Sometimes a Tailwind

It was a picture-postcard kind of day, with the temperature just right for climbing the back side of Mt. Hamilton. (In other words, cool.) The pros will not be so lucky on Tuesday, when they climb the front side and descend the back side on their way to the Stage 3 finish atop Mt. Diablo.

But first, you have to get to the back side. By climbing the front side, of course.

Ahead of an incoming heat wave, the high temperature at the summit was a mere 49F, and the winds were picking up.

A friend joined me today, eager to climb the back side for the first time. We were both enchanted by the wildflowers and the sweeping views.

Our turnaround point was the bridge over Isabel Creek. Passing motorcyclists seemed friendlier than usual, waving and giving me a thumbs-up. [My “Aha!” moment would come later.]

The climb was less strenuous than I expected—I'm stronger! As the road zig-zagged up the hill, sometimes we had a tailwind. And sometimes a headwind.

By the time we headed back down the front side, the wind was blowing steadily at nearly 15 mph, with gusts to 24 mph. I have descended Mt. Hamilton more times than I can remember, but never with such strong wind. Holding my line was a challenge as the crosswinds buffeted me from side to side. I tucked myself in and low on the bike and kept a firm grip on the handlebar. I was relieved to make it safely back to the starting point; for the day, 50 miles and some 7100 feet of climbing.

At the bridge, I had shed my jacket for a photo-op. I had claimed an unwanted pair of socks from a colleague, and I had promised him a photo. Shocking pink, emblazoned with an up arrow and the words I'm with awesome. “They'll be perfect with my Death Ride jersey!” I had explained.

The one with the skull and crossbones. (Thumbs up!)

Follow Me

Bike to Work Day has a special significance for me. With the encouragement and support of a colleague, I biked to work for the very first time on Bike to Work Day eight years ago. Thousands of bike-commute miles later, I return the favor by inviting colleagues to join me each May.

Twenty-nine people followed me to work this morning; a few were making the trip for the first time.

I was making the trip for the fourth time this week.

We started at a local commuter shuttle stop, since most people would load themselves (and their bikes) onto a bus for the return trip.

I keep it simple:

1. Give each other space.
2. Call out “slowing” and “stopping.”
3. Don't take chances. If we get separated by a red light, we will wait for you.
4. Have fun.

[Guess which rule is most important.]

We waited for some riders from nearby San Jose to join us, then swept up a few more along the way in Saratoga.

This is much easier than I thought it would be. [Success!]

Being out in front makes it tough to capture photos en route. This year I mounted my Narrative Clip to the back of my helmet, and it turned out to be the best application for my Clip (to date). Not only did it capture plenty of respectable photos, it captured plenty of smiles. And all of those smiles were natural—no one expected that little orange square was automatically snapping photos as we rolled along.

Today is the first time I will ride back home. [Success!]

The clouds looked ominous, but we were spared any rain. If only we could have been spared the headwind ...

I want to ride back home with you. [A first-timer. And, she did!]

For me, 43 miles, some 960 feet of climbing, and much joy.

Breezy Backroads

Knowing I would quickly be off the back today without a ride partner, I decided to head east instead of west: Calaveras.

Racers from SJBC encouraged me as I clawed my way up The Wall. They might have ignored me. Or patronized me. Instead, they cheered me on. What a great bunch!

Our groups converged near the dam. They were celebrating with a birthday boy (who turned 60), and approached me to take a group photo. Wait, they said; here comes one more person from our group—Holly. Holly? I know Holly!

They caught me again after the twisty descent toward Sunol, when the road flattens out. The birthday boy had the lead.

Our group crossed the tracks for a gentle climb through Kilkare Woods. The road is not well-traveled, and I came upon a long tree branch completely blocking one lane. I parked the bike, hauled the branch off the pavement, and picked up the larger pieces of debris. The end of the branch had a clean, well-weathered cut; it had been dead for some time, caught overhead after tree trimmers had completed their work. Today was the day when the wind would finally dislodge it, and I later heard that it narrowly missed a cyclist when it crashed down. (Yikes!)

Calaveras is a long, rolling road with no hard climbing (after The Wall). The base of the wall is a T intersection. A right turn would lead me to a wide suburban thoroughfare, back to the start. A left turn would take me back, too, after looping through some wild and rural land.

Decisions, decisions.

Did I mention that a left turn meant ... more climbing?

For the day, some 54 miles and 4,595 feet of climbing. Sheep and goats, horses and cattle, wild turkeys and hawks, one wounded, writhing gopher snake. And a chance encounter with a cycling friend.

