Bondi to Coogee

My colleagues had a few suggestions for how I might spend my weekend. Manly Beach? [I'd left my swimsuit at home.] The Blue Mountains? [Maybe next time, with a plan.]

The Bondi to Coogee Walk seemed ... just right. With Google as my navigator, I found the bus to Bondi Beach (and, later, the bus that would return me from Coogee).

Alluring tide pools drew me away from the walk—well-worth the detour. By chance, there was a blue dragon (sea slug) in a pocket of water. Venomous [need you ask?], because it preys on the dangerous Portuguese man o' war, collecting and concentrating the jellyfish's venom. [Yikes.]

A few beaches featured seaside swim clubs, which seemed popular.

Even on this overcast day, the waters of the South Pacific Ocean were a dazzling aquamarine.

[Bondi blue, actually.]

The geology of the place is a planetary-scale reminder of human insignificance.

Weathered sandstone, hundreds of millions of years old.

It will remain, long after the monuments of the curiously-located Waverley Cemetery have been reclaimed by the sea.

After 4 miles with several interludes of steep stairs to climb, I was tired. Rightly tired. Back to work, tomorrow.

Taronga Zoo

Visiting Taronga Zoo was high on my list of things to do in Sydney, and not just due to this week's preview at the office. I was excited at the chance to see as many of Australia's unusual creatures as possible.

The ferry ride, past the Opera House, was a bonus.

I don't remember the last time I've visited a zoo. I do remember seeing my first bald eagle decades ago, at the San Diego Zoo, and how sad I felt that it was standing on the ground, confined. Now that I recognize the role that modern zoos play in the conservation of endangered creatures, I saw this family of Western Lowland Gorillas in a different light.

It was a warm day, and the animals were coping with that as they naturally do: they sleep. Koalas, of course, mostly sleep (as much as 20 hours per day).

A curious wombat emerged from the cool of its den.

There was one big bird that was completely unfamiliar to me: the cassowary.

Some opportunistic locals roamed free.

I had no idea there were native crocodiles. I'd heard about Australia's spiders and snakes, but not about the dangers of the platypus: An egg-laying mammal with a beak like a duck and a tail like a beaver; the males have venomous spurs on their hind legs.

Towering giraffes, towering buildings.

And a towering Aermotor (Australian-style), in the farmyard section!

A foraging wallaby hopped across a footpath, while the kangaroos lounged in the shade.

It's all happening at the zoo.

A Day at the Office

In a most peculiar concurrence, my daily route to the office connected me to my roots half a world away.

Here, along the waterfront, the Australian National Maritime Museum had mounted an outdoor exhibit on the container shipping industry: The Box that Changed the World.

An exhibit chronicling the industry that employed my dad, from its earliest days through the last of his days.

I wonder if he understood how revolutionary the indusry was? He didn't talk about it.

I think he would have enjoyed the exhibit, and he'd be awed by the massive container ships of the 21st century.

My workplace is very different. Very different. It so happened, for example, that folks from the zoo stopped by and brought some of the local fauna along. [What lucky timing!]

Not only could we observe and learn about the animals, we could pet them, too! Directionality is key with the echidna.

The fur on the ringtail possum was impossibly soft.

And all those spikes on the bearded dragon look intimidating, but its skin was really supple.

Someone generated a visitor badge for Zippy the tortoise, much to the delight of the zookeepers.

The short-beaked echnidna, though, was the crowd's favorite as it explored the room, waddling and poking about. A mammal? That lays eggs?!

Sydney

My body was saying “Okay, I know you did something here, I'm not sure what, it's some kind of trick you've played on me” ... but I wouldn't call it jet lag.

Having successfully run the visa gauntlet, I have made my first trip to Australia (to work with our local team).

I discovered it was a lovely walk along the waterfront to the office in the morning.

And a lovely walk back to the hotel at the end of each day.

One of the first things I noticed was the sound of birds I'd never heard before. I was excited to spot an Australian White Ibis perched overhead. My colleagues laughed. “Bin chickens,” they scoffed. Like the Silver Gulls (but far less aggressive), they have adapted well to feeding on our scraps.

I spotted the occasional Australian Magpie, and a pair of Masked Lapwings one day when small piles of compost were being spread on a grassy field. I never did find the source of the unusual calls, though.

The Straggler

That was me, today: The Straggler.

