An Old Favorite

Once upon a time, long before I'd joined any bike clubs, pedaling up Alma Bridge and Aldercroft Heights roads to Old Santa Cruz Highway was a regular route. (As a stoker on a tandem, back then.) The first club I joined would often start rides at the Lexington Reservoir; we'd park atop the dam (legal, back then). The second club I joined preferred to meet south of the reservoir, on the road leading to the Lexington Elementary School. Heading out from there reduced the overall distance and climbing involved (which, I didn't mind).

After a couple of rounds of winter storms in recent years, sections of those roads were closed. Early accounts of passing through sounded sketchy: I didn't try. [Until today.]

When I started up the first incline, my legs rebelled. I know I haven't been doing much climbing lately, but this old favorite shouldn't be this hard! [And that's why I'm here.]

The work isn't finished, but the section I traversed was fine.

I wasn't looking forward to returning the way I came, having less-than-fond memories of a short-but-steep climb approaching the rowing club. I spied a new (to me) bench overlooking the water, which I decided was my reward for making it up that pitch.

Relaxing with my snack, I watched a bald eagle soar overhead—second reward!

A tidy 1,700 feet of climbing spread over some 16 miles—a scenic and efficient workout. I'll be back!

Be Cool

Expecting warm weather, three friends agreed to join me for a hike in the forest today. It's not an easy hike—there are hills to climb (and descend)—but it's well-shaded.

Having no post-hike commitments, I decided to do a little more exploring (albeit, exposed to the sun).

Private estates were once built on this land, later acquired for the establishment of a religious institution (Alma College), and more recently for a nature preserve (Bear Creek Redwoods).

I wandered through what remains (and is accessible), trying to imagine the site in its heyday. The former carriage house is now a habitat for bats, which seemed a worthy use for it.

My additional trekking, added to the usual loop, amounted to more than six miles (and about 1,000 feet of elevation gain). The vibe around the college site felt decidedly creepy—most likely because I was the only person around. Worth it, though, to satisfy my curiosity.

Two Too Close

I nearly died today.

It was my second close call in a week. The first incident, a few days ago, happened when I committed the sin of cycling near a school as parents were picking up their children. [No school buses?! Don't ask.] You might think parents would be extra careful around all those children. [They're not.]

When Minivan Mama evidently finished chatting with another mom across the street, she suddenly and sharply pulled away from the curb. Without looking. Right. In. Front. Of. Me.

Even though I was being cautious, moving slowly, I still had to panic-stop.

Her son waved happily through the window to his friend, and off they went—utterly oblivious to the accident narrowly averted.

I would have been injured, perhaps seriously, colliding with that minivan. Today's incident was much, much worse.

Today I'd decided to get some climbing in; having completed the first hill, I came to a stop at a T intersection where I would turn left. I unclipped and waited astride my bicycle, having heard a vehicle approaching from the right. A white Tesla waited behind me.

The vehicle I'd heard was some deep shade of red; burgundy, perhaps. A small SUV or crossover, perhaps. Driven by a woman with longish dark hair, perhaps. That much registered in my brain.

She was turning onto the road where I stood, cutting the corner at speed—completely on the wrong side of the double yellow line, into my lane. Hurtling straight at me. I'm pretty sure my mouth hung open; my expression was likely one of disbelief rather than terror. This is it, I thought. I'm going to die now.

Here I am, though, telling the tale.

Brakes screeched. The lanes flare out at the intersection, the corners rounded for cars turning right. Mindful of drivers seeking to turn right, I was positioned far enough to the left, and the Tesla just far enough behind, that the reckless driver managed to thread the needle to the left of me and to the right of the Tesla. And simply continued on her way.

Flowers, Frogs, and Fish

Riding on my own, I've fallen into an all-too-comfortable pattern—cruising through quiet residential neighborhoods with wide streets. But, honestly, there are more scenic routes that also have little vehicular traffic (on weekdays).

Just look at the Almaden Reservoir, framed with lovely lupine!

At the water's edge, I was puzzled by a noise I'd never heard before. I figured it had to be a frog, but it sounded more like moaning than croaking. When a fisherman wandered by, he confirmed that the frogs hang out in the reeds along the shoreline. (Cleverly concealed.)

