Engen

There was a general plan for today's route, but some details were known only to our leader. A visit to the town of Engen. A steep climb to the what's left of a castle.

It was a long day.

We stopped at a café (Jägermühle an der Aachquelle) alongside the Aachtopf, where I was delighted to enjoy a slice of laktosefrei cheesecake. That's a treat I've not seen before, and something I certainly wouldn't expect to find in a small-town bakery/café. The Aachtopf feeds a tributary of the Rhine, the Radolfzeller Aach. I was fascinated by an adjacent covered bridge with some sort of apparatus for managing the water's flow.

Our little group was strung out as we approached Engen, each following the rider ahead, when somehow, somewhere, the number two rider lost sight of the leader. The rest of us followed blithely along—for miles—before stopping to admit that he was certainly not ahead of us. He must have taken a turn that he assumed we would take ... but we didn't.

The other folks in the group were veterans of these European tours, well-versed in navigating with paper maps. But a paper map can't tell you where you are, unless it's detailed enough and you're standing at some recognizable spot. I pulled out my phone, opened Ride with GPS, and pressed "Show My Location." A blue dot confirmed that we were well off the planned route, having continued too far along the bike path.

The next question was: what to do? My preference was to head back, re-join the route, and continue on our way. We had already lost a lot of time, and I was looking forward to exploring the remains of that medieval castle (Hohenhewen). Our leader didn't answer his phone.

The others kept trying to call. When we reached the turning point (so close to the castle!), they made contact with the leader's wife, who told us he was waiting for us in Engen, which we had passed many miles ago. The rest of the group wanted to find him. I reluctantly agreed, because it seemed better for us to stick together.

“He's waiting at the highest point in the town,” she said. [We didn't find him.] We waited there. We split up, scouring the old town on bike and on foot. [We didn't find him.] Not surprisingly, he had given up on us by then and had left.

Having lost too much time, we could not visit the promised castle. I studied the detailed map on my phone to find a sensible route back to Ramsen. [Thank you, Google Maps.] A complicated confluence of streets in Gottmadingen confused me and I led the group astray, but we were able to loop back and navigated it more successfully on the second try. [I was carefully upholding that tradition of getting lost.]

Hungry, we stopped at a market near Hilzingen. I picked up two rolls, a package of sliced salami, a peach, and a chocolate bar for €3.24. [That will be the cheapest meal of this trip.]

Several mistakes were made today. When he mentioned that we would stop at Engen, our leader assumed we understood that meant the old part of the town. This visit was not on the pre-planned route, so once we lost him, we couldn't guess where to find him. The critical error was that he made a turn without ensuring that we were still with him. Then we rode much too far before accepting that we had lost him.

I was disappointed to miss the main attraction, the ruins of the castle. Had I been alone, that's where I would have headed. Instead, I saw the hill only from a distance.

Still, it was a good day of riding (40 miles, with a scant 1,400 feet of climbing), with only a touch of rain.

Rheinfall / Blumberg

The church tower is right outside my hotel window and fortunately, the bell is silent at night. This morning, the ringing roused the roosters. No matter, we'd be getting an early start anyway. I've traveled with most of the folks in our group before, but there are a few faces new to me—including a couple who ride at my (slower) pace.

Accommodations for cyclists are not an afterthought, here; they are by design. If there is a bicycle lane on the roadway, you might find it only on the uphill side (which makes sense).

Separated, paved bike paths commonly parallel busier roads. The border between Switzerland and Germany is very irregular in this area, and often imperceptible on a bike. The rolling farmland reminded me of rural places in the Bay Area—except that, here, the hills are oh-so-green.

The first attraction on today's loop was the fast-moving waters of the Rheinfall. Splashing, misting, tumbling over rocks—water, cool, beautiful water. That did not remind me of the parched Bay Area, with our extended drought.

Our intermediate destination was the town of Weizen in Germany, where we would hop on a steam train (bicycles and all) for a scenic little trip. We followed a dirt trail alongside the tracks at the edge of the woodland to the station. The tracks appeared unused until we reached Weizen, where some incongruous corporate office buildings popped up seemingly in the middle of nowhere.