Flower Girl

Overheard as a tandem was descending Old La Honda Road: “I think it might be safer to go down 84.” [Yes, cap'n, it is.] Old La Honda is a lovely climb, but a bad choice for the return trip.

One source of entertainment for a slow climber (me) is the occasional snippet of conversation caught as riders pass. Like the group of three guys mentioning a particular actor, murdered some 35 years ago, and the ignominious details that emerged about his private life. How did that subject come up? [It's probably better that I don't know.]

Most of our group was headed for the coast. My ride buddy and I were of a similar mind: keep it short on a windy, chilly day. She graciously insisted that she had only been at the top for a few minutes before I arrived.

I convinced her to drop down the west side, with its expansive views; we were surprised by the wildflowers. After some determined research on Calflora, I can put names to all that I photographed.

Cow Parsnip

Crimson Columbine

California Goldenbanner, Winter Vetch, and Indian
  Paintbrush

It was just a coincidence that we traveled the same distance today as my regular morning commute, but with a tad more climbing (2,190 feet, vs. 385 feet) and scenery.

Being in the neighborhood, on the drive home I made one extra stop. My red cells did a fine job of getting me up the hill today, and now some of them will go on to do something important.

If By Chance

As I coasted home through the park, I noticed that the resident population of Canada Geese had been much reduced. Is it a lucky side effect of the drought, or have the (trained) dogs finally driven them away?

Then I spotted a lone, lean bird in the grass. I slowed to a stop. A Great Blue Heron! My presence gave the bird a dilemma: Take flight, possibly losing the furry prey clenched in its beak, or stand its ground. As I fished my cell phone out of my bag, I watched it maneuver and swallow its prize in a single gulp.

Even the most routine commute rides pack in their share of surprises. In the past two weeks, two colleagues have caught up to me on the evening ride home and slowed to chat.

Feeling lazy this morning, I got a late start. Random factors aligned to stop me at a particular intersection at a particular moment in time. “Pep?” To my right was a former colleague I have not seen in years; we worked for the same company twice (my previous two jobs).

There are three ways for me to cross that busy thoroughfare; I study the traffic flow and signals each morning before I commit. Today, the quickest approach led me onto the perimeter loop of a community college—and to this unexpected meeting at a red light. We had a chance to chat over the next mile before our routes diverged. Both of us were biking to work. Both of us got a late start. Neither of us chooses to cut through the college every morning.

With this recent spate of chance encounters, I cannot help but wonder at the chances missed.

Narrative Clip Oddities

I used a Narrative Clip on three bike rides, capturing more than 4,000 photos. Most were unremarkable, few were worth keeping, many were blurry or distorted. Five of the better photos are posted in Scenes from a Commute. Five of the oddest are featured here.

Other photos captured at the top of Montebello were fine. The color balance is wacky in this one. [The road is not painted green.]

The descent jostled the camera, which captured many photos of my front wheel. A JPEG expert could probably explain what went wrong with this one.

Purple haze on the Stevens Creek Trail.

The wooden planks on this bridge make for a bumpy ride. The camera doesn't cope well with vibration.

There were plenty of distorted images, evidently motion-induced. This office building really stands out. Blurry, I can understand. In focus but wavy, I do not understand.

Sadly, the Clip arrived too late to capture four generations at a dual 90th birthday party earlier this year. Those were some moments I could imagine keeping.

Narrative Clip

And now for something completely different ... If you're not into geeky gadget reviews, move along, nothing to see here.

When I learned about the Memoto camera last spring, I was intrigued. I placed my order in May and looked forward to wearing it at some late summer/early fall events.

Start-ups being start-ups, stuff happens. (And doesn't happen.) Production was delayed, and delayed again. Naming difficulties morphed the catchy “Memoto” into the “Narrative Clip.” I was excited when, at long last, the little orange square arrived this month. The battery charge registered at more than 50%. I improvised a way to mount it on my bike and pedaled home from work.

tl;dr More than a few kinks remain in the product and it is poorly suited for capturing photos while in motion.

Fail #1: My first attempt captured nothing. The start page says:

The photos are stored in the built in flash drive until you connect the camera to your computer.

Maybe there is a requirement to initialize the device first, by connecting it to a computer, before it will store photos? The Narrative Uploader reported 0 photos when I connected the camera to my PC, post-ride.

Fail #2: The uploader then insisted that a new firmware version was available, but every attempt to update the firmware failed. The device reported version 0.7.5; the “new” version was 0.7.2.

if device_version < new_version
then update
else exit

Fail #3: The old firmware has since forced itself onto my device, downgrading it to 0.7.2. If the downgrade was intentional, I guess 0.7.5 was released prematurely. If the downgrade was unintentional ... more sloppy coding.

