Adopt-a-Park!

Every June, our company organizes and sponsors a month's worth of community service. We're encouraged to get out of the office and volunteer our brains and brawn. I traditionally gravitate toward the outdoors-y projects. [As if I didn't have enough yard work to do.]

We learned that the city of San Jose has more than 200 parks! And (no surprise here) there isn't enough staff to maintain them. Especially since, here in California, stuff grows ... and grows ... year round.

The project I chose this year was on the grounds of a large community center, landscaped with trees, bushes, and flowers that were out of control. Volunteering alone isn't enough for me; for many years, I have chosen to lead at least one project. This year I went all in: 100 volunteers to coordinate (one of whom stepped up to co-lead!).

We swarmed over the grounds and, in a matter of hours, transformed the place. Community members thanked us, the staff came out to marvel at what we accomplished, and city workers hauled multiple truckloads away.

I joined a crew that tackled the weeds, leaves, and assorted debris that had accumulated in the plants along the long sidewalk fronting the facility. We raked and pulled and swept faster than our comrades could load tarps and wheelbarrows to haul it away.

A few folks even stayed late, after lunch, to help the city worker load the last load into his truck.

At the end of our stint, everyone was dirty and sweaty ... and proud of what we accomplished.

Morning, Marin

I thought last week's ride had a small turnout. Today's ride was smaller still.

I'd resisted signing up for the Marin edition of a one-day ride for the Arthritis Foundation, opting for the Pescadero ride the past two years. But there will be no Pescadero ride this year, so I decided to haul myself up to Marin to support the cause. A few days before, a friend decided to join me—that turned out to be quite fortuitous, because I would otherwise have been riding alone all day. [Pretty much.]

Sunny and windy, we both found this ride unexpectedly difficult. The temperature, though, was perfect.

A few miles into the ride, I spotted a doe and two (!) fawns next to the road. Mom decided we didn't pose a threat and tolerated our presence as they grazed. I was impressed to watch her drop down and slip under the lowest fence rail—so her offspring could easily follow.

I remembered Chileno Valley Road from last fall, and it was just as pretty.

Had I studied the profile more closely, I might not have chosen to donate blood five days before the ride. And I might have been more diligent about getting a mechanic to adjust my finicky front derailleur, which sometimes refuses to shift down to the smallest ring. [I'm apprehensive about looking after my newer bike at group events, so I rely on my older road bike—which hasn't been getting enough love, for sure.]

The back roads were quiet, passing mostly through ranches and dairy farms. There were a few steep sections, but the route was mostly rolling hills. I did manage to shift into my lowest gear once. Before and after that one long climb, it balked (and I walked).

I had a sense, on Marshall-Petaluma Road, that I had been there before. (I was right.) On the Marin Century, some years back, we rode it toward the coast. In the opposite direction, it starts out with a rude climb. I shifted down and carried some speed, but without my lowest gear, I stopped turning the pedals before the grade eased up.

With some 20 miles to go, my legs (and I) were ready to be done. I rode for miles without seeing another rider and wondered if they'd missed the turn. [They hadn't.]

I was excited, and oh-so-relieved, when Stafford Lake finally came into view.

A scenic, but painful, 58 miles and 3,885 feet of climbing.

Incarnation 100

On Thursday, I stayed at work later than usual to wrap some things up since I would be taking the day off on Friday. Waiting for a later-than-usual shuttle, a cyclist started chatting with me. “You're the one who did the Death Ride, right?”

I have a special privilege at work: every four weeks I am one of a handful of people who talk to incoming employees on their very first day. As part of our introduction, we share a fun fact about ourselves—I mention that I've done the Death Ride, and I tell them that they could do it, too! [This does make an impression.]

Our new employee was curious about my folding bike; he'd used a folder commuting to his former job. “Where?” Santa Rosa. “Oh, I'm doing a ride up there on Saturday, the Incarnation 100.” Turns out his wife used to work for one of the beneficiaries (The Living Room) and he'd done the ride in the past. Small world?!

