A Misbegotten Hike

We had a plan, and that plan would include exploring some territory unfamiliar to me. My chief biking buddy invited me to join a small group hike at the Fremont Older Open Space Preserve.

But the best laid plans ... were shredded by the local mountain biking community. [Being road cyclists, we were clueless.] I'd never seen so many vehicles near the bottom of Parker Ranch Road. [Turns out there's a trailhead there.] A veritable parade of cars snaked up Prospect and circled the parking lot at the top before heading back down.

Plan B was hatched: we headed for the Picchetti Ranch Open Space Preserve instead.

My biking (and hiking!) buddy recommended the Zinfandel trail, having been here before. We caught a glimpse of water in the drought-afflicted Stevens Creek Reservoir.

The other end of the trail dropped us at a familiar spot along Stevens Canyon Road, where we often stop for a break after biking to the end of the pavement.

The creek has not gone dry. [Yet.]

A cheeky Western Fence Lizard narrowly missed being trodden underfoot as we returned, surprisingly not darting into the brush when I stopped to snap a photo.

Hiking a little over 4 miles, I developed a better understanding of some local terrain: from Montebello to Stevens Canyon, through the woods. All good.

The Wright Stuff

Visiting the site of Wrights Station was one of my buddy Steve's favorite routes. He always relished the opportunity to introduce fellow cyclists to its history.

Today I was on my own. Four of us had set out together; one turned back, as expected, after the first climb. I toyed with the idea of following the other two on a longer excursion to the end of Highland Way, but knowing the day would get hotter I reckoned I would lose the motivation to drop down to Wrights Station (and then climb back up).

And I did want to visit Wrights today. I lingered on the bridge, alone with my thoughts. I'd never noticed fruit among the foliage, till now. Bright red orbs, others golden yellow. Maybe I'd never been down here at just the right time, or maybe too busy chatting with my fellow cyclists to look around.

High overhead, something caught my eye: a bright orange dragonfly perched at the top of a thin, bare branch.

Could I get a closer look with my phone's zoom lens?

It was challenging to hold steady enough to focus, but ... color me impressed. My subject was most cooperative, posing with wings spread and staying still.

I climbed back up from the creek, regretfully leaving the shade of the redwoods to return to the hot side of the hill after cycling 18 miles, with ~1,700 feet of climbing.

Hilly Thursday

A mellow social group headed for the hills today, venturing as far as the Almaden Reservoir.

There is an impressive bridge under construction near the reservoir that will change the alignment of the road, when completed. The reservoir was surprisingly full; this riding group stays together, so I didn't pause for a proper photo—just this snapshot of the tail end. (Which would be dry, this time of year, were the reservoir less full.)

A nice little morning ride—a decent 34 miles, with about ~800 feet of climbing.

Apex Predator

A mid-week ride was headed for one of my favorite places in the redwood forest, just over the ridge of the Santa Cruz mountains.

I wasn't a fan of the starting location the leader had chosen, and knowing that they'd leave me in the dust within the first few minutes anyway, I opted to start from a better spot that also cut off a few miles. (The ride leader didn't mind.)

Knowing it was going to be a hot day I also started earlier, and [spoiler] they never caught me. In part because they also tackled a steep climb that I bypassed. Doing that once was more than enough for me.

I'm pretty sure that Stetson must have been an old logging road. It's in terrible condition (has been, for as long as I've known it); but I expect the residents prefer it that way.

I paused, alone, to savor the aroma of the forest and bask in the silence. Lovely, blessed, silence.

We normally regroup at the Skyland Church and I thought the group might catch me there. I lingered in the shade and was treated to a little wild kingdom action. There, at the tippy-top of a very tall tree, sat a hawk. Probably a red-tailed hawk, as those are the most common around here; without binoculars, I couldn't be certain.

A smaller bird, with great determination, repeatedly swooped and dived at the hawk. In this shot, I would characterize the hawk's reaction as “Ask me if I care.” The dive-bomber almost certainly has a nest nearby, likely in that very tree.

The day was warming up, and with a bit more climbing ahead of me, I tore myself away from the avian drama and headed back. In all, a very pleasant (solo, rather than social) 23 miles, about 2300 feet of climbing.