Fully charged and (apparently) initialized, I mounted it to my bike for Sunday's ride. Regrettably, it was pointed at the sky when a memorable interaction transpired, so it didn't capture a photo of The Morning Wacko.

Fail #4: Smartphone app required. Narrative's model is that you will upload all your photos to their cloud (free for the first year). But there is no web interface to interact with your photos; apps are available for Android or Apple devices. When the Android app asked for permission to “read sensitive log data,” I would not press “install.” [Turns out this permission will only work on older versions of Android or rooted devices, but the app simply should not request this.]

Once the device was attached to my PC, the uploader started uploading photos. Without the Android app to view them, this upload would be a waste of bandwidth and space. While it was running, I configured the uploader to save the files only to my local disk. Maybe that confused it? It would ultimately freeze; restarting it did not solve the problem.

I have always had a knack for breaking things.

Fail #5: Lost photos. The last photo saved was taken about an hour before my ride ended. Either the device stopped taking photos or the confused uploader reset the flash storage before it finished extracting photos. We'll never know.

Fail #6: Photos of blackness. The device has no on/off switch. It will only stop taking photos if you place it face down. If you put it in a dark place (e.g., a pocket) it will wake up periodically to check for light. While it is easy enough to delete these, capturing them drains the battery for nought.

Fail #7: Battery life. The claim is 24-30 hours. I was out and about for less than 6 hours, stashing the Clip in a pouch at the end of the ride. When I attached it to my PC, the app reported 17% charge remaining. The charge seems to drop about 13% per day when the device is left face down on my desk.

The photos appear to be sensibly named with a timestamp, in GMT. The rate of photo-taking is unpredictable. My outing lasted ~340 minutes, which should have captured about 680 photos (at the default rate of 2 per minute). Instead, the Clip captured at least 2,000 photos. My hunch is that the “double-touch” (take a photo now) feature is sensitive to vibration on the bike.

Without post-processing in Narrative's cloud, I needed to rotate all my photos locally either 90 or 180 degrees (I tried two different mounting orientations). Most would require straightening, as well.

The photos themselves? Precious few are worth a first, much less a second, look. Five of the best are featured in Scenes from a Commute. I'll share some odd ones tomorrow.

Davenport Landing

There is a high-surf advisory this weekend, but the Pacific appeared no rougher than usual today. I paused to enjoy my lunch in the quirky enclave of Davenport. I had been on the fence about venturing farther north with the group; I was unsure about adding more miles and climbing given that the toughest climb of the day was still ahead.

Headwind clinched the deal. I would have taken the position of la lanterne rouge without the wind penalty. Davenport would be my turnaround point.

“The flower helps!” a rider called out as he passed me. (A rocket booster would help more, I thought.) Some racers appeared to be doing hill repeats on Bonny Doon. They thanked me as I edged right to help them pass, and virtually every one of them praised my flower. Keeping it on my saddlebag today was a tough call, but I had decided my neon-yellow cycling jacket would be visible enough in the redwood forest without adding a blinking taillight.

A stone's throw from Quail Drive [I kid you not], look who posed on a post for me! He eyed me warily as I stopped and pulled out my camera, but did not budge until I was done.

As I dawdled through the fire zone on Martin Road, another rider from our group caught up. A much stronger rider than I am, he relaxed his pace to chat. Our meeting was an uncanny coincidence—he had just read my blog a few days earlier. He is planning to do the five-pass Alta Alpina Challenge this year, and one of my ride buddies had pointed him at Five.

My route covered 30 miles with 4,560 feet of climbing. When you consider that this was a loop, and what goes up must come down ... well, you do the math. I like to ride my bicycle up steep hills, it's true—but I like riding downhill even more.

Scenes from a Commute

Some California flannel bushes are in full bloom along the Stevens Creek Trail, others have already peaked.

“You got it! You can take him!” Stopped at a traffic light, a motorist made me laugh. He was referring to the shirt-less, helmet-less dude in front of me.

It was a hectic week, jam-packed with meetings and a couple of way-too-early days. Energized by one productive-but-intense review, I remarked “That was fun!” One of the engineers deadpanned “You like to ride a bicycle up steep hills.”

Biking home is a great way to unwind. I squeezed in two bicycle commutes and was tempted to make it a three-fer, but decided to save my legs for Saturday.

The trail is not uniformly scenic.

The first of five bridges on the way home.

I have been playing with a new gadget that automatically captures a photo every 30 seconds. Needless to say, most of the shots are utterly worthless. Here is a selfie as I cross the last bridge before leaving the trail.

