wendell Berry (The Peace of Wild Things) was placed next to one of the works.

For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

A Hopeful Hitchhiker

When the rain was falling again last night around 9 p.m., I fully expected that I would not join my companions for today's outing, having no desire to ride on slick roads.

Much to my surprise, the roads had largely dried by the time I woke up. It was also 34°F. [No excuses. Get dressed!]

Wisely, our leader changed the plan for today's ride, rather than risk slip-sliding across black ice on a frosty back road. [Ice, in the Bay Area? Yes, it happens.]

Luckily I glanced down at the bag on my rear rack before we took off: There was a (rather sluggish) yellowjacket! Perhaps clinging to the dark surface for some warmth? I certainly didn't expect to see one of these out on cold winter morning.

Sorry, I couldn't bring my little friend along for the ride—I'd rather not be stung unexpectedly, especially in the rear. More to the point, I'd simply rather not be stung at all. I coaxed the critter onto a twig and gently relocated it near some plants.

When we reached our coffee stop, I decided that a chocolate croissant fit the bill. It was still warm, the chocolate gooey!

I must say, I'm liking this routine: 29 miles, good conversation, and an indulgent treat.

Hello Kitty

It's rained, on and off, over the past few weeks. It doesn't take much for the grasses to start popping up, turning the hills green.

The day was clear (and chilly). When we started hiking, I was surprised how many ground squirrels were scampering about. No hawks overhead, missing out on an easy feast.

Our group was busy chatting when a ranger caught our attention. “Shhh,” she waved. “Bobcat!” she whispered.

We stopped in our tracks and saw the skulking feline pass through some scrub, and then were lucky enough to watch it after we rounded a bend.

Indifferent to our presence on the trail above, the cat was hunting the rodents. None were in sight there; maybe they knew enough to hunker down in their holes just then.

The ranger had also alerted us to another creature we'd encounter: photographers were on the hunt, and she asked that we not share where we'd seen the cat. She was irritated with them for venturing off the trails. “Mum's the word,” I nodded.

We crossed paths with two small groups. “What are you photographing?“ I asked. “Bobcats!” they replied. “Oh, good luck!” I smiled.

One had the biggest camera lens I'd ever seen, covered with a camouflage pattern. “How much does that weigh?“ I inquired, thinking I would be loath to hike any distance with such a rig. Not understanding my question, he replied “Twenty thousand.” [As in, dollars. Not what I asked but ... whoa.]

We saw another bobcat before we completed our 4.6-mile trek; odds are that the photographers got the shots they sought (far superior to mine). It was a thrill to watch the cats in action, compared with the fleeting glimpses I've caught over the years.

We chose this hike because the trails are exposed, lots of sunshine (and little mud) on a chilly day. The bobcats were an unexpected bonus.

Plenty of Sunshine

My last rose of the season:

My cycling pals are hardy souls, undaunted by the morning chill. I have the right winter gear; but left to my own devices, I would have opted for an early-afternoon ride.

I explored a detour to avoid an underpass on the Los Gatos Creek Trail that always made me nervous; last time I rode there, two cyclists came barreling down the other side (around a blind corner), just as I'd always feared. Survey says: The detour is worth it.

Our intrepid leader meandered through some neighborhoods I'd never visited before now (and others that were all too familiar, part of my former bike-to-work route). Amazingly, there is a house that is still under construction on one of those streets—for more than 11 years. (Google's Streetview images show it was likely early 2011 when the previous structure burned, and construction was underway in 2013.)

After lingering over our coffees and tea at the end of the ride, I tried a different route home (suggested by one of our group). Too. Much. Traffic. Won't try that one again.

Thirty-one miles for the day, and my first camellia bloom of the season:

My, oh, my, what a wonderful day!

Happy New Year?

One clear sign of New Year's Resolutions: Unfamiliar faces out for a jog.

As for me, well, January 1st seemed like a splendid day for a bike ride—once it warmed up.

Circling back, my plan was to include a short stretch of trail alongside Almaden Lake.

Surprise! The park was closed and gated off, which explained why I'd noticed the trail was empty on my outbound pass. It seemed a shame for such a popular park to be off-limits on a beautiful day that surely would have drawn many visitors. Happy New Year (not) from the city of San Jose!

First road debris of 2024:

To the motorists whose tires were spared: You're welcome.