I decided to venture out onto the dam for another perspective (on foot, though I hefted my bike across the vehicle-blocking boulders to keep it close). In the past, I've focused on admiring the water; today, I turned to the side and spotted the giant chimney in Quicksilver Park, a relic of New Almaden's cinnabar-mining and mercury-production days.

Fishing here is strictly a catch-and-release sport—too much mercury contamination. I don't get the attraction of catch-and-release, but I suppose the fisherman doesn't get the attraction of biking out here just to turn around and bike back home (32 miles round-trip, about 900 feet of climbing).

To each his (or her!) own.

Fluff

Normally I avoid biking on trails; today's route with some friends included a stretch of the Los Gatos Creek Trail that I've rarely used.

What was going on with these trees? I doubled back later, not wanting my curiosity to interfere with our group's plans.

Fluffy white stuff drifting all around us; not snowflakes (of course), not bits of dust on the lens of my camera ...

Puffy balls hanging all over the tree ... could these be cottonwood trees? [Duh!]

I took note of another oddity that caught my eye, and managed to find it when I returned: white California poppies (a cultivar, as it turned out).

A social ride with a little extra exploring, 36 miles with about 1,000 feet of elevation gain along the way. No better way to spend a sunny spring day!

May Day Flowers

A docent-led hike, focused on wildflowers? Count me in!

First new fact: The pond is here because the water table is high at this spot. We were following the familiar Zinfandel trail at the Picchetti Ranch Open Space Preserve today, pausing only briefly to admire the pond and convince ourselves that the duck we saw at the far side was a female mallard.

While I recognized many of the flowers we found, the wind poppy was new to me (and, evidently, fairly uncommon).

Many flowers rely on pollinators—like this variable checkerspot butterfly visiting our native golden yarrow.

Having hiked this (wooded) trail in other seasons, I was honestly surprised to discover as many flowers as we did. Red larkspur and white globe lilies, columbine and smooth mule's ears, Fernald's iris and bluewitch nightshade, orange bush monkeyflower and blue-eyed grass (of course), and so much more.

A leisurely 4.4 mile walk, for the love of flowers.

Still Blooming

The signs are there: the green hills are fading softly to brown.

The trails in Santa Teresa County Park are exposed and best explored during our cooler months (which will soon be behind us, until late fall).

If you know where to look, there are flowers to be found. (And we do know where to look.)

Clear skies, a perfect spring day to share a challenging hike with friends old and new (7.5 miles, about 1,000 feet of elevation gain). Smiles, all around.

Feathering Nests

I was itching for a long bike ride. A long, slow bike ride, playing amateur naturalist along the way. I didn't intend to visit the rookery; it felt too early to find much activity there.

A great blue heron took flight, skimming across the water, when I stopped to snap a photo.

I was hungry by the time I reached Baylands Park, where I settled at a picnic table near the area where a few guys were flying their model aircraft. A perilous activity, given the wind, I thought. “Not if you're a good pilot,” one remarked.

Shorebirds are a reliable sight along the bayside trail. Pondering the route I'd take back home, visions of a fresh fruit tart clinched it. Onward, then, to the rookery!

Some nests were under construction; a few were well-established and occupied.

Big nests for big birds.

And a big ride for this old bird: 46 miles with about 1,300 feet of elevation gain. Powered, in part, by a luscious fruit tart.

In the Eyes of a Child

I'd never really considered spending an entire day (or close to it) at the Monterey Bay Aquarium—until today.

A good friend had family visitors from afar; thinking they would enjoy it, I invited them to join me.

It's fascinating to experience a familiar place from another's perspective. Years ago, at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, I'd explored galleries I'd never considered after asking friends what they'd like to see. Today I got a pint-sized view of the Aquarium's exhibits, and a solid appreciation for the play-centric areas where children can climb and slide and manipulate child-friendly features. [Kudos to those who designed the exhibits, including their durability.]

The little ones were too young, perhaps; will they remember anything from this day? [I will.]

Fields, Forest, and Flowers

One of our hiking buddies proposed a walk through an open space preserve that was unfamiliar to me: Glenwood.

It seemed that most of our regular hikers were out of town, leaving me to join two who were well-acquainted with this preserve.

Bisected by a busy road, I was surprised to discover how different the two sections were.

Leaving the sunny (inland) side of the Santa Cruz Mountains, I had also been surprised to ride into the fog as I headed toward the coast. The marine layer, of course, kept us cool (but not too chilled).