All aboard! We lifted our bikes into a separate car and found our places on the wooden seats. The train criss-crossed the valley, heading circuitously uphill to the town of Blumberg. We passed through an area where a tornado (?!) had leveled whole sections of the forest three weeks ago.

For this year's tour, our leader had shared the daily route plans in advance. Garmin aficionados had loaded them into their devices, and I had worked out a similar solution for my smartphone. A subscription to Ride with GPS allowed me to pre-load the routes and save them on the phone, along with all the underlying map details—perfect not only to minimize the use of cellular data, but to ensure I'd have it all even if my phone had no signal.

That's how I knew our leader had not shared a plan for returning to our hotel in Ramsen. But I also knew that somehow, it would work out. The faster cyclists relied on their Garmin devices to plot a route. The slow pokes stayed with the leader (and, took turns making sure no one was dropped). For much of the return, we followed the river Biber; as we approached Ramsen, I recognized some of the territory I'd explored on my test ride.

Country roads here are often unmarked; when there is a sign, it typically points to the next town (and maybe includes the distance). The roads can also be quite narrow, and it's not surprising to meet the occasional farmer on a tractor. At one point, I assumed we were on a bike trail when ... along came a bus (!) in the opposite direction.

We biked 51 miles, climbing more than 1,800 feet along our route. Having been off the bike for essentially the past two months, I have a lot of catching up to do. [Literally.]

Ramsen

Our tour begins in the town of Ramsen, where we're staying at a “velohotel.”

What is a velohotel, you ask?

It's a hotel that understands what cyclists need, and accommodates us. Typically that means a safe place to stash our bikes, maybe with a floor pump and some basic tools. Here, we have a bonus: A backyard with a clothesline, outfitted with clips. Post-ride laundry will dry in no time!

Some cyclists of note have preceded us at the Hotel Hirschen Ramsen. Team Leopard Trek stayed here in June, 2011 during the Tour de Suisse—including two pros I regard highly, Jens Voigt and Swiss champion Fabian Cancellara. A framed, hand-written thank you letter hangs in a hallway, and I recognized all the names, primarily from watching Le Tour de France.

First order of business today was to reassemble my bicycle. With time to explore the town on foot, I learned that the church dates back to 1796, but the congregation was established in the 13th century. The graves in the churchyard were carpeted with flowers and so well tended that one neglected plot made me feel sad; I couldn't walk away without pulling the weeds.

Next order of business: a test ride. In my street clothes, I blended right in with the locals. I didn't plan to to venture far, especially in the heat (88F degrees). Once I was on the bike, of course, I didn't want to stop.

The German border was just a couple of blocks away, but I headed out through the fields and skirted through some woodland, nearly to the banks of the Rhine. Exploring the unmarked local roads without a map, I was careful to note landmarks along the way. The tower of the town's church would guide the way home.

I turned back to darkening skies; the wind picked up just as I rolled into town, but the storms passed us by.

Zürich

Traveling with a bicycle, it's generally advisable to arrive a day or two before you expect to start riding. I've been fortunate in that (so far) my bike has not been delayed. Taking a direct flight also reduces chances for your bike to go astray.

Staying in a hotel near Zürich International, I was surprised to discover signs pointing cyclists (and inline skaters, and pedestrians) on a route to the airport. Things are different, here.

Other than visiting colleagues at the office for lunch and a tour, I had no real plan for the day.

Even though I don't speak German (sadly, not even a little bit), I wasn't concerned. Past excursions in Europe have built my confidence; you can get by pretty well with gestures and a smile, help from Google Translate, and ... lots of Europeans know some English (and are accustomed to mono-languaged tourists).

Google Maps helped me navigate by train (and foot) to the office. At last, I met some people I'd only seen on video screens. They were excited to recommend sights to see, and the sweeping view from an upper-floor lounge helped orient me.

I wandered off to explore the old part of town, generally surprised by the amount of construction everywhere. And cigarette smokers (everywhere). And, bicycles! Everywhere! The Velostation at the main train station offers secure bike parking and minor services. There were so many bikes on the racks alongside the station that I couldn't capture them in a single photo. (And there were more parked around the corner, in front of the station.)

Two passions in one picture: Am I a magnet, or what?