As I browsed through the collection (more than 2,000 photos for the round trip), I was surprised to see things I have otherwise never noticed. Here I am signaling a right turn, somewhere. (I'm not exactly sure where.)

Like many digital cameras, this one is challenged by the sky.

In principle, the little camera seemed ideal for biking. In reality, not so much.

The Morning Wacko

How many random factors came together to stop me at a particular intersection at a particular moment in time? [More than I can count.] The vagaries of getting up, getting dressed, assembling lunch and my gear, setting up the bike, pedaling on my way. Pausing for cross traffic, and another stoplight. Flying downhill, slowing to check for traffic merging from the freeway, and then rolling to a stop at a red light at a particular intersection at a particular moment in time.

I glanced to my left. The walk signal was flashing; this would be a long light. An old man in a light blue jacket, tall and robust, was crossing the street, staring at me. He veered out of the crosswalk to confront me, gruffly asking if I paid $3,000—or $4,000—for my bike.

There is no satisfactory answer to his question. He knows it's not a cheap bicycle. “Maybe,” I said; “it's old, I've had it a long time.”

It was 9:00 a.m. on Sunday morning and there was no one else in sight.

Nothing prepared me for the ugly question that next spewed from his mouth. A question with centuries-deep roots in ignorance and hatred.

“Are you a member of the Jewish clan?”

My blood froze. A storm of profanities raged in my brain. More furious than frightened, I summoned a reply. “No, I am not,” I said curtly. He continued on his way, rambling about the bike he got from Goodwill and suggesting that I should go spend more of my money on a new one.

How many random factors came together to stop me at that particular intersection at that particular moment in time? Thirty seconds, either way, would have spared me this encounter with the scum of the earth and this reminder that bigotry is alive right here in my own town, in the liberal Bay Area, in the twenty-first century.

Following this rude wake-up call, it is not hard to imagine that the rest of my day was considerably more pleasant. I biked to the start of our club ride, meeting up with friends old and new, with diverse national heritages and beliefs, from all walks of life. The morning gloom burned off sooner than my thoughts about the morning's sickening start.

Our ride leader insisted that we were welcome to picnic at Ridge Winery. After climbing to the top of Montebello we headed a mile or so back down and turned into their driveway. It was an unexpectedly lovely spot, but it is reserved for customers only. [That, I expected.]

A day of stark contrasts: 39 miles and 3,500 feet of climbing with scenic views, and one chance encounter with abhorrent views.

Cephalopoda

I never tire of visiting the Monterey Bay Aquarium. A new exhibit (Tentacles) has just opened. With some help from MBARI, they can share some uncommon finds. If you stop by soon, you might see some deep sea visitors—a pair of Flapjack Octopuses.

I never tire of looking out onto Monterey Bay, either. To our delight, a mother otter and her pup floated past the building, not far offshore.

Cephalopoda include cuttlesfishes as well as squid and octopuses. I didn't realize they were mollusks, minus the shell.

Nor did I realize that the chambered nautilus is a Cephalopod.

We don't often see much of an octopus; the creature will habitually draw tightly into a corner, maybe exposing a few suction cups on the glass. The resident Giant Pacific Octopuses, not to be outdone by the splashy new exhibit on the opposite side of the building, decided to put on a show. I have seen them unfurl and slide along the glass before, but tonight—they swam!

Every tank is worth a closer look. This fish was annoyed at being found, despite some impressive camouflage.

Well worth the trip, again and again.

Poppy Rocks

Ride 100 km on a warm spring day? It's a job. Someone's got to do it.

Next week is one of our club's main events, when approximately 1800 cyclists will visit to ride on some of our favorite roads. Supporting all those folks would not be possible without the volunteer labor of hundreds of club members (before, during, and after the event). Some volunteers can ride that day, but most of us will be busy at our stations.

Volunteers, instead, are invited to ride the course a week in advance, and today was that day. A couple of rest stops are set up for us with water and snacks, finishing with a barbecue lunch. [We miss out on the famous nut breads and wraps. Of course, we could make those anytime.]

Back to the job: We're looking for potential problems to fix before next Saturday. For my part, I called attention to a potentially troublesome pothole and a spot where some arrows on the pavement might help.

The biggest problem of the day had four legs and a collar. I saw the loose dog. He was intently watching something on the other side of a fence.

Then he saw me.

How fast can a dog run? [Pretty darned fast.] How fast can I sprint? [Not that fast.] In a matter of seconds, I accelerated from 11 to 21 mph and my heart rate spiked from 145 to 175 bpm. The snarling, barking menace was keeping pace, inches away. I had visions of his fangs shredding my left calf.