One hillside was gloriously covered with lupine and owl's clover in peak bloom. We meandered along more than five miles of trails, and yet left some areas unexplored. (Till next time!)

Up for the Count

Around this time of year, for many years, teams have assembled to survey the wildflowers blooming in particular sections of the Sierra Azul Open Space Preserve. I was excited to learn that I could sign up to help.

While normally we're admonished to stay on the trails, today we could venture afield (in the name of science). Our group included a ranger, a staff botanist, several additional experts and docents, interns, and a couple of people like me (curious amateurs.)

Equipped with little booklets featuring the top 100 flowers found in prior years (grouped by color), we could often figure out what we were seeing. (Tomcat clover, below.)

While the experts handled formal identifications and kept the official tally (for comparison with prior—and future—years), everyone had their eyes peeled for flowers. That's where I could be most helpful.

The ranger had hiked through the area a few days before and spotted a few rarities; would we find them?

We had paused for a closer look at a plant when something caught my eye. I definitely don't remember the name of every plant I've seen, but I have a good chance of realizing when I'm looking at something I've rarely (or never) seen before. I gently lifted the drooping stalk with the tip of my hiking pole. “What's this?” I asked. “You found it!” exclaimed the ranger. (Drops of gold..)

In the company of experts, I learned (as always) a lot—including the presence of tiny blooms underfoot that I would never have noticed. (Field madder, invasive.)

It turned out that we found 114 flowering species (and no, I didn't manage to see every one—around 65, for me).

Next year ... ?

Sea Otter Classic

For many years I've heard the buzz about a huge cycling festival, the Sea Otter Classic, held annually in the Monterey area. But I was not curious enough to go.

Until this year.

The MS Society would have a booth there to promote their Waves to Wine cycling event, and needed volunteers to help staff it. In return, we'd get a free pass. [Sign me up!]

I donned last year's jersey and brought a cycling friend (captain of the team I joined last year) who is afflicted with multiple sclerosis.

While we waited at the entrance gate, I chatted with a guy wearing a Sea Otter-emblazoned jacket. He'd been attending the festival for 30 or more years and told us that it would draw 74,000 people. [Yikes!] On the weekend, the crowds would be so thick that you would just have to go with the flow of bodies (and bikes).

This being Friday, the vibe was more to my liking. A few families, plenty of room for people to meander or even ride their bikes through the exhibit area.

Mountain bikes, mostly. Which is what I expected, and why I'd never felt drawn to this event.

Never say never ... over the weekend, lots of people would pass the Bike MS booth and learn about the cause. Maybe some would actually sign up to raise money and ride? But, well, the Sea Otter is mostly about mountain biking.

Our booth was part of the giant trade show, with all the major brands represented: bikes, parts, attire, and all sorts of cycling-related gear. Our mission was to catch the attention of passers-by, hoping to persuade some to sign up for Waves to Wine. Which is a job for which I'm not particularly well-suited, empathizing with those who'd quickly turn their gaze elsewhere when they sensed you were about to approach them. I had better luck when I wandered through the sea of booths, handing a flyer to a woman with a road bike who was sporting a Sierra to the Sea jersey.

I managed to engage with a few guys who paused at our booth and seemed intrigued: hailing from Brazil, Italy, and Spain. Which was consistent with the hype I'd heard about this being the world's biggest cycling festival.

I had a little time to wander; enough to find the Bianchi booth and confirm, for a friend, that they are indeed not making an electrified road bike in the size she needs (43). Enough time to know that I would not come back to brave the crowds and explore the full event on Sunday. [Or, probably, ever.]

Trailing Thoughts

I was planning to bike—not hike—today.

But then I was jarred this morning by the unexpected, and very sad news, that a friend's husband had passed away. I was shaken and distracted; when my first, second, and third route plans were thwarted, I decided that the universe was telling me to stay off the bike.

I made a sandwich, traded biking attire for hiking attire, and headed for a suitably challenging trek—one that I imagined he might have enjoyed.

Up the hill I went, at an especially slow pace: stopping often to examine whatever caught my eye.

I discovered a clearing I don't recall noticing before, and perched on a log to enjoy my lunch. (After ensuring there were no hidden snakes sharing the space.)

I had seen a few elusive butterflies fluttering about, which I knew were Sara Orangetips. Some butterflies will linger on a host plant; others, like these, rarely seem to alight for more than a second. I rounded a bend on the trail and suddenly found a slew of them busy with some yellow flowers. With a little patience, and plenty of blurry misses, I was able to get some decent shots.