I had never heard of this ride until a couple of weeks ago when a friend invited me to join her. [Sure, why not?]

A mile or two into the ride, I spotted a cell phone on the street and (of course) stopped to pick it up. A few miles later, we stopped at a Peet's for my ride buddy to get a caffeine fix. By now it was clear that this was a very small event, and we wondered if we would, in fact, see any fellow riders.

At the next traffic light, we caught up to a guy who had just passed us. With earbuds in both ears (a no-no, by the way), he didn't hear me say “Good morning!” But he did turn around, and ... and ... it was the new guy from work!

After chatting with me, he and his wife decided to come up and do the ride: 100k for him, 30 miles for her. “See you on Sweetwater Springs!“ he called out as the light turned green.

Think about this chain of improbable events—what are the odds?!

But, back to the ride story ... It was sobering to ride past the Santa Rosa neighborhoods that were consumed by fire last fall. If you didn't know, you wouldn't guess that those wide open fields were once suburban subdivisions, and you might wonder at the blackened trunks of nearby redwoods that survived.

I've long been a fan of the historic Wohler Bridge. I know there are scenic backroads in Sonoma County; I've ridden on them. On this ride ... not so much. [But, a very worthy cause.]

I was not familiar with Sweetwater Springs, rumored to have a painfully long section of 18% grade (in reality, closer to 14%). I should have looked it up in my copy of Summerson's Complete Guide to Climbing (by Bike) in California: “two sections of sustained double-digit grade.” [I did my share of uphill walking.] I seemed to be leapfrogging two guys along the way and began to wonder if they were sweeping me. [No, as it turned out.] I would come around a bend to see them standing with their bikes, and then they'd remount and continue. [They, too, were challenged by this climb.] I got some kudos when I pedaled past one of them, but I couldn't afford a breath to say thanks.

There were a surprising number of banners strung up on barns and fences promoting this ride—surprising given how few riders there were. (200? 300?) Trails were a welcome respite from busy roads with fast-moving (though, well-behaved) traffic.

The route could have used a few more arrows. We inadvertently took a shortcut when we missed one trail junction. [Oh well.] Near the end, a clutch of riders had forked left and were standing up at street level, confused. I called out when my ride buddy headed toward them, and then all fell in line behind me. It helps to understand that, in urban areas, the main trail dips below cross-streets; you only want the street-level fork if you're exiting. I finished the day with 61 miles, and ... only 2,375 feet of climbing?

We were entertained by a live band and refueled with a meal at the finish. I pulled out the stray cell phone to see if I could determine its owner, but its battery had run dry. [Note to self: next time, put the thing in airplane mode until you have time to deal with it.] No one had reported a lost phone at the event, but I was able to hand it off to one of the event's tech-savvy guys. In all likelihood, it belonged to one of the locals; sorting it out after carrying it home to the South Bay would make its return complicated.

My best memory of this ride came on a trail. Among the cyclists we passed were a dad and his young daughter riding her own little bike, her helmet adorned with a tiara. It is especially important to slow down and call out in advance for the kids, who tend to weave unpredictably. Dad coached his pint-sized pink princess to stay to the right, and as I rolled past I smiled and said “Good job!” Before we were out of earshot, I overheard a tiny voice behind me.

“She made my day! She said I'm doing a good job!”

Aww. She made my day.

Chicks!

The chicks are bustin' out!

This year, I learned that egrets lay blue eggs (!). I found a shell cast off from a Great Egret's nest for all to admire.

Note to self: start visiting the rookery in June, not May. Sure, there were a few birds last month. But today they were on full display.

When I chatted with some folks from the local Audubon Society chapter last week, they told me they'd counted 110 nests at the rookery this year. (Apparently there are more nests in trees on the far side of the nearest building, too.)

Hungry chicks were squawking, while latecomers were building nests and fanning out their fancy feathers.

Our group had a latecomer, too: It was all chicks when we set off, till one lone male rider came barreling along to join us.

