Not the Tippity-Top

It was windy, but I decided to head for one of my favorite climbs, anyway. I could always bail out. [Right, like that's gonna happen.] My chief ride buddy turned back, but there are always other cyclists on this route. Fewer today, than usual—but possibly some pros? I was passed a couple of times on the climb by helmet-less guys moving at least three times faster than I was. And I saw one descending, disturbingly close to the rear of a car with a bike racked on top.

The observatory is closed to the public, at present, denying us the opportunity to reach the highest point. I made a left at the top to capture some less familiar vistas from San Antonio Valley Road. I definitely didn't have the stamina to add the backside climb today, unlike one couple I overheard. The woman was ready to continue. “We still have 75 miles to go,” she told her companion. [Yikes.] “It's 50 to Livermore. It will be getting dark, normally we'd have started this ride much earlier.”

The temperature at the top was only 50 degrees, and the wind was gusting to 20 mph. Why didn't I think to bring a lightweight jacket for the descent? My toes got cold, and I kept my teeth from chattering only through the sheer force of will. Descend slowly for less wind chill, or descend fast to spend less time being chilled? Those are your options.

There were a few clusters of sports car racer-wanna-bes driving the narrow mountain road today. As well as the occasional SUV that kept going to the top—despite the hand-lettered signs placed at manageable turn-around points, warning that the observatory is closed. I watched one car pause at the top, the occupants seemingly bewildered that there was no place to park.

By happenstance, I found this unusual specimen when I stopped to admire a cluster of wildflowers. It was the only one of its type.

Biking 39 miles is no big deal, but climbing 4,995 feet on my road bike definitely engaged some underutilized muscles. Aches, soreness ... it's all good.

WFH: Week Twelve

I had a most unusual dream this week: I was walking down the aisle of a supermarket, and there on the shelf were a few packages of toilet paper. And facial tissues. [True story.]

When the novel coronavirus emerged, I took in the news with some alarm—at a distance. I'd understood, in an academic way, that such an event was possible (inevitable, really). I just didn't expect to see it, in my lifetime.

As the pandemic began to build, I was grateful for the privilege to switch to working from home. But at the same time, I could not see how this would end.

As the virus began to spread in our county, I was grateful for the protective course set by our leaders. I was puzzled that people were hoarding bottled water and toilet paper. I did not expect that, three months later, our markets would still be struggling to stock even facial tissue.

I surveyed my food supply; would I have enough to eat if I needed to quarantine myself for two weeks? And if I became sick, what might I want to eat?

I surveyed my medicine cabinet; I didn't have enough fever-reducing medication to get through one week. I was not alone in that anxiety; the shelves had been stripped bare, everywhere. It was a massive relief when I found one last box at my local pharmacy.

As more became known about symptoms and severity, having a pulse oximeter seemed sensible—the better to notice a decline in lung function before too much damage might be done.

Working from home is now the norm, not the novelty. Our team can work effectively, but so many opportunities that organically develop from serendipitous connections and conversations are lost, now.

I believe the safest course is to minimize close, unprotected or prolonged interactions with other people, and I can do that. Even as restrictions are relaxed, I will watch, and wait.

Five years ago this week I found comfort venturing out on a simple and familiar route: just one hill to climb.

The week opened with a confirmed 2617 cases of COVID-19 in our county, and closed with 2776 (a 6.1% increase).

The end is not in sight. One hill at a time.

Spring Squall

With thundershowers in the forecast, my ride buddy and I scrapped our plans. Being exposed on the flanks of Mt. Hamilton would not be prudent.

The morning was dry, though I could see patches of precipitation on the weather radar. And I did rather want to ride.

Because I did, after all, have a goal: one more selfie to complete my personal bike bingo challenge.

I headed for a Saturday farmers' market in a nearby town. Should I make a (hillier) loop of it, or a longer (flatter) ride by tracing an out-and-back? I turned right for the longer option, and ... seeing no traffic in sight I made a spontaneous u-turn. Hillier, it would be.

The market was big and bustling; I stayed clear of the perimeter. I needed only a photo; no produce, today.

I'd felt the occasional sprinkle, until (just a couple of miles from home) I was caught in a downpour. [Payback for claiming it wouldn't rain again until the fall.] I could have found a spot to wait it out, but the words of a wise man echoed in my head: You will not melt.

Should I take the usual route, cutting through the park? It should be empty, given the weather. [It wasn't. But I would have avoided the trails anyway.] A simple 11 mile loop with 460 feet of climbing.