There were too many options for me to explore in one day, especially with jet lag creeping over me. I managed to cover more than seven miles, on foot. I figured out the routine at the post office, and a friendly clerk found pretty stamps for my cards.

I stumbled upon Predigerkirche at a lucky time: the massive pipe organ was getting a workout—it was almost too loud. What sound! I visited the Wasserkirche, strolled down to the lake and crossed the Limmat for another view of the Wasserkirche and the iconic towers of the Grossmünster.

The Zeughauskeller had been recommended for dinner, along with a less-touristy option. I went with the former, uncertain how I would fare at a smaller place without speaking German. Normally I would have tried to master some basics before the trip, but the past couple of months just didn't allow that.

At the train station, I was too weak to pass the Sprüngli shop ... nothing that chocolate couldn't cure, of course. The box itself was an engineering marvel, perfectly designed to hold my treat just so.

Not to worry, I'll burn off those calories in the next few days.

Tomorrow, I'll join the rest of the group in the countryside.

One Hill to Climb

It's been a topsy-turvy couple of months, with little time for cycling. A couple of bike commutes, that's all.

The more I thought about today's club ride, the more I admitted that I needed to scale it back. Way back. Not just due to lack of fitness, but to conserve a most precious resource: time. In a few days, with mixed emotions, I will be on a jet bound for Zürich and a long-planned summer cycling trip. A trip that had been off-again, on-again so many times over the past two months.

My ride partner and I started our route near the new elementary school in the hills. The site is virtually on the San Andreas fault, and when the town said it was too costly to renovate (or rebuild) to modern safety standards, the mountain residents raised a ruckus. And got the new school they deserved.

Just one hill, nothing more or less. Up through the redwoods, and back. Ten miles, 1,080 feet of climbing.

Remembering Mom

The inevitable day comes, when mother and child must part forever.

Two months ago, Mom was tottering about independently at home. Her memory was spotty and the family was wary, but she was determined to live her life on her terms (and frightened of the alternatives).

None of us had a clue that really, she was terribly ill.

One month ago, she was in sub-acute care and we were exploring those alternatives. Assisted living ... with memory care now, or in the future?

Two weeks ago, she was in the hospital and we were preparing to move her to a nursing home (her worst nightmare). She was upset that her fingernails were a mess—she loved her manicures. I did my best to trim and file them.

Four days ago, we placed her in hospice care. I did my best to hold her when she cried, and not to break down at the same time. Once, she managed to lift an arm, reaching to comfort me back. How not to break down, then?

This afternoon, I was standing over her when she suddenly opened her blue eyes wide. Could she know, then, that she wasn't alone?

Tonight, I was stroking her hair when she took her last breath.

I regret not having more photos of the two of us, sharing good times.

Of carefree days at the beach: Dad would meet us there, after work. He'd wear his bathing trunks under his suit and pick up a barbecued chicken for a picnic supper.


Of Scrabble games: Mom couldn't keep score last December and tired after two games, but she still played some darned good words. The words—not the numbers—were the challenge, for us. How many hundreds of boards did we fill, over all these years of my life? She never minded that I outscored her virtually every time.

Of trips we took together: Florida. California. Thanksgiving weekend in Manhattan. England. There was such joy in her smile.

If you don't have an advance directive or a living will—or whatever it's called where you live—you should. (Mom did.) She didn't want to live with dementia, or to linger in a nursing home for years. Her last days were not without suffering, but that time was mercifully short.

Now, there are only memories.

In the Moment

A day of reflection was needed, and at such times I'm drawn to the sea.

The overcast sky suited my frame of mind. I would spend much of the day outdoors, but first headed to the Monterey Bay Aquarium. I normally visit for member events, when the crowds will be sparse. On this Sunday morning, the place was bustling with families and I enjoyed that more than I expected. The kids put every interactive exhibit through its paces, and then some. I pointed out some of the well-camouflaged creatures tucked away in tanks that jaded adults concluded were empty. I learned that the residents of the aviary are all rescued and rehabilitated shore birds that can no longer survive in the wild.

I noticed a panel featuring a quote attributed to Francis Bacon:

We have only this moment, sparkling like a star in our hand—and melting like a snowflake.