Without the headwinds we faced last time, I expected we'd find more birds along the shoreline. Maybe it was too early for lunch; apart from some snoozing mallards, we saw only a few egrets (Snowy and Great).

Everyone was mesmerized by the colony and temporarily forgot their own hunger pangs. (I will definitely move the start time for this outing up by half an hour, next time.) They were even willing to stop rolling toward lunch when I spotted a pair of Black-crowned Night-Herons on their nest.

With some errands, 56 miles and 1,000 feet of climbing for me; an essentially flat 27 miles for the main loop.

Hard to say what I enjoy more, the birds or introducing new people to the birds. It's all good.

Short and Shady

The rest of the group planned some challenging climbs, which (today) would be grueling in the heat.

I opted for the easiest climb, with a nice loop around the reservoir to cover some distance.

I eyed the redwoods towering over my head, across the ravine. I had to look down to see the base of the trees, and up (way up) to see the tops. They're that tall.

Far from the bustle of the valley, far from the highway packed with people heading for the coast for a respite from the heat, I reveled in the deep shade of a redwood grove. Moments of bliss, with just the sound of the birds and the creek tumbling over rocks.

An itty-bitty ride, just 12 miles with 1,115 of climbing.

Upside, Downside

The upside to the closure on the backside of Calaveras Road is the near-absence of traffic. [We shared the road with a total of three motorcycles, all well-behaved.]

The downside is that we can't ride all the way to Sunol, as is our wont. [Despite the helpful pointer from one member of our group that the road goes all the way. You're new here, aren't you?] Another member with intimate knowledge explained that although they did repair the slide damage, they've decided it's easier to keep it closed for a few more months and not have to sweep the road every weekend to clear the gravel dropped by trucks working on the dam.

It's not unusual to hear something rustling in the brush on back roads. Birds and lizards can make a surprising amount of noise in the dry leaves, especially if they set off a small cascade of debris. I glanced to my right and this time saw a small doe scampering away.

It was promising to be a hot day, though it turned out to be rather pleasant. I still face “the wall” with due trepidation, but as I grind my way up I admit it's not as bad as it used to seem. By the time we were heading back, a welcome wind had picked up. The hillsides had a golden hue, carpeted with sticky monkeyflower in bloom.

Round trip offered a mere 27 miles and 2,000 feet of climbing—and that will have to do until the road goes through again. Signage claimed September. [Promises, promises.]

Berry Cool Day

There was a reason why I was eager to take it easy yesterday, and that reason was today. Time for one of my favorite events on the greater Bay Area cycling calendar: Strawberry Fields Forever.

We have an abundance of choices for organized rides, and I've sampled many of them; this is my mainstay. I've missed it for assorted reasons over the years—sometimes by choice (rain). For the first time in many years, a friend signed up to join me.

There were a couple of places, early on, that could have used some route-marking arrows. My ride buddy grew concerned, but I assured her we were on the right road, headed in the right direction. I hope the newbies always had other riders in sight, to follow.

The “May Gray” might have been less than picturesque, but it did ensure we had a comfy temperature all day.

Somewhere along the way, near the Elkhorn Slough, a tall, pink poppy next to the road caught my eye. That's odd, I thought; how did that get here? [A few days later would bring the largest opium poppy bust in California history. The growing fields? Near Elkhorn.]

The route takes us along Hazel Dell Road, which had been closed due to storm damage dating to the winter of 2016-2017. The road was open, and we shared it with some cars, but ... wow, I wouldn't drive it. One of the washed-out sections was barely one lane wide, with no protection or reinforcement creekside. Even on a bike, the condition of the road gave me pause.

It's not uncommon to run into friends on this ride. One found me as we enjoyed our apple pie and fresh lemonade at Gizdich Ranch, another as we were about to head home. My ride buddy looked up from her plate at the finish and spotted a friend ... seated across the table.

Cliff swallows nesting under the eaves at the school,

great egrets hunting in the shallows of the slough.

61 miles, 2,895 feet of climbing, and more strawberries and chocolate ganache than I could sensibly eat.