Late to the Party

That sinking feeling ... when you roll into the park where the ride will start and there isn't a cyclist in sight. [Uh oh.]

I'm so accustomed to rides starting at 9:30 a.m., I was running on autopilot. That explains why I happened to notice one of our club members pedaling down a side street as I brushed my teeth this morning. He's getting an early start, I thought. [Nope. He was planning to arrive on time.]

If I'd caught my mistake before heading out, I could have intercepted them en route. [But no.]

I texted my ride buddy and headed for the reservoir; I wasn't planning to ride the steeper sections of today's route, anyway.

After catching her, we rode out past the ever-shrinking Guadalupe Reservoir. Roadwork is in progress (chip-sealing), and I noted that a side road that we “enjoy” climbing [so to speak] was blanketed in a thick layer of gravel.

Having passed a couple of deer on my way to the start, I was wary as I approached the last climb. Good instinct: two more crossed the road ahead of me, then stopped to stare. By the time I fished out my phone to snap a picture, they'd decided to saunter off into the brush.

I finished the ride I'd intended, though not as planned: 23 miles and likely 1,200 feet of climbing.

Wherever You Go

Yesterday, birding. Today, biking.

What's up with these mid-week jaunts?! [No, I'm not playing hooky.] I'd decided something of a “summer vacation” was in order this year. [Remember those? Or maybe you're a schoolteacher, enjoying them still.] I'd plotted and planned, banked up my vacation days and marked my work calendar “OOO.”

Weekday riders tend to be retired (or have flexible schedules). It's fun getting to know folks I would rarely meet, otherwise. These outings are about camaraderie, not so much the scenery. They're about conversation and coffee, and (of course) riding our bicycles.

It's convenient for me to bike to the starting point. Driving there, followed by unloading and setting up my bike, would not be faster. [Plus, I get more exercise.]

Today's route would mean two round-trips home—our leader had settled on a coffee stop in my home town. Should I cut it short, leaving them to return back to the start? [Nah.]

The second round-trip would feed not only my hunger for more exercise, but also my curiosity. Our leader seems to carry a veritable atlas of local roads in her head (no GPS needed), and I wondered what neighborhoods she'd choose on the way back.

Wherever you go, there you are ... 33 miles and about 500 feet of climbing later.

Birds of Belgatos

And now for something completely different.

I decided to take advantage of a bird-watching session offered through a local library, and to treat myself to a suitable pair of binoculars.

I was a bit skeptical about our destination—a little neighborhood park. [Oh ye of little faith!] As the bird-watching expert jabbered away, her back to the sky, I spotted some drama overhead: a hawk being chased by a (somewhat) smaller bird. Feeling it would be rude to interrupt her outright, I simply raised my arm and pointed. “A Cooper's hawk, chasing a Red-tailed hawk; she must have a nest nearby.” [Okay, things are looking up. Literally.]

And indeed, she did have a nest nearby.

Although we spent most of the session planted in one corner of the park, a few steps away from the parking lot, we spotted two of the juveniles perched in a tree after we took a short stroll uphill. They were waiting for mom to fly in with their next meal, and tolerated our gaping and gawking for quite a while before they took wing.

To return to their nest, as it turned out; where we discovered a third juvenile.

We watched an American Robin pluck a big juicy grub out of the park's lush field of grass, and several Western Bluebirds and a Black Phoebe foraging as well. We saw familiar Dark-eyed Juncos, Anna's hummingbirds, a Lesser Goldfinch, and an American Crow; circling overhead, a pair of Red-tailed hawks a-courting and a Turkey Vulture.

An eye-popping yellow bird darted through some branches: a Hooded Oriole. A Chestnut-backed Chickadee teased us—now you see me, now you don't. [An oriole and a chickadee, in California? What do I know ...] We also glimpsed a White-breasted Nuthatch scooting up and down a tree trunk.

Without our expert guide, I would have been able to identify only the birds that were already familiar to me. The rest would have registered as ... Tiny bird. Brown bird. Another tiny bird. Yellow bird.

I walked away impressed. I would never have imagined I could see so many different birds while standing in one spot at the edge of a neighborhood park!