Panoche Pass

With a long ride coming up on my calendar, today's route seemed like a fair test: 55 miles, 2,720 feet of climbing. On Friday my coworkers had been sharing their weekend plans, and when they heard mine one of them asked “Will you camp?” (Evidently this is not the sort of outing they picture when I say that I'm going for a bike ride.)

Not surprisingly, none of them had been to this area. It's a challenge not to take the same photos every time I ride here; the same sights always catch my eye. And I wanted to convey a sense of just how beautiful it is (albeit in a desolate sort of way).

A small group set off for the Inn, and conditions couldn't have been more favorable—no headwind on the return. (The condtion of the road has not improved, but ... this trip is worth the trouble.)

One cyclist lost half their lunch to the Inn's resident pooch, who evidently is well-practiced in the art of pilfering sandwiches from unsuspecting customers.

As expected, we saw very little traffic on this road—our bicycles may have outnumbered the vehicles ...

... until the end, when a slew of emergency vehicles and patrol cars roared past. I regretted, then, that I had gotten ahead of my ride buddy. Had someone crashed, or been struck by a car? [Fortunately, no.]

A few of us were chatting near our cars when a pickup truck passed us, then suddenly reversed. “Are there more cyclists out there?” he asked. It turned out that he was one of the responders, so we learned what had happened. A gunshot—reportedly someone had shot a rattlesnake—and a gunshot requires a response from law enforcement.

Desolate. Did I mention, desolate? (But so beautiful.)

Up a Wall

A couple of riders, ahead of me, paused at the base of the Calaveras Wall. They seemed impressed when I made the turn and kept going. “Just get it over with!” I replied.

I didn't feel especially strong, but I was a full minute faster than my previous best time. (Though, years before I started tracking the data, I may have been faster.)

It was another conversational sort of ride, the group splitting in two. Some were eager to stop at a cafe in Sunol; others followed my lead into Sunol-Ohlone Regional Park. I pack my lunch: Peanut butter and jelly, for the win. The rangers had water on tap again—a hint of a return to normalcy?

We regrouped at the natural places: at the top of climbs, and at a couple of intersections to ensure everyone was on track. A reliably pleasant 36 miles with 2,880 feet of climbing, in pleasant company.

On the Slow Side

Poor air quality has kept me off the bike, lately. Today's ride seemed like a good opportunity to get back into the swing of things.

Each ride leader has his or her own style, and today's ride was meant to be a friendly “no-drop” ride. It was nice to see some old familiar faces who apparently think they're too slow for club rides (but, they're not).

I learned something new today—namely, that I may not have the patience for this style of ride. I'm more at home with rides that tend to break up into smaller groups, by pace or for conversation. Rides with planned regroup stops, to ensure that no one is lost.

Maybe I was just feeling grumpy, but we seemed to be Stopping. Way. Too. Often. That, and the leader was detouring from the route he'd published (adding stops), which was confusing at best. If I hadn't pointed out a string of riders passing above us on the trail, at one such point, they would have blithely continued straight. (Which would have been fine, as that was the actual route, but we would have been separated.)

Near the end, a short semi-urban stretch of the Coyote Creek Trail lived up to my low expectations (littered with trash and broken glass, courtesy of a small homeless encampment). Not the best memory for my ride of 29 miles (with 1,860 feet of climbing); I'm much happier picturing the towering eucalyptus trees lining San Felipe Road on the rural fringe of San Jose.

Lick at Night

A familiar view, albeit in unfamiliar conditions—gazing down at the winding road that leads to the summit of Mt. Hamilton. The sun, still high in the sky, was veiled by the haze of smoke from distant fires.

This view has been out of reach since flames roared up these slopes, one year ago (to the day). The wooden posts that supported the guardrail were incinerated—the fire came that close to historic Lick Observatory. And that is why the top of the mountain has been off-limits to visitors.

But, hold on ... where am I?!

Beyond the locked gate, atop the mountain ... trusted not to slide off the road. I'm here for a special night-time tour (having unconventionally made the trip not by bicycle, but in a vehicle—accompanied by the friend who first brought me to the top of this mountain, many years ago).

Alas, our viewing of the stars was not to be; the telescopes would remain tucked safely within their domes, their delicate optics shielded from the airborne particles. Our host seemed confused when we couldn't even see the sun set—that's how dense the smoke was.

To compensate, our guide was cleared to expand our tour of the facilities. Despite so many visits to the top, I'd never noticed how many telescopes are housed (and used) up there. One of the more unusual snippets of trivia he shared in one building was that it was used during the filming of a movie starring Lauren Bacall, The Gift of Love.

Not only did we see the Shane 3-meter Reflector—we got a behind-the-scenes look at the vessel used to realuminize its mirror.

And, of course, the Great 36-inch Refractor you'll see on a regular public tour.

I'd heard from a friend that they no longer raise and lower the floor in the main building; during our tour of the basement, we saw why. One of the things that intrigued me about the equipment—especially the telescopes—was wondering about how they were made. These things are all one-of-a-kind.

Our visit included a history lesson on the Observatory, during which we learned that James Lick was quite an eccentric character. We paid our respects to Mr. Lick, at eternal rest in the basement of the main building, below the telescope.

It is our enduring good fortune that he was persuaded to establish this observatory, and that one year ago this very night it was successfully defended by a small army of firefighters.

All the Way

To the top. (Though not from the bottom.)

I've biked it, but not hiked it. (Not all the way to the top.) Today was the day to visit the summit of Mt. Umunhum on foot.

We started from the Black Mountain parking lot, encountering few others along the way.

The trail meanders gently upward; it's a long walk, but not a strenuous one—about 5 miles.

We could see the layer of smoke from distant fires thickening above the valley, soon to drive us all indoors.

My hiking buddy pointed out a few bail-out points on our downward trek, ways to shorten the route by walking down the road instead. And miss sights like these glorious madrones? (Not a chance.)

The Longest Mile

Oh, the pain.

Somehow I managed to be faster, today, than on previous ascents. Truthfully, climbing Reynolds wasn't as arduous as I expected. I was surprised to hear my fellow riders chatting before I rounded the last bend; surely I wasn't that close? [Yup, I was.]

Overall I completed 18 miles and climbed 1,910 feet, but Reynolds always feels longer than it is.

A social group today, we wended our way into town for those who wanted coffee. A parrot perched on a nearby table next to its human (clearly identifiable by the feather tucked into the band of his hat). An unstable guy bobbled and babbled in the street, slinging a boombox and taunting traffic. Who knew that our bustling little downtown would be so entertaining on a Saturday afternoon?

WFH: Week Seventy-Two

Welcome to the workplace.

I found the tattered balloon arch ironically fitting (though I'm sure they meant well).

We now have the option to return to the office, and a few of my colleagues had eagerly done so. (Not I.)

Despite all the protocols (e.g., complete a survey each day, attesting to your lack of symptoms or exposure), within the first three days some had received messages that a person who'd visited the same building on the same day had tested positive for Covid-19.

I spent no more than a few (masked) minutes indoors. I cleaned up my desk; after 15 months, surely I didn't need whatever papers were still scattered there.

I ate my lunch outside, alone. And was pleased to enjoy a walk through a now-thriving restored natural habitat.

A few days later, I received a message that someone who'd visited one of the same buildings had tested positive ...