Perspirate, Evaporate

Eons ago in Biology class, I learned that the human body produces perspiration to cool off; at the time, that seemed like nothing more than a puzzling theory. In the summertime, this east coast empiricist observed that perspiration dripped off her face and ran in a river down the center of her back; it drenched her clothing and made her feel sticky and miserable.

When the humidity is 90%, there is not much evaporating going on.

For the west coast empiricist, perspiration is a textbook experience. There were no water boys on Metcalf today, but a slight breeze on the exposed climb helped lift the moisture off my glistening skin. Despite the blazing sun, the core of my body felt cooler as an underlayer wicked the wetness away. Coasting down a stretch of road at 44 mph felt like a veritable blast of air conditioning. Theory in practice!

The southernmost segments of the Coyote Creek Trail (officially designated COY14 and COY15) were new to me, and I was glad to follow the leaders. Without local knowledge, good luck staying on the trail: intersections, spurs, and road crossings are unmarked.

Our ride leaders, training for an upcoming excursion, bracketed our small group on their low-geared touring bikes—complete with fenders, racks, and loaded panniers. The rest of us were just riding for the fun of it. [Really. Climbing Metcalf is fun. Really.]

Will I embark on a bicycle tour some day? Decidedly ... maybe.

Let Me Eat Cake

With back-to-back bike-to-work days, I earned it. [The cake.]

Today's jubilation was not related to biking, but one of the parties was conveniently located along my homeward-bound route. There were two county Paramedic vehicles standing by, and since the guys were not busy I finally satisfied my curiosity: Why are the Paramedic vehicles so large, closer to the size of a fire truck than to an ambulance?

It is simple, really. They are fire trucks. (Back on the east coast, the fire department and the first aid squad are typically separate organizations.)

With fire stations located to respond to calls within five minutes, they can get to the scene of an emergency faster than an ambulance might. First, they added EMTs to the fire crew; later, they switched to paramedics.

Speaking of the east coast, I recently returned from a short visit. I enjoyed the fireflies and thunderstorms; the mosquitoes and humidity ... not so much. When I stepped out of the air-conditioned car at the airport, my glasses fogged up.

Pleased to return to my regular routine, I was eager to get back on the bike. After a leisurely solo commute yesterday, this morning I fell in with the Friday crowd. Averaging 14.5 mph, I did my best to hang with the boys without pushing my limits. Two days, four rides: 80 miles, 1,725 feet of climbing, some 2100 Calories burned.

Happy 125th Birthday, Los Gatos! Thanks for the cake.

A Hard Day's Ride

The more I thought about joining today's hilly ride, the less sense it made. Get up early, load the bike into the car, drive to the starting point ... and then bike back toward home? A posse of renegades formed instead, with a plan to link up with the rest of the riders en route.

It was a day for ice cream (the hard stuff). And that, of course, calls for a hard ride.

The main group would be climbing the easier [cough, cough] side of Hicks, followed by a trek up Mt. Umunhum. To meet them, why not take the most direct route? In other words, the steeper side of Hicks. Then, descend the "easier" side and climb it with the group. On the face of it, this is a ridiculous plan. Climb both sides of Hicks on the same ride? I had no intention of following that with a spin up Mt. Umunhum.

Deer have no regard for right of way; as we approached, two scampered up the steep hillside while a third stared us down before turning tail and trotting up the road ahead of us. There was a kindred spirit, averse to a steep climb!

When I reached the top of Hicks for the second time, I felt ... fine?! Evidently the key to enjoying the "easy" side of Hicks is to suffer the steeper side first.

Mt. Umunhum beckoned. Three hard hills, three scoops?

The end of the public road is well-marked with No Trespassing signs. Today, we would find our own welcoming committee—one sour-looking guy glaring at us from the cab of his pick-up truck, parked in the DMZ between the signs and the colloquial "white line of death." What a sad way to pass the time on a beautiful summer day. What will he do in a few years when the public gets access to the summit?

Befitting the road surface on the upper portion of Mt. Umunhum, I celebrated with a double scoop of Rocky Road, topped with Cookies 'n Cream.

Up on Umunhum, one of the renegades had turned to me for confirmation of the distance we had traveled. When she heard my reply, her jaw dropped. Since our route included a few descents, we had just climbed some 3,660 feet in less than 15 miles.

Hot Fun in the Summertime

After the peanut gallery weighed in, our ride leader may have regretted that he had shared his route plan a few days in advance. I felt torn: Should I stay with the group on the official route, or occasionally deviate onto roads that I know are more cycling-friendly?

My conscience was salved once I dropped off the back of the group. My ride buddy and I warned the leaders that we are oh-so-slow, do not wait for us. We will watch out for each other. Along the way, we will chat, leapfrog one another, and pause for photos and bio breaks. We will have a civilized ride on a hot summer day.

