Pffffft!

The Almaden Reservoir was not filled with chocolate, much as it might appear.

It's been a week since we last saw rain, but the muddy runoff hadn't yet settled out.

A friendly trio of fisherman waved goodbye as they drove off. They'd caught only one fish, a two-and-a-half pounder. Catch-and-release, it's strictly for sport—the fish are contaminated with mercury, a legacy of the New Almaden quicksilver mines.

My guardian angel was watching over me today. Two (downhill) miles from the end of our ride, I stopped to wait for my cycling buddy and parked my bike against the curb. Moments later there was an explosive hiss ... and my front tire was, instantaneously, flat. Had I not stopped there, then, I would almost certainly have crashed (descending at speed), the metal rim sliding out on the pavement.

This is the stuff of nightmares.

An earthly angel soon appeared in an SUV, a mountain biker heading for the nearby trail. He pulled out a full-sized floor pump, generously waited for me to replace my tube, and made short work of inflating it.

I had been puzzled not to find anything stuck in the tire, nor any obvious puncture in the tube. I imagined that the removable valve core had loosened; a small puncture would have leaked slowly. [I should know better.] Always take the time to find the cause.

Always.

I descended cautiously, tenatively. And luckily, my guardian angel was still watching over me. Because, when I did trouble myself to pump some air into that tube, certain I would confirm my hunch ... the air rushed out of a gash on the rim side of the tube. Despite having run my fingers over the rim after removing the tube, I had not felt a problem.

We were happy to ride 29 miles, climbing 1,820 feet, on another warm winter day. But above all, I'm grateful that I will get to ride another day. [After I attend to that wheel.]

Bonus Ride

How could I not ride, on one last warm January day? [Let me count the ways.]

A car to get smog tested, yard work to be done ...

How could I ride? [Finish those chores by early afternoon.]

I headed through the same neighborhoods, past the deflated Santas and Christmas trees kicked to the curb, for a total of 28 miles and 500 feet of climbing.

The painted miniatures, still in place yesterday, were mostly gone today. Only the Ship, and Smile, remained.

I paused for another bit of whimsy: A little, hand-carved black bear clinging to a tree branch. A pink heart with a message on both sides.

Hang in There

Stay Safe

Time to Climb

Despite being off the bike for two weeks, yesterday's outing didn't exact a toll. Today I'd trade the heavy commute bike for my road bike and climb Bernal.

I peered out my window, and ... there, smack in the middle of my birdbath, sat a bird!

Big deal, you're thinking; that's why it's there. But despite keeping it fresh, until recently I'd never seen evidence that any bird took advantage of it—when I saw a Spotted Towhee perch on the edge and take a sip.

Feathers fluffed out, this Dark-eyed Junco preened, and sat. I watched for a while; he was in no hurry to move on, giving me ample time to pull out my camera. Now and then, after warily surveying the surroundings, he'd spread his wings, dunk his head, and go all in.

I went all in, too; all the way to the summit of Bernal Road. I was puzzled when a pickup truck continued past the public turn-around point, near the top. On a weekend, and especially now, I would not expect an IBM employee to be heading through the gate onto their campus.

Sure enough, the pickup soon returned.

By the time I started my descent, not one but two more vehicles made the same trip. You do need to pass a written test to get a license, so I expect the drivers could read the posted warning signs. The third one seemed particularly flummoxed; if you don't have the skills to read the signs, perhaps your skills for executing a u-turn on an incline are similarly challenged?

It was another glorious, unseasonably warm day. Climbing Shannon and Bernal added up to 1,300 feet, over 29 miles. My legs insisted on taking a flat route, back.

Little Things

Evidently today was Car Wash Day. I didn't get the memo, so I went for a bicycle ride instead. How could I not, with temperatures in the mid-70s—in January?!

The extra canopy in the parking lot of the local hospital we passed last week, for arriving ambulances, was a sobering reminder of our stressed medical infrastructure. This is not the time to need help on the road, and not the time to risk an incident that would warrant medical care. I can enjoy a nice day pedaling through low-traffic neighborhoods; for now, my focus is more on exercise than scenery.

I made my way to the base of Bernal Road, where a line of hikers was snaking single-file up a trail. I paused to capture a photo and was foiled by the angle of the sun. I continued a bit farther, into a shady spot, but the moment was lost. This was my planned turn-around point; as I pulled out my snack I noticed something tucked against the fencepost. I frowned, thinking someone had left a crumpled wrapper. But, it was not that.

