17 Mile Drive

It will be fine, I told myself. We're vaccinated. We won't be indoors with other people.

It was time to leave the nest (for a couple of days). More than 16 months have passed since I spent a night away from home. Certainly the longest such stretch of my adult life; maybe even, in my entire life.

A pair of biking buddies planned a short getaway to Pacific Grove and coaxed me to join them. I teetered on the edge for quite a while before committing.

They've made this trip before, so I was game to follow their routine—which entailed meeting up and biking the famed 17 Mile Drive before checking into our motel.

There were more bicycles than vehicles on the route; not only were we ahead of the summer tourists, we were all taking advantage of free admission. No toll for cyclists: a dedicated lane bypasses the booth.

I did a bit of exploring on my own, after we finished our loop; I had some photos in my mind's eye, but the moment had been lost—the sky had become overcast, turning the blue sea gray. Noodling around (I wonder what's up this street?), I found a building topped with beautiful images (evidently empty, formerly used by NOAA), rounding out my biking for the day with 27 miles and 1,360 feet of climbing.

The next record to fall was dining at a restaurant (comfortably, fully, outdoors)—another indulgence I've foregone for a similar span of time.

We strolled along Monterey's Cannery Row, which was fairly busy, before I introduced them to the prime sea lion viewing to be had on the Coast Guard pier.

Yes, this was the right thing to do. It was fine.

Bike to Wherever Day

This year's spin on “Bike to Work” Day was “Bike to Wherever” Day. I scoped out the list of “Energizer Stations” and scored one just a couple of miles from home that I could visit before starting my workday. No actual Hobee's blueberry coffee cake (a coupon, instead), but I did pick up a mandarin orange for a snack. They had a supply of paper Bikeways maps (in Spanish); I rely on maps online, anyway.

At work, this was “Bike to Wherever” Week, with a challenge to see if our global workforce could log enough human-powered miles to circumnavigate the globe. [Achievement unlocked.] I did my part: 130 miles, for the week. (Including a properly long 27 miles after work, today.)

I do miss leading the usual crowd of suspects to work. Maybe, next year?

Wistful Wednesday

Well, I guess my fellow cyclists just aren't into after-work rides any more. With most offices still shuttered due to the county's pandemic health restrictions, it's not as though they would have to tangle with commuter traffic to get to the starting point.

It was a chilly evening, with strong, gusty winds. Being the sole rider, I considered whether I should simply abandon. [Yeah, right. Like I'm gonna do that.]

I had (blissfully) forgotten how hard tonight's climbs would be. Whose idea was this, anyway? [Oh yeah, my idea.]

Time for some self-talk. [Pep talk.] You've done these climbs before. You're in better shape now.

Should I skip Overlook? [Oh, c'mon, it's only a little over a mile.]

An uphill, seemingly unending mile. (For the whole route, just 14 miles, but 1,680 feet of climbing.)

There was another cyclist on Overlook, evidently doing hill repeats. [So, quit yer whining.]

When my heart rate spiked much higher than I expected, I questioned my “in better shape” assertion. Until I looked at the data.

Faster, by more than a minute, on the first climb.

Faster, by three minutes, on the last climb.

Just like Greg LeMond said: “It never gets easier; you just go faster.”

Look at it this way: you suffer for a shorter period of time.

WFH: Week Sixty-Two

A very important milestone for me this week: I am, at last, considered fully vaccinated against COVID-19!

When I successfully booked the appointment for my first shot I was, in a word, stunned. To be honest, I had been deeply cynical. Congratulations, you're eligible! Good luck trying to get scheduled.

After several tries over the course of two days, when I landed a slot it felt like I'd won the lottery. I was surprised at how happy, how relieved—euphoric, even—I felt. Post-shot, I discovered Tweety Bird on my arm—which brought another smile to my face!

I don't think I've ever felt lucky to run a fever and have chills before, but on the day after my second shot those reassured me that my immune system was working.

I'm not planning any radical adjustments to my lifestyle, but I welcome the chance to spend more time in the company of my vaccinated friends. And even though I have been comfortable joining (socially-distanced) groups for our club's rides, I had held back from leading rides until I'd had my first shot.