We were pleasantly surprised to meet up with some of our group at the lunch stop (the turnaround point). Even more so, because most of them had opted for the faster, no-hills version of the route. (Of course, we did not choose that option.)

Outside the local market, we found a "bake sale." Befitting the tony town of Woodside, some enterprising young equestrians were raising funds to attend an upcoming competition. In France. On weekends, much to the dismay of the local residents, the place is overrun with cyclists—the girls were onto us! I made a donation and enjoyed a cupcake.

My plan for getting us back to the starting point was a bit hazy. Despite my uncertainty about the last couple of miles, I managed to home in on my ride buddy's car without leaning on a technological crutch (Google Maps).

But, wait—what about the bike? The bike with the broken cable?

Fixed, finally. New, improved shifters deliver responsive, crisp gear changes. I swung by the bike shop for a minor tweak and was happy to find my mechanic on duty. When he asked how many miles I had put on it, he was pleased to hear "70."

For the day, 73 miles and 2,955 feet of climbing.

Commute Train

All aboard! The South Bay, No-Rider-Left-Behind Local was scheduled to pull out of the Depot at 7 a.m. Two more stops and our train topped out at eight riders.

For this Friday tradition, I have habitually demurred in the interest of keeping my legs fresh for Saturday rides. After completing difficult back-to-back rides on two weekends this summer, that excuse was rendered null and void. Then there is the matter of a regular 9 a.m. meeting (for which there was a reprieve this week). We arrived by 8:30 a.m.; so much for that excuse.

The camaraderie makes for a fast trip to the office—conversation makes the time pass quickly, and staying with the group motivates me to keep the pace high.

The return trip was a bigger question. Could I ride home with enough margin to walk into town, where (at long last) my road bicycle was waiting for me, before the shop closed?

Answer: A resounding Yes! Evidently I can push myself harder at the end of the day. Less lollygagging, more determination. It helps to have a goal.

Madone on Loan

Another weekend without cycling? Inconceivable.

A mechanic who understands? Priceless.

And so it was that I found myself on a Trek Madone 5.2 demo for a day. The bike seemed to have been waiting for me to ride it: all that was needed was to install my pedals and shift the saddle back.

I had planned to join an ambitious ride over the Santa Cruz Mountains, but was apprehensive about the final steep climb of the day. The gearing on the Madone's compact crankset was not as low as the triple on my own bike. Plan B: Ride the first two climbs with the group; if that goes well, tack on some additional miles and hills without dropping down to sea level.

I was impressed with the Madone as soon as I loaded it into my car. There was no denying that it weighed substantially less than my own (carbon fiber) bike: 19.2 pounds, including my heavy saddle bag.

After a few nagging twinges on the first climb, my body settled into the fit and feel of the new machine. The geometry was a bit cramped for me—fine for a day, but not the right size for the long term.

The first hill climb was effortless. The bike is fast! By the time I completed the second climb (and descent), I was comfortable with the bike. My ride partner called it a day after our third climb; I was ready for a fourth.

Halfway through, I reached a confusing intersection. A road to the right was marked Not A Through Road. Clearly, that is not part of my route. Why was it so tantalizing?

Don't take me home to the shop yet!
They will just hang me back up in the rafters.

It was the Madone.

We're having such a great time!
I was built for this.

We turned. We descended to the "enda da road" and climbed back up, startling some quail and passing the largest redwood tree I have found outside of a public park.

After returning home, I rode my proud steed back to the shop—one hour before closing time. Fifty miles and 4800 feet of climbing to remember.

Bridging the Gap

My road bike, sadly, is still out of commission (awaiting parts). If I needed any additional motivation to bike to work, that was it. Bonus: it was a Spare the Air day. The cool morning air was refreshing; I was puzzled to see fellow riders sporting tights and jackets.

There would not be time to clean up before my first meeting at 9:00; ordinarily, I would not choose to bike in. To my advantage, my workplace is not ordinary. It is the sort of place where I can show up in my damp jersey and shorts, a bowl of fresh fruit in my left hand, a bowl of fresh yogurt and granola in my right hand, and have my VP open the conference room door for me.

The ride in was particularly smooth, my progress interrupted only twice by stoplights. Today was my first opportunity to introduce a new bike bridge to my route, one that grants direct access to the Stevens Creek Trail at its southernmost point.

First impression? We have a winner!

Riding the trail is always tricky, with the usual mix of pedestrians, joggers, cyclists, and suicidal squirrels. On the whole, though, it presented fewer challenges than my normal route. No stoplights. No right-hooking cars. No jockeying to stay out of the door zone. No waiting to cross the Caltrain or light rail tracks at grade. No need to merge across three lanes of traffic to slot into the left-turn lane at Central Expressway.

The trail was busier in the evening. To the mix, add oblivious dog-walkers and a woman on inline skates, with a jogging stroller, who planted herself smack in the middle of an uphill intersection.

Finally, this trail is is worth the trouble. What a difference a bridge makes.