Looking for a bright spot, I extened my loop (29 miles) to Vasona Lake County Park, which was open for all to enjoy. The Fantasy of Lights fixtures are still in place. Herewith, my hopeful wish for 2024:

The Year That . . .

I stopped working. Abruptly.

I cycled more than 2,200 miles, climbing over 70,000 feet, on 85 rides.

I visited Chico for the first time, to enjoy their Wildflower bike event.

I raised money for Best Buddies and biked in the California Challenge (formerly Hearst Castle Challenge), for the 17th consecutive year. I also raised money and rode in the MS Society's Waves to Wine event (for the first time since 2006).

I contibuted my time to six volunteer opportunities, mostly outdoors.

I completed 41 hikes, trekking more than 200 (mostly hilly) miles in regional (and state) parks and preserves.

I shared so many of these adventures with a widening circle of friends, and honored the memory of two that we lost.

I explored the natural world at a deeper level, becoming an enthusiastic member of the global iNaturalist community.

The year that was . . . 2023.

Wilder Ranch

Our hike was well-timed, today: we had a spell of sunshine on the coast.

For me, this was a great opportunity to explore new terrain; unlike my hiking buddy, it was my first visit to Wilder Ranch State Park. It often feels like the entire population of Silicon Valley migrates to Santa Cruz most weekends, making it one of the last places I want to be. And although we've had a tradition of hiking on Christmas Day for a few years, this time we opted for the day after.

Harbor seals hauled out to snooze on a sunny, secluded beach. Two memorable creatures were ones we couldn't see: well-hidden frogs, croaking away, and a burrowing owl (spotted by some birders with binoculars and a camera with a very long lens).

We were aware of warnings about high seas and rogue waves. Water puddling high on a cliff is the ocean's “don't stand here” sign. Had I been more savvy, I could have captured the moment when a young couple got completely drenched by the spray from a big wave that slammed into the wall of rock. The look on their faces ... They were good sports, though; she wrung out her long hair and they kept hiking.

The cormorants were unperturbed on their private perch.

Ah, California! Something is always blooming. As the day's palette filled with shades of gray, the colorful (but sadly, invasive) Cape-Ivy was our sunshine.

I managed to uproot an entire invasive mustard plant, earning “good job!” from an understanding cyclist as he passed. With only a few scattered along the trail, it felt like there's a fair chance of fighting it off.

Retracing our path to the parking lot, we covered a healthy 7.2 miles. A word of thanks to my hiking companion for her indulgence as I snapped so many photos (57 distinct plants and animals and mushrooms, oh my!). Of all, we agreed that the aptly festive Willow Apple Gall Sawfly was the strangest:

Nature Lesson

When a friend suggested we hike at the Picchetti Ranch Open Space Preserve today, I hesitated. So soon, again? But this outing (4.4 miles) would be led by docent naturalists and include some terrain I hadn't explored before.

We enjoyed beautiful weather, a break between rain storms. Low clouds dotted the valley, to the east.

When the docents paused next to an impressive mound of sticks, I knew what was coming: a story about the dusky-footed woodrat. This nest was larger than others I've seen; a casual observer might assume it was constructed by a human, or some other mammal certainly larger than a rat.

I've learned so much this year, hiking with docents and engaging with the iNaturalist community. Even though I'd trekked down the Zinfandel Trail just two weeks ago, today I saw things that I'd overlooked. And of course, plants follow their natural cycle throughout the year.

As we hiked down the trail, I spotted some ferns that were freshly sprouting. When I paused to get a photo as we returned, a docent identified it as a Polypody. Taking a closer look, I realized it wasn't a type of fern I'd noticed before (much less, heard of).

That's the thing: To advance from registering “plant,” to “leafy green plant,” to “fern,” to ... Polypody. Yet, there is so much more in this one photo: another leafy plant (California bay laurel) in the background, a bit of mushroom in the lower right corner, and moss carpeting a decaying log.

One step at a time.

Just Right

Although we'd hiked just two weeks ago, and my former colleagues weren't expecting to plan a December hike, this date turned out to work well for many of them. Really well. I joined twelve people for a bite-sized hike (4 miles). Several were folks I hadn't seen in many months (or longer).

This hike is not too challenging—neither too long nor too short. The Zinfandel Trail descends gradually toward Stevens Creek, mostly under tree cover, and affords a clear view of the Stevens Creek Reservoir.

When we returned to the historic Picchetti Winery, one of the resident peacocks was perched and preening. [Not something you would expect to encounter on a hike ... unless you've been here before.]