When will I feel comfortable returning to the office? The plans are uncertain, and ... let's just say, I'm not eager to be in the vanguard.

Nearly one million county residents are now fully vaccinated (nearly half the population). Still, the county has tallied 118,569 reported cases of COVID-19, and tragically 2,137 confirmed deaths—which is heartbreaking and horrible to contemplate.

Being There

I was in my usual place (in-between)—faster than the slower riders but slower than the faster riders. Though I did manage to hang with them longer than I expected, climbing Metcalf. Steep climbs are not my forte.

That's where I heard the sound of a crash, and a male voice call out “Oh fudge!” (or, some word like that). I couldn't see him, as he was above the embankment next to the road, in the motorcycle park. The cyclists trailing me evidently could see him, as I heard them shout “Are you okay? Don't move!”

Much to the confusion of the fast group waiting at the top of the hill, I turned directly into the park and headed for a building that looked official. I couldn't give them details, but I could share what I'd heard. The rangers were aware of an ATV crash; maybe that was the same one. Or maybe not.

With the rest of the group, I explored a stretch of road (Las Animas) that was unfamiliar to me. Lovely ranch land, but as a (remote) dead end, not a place I would venture alone.

The group split, with a few of us opting for a shorter route through the foothills. As my ride buddy and I took a break, a lone cyclist appeared. He seemed hesitant, but sporting a Paris-Brest-Paris vest, he was certainly the self-sufficient type.

He was, however, not familiar with the area. I confirmed which road was Metcalf, and which was San Felipe; this was where he expected to be. “Are you randonneuring?” I asked. Indeed he was. And he was looking for an electrical box at this intersection. [Hmm.] An odd place for an electrical box ... oh, wait, there's a white box on the far side of that utility pole. “That's it!” He darted over, snapped a photo, and continued his ride.

And so did we. A meager—but eventful—26 miles (with 2,460 feet of climbing) for us. Just being there, though, was what counted today.

After-Work Ride

Some years ago, there were a few ride leaders in our club who capitalized on long summer days to organize regular after-work rides. For various reasons, those ride series faded away.

I dug up the route sheets I'd saved and studied old ride listings for hints about which ride to lead when. I was looking forward to reviving a series last summer, and then ... our world fell apart.

I consoled myself with mapping the routes and bided my time.

Which brings us to tonight, when our county is in a better place than we were a year ago. Though some restrictions remain in place, with clear guidelines our club rides have stayed safe.

Would anyone show up? [No, as it turned out.]

For this first week, I had chosen a route that I would comfortably ride alone. [Just in case.]

I know some people are reticent to ride late in the day, fearing traffic; I had wondered that myself, before I'd joined a few rides. It's dinnertime; these roads are not busy.

Out by the Guadalupe Reservoir (another harbinger of drought), I grew uneasy when I heard a man shouting incoherently. Barely clothed, I figured he was crazy; a passing cyclist suggested he was tripping. [Maybe, both?] I was relieved that he was on the far side of the reservoir.

This outing would be shorter than my routine after-work rides, but hillier: 18 miles, 1,320 feet of climbing.

Maybe next week someone will join me?

Pierce Be With You

Tempted as we were by a route in the coastal hills, my chief biking buddy and I opted to stay local. With high winds in the forecast, we wondered how the riders who headed for Mt. Diablo today would fare. Hopefully, they would make a safe choice.

We chatted with some riders at the end of Stevens Canyon; like us, they had opted out of joining their club's ride (also to Mt. Diablo). Discretion is the better part of valor.

There was still some water flowing in Stevens Creek (barely); the level in that reservoir, of course, is consequently low.

Although the climb up Mt. Eden (and even Pierce) seemed less arduous than usual, soon enough we were grateful to be heading back to our starting point to finish out with 32 miles and 2,020 feet of climbing.

This being a warm weekend, Saturday's migration to the coast was in full swing; traffic on a road that feeds the highway was basically at a standstill as we sailed alongside in the bike lane.

Crossing over the highway, both southbound lanes were bumper-to-bumper as far as the eye could see. Where do they all go, and what do they do when they get there? And I always wonder, is it worth it?