I'd figured I'd turn back at the trail junction, but stopped short of that when I considered how much time I'd need to hike back down.

Hiking over 7 miles (round-trip) made my body suitably tired and soothed my soul.

It was a day to appreciate the privilege of being here, to see and hear and feel the world around me.

Take nothing for granted: not one single day.

Flowers, Eclipsed

Rancho Cañada del Oro was on a list of sites recommended for wildflower viewing. I've hiked here before, more than once, though I didn't have vivid memories. [I do now!]

A friend who hikes here regularly gave me a valuable tip to reach a bridge that would cross a seasonally-broad stream at the beginning of our 4.3-mile loop.

We startled a small pack of deer.

I was really impressed with the views. A couple of people had shared that this was their favorite place to hike, and I see why.

The trails passed through open fields as well as below tree cover.

We arrived at a comfortable vista point, complete with a picnic table, at the time for peak viewing of the solar eclipse in our area. (If I had tried, I couldn't have planned it better.)

Well outside the area of totality, we could nonetheless see what we could see: a dark, curved chunk (blotting out less than 30%) slowly creeping from right to left across the bottom of the sun.

And the reason we could see that was thanks to one of our regular hikers, whose well-prepared partner supplied us with a bunch of the proper ISO-compliant safety glasses.

Oh, and there were some flowers, too—like these California golden violets, as yellow as the sun (with their own dark spots).

San Andreas Lake

It's a good time of year to cycle along Cañada Road—hills are green, wildflowers are blooming. My chief cycling buddy agreed, and we met up in Portola Valley. The area is teeming with cyclists on weekends, much to the dismay of some residents. It's advisable to be on one's best behavior when pedaling through the tony towns.

Our timing was such that the locally notorious massive peloton whizzed past before we rolled out.

Returning along Cañada, I passed a guy who appeared much stronger than I. Clearly faster, he sat on my wheel for quite some time (rather than passing me, in turn). I don't offer much of a draft, but ... whatever. And sure enough, at some point he finally pulled around and powered away.

We could have extended our route, but we were content to finish after 23 somewhat hilly miles. Neither one of us has been cycling enough, and we need to fix that.

Fresh Flowers

Flowers, flowers ... where are the flowers?

We expected more flowers than we found, but hiking this 4.6 mile loop in the counter-clockwise direction promised a strong finish (flower-wise). We've hiked these trails before, but this time we started from a different trailhead in the southwest corner of Santa Teresa County Park.

Maybe it's a bit early for the flowers? (Despite all the rain we've had.) The California poppies, however, did not disappoint. Distracted by the dazzling blooms, watch your step along the rocky trail!

Comrades, Conversation, and Croissants

Former colleagues and friends proposed that we gather for a comfortable hike; I suggested the Los Gatos Creek Trail. And as ordinary as that might seem, we were surprised to spot turtles and black-crowned night herons in the creek bed! Take nothing for granted, in the Bay Area.

Besides, it was a beautiful day.

Thinking ahead, they'd made lunch reservations—and we were happy to eat (and continue chatting), after ambling close to 4.5 miles.

But what about those croissants? After lunch, we were enticed to visit one more location, for pastries.

What's not to like about any of that?

Three-mile Adventure

Although I've visited the Cherry Springs area of Sierra Azul before, if I have no other plans when the next outing is scheduled, I'm in. Like today.

We started with a little bonus walk through open meadows before moving on to the regular loop. A rafter of turkeys was surprised to see us; a male was strutting his stuff to impress the hens (not the humans).

Along the way we passed a dead tree that was studded with acorns—surely the handiwork (uh, “beakwork?”) of our local acorn woodpeckers.

The first time I did this hike, one of the guys had a curiously large backpack. Larger than anything I'd carry on an all-day hike. He joined us again today; when we reached a section of trail that was blocked, he pulled a hand saw out of that pack. A couple of other hikers were prepared with gloves, and just like that(!) the trail was cleared.

Our group included a couple of teens with their family, and I was impressed that they were just as keen to study the flora and fauna as any of us. As they helped to clear the fallen branches, one was excited when he found a newt. We all got a close look, and the newt got some needed hydration (raindrops from a water bottle) before it was returned to ground level.

Go for a hike! A world of little surprises is there for you to discover.