It was a joy to be reunited again! For many years, we were a tight team; some moved on (by choice, or not). Now we hike together, volunteer together: hopefully for many years to come.

Revisiting the Redwoods

There were only four of us today, but one had made the trip from San Francisco to trek through the redwood forest with us!

We enjoyed colorful leaves on the valley oaks (and no mist) this time of year.

Someone had a little fun with the sawed end of a fallen tree!

I was surprised when our group was game to extend our planned hike (same loop I'd hiked a few months ago) to continue to the summit. That added quite a bit more uphill (plus 2 miles). We were disappointed not to be rewarded with a scenic view at the top. [Oh well.] Now I know.

I was “rewarded” with blisters on the bottom of both pinky toes. Maybe wool socks aren't the best choice for a long hike?

Daylight was fading and the moon rising as we made our way back to the parking lot. I was surprised when a few people passed us, heading up the trail so late.

We'd made the most of our day (7.4 miles and plenty of good conversation): the gate was closed and the ranger onsite to account for the stragglers.

Those blisters? Totally worth it.

Turkey Trotters

This year marked the 19th annual edition of the Silicon Valley Turkey Trot, a fundraising Thanksgiving morning tradition. When I realized they needed volunteers in the days leading up to the event, I signed up for a weekday slot. Because, I can.

I knew about this event, but had no idea how big it was: Fielding something like 21,000 participants entails distributing a lot of bibs (race numbers) in advance. And after so many years, the organizers were, well ... organized.

When two people were needed to staff a number look-up station and only one hand went up, I claimed the second spot. Good decision, as it turned out my partner had experience—same role, second volunteer shift.

People could also register at our station, and a few did. We were there to shepherd them through the sign-up process, if they got stuck. One woman explained that while she's normally part of a family group, there would be only two of them this year. “Will you be there?” she asked. No, I explained; I'm not a runner. “You could walk. Next year!”

True enough. The 5k would be easy.

Next year?

Be the Change

I pulled into the parking lot where I would meet my friends, frowning as I passed three large pieces of litter. Well, I would take care of that in short order.

Not wanting to touch the rumpled tshirt, I snagged it with my hiking poles. As I raised the lid on the nearest trash bin, one of the guys who had been loitering near his motorcycle approached with the other two items! I thanked him; he replied “Thank you, it's not even your trash!” I smiled. “I always try to leave a place cleaner than I found it.”

Not having hiked these trails until today, I was surprised to get a glimpse of Monterey Bay (blanketed in fog).

Our trek would have been more peaceful on a weekday, I reckon. It's been years since I've biked up here on a weekend, and now ... I learned that I shouldn't. Sports cars and motorcycles driven by wanna-be racers evidently rule the road, with no enforcement in sight. Roaring engines made it challenging to hear anything else. And I don't think I've seen a discarded beer bottle along a trail—until now.

My companions and beautiful weather made for a good hike (4.7 miles), anyway.

Yes, I carried out (and recycled) that bottle. [But not the Beetle.]

San Juan Bautista

I headed south with my chief biking buddy for a non-cycling adventure. Destination: San Juan Bautista.

We took an unplanned detour out Salinas Road and San Juan Grade, having missed the turn for the trailhead we sought for the Juan Bautista De Anza National Historic Trail. My buddy insisted (correctly, it turns out) that we had biked up that road. I had no memory of it, probably because I had been so unnerved by that day's stretch along Crazy Horse Canyon Road. One thing is certain: the road is in no better shape now than it was in 2015.

The trail was popular with local hikers and runners—likely more so now in the cooler weather than the heat of summer, given the lack of tree cover. The hills were golden and the sky was clear.

There were many Gray Buckeyes fluttering about, no doubt searching for some nectar. Very few plants are blooming this late in the season, but there were a couple of fuller's teasels hanging on—and the butterflies found them.

After hiking a little over four miles, we headed into town. We meandered along the main street, but of course no trip here would be complete without a visit to the historic mission. I'll always think of my friend Steve here, who made sure I didn't miss the plaque for El Camino Real back in 2007 when I visited for the first time on a club ride.

New adventures mix with the old, not to be forgotten.

Be Fit

A nice fall day for a bike ride—a test ride after a recent bike fit. Nothing too adventurous or far astray—a fast 27 miles on a familiar route. For the first time (ever) I felt comfortable riding with my hands on the hoods, instead of drifting back to my customary intermediate position on the bars.