I ambled slowly southward through Pacific Grove, along the promenade. Harbor seals lounged on a beach, some nursing their pups. One hapless little one would advance a few feet from the water's edge, only to be rolled and pulled back by the next wave's advance.

I read about the signature “magic carpet,” Drosoanthemum floribundum, in glorious trailside bloom. It's an ice plant native to South Africa, tended here by volunteers, and a legacy of the first volunteer, a curious adventurer named Hayes Perkins, who planted it. The promenade passes through the eponymous Perkins Park, dotted with benches dedicated to others who found solace in this place.

Later, I would find the preamble to Bacon's quote.

Begin doing what you want to do now. We are not living in eternity.

Movin'

Last year was The Year of the Dog; this, The Year of the Turkey Vulture. The bird was occupied with some delectable piece of carrion and none too concerned with us. It was pure chance that my ride buddies and I had stopped nearby.

This was the coldest Tierra Bella pre-ride I can remember. I regretted not having insulated my head and toes. “If the Tierra Bella is next week, why are you all riding today?“ asked a cyclist on the opposite side of the road. When we explained that we ride the course to check the markings and look for any problems, he thanked us. With any luck, we'll get that spray of broken glass and pulverized bits of car on the shoulder of Highway 152 cleaned up.

Given our extended drought, I have been surprised at the abundant wildflowers this spring. It was a banner year for the oaks to produce acorns, too.

Canada Road offers a swift descent to the valley, with some care. One sweeping arc, in particular, tends to catch some cyclists unprepared. I tapped the brakes to keep the new bike from getting carried away. My rear-view mirror allowed me to keep an eye on a wide SUV that was trailing me at a distance. The gap would shrink whenever the road tilted up or straightened out, but once we hit the curves I had the advantage. Reaching a long straight stretch, I sat up and slowed to let it pass.

The driver pulled even with me and matched my speed. Mountain bikes on the rear rack, windows down. “You were movin'!” the passenger exclaimed. “Yes,” I smiled. “It's fast.” Curious about where we were headed, I told them about the upcoming Tierra Bella.

Starting and finishing at the site of our post-ride barbecue, we cut the 100k route a bit short: 55 miles, with 2,260 feet of climbing.

Flat, essentially.

Coe Coasting

Not too hot. Not too cold. Not too windy. Green hills and wildflowers in abundance. Thomas Grade seemed steeper, and the steep grade on East Dunne seemed shorter.

My ride buddy turned back at some point on the hill below me, so I talked to the deer and cattle along the way. Hawks soared overhead and a lone turkey ambled across the road, in no particular hurry.

Other riders from the group were enjoying Henry Coe's picnic tables by the time I got there. Our club members are phenomenal. One guy pulled a full sack of fresh oranges from his pack. He'd stopped at a roadside stand and hauled them up the hill to share with all of us! He was out for an epic 100-mile day (or more), whereas I  had shortened the ride a bit (29 miles with 3,500 feet of climbing).

I was looking forward to the descent. With its wide, smooth pavement and no cross streets, I would be able to let the new bike roll in the final stretch. My peak speed there has been constant over the years.

Until today, when I was 10% faster.

Drive the Track

Strolling back to the car, past the trailers and canopies and motorheads in the paddock, I overheard a couple of guys remarking about the “gray-haired old lady at track day.”

There were quite a few groups at the racetrack; in our group, I was the only woman. [Whatever.] I work in high-tech, I'm used to it. The assumptions that greet gray hair are less familiar. The local grocery store started giving me the senior discount almost six years ago—which I found highly amusing, that being the year I completed all five passes in the Death Ride. (And I still don't qualify for that discount.)

The ‘A’ group (beginners) started the day with an orientation about flags and protocols, then moved to the parking lot and executed some drills. Accelerate and brake hard. Really hard. Accelerate, brake hard, and turn. Trace a tight figure-eight through a course marked by cones. Pretty impressive what the car can do, when pushed. Hard.

Our coaches drove the first two laps around the track, pointing out the flag stations and other highlights. Then we traded seats. I had made the right call two weeks ago, to bike Laguna Seca first.