Into each life, some rain must fall. [And I didn't melt.]

Nowhere Ride

With the possibility of record-breaking temperatures over the next few days, there was only one way—get up, get out, and get back before it gets too hot.

To the post office, and then a little ride before the work week resumes tomorrow (just 15 miles and a mere 300 feet of climbing). A ride to nowhere in particular, a ride to pick up a few more selfies for a bingo challenge of my own design. Leaving just one more to collect, maybe mid-week.

But then, what?

He's a real nowhere man
Sitting in his nowhere land
Making all his nowhere plans for nobody

WFH: Week Eleven

Ten years ago this week I pedaled up a difficult hill to watch a stage of the Tour of California. The organizers pulled the plug on this year's race, long before COVID-19 emerged.

This was a short week (thanks to an extra day off) during which ... nothing remarkable happened. And, like so many others, I'm feeling a bit housebound—despite getting out and biking 59 miles.

I found that free day to be surprisingly unsettling. Is this what it would be like to retire without a plan? Wake up with nothing to do, nowhere to go, no one to visit? Sure, there are plenty of chores I've endlessly deferred, but at some point I'll work my way through all of them. [It will take a while, truth be told.]

But then, what?

My life has been pretty structured for a long time. Monday through Friday, work (and sometimes bike). Saturday, bike. Sunday is typically reserved for chores and puttering around. (And sometimes for biking.) Special events, weekend getaways, and longer trips are plotted on the calendar.

Now, what?

The week opened with a confirmed 2453 cases of COVID-19 in our county, and closed with 2617 (a 6.7% increase). That's trending in the wrong direction, but a consequence of more testing or more viral transmission?

A Pace of Teslas

Here was a sign I'd never seen before. There wasn't anything obviously treacherous about the road surface on this residential street, and of course it was completely dry.

A bit of searching confirmed that it is indeed meant to convey “slippery when wet,” which I reckon should be sometime around November, or October if we get lucky.

So many signs, so many rules (five four). There is no fifth rule; whatever it was, it has been obliterated with duct tape. My bike buddy and I are safely staying six feet (or more) apart, which means we aren't required to wear face coverings. Social distance or face coverings, we don't need both. Seriously.

“Please use another table that has not been marked NOT AVAILABLE FOR USE.” (Of course, there are none.) Your type is not wanted here.

Thankfully, though, the park's restroom was available for use, with soap, water, self-flushing toilets, and that most precious commodity, toilet paper.

The strangest observation of the day came at the end of our ride, when we spent some more socially-distant time chatting in a parking lot. A parking lot that was, of course, essentially empty. A Tesla drove through. After a while, another Tesla drove through. And another. And then the same one, recognizable by the dirty splatter on its windshield. (And on, and on.) There are electric charging stations in the lot, for public use, including Tesla Superchargers, and most were not in use. Were the cars in so-called “autopilot” mode, compelled to circle around the nearest Supercharger site until they do need to juice up?

After 32 miles and 1,965 feet of climbing, I was ready to refuel. Yogurt with a dash of granola and some cherries for me. Plus some chocolate. I earned it.

Free Day

My employer generously gave us an extra day off, unexpectedly extending the holiday weekend from three days to four.

If only we could .... go somewhere.

Evidently, many people decided to do just that: the highway leading to the coast was clogged almost as badly as on a hot summer Saturday, and our streets were gridlocked with drivers who cut through town because they think it will save them a few minutes. Either way, they crawl through 3-4 miles of bumper-to-bumper traffic.

Essential trips? For the doggie peering out the rear window of that Hyundai Tucson?

I had a mission to complete: just two more photos, and I would have collected all 34 images (!) for our bike bingo challenge. Yes, I'd already “won” with five squares in a row on one card. But ... but ... there are six cards.

Those last two photos were a bit of a challenge to collect without traveling on busy thoroughfares. I'd decided that the surest way to find a white Nissan Versa was to visit a dealer's lot. I headed out, made my first turn, and ... stop! There was the elusive vehicle, one block from home.

I took that as a sign to scrap my original route, opting for the nearest Target instead.

For bingo, it seems only fair not to re-use any image to complete a line on two different cards. On the way home, I decided to collect a few extra photos (plus this unplanned scenic vista).

Not to mention photos for a seventh card of my own design ... keeping the traditional “bike shop” in the center, I'd plotted twenty four new images. Places that people miss visiting right now, places that might take people a bit farther from home, and places they might not otherwise have noticed.

Didn't seem like much, but somehow I managed to climb 500 feet and cover 20 miles just noodling around.