Years ago, some time after I'd started cycling regularly, I'd heeded advice to get a proper bike fit. As I'd become more fit, stress points on my body had surfaced. “You were enjoying this?” remarked the fitter as he raised my saddle a full 1.5 inches. On my very next ride, my knees stopped hurting.

Over time I realized that the fit wasn't quite right, and this had become abundantly clear over the past year as I spent less time on a road bike and more time upright on a more-forgiving casual bike. Without habitually over-stretching my arms and shoulders to reach the road bike's hoods, doing so now was painful. [You were enjoying this?]

I finally indulged in a full-on professional bike fit, and it was worth it. Worth it for my body. Worth it to enjoy my best bike. Totally, worth it.

Once the fit was mostly dialed in, I was surprised to find how quickly I picked up on tiny tweaks that went in the wrong direction. I was amazed that I could I be so sensitive to a change of mere millimeters, bringing to mind the story of the Princess and the Pea. Chalk it up to greater body awareness and thousands of miles of biking, I guess; I'm definitely no princess!

Post-ride, I met up with a friend for a late lunch and an impromptu trip (not by bike) to take in the sunset atop Mt. Umunhum. Any residual soreness was the result of engaging, rather than straining, muscles in my back and shoulders.

Totally worth it.

Spirited Silliness

Halloween is nearly here. Last year's adorable pop-up kitten was not on display at the local elementary school this year. [Bummer.]

There was one person ahead of me as I surveyed the scene this morning. The hall was festooned with webs and fake spiders, in preparation for a special event (I presumed). Then I noticed the woman at the intake table, her hair in plastic rollers and her face smeared with cold cream. [Yes, I'm old enough to know what that's about.] She checked off my name and offered a chocolate truffle. Right after breakfast? Sure, why not ...

“Albert” approached—a man with wild white hair, a bushy mustache, and a name tag noting E=mc² explained today's Blood Drive Olympics: estimate how much time it would take to donate your pint (within seconds) and win a gift card.

This was not your run-of-the-mill blood drive.

There was a flapper in a sequined sheath, and a reverend. Perhaps he frightened Count Dracula away? [Not a single vampire in sight.]

Apparently this group of volunteers has been hosting this event for many years; a couple of them spent hours, last night, decorating the hall. A dealer was set up at a blackjack table to entertain any waiting donors if things backed up.

My time estimate fell short, but following a consultation between Einstein and the reverend, I was granted a dispensation and awarded my prize.

The “special event” was us!

Walk and Talk

Are you busy? [No.] Want to go for a walk? [Sure.]

Thus began an impromptu visit to the Sierra Azul Open Space Preserve (not a neighborhood stroll).

I've taken in this view from Bald Mountain before, but now I can recognize more than rolling hills and the sprawl of south San Jose: I realized that I could see the Rotary Furnace and nearby structures, below and to the right of the bare rock face in Almaden Quicksilver County Park.

The road to the summit of Mt. Umunhum had been closed when we arrived, but we found it open after our short “hike” and decided to drive up for the view.

I wouldn't have the patience to wait around for the lighting to be “just so,” to catch the afternoon sun briefly turning one narrow ridgeline golden. I just get lucky, sometimes.

There was one more treat in store for us. From the parking lot, we'd walked up the road; to return, we took the stairs. Of all places, we did not expect to meet a snake there!

For the warmth? Best as we could tell, this was a Santa Cruz Gartersnake. (Not dangerous.)

However often you might return to a place, there is always something new to see.

Ride Together

Look on the bright side: it could have been wetter. Mist, then drizzle, speckled my spectacles. My gloves were soaked, my hands chilled, and I should have worn wool socks.

Today marked the 20th anniversary Best Buddies ride in California, and my 17th. I'd been uncertain about riding this year; it feels like the ride's shift to October in Marin all but ensures wet weather (and slippery pavement). Still, I support the mission. And I hadn't managed to visit the venue's gallery last year.

This year's event included a shorter route, and I was relieved to dial it back. The past two years I'd rolled in at the tail end of lunch, despite pushing myself close to the limit. This year I wanted to enjoy the post-ride celebration.

I was also looking forward to a change in scenery. We escaped the wetness as we headed inland, which afforded some lovely views of the Nicasio Reservoir.