There were similar splashes of color on the other nearby posts. Each was a unique work of art, painted on carefully-chosen rocks.

Who would ever notice these? This stretch of fence was not near the trailhead. I've seen a few people walking down the road, from the park; some of us pass by on our bikes, but most visitors are sealed up in their cars.

That might explain why these little gems were still on display (though one post was conspicuously bare). Or maybe the artist intends for admirers to pocket them?

One rock was out of place, on top of its post. Its face was blank, but surely it was part of this collection.

I flipped it over and restored it to is rightful spot. And, smile I did.

Along with my exercise (28 miles, 460 feet of climbing), I was renewed with an unexpected, simple dose of joy.

A Fresh Start

One local tradition for today is to climb Mt. Hamilton, and I'm sure there were cyclists who did.

We were not among them. (Too cold.)

Seeking a long ride and as much warmth as a weak winter sun might offer, my chief cycling buddy agreed to the route I proposed.

Even an ordinary route can be interesting, no? I led us across five bike/pedestrian bridges above five different  freeways, passing through eight different municipalities along the way. Not bad for 43 miles (and 960 feet of climbing).

Happy New Year!

2020 Retrospective

Herewith, some signs of the times.

I got my happy smile from a neighbor's weekly update during late summer:

I'm still working from home (week 43), and there is a cadence to my productivity level. I've learned, when it dips, to take some time off. When my colleagues ask what my plans are, I doubt they're surprised to hear: “To be not in front of a computer screen for 8-9 hours per day.” It's that simple.

Of course, I have ridden my bike: something more than 1,376 miles and 68,200 feet of climbing, my lowest stats since I started keeping records in 2005. A more interesting statistic, I think, is that the miles I drove weren't much more than that.

My last haircut was in February; it hasn't been this long since I was a teenager. There were a few months where I could have gotten it trimmed, but I expected that the salons would be shuttered again (true, that). Once it was long enough to tie back, why would I cut it only to grow it out again? One day, on a whim, I put it up in pigtails—unexpectedly to the delight of my colleagues.

Thanks to a semi-regular exercise routine and healthy meals, I've shed about eight pounds. I sleep better when I get some exercise, even if it's just a walk around town. I've come to prefer the side streets—not only are there fewer people to pass, the neighborhoods are more interesting than the main drag.

Some colleagues have moved out of the area, and I'm sad that our paths will rarely (if ever) cross again. Moving to the Bay Area was the right choice, for me; I don't expect to stray far from this place.

I am comfortable living in a region with more diversity, not less; though I was surprised to learn (from our health department's COVID-19 updates) that the majority demographic in our county is Asian.

May we look back to the challenges of 2020 as a low point in our lives, and look forward to more love, kindness, and healing in the years ahead.

One More Ride

Overnight showers left the roads slick on Saturday morning, scuttling our plan to ride. But with an errand to run on Sunday, why not climb on the bike?

And once you climb on the bike, why not go for more of a spin?

On my way to Almaden Lake Park, I found myself overtaking an older fellow pedaling a bike with proper fenders—even though I was cruising on the heavy steel bike I normally reserve for commuting. (Running an errand is a commute, of a sort.)

Well.

Older fellows still have egos. Perhaps even more so, when they're on ebikes.

Getting chicked hurts, so he just had to pass me. Without spinning the pedals. (Whatever, dude.)

I scoped out an empty bench at the near end of the lake, and regretted not bringing a book to read. That would have been a nice spot to loiter for an hour or two.

But alas, 'twas not to be. With a family stalled at the nearest entrance to the path, by the time I circled my way to the bench it had been claimed. Along with the next nearest bench. Like all the other paths in the South Bay, this one was busy. Thinking I would just head back, I kept going and planned to exit.

But, hmm ... where does that leg of the trail lead? Away from the park, it was empty (and not very scenic, dominated by the span of Highway 85 above).

I followed it to the end, choosing to take the road back. Although it ran alongside the Guadalupe River, it did not connect to the principal section of that trail; instead, there was signage leading to the Highway 87 Bikeway. Ah yes, I have been that way before, and ... will not venture there again.

With rain in the forecast for New Year's Eve, these 24 miles and 540 feet of climbing would like constitute my last outing for the year.