Despite a healthy head start, the rest of the group soon caught (and passed) me. After I paused to peel off my jacket, I never saw them again.

I puttered along, pausing to enjoy the occasional view. Newly-planted trees were a sign that this is still an active orchard.

I wasn't up for the full route today, anyway. Without a leader to follow through Alum Rock Park, I strayed off course.

Enough, already. I took the direct route back to the start.

Seventeen miles, with 1,340 of climbing on a lovely blue-sky day.

In the Thick of It

I was excited at the prospect of exploring new territory. [Sort of.]

The skies were clear at home—unlike yesterday, when a winter fog had settled upon us.

My spirits sank as I got closer to the start for today's ride, in Livermore. Fog. Ground fog.

It's magical in the distance; here you can see the top of Mt. Diablo peeking above it.

Up close, it lends a mystical ambiance to field and forest.

The more we climbed, eastward toward the Central Valley, the denser it got. Droplets formed on my sunglasses and dripped from my helmet. Crosswinds buffeted the bike and made it wobble.

Near the summit, I was alarmed that I could hear an approaching car long before I could see its headlights. I knew I was near the summit thanks to my new gadget, a Wahoo Elemnt Bolt on its maiden voyage. Having pre-loaded it with today's route, it beeped reassuringly at key moments and counted down the remaining distance when I was close to the top. [Not that I was going to sprint, or anything.]

I could hear the rest of the group chattering; why would they wait for the last of us, in such conditions?

Change of plans, they announced. [Whew, what a relief!] It wasn't safe to continue on the planned route. (It wasn't particularly safe to ride as far as we did, but there we were.) I was more than happy to high-tail it out of there, back down the hill. The new plan was to head up to Del Valle Regional Park, another new place for me.

The beach was deserted, and we had the park nearly to ourselves.

Not much of a lake view, at the moment. We saw a couple of boats leaving the park on trailers; did they not check the conditions before making the trip?

An Aermotor!

Glad we were able to improvise, for a respectable 2,640 feet of climbing over 35 miles. It was worth it. And I suffered less than I expected, given that my last real ride was six weeks ago.

Not a big riding year for me in 2017: 2,977+ miles, 85,390+ feet of climbing overall. A new year has begun.

Go Tell It on the Mountain

I was having trouble summoning any holiday spirit in the Bay Area this year. No desire to hear the music. No interest in baking cookies. I even felt half-hearted about pulling out my treasured decorations.

My good friend and chief biking buddy, Ms. C, suggested a stroll through Christmas in the Park, which features many traditional Christmas trees decorated by groups large and small. As well as some non-traditional trees, California-style.

The last concert in the Season of Giving series at the Cathedral Basilica of St. Joseph featured the Harpers Hall Celtic Harpists. The program ranged from the local to the traditional, with selections from around the world—almost as diverse as the faces in the audience. Children enthusiastically embellished Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer (“Like a flashlight!”). I chimed in for Silent Night; luckily there were plenty of voices to carry Feliz Navidad (note to self: learn the words). We both felt drowsy at the same time, and agreed that the Carol of the Bells was the piece most suited to the instruments.

The past two years have seen us exploring the coast in Half Moon Bay on Christmas Day; this year, Ms. C suggested we try something new: Montara Mountain. We followed the Gray Whale Cove trail first, for the coastal view. Although it didn't seem that we'd climbed all that much, we were soon looking down—way down—at the parking lot where we'd started. We saw lots of gray clouds, but no whales.

And while this would seem to be an unlikely way to spend Christmas, the parking lot filled up and many fellow hikers (and mountain bikers) greeted us sincerely with “Merry Christmas!”

The mountain lies within the expanse of McNee Ranch State Park, which (despite its size) is treated like a footnote to Montara State Beach.

There are no facilities. No posted trail maps. No pamphlets. A few signposts at some junctions, that's all. We asked some descending hikers how much farther to the top of the mountain, and were surprised when they said a few more miles. Having foregone a recommended short-cut, I wasn't entirely surprised; Google Maps confirmed our fellow hiker's estimate, so we soon chose to turn and follow a different route back to the car. The trail was steep, and sandy; challenging enough with our hiking boots and walking sticks. A trio including an older woman outfitted with ordinary running shoes hiked past us; we couldn't imagine how she'd fare on the way down. In the distance, the Farallons were just barely visible.

We were satisfied with our 5.2 mile hike. The mountaintop will wait.