With one rest stop and a couple of photo stops, I managed to roll across the finish line 3 hours, 12 minutes after I'd started: completing 38 miles and more than 1,600 feet of climbing (give or take).

I had plenty of time to get cleaned up and head up the hill for lunch—where, for once, I was an early bird. I was delighted for the chance to chat with Cam Wurf, who provided some hilarious context for our memorable first encounter. He's an all-around nice guy, which is true of everyone I've met through this organization and its events.

A woman at an adjacent table was moved to tears when Best Buddies Amabassador and rapper “Flava Fran” performed the piece she'd written about the impact Best Buddies has had on her life. She wasn't fazed last night when the room erupted in laughter and applause; like a seasoned pro, she waited for the room to settle down and said “I'm not done, there's more.”

Last night, Lisa Loeb(!) followed Fran to perform two of her songs: Stay (I Missed You), and Another Day. When thinking about which songs to share with us, she'd recognized a metaphor in the latter one: for world events at this moment in time, for the challenges faced by folks with disabilities, and for the event that brought us here.

But everybody knows that life can change like the weather
And everybody wants the things they know to stay the same
But we’re not gonna last forever
And nothing’s ever meant to stay
But while we’re on this ride together, let’s do it for another day

Rooting for a Raptor

Was it an omen that today's bird-of-the-day on my Audubon calendar was an owl?

With a bike event coming up this weekend, I needed to get more climbing in; but when I woke up yesterday I realized I needed a rest day. With a bit of a late start, I headed for Bernal (known to some as “IBM Hill” for the private grounds at the top). I made a u-turn rather than stopping at the usual picnic table to enjoy my snack, heading instead for the ranch (Bernal-Gulnac-Joice).

I was surprised to see two ranger trucks there, mid-week; the buildings are open only on weekends. A ranger was unloading an animal carrier, and when I said “good morning” he smiled and asked if I'd like to see a special animal. Well, of course, but the carrier was empty? “It's an owl, we're here to pick it up.”

And there, in the rock-reinforced pit where volunteers had been cautioned not to venture (known to harbor rattlesnakes), was another ranger keeping watch over a magnificent great horned owl.

Those feathers! Those eyes! Those talons! I've never been so close to a live great horned owl. I've heard them hooting at night, and almost certainly have seen them displayed in a nature center (taxidermied).

Was this why a red-tailed hawk had soared overhead, with a piercing cry, more or less on the same route as I? Had it spotted the weakened owl and hoped to dive in for an easy meal, put off (perhaps) by the ranger who stood nearby?

The bird seemed almost in a trance, not reacting at all to our presence. I don't know if it helps, but I spoke to it in a calm, reassuring tone. “It's okay, sweetie, we're here to help.” The ranger carried something soft—an old sweatshirt, I think. He deftly draped it over the bird and eased it into the carrier; it tried to extend its wings, but he gently smoothed them down and closed the door.

Someone had been dispatched to pick up the carrier; likely destination would be the Wildlife Center of Silicon Valley (whose logo, fittingly, features a great horned owl).

What was ailing this bird? My guess is that it had the misfortune to eat a poisoned rat, and was now suffering the effects of the poison. If so, the outlook is bleak.

Please: Don't use poison baits. Just ... don't. (Use snap traps.)

Gratitude

Oddly, I ended up hiking the same set of trails twice in one week! Clockwise on Monday, counter-clockwise today.

As I waited for my Monday hiking pals at the trailhead, a man hiked out wearing a t-shirt with a message that made me smile:

Grateful

I'm not

Dead

Can't disagree, for sure!

Without a parking lot, cars lined the neighborhood streets. I guess the residents are used to that, because this is clearly a popular trailhead for Almaden Quicksilver County Park—even on a weekday.

We passed a clever bench, but didn't feel a need to rest.

More than 100 years ago, a furnace was built near the Senador mine, used in the process of extracting mercury; the concrete towers still stand.

Our clockwise approach led to good views of the Santa Clara Valley.

I so wanted to walk out on the dam, but our Monday group was eager to keep moving. I was happy to have another opportunity on Sunday; our group conveniently paused nearby, though I was still the outlier—no one else cared to get this perspective on the Guadalupe Reservoir.

Clockwise or counterclockwise, the loop is about 4.8 miles, and not too challenging. I was glad I opted in today, even though I'd hiked the same trails just a few days earlier. Different perspectives, different conversations, and what's not to like about another beautiful fall day?