At the end of the day, I told my coach I couldn't do what he did—be a passenger in a car being driven (fast) by a complete stranger who has no prior track experience.

Photo credit: Dito Milian, gotbluemilk.com

Whenever you drive, there's a lot going on, and you cope without conscious thought much of the time. On the track, little is familiar: flags to understand (and watch for), passing zones and protocols, tricky curves—all that, plus the concentration needed to snake your way around the course. At whatever speed you find comfortable.

In the morning, for me, that speed was not particularly fast. When I'd get to a straight section, I was so relieved to have negotiated the previous turns without incident that I would just ... relax. I got plenty of practice doing “point-bys”—signaling to drivers behind me that they could pass.

After lunch, I was treated to a demo ride in a coach's car. It could not have been more fitting that it was a red 1990 Mazda Miata. (Until a few years ago, I owned one.) Those three laps were a rip-roaring good time. And then, I got it:

Just because I'm in a designated passing zone doesn't mean I have to surrender.

Photo credit: Dito Milian, gotbluemilk.com

On my first lap after lunch, I rounded Turn 11, downshifted, and let the car to do what it was engineered to do. [Go fast. Really fast.] “Where did my ‘A’ driver go?” laughed my coach. It was my turn to do some passing. Keeping my lead on the straights compensated for my imperfect line on the curves; by the time the others were on my tail, we were approaching Turn 11 again ... and they didn't stand a chance.

Jan and Dean, they got it.

Renegades

The slopes of Mount Diablo are lovely this time of year.

While it seems unthinkable not to finish the climb at the summit, my ride buddy and I had other plans. Realizing that we would pay for the full climb by struggling up Morgan Territory later, we stayed low and headed for a picnic in the charming town of Clayton.

The bike trail was a new wrinkle on this route, and a most welcome one for eliminating the first stretch of  busy Ygnacio Valley Road (where traffic streams along well above the posted limit). The shoulder is wide ... but still.

Renegades that we were, I led us off Ygnacio Valley at the earliest possible opportunity: a mellow detour through the Concord campus of Cal State East Bay, where we discovered dozens of trees blooming gloriously. Pine Hollow Road was busier than I had hoped, but still far better than the alternative.

Having lingered over lunch, it wasn't long before the fast riders from the group caught (and, of course, passed) us.

Our abbreviated route took us over 55 miles with 4,840 feet of climbing.

And the bike? On the steep (and twisty) descent of Morgan Territory, it dared me to go faster. And faster. It just kept picking up speed.

I blinked. And braked.

Big Game Hunting

Save the poodle! Save the poodle!

Even when you're biking in familiar territory, you just might learn something new. A few independent riders were climbing up the hill at the same pace as our group, and we started comparing our ride plans. “We ride up to see the dinosaurs,” they explained. Their route was similar to ours. What have we been missing?

Not only did we find the fearsome predators, we met their keepers as well. The pterodactyl was temporarily grounded, awaiting a connection to a freshly-installed post to anchor its aerial wire. The owners started their collection with the life-sized Tyrannosaurus rex about three years ago, and talked about how they decorate the creatures for holidays. Let's just say that a Christmas-season visit may be in order (though not until shopper/choppers are done fetching trees up there).

Returning from our extended excursion along Highland Way, a sweeping arc of high clouds caught my eye. From one vantage point, conditions were clear enough for a view of Monterey Bay glistening in the distance.

The first long ride on the new bike felt great: 40 miles with 3,460 feet of climbing. I was moving pretty fast on a familiar downhill straightaway and thought, gee, I'm not even trying. I adjusted my body to a more aerodynamic position and ... the bike jolted forward. Instantaneously. Who put a turbocharger on this thing?

Those engineers at Cervélo? They know what they're doing.

Bike the Track

No, not the velodrome; a different breed of track. For racing fast things with motors, ordinarily.

One of the more unusual places to ride a bicycle in the Bay Area is a track of some renown: Mazda Raceway Laguna Seca. They host a monthly Twilight Ride for bicycles, which I had decided to check out this month. The timing couldn't have been better: What could be a more fitting inaugural outing for my new ride than this?