That stretch of road was level, with a slight downhill advantage yards ahead. Primarily, I got lucky—I could not out-sprint the little monster.

Recent rains have turned the hills green and coaxed out the wildflowers, but not relieved the drought. There was precious little water to see on our “reservoir loop;” by summer's end, there may be none.

For the day, 66 miles with just a little climbing (2,420 feet). I hope our guests will enjoy a day as picture-perfect as today.

Picturing Panoche

“Don't Frack San Benito,” the sign read. I couldn't agree more.

Our well-timed ride was slotted between a pair of storms, giving us dramatic lighting and clean air.

The Aermotor was spinning fast at the Summit Ranch. With a dual assist from gravity and the wind, I plummeted down the backside toward the Inn.

Another rider thought the road had more patches. “How could you tell?” I asked. It's best to ride that stretch with a light grip on the handlebars—or wind up with an aching head and some loose fillings.

Look at that view! Look at it again. Picture it paved with solar panels, because that is the future for this land—some 4,000 acres of solar panels and power lines.

More than 20 miles out on Panoche Road, an approaching car slowed to a stop. A wayward European visitor was looking for the National Park (Pinnacles). I set him straight.

The wind is a constant. You can count on a headwind for the return; on unlucky days, there can be a headwind in both directions. Which means more time to admire the scenery.

A mere 2,750 feet of climbing, with 54 miles of scenery.

Enjoy it now.

Springtime for Hollister

When the Bay Area forecast reads “Partly Cloudy,” the morning will be gray and gloomy.

That's the cloudy part. The rest of the day will be glorious.

After a poor night's sleep, I was semi-conscious when the alarm went off. I desperately wanted more sleep. If I bailed now, would my ride partner see the email? The ride start was not local. Drive an hour, bike 50 hilly miles, drive an hour back. I needed more sleep.

It is a perfect day for this route. It will still be (somewhat) green. Soon it will be too hot to bike down there.

I pulled myself together. I could further shorten the route, maybe just tackle the first (and longest) hill.

But the second hill is one of my favorites.

With so many back roads to explore, I saw no merit in returning on busy Highway 25. Having pored over the map, I had a better idea.

Instead of being buzzed by speeding SUVs and pickup trucks, I had John Smith Road to myself. (Two vehicles passed me, heading in opposite directions.) The birds told me how little traffic uses this road. I startled a hawk into seeking a higher perch; moments later, it comfortably swooped to my left along the road before veering over the rolling hills. To the right a small flock of birds escorted me, rising and falling to match my slow pace.

I turned into a residential neighborhood. “Not a Through Street,” warned a sign. It had looked so enticing on the map.

Strategically-placed barricades blocked vehicles from passing through ... but not bicycles!

For the day, 54 miles with some 4,830 feet of climbing. I'll sleep in tomorrow.

Side by Side

Tucked into the belly of the bus, a study in black and white.

This morning I needed to catch the first shuttle to arrive at the office in time for my earliest meeting. This is not my routine, and I hardly expected to find another bike already loaded when I lifted the door to the first compartment (before sunrise).

I definitely did not expect to see another Strida. Now I understand why I have only seen the black bike when I catch an early shuttle home.

These folding bikes are ideal for our short (flat) little trips to and from the shuttle stop. For me, the distance is a little more than a mile (studded with five traffic signals). Driving that distance would be, in a word, ridiculous. It would also take as much time, if not more. Having the bike for quick trips on campus is mighty convenient, too.

With enough daylight remaining, I opt for a longer route home. Each trip seems insignificant, but the miles add up: about 43 miles this month, alone.

Best time? Door-to-door, with no red lights: 6 minutes, 33 seconds.

Make It a Double

Today was the day.

Daylight Savings Time took effect a couple of weeks ago, but my first attempt to enjoy a round-trip commute had been thwarted by a late meeting.

I am not a big fan of DST; waking up in the dark is a struggle. I wish we could just leave the clocks alone. But now that we have sprung forward, there is ample daylight for my long ride home. My headlight and its battery pack have been stowed away for the season, and I treated the oft-neglected commute bike to a thorough cleaning and fresh lube over the weekend.

In celebration, I climbed a familiar gratuitous hill this evening and spotted a doe trotting down the middle of the street, heading for the open area at the end.

This morning, my ears were cold and my legs were leaden; even though I rode home at a slower pace, I felt stronger. For the day, the usual 39 miles and 980 feet of climbing.

Just the way I like it.