It was a perfect fit: the track's signature colors matched my bike (black, white, blue). I might have been the only first-timer tonight—but not the slowest. It was a pretty casual affair: pay the $10 fee, turn left, and go. The steepest climb leads to the track's famous corkscrew, a precipitous drop through a set of quick turns.

Despite pausing to snapshot the views, I was surprised at how quickly I completed the first circuit. The loop is 2.238 miles. (To be precise). Fast bike?

Smooth pavement, lovely curves, a steep climb, a thrilling descent ... what's not to like? I wondered if circling the same loop would become boring, but found it became more fun as I challenged myself to push harder, to take a faster line through each turn. With only about two dozen cyclists spread out over the course, it often felt like I had the place to myself.

Best lap: 10:43.
Max speed: 40.82 mph, at this spot.
Overall, 1,110 feet of climbing over 14 miles.

Zoom zoom.

pep's New Ride

I've had my eye on Cervélo for a while; years, in fact. But I didn't need a new bike.

My friends with Cervélos rave about them. But there was nothing wrong with my bike.

Technology has advanced since I bought one of the very first Trek Pilot 5.2 WSD bikes. (Ten years ago.)

A new compact double offers a higher high gear, and a lower low gear, than my triple. But that drivetrain isn't offered as a standard model.

Now and then, I'd browse the Cervélo website and ... move on. Really, there was no reason to buy a new bicycle.

My first bike was a hand-me-down aqua Rollfast that my mother bought from one of her cousins. I don't know how old I was when I learned to ride it; it's full-sized and heavy, so I'm guessing I was 8 or 9. I remember my dad steadying the bike behind me till I took off. He didn't believe in training wheels.

As a teenager, 10-speed bikes were the thing. My parents bought me a new blue bike (Schwinn, probably)—with 5 speeds. My dad didn't believe in gears, either.

In grad school, I saved and invested in my first diamond frame bike, a 10-speed Raleigh in brown. The bike didn't fit—I barely cleared the top tube—but I rode it, in a busy city, without a helmet (in those days). Years later, I sold it to a friend.

In the '90s, hybrid bikes were the thing. 27 gears! Grip-shift. Full-sized wheels with knobby tires. A relaxed diamond “ladie's frame” that fit. My black Trek 720 Multitrack has seen more action than I ever imagined; it's the workhorse of my commute. To say that I have gotten my money's worth is an understatement for the ages.

By 2005, carbon fiber was the thing. I struggled up hills on my steel hybrid. The relaxed geometry of the Trek Pilot was a new thing. Even the smallest frame in the women's specific design accommodated full-sized wheels. The 5.2 WSD edition in glistening “pewter carbon” has been my main ride ever since.

Till now.

A colleague made me an offer I couldn't refuse. After upgrading to an S-series, his meticulously maintained R5 frame was sidelined. He'd sell it to me. He'd build it up with the gearing and short cranks and narrow handlebars I needed. He mounted my saddle, attached the pedals, and off I rode—full circle—on the hand-me-down of my dreams.

A Country View

Despite being a relative newcomer to the Bay Area cycling community, a few years ago I discovered a new hill to climb. And, given that I persuaded my fellow club members that it was a worthy challenge, it seems only fair that I should tackle it from time to time.

I confess that it's been a while. The past few years, I felt that I didn't have the legs for it. It's a beast of a climb, with two short descents that exact their toll on the return from the top. The teensy cyclist in this picture is yours truly, courtesy of my ride buddy, as I hit the bottom of that first pitch.

How steep are those descents? Steep enough to top 37 mph in less than a tenth of a mile. Sounds great for some uphill momentum on the other side, right? Alas, no ... the grade is that intense.

But oh, the views from the top!

On the way up, I paused on the second (and longest) segment; I knew I'd have a better time if I got my heart rate down. A little bit of recovery (from 178 to 143 bpm) made all the difference. I pedaled past the spot where I normally take a break and continued straight to the top.

After exalting at the pinnacle of this success, we headed south for a picnic at Uvas Canyon County Park. The park was uncharacteristically packed, with cars queued to pay the entrance fee. [Pro tip: no fee for bicycles. But it's a bit of a climb to get there.]

At the end of the day, I was spent. 3,140 feet of climbing over 58 miles—well spent.