The Ride of Spring

It was that time of year. The time when cyclists converge on Calaveras Road while the hills are green and festooned with flowers.

When I proposed this route, a couple of friends shared that one of the local clubs would be out in force. [Plenty of road for all of us.]

It was a thrill to see so much water in the reservoir! Landslides that had blocked the road a few weeks ago had been cleared, allowing us to head for our planned stop at the Sunol Regional Wilderness Preserve. As luck would have it, we arrived just as a ranger began turning would-be visitors away. Alas, no more parking spaces ... for vehicles. We cruised right on in and settled at a picnic table in a grassy field near the ranger station. Knowing where to find us, two friends left their club crowd to join us.

Leapin' lupines!

Having dreaded the climb up the Wall this morning, I surprised myself by being a mere six seconds slower than my best (known) time. Not to mention a new personal best (by 25 seconds) on the steady 2.6 mile climb after leaving the park. I guess I'm in better shape than I thought? Though my legs were sore after finishing the ride with 30 miles and over 2,700 feet of climbing. (Sore, in a good way.)

Don't Look Back

So close, but yet so far. Getting to the El Sereno Preserve can be a challenge—access to the Aquinas Trail, for example, is at the end of a private road. We carpooled to a small clearing at the base of the road and walked up. Call it part of the hike.

It was easy to imagine that we were far from civilization as we climbed toward the sky. One glance over your shoulder confirmed otherwise, however.

But we had left the hustle and haze of Silicon Valley well below us. We made it not quite to the end of the trail before turning back; high enough to take in a view of the Lexington Reservoir, replenished by our rainy winter.

In all, we covered something short of 8 miles. It was a good day for this hike (before the heat of summer). A day to embrace new horizons.

Dive Right In

When I woke up this morning, my body was nagging me to take it easy. I decided to wait a while before telling my cycling buddy that I wouldn't ride, in case she'd feel obliged to back out in solidarity. I imagined sitting in a park, reading, while my compatriots cycled in and around San Miguel.

Then I looked at the route profile. The gradient on the big climb (~6 miles) was a whopping 2%, for the most part. Once I started moving around and ate some breakfast, I felt better. It's only 33 miles ...

The vintage warbird wasn't the only surprise of the day.

A “road closed” sign greeted us as we turned onto North River Road. With most of the group ahead of us (ebikes), we stayed the course. Until we met them, returning. Mud, they said. Can't get through, they said.

Many phones were pulled from pockets, alternate routes considered. Most of the group decided to revisit the closure, appealing to any passing pickup truck to carry them across. With almost 30 miles behind us, there was no enthusiasm for the detour I proposed. Three of us followed a rider who was confident about the route he had in mind, until I realized that we were heading south toward Paso Robles (rather than north, toward San Miguel).

After backtracking, our impromptu leader phoned one of the riders ahead. It was possible to cross, maybe even to ride; her shoes got wet.

There was no mud, simply the Estrella River crossing the road at a dip engineered for that purpose. Off with the shoes and socks, I was the first to wade across. The current was manageable, the textured concrete surface not slippery, and my lightweight bicycle easy to carry. At the far end, I pulled out a bandana and dried my feet. (I'd always figured it might come in handy, one day.)

Meanwhile, several SUVs nonchalantly drove right through—as did a bunch of guys on motorcycles. (We reassured them it wasn't slippery.)

In the end, that 33-mile ride turned into a 40 mile ride, with about 1,700 feet of climbing. I was glad I didn't sit this one out! Recovery day tomorrow, for sure ...

Sculpterra Loop

Day two. No recovery day, this. But there would be poppies!

Given my (un)fitness level, I knew it would be challenging to ride three days in a row; my body confirmed that this morning. Our social group was planning a 48-mile outing. [Ebikes.] I noticed that the route had an inner loop; skipping that (however beautiful it might be) made the day more manageable for me. Before we had GPS routes to preview, I would have soldiered on (and suffered).

I was glad that I'd previewed the route before we started, noting that we'd be taking the first left after crossing 101 (for a pit stop at Templeton Park). As happened yesterday, a couple of riders missed the turn and strayed off course.

One rider was glad to join me, and by the time we reached the Sculpterra Winery we were both more than ready to see it.

Our stray riders caught up to us, and after picnicking I led them back to town before the rest of the pack arrived. [No more wrong turns.]

Back at the Inn, I was surprised to see a couple of glum riders from the more aggressive group; their planned route had been thwarted by a road closure, and they didn't work out an alternative. For sure, I'd had more fun today: 40 miles and about 2,000 feet of climbing.

I don't mind being a slowpoke.

Sights to See

Back in Paso Robles for some spring biking. I clearly didn't explore enough of our lodging's grounds last year!

With plenty of free time in my life now, I could enjoy this multi-day excursion with old friends—and my chief cycling buddy was all in this year, too!

It just so happened that a red-tailed hawk was perched across from one of the places where we paused to regroup, and somehow someone spotted it.

We're here a month earlier than last year, with frost warnings (due to a cold spell). It didn't take much convincing to shift our planned start time from 9 a.m. to 10; other than the morning chill, conditions were just about ideal.

My cycling buddy and I cast our lot with the social (slower) group, but this year nearly everyone was on an ebike. (In fact, we were the only women in that group riding under our own power.) Although we biked through Peachy Canyon again, much of our route was new—with more elevation gain. With no turbo button for me to flick when the grade kicked up, I was thoroughly spent after 40 miles and more than 3,600 feet of climbing.

Independence Day

“Why are you still working?” friends would ask. Busy with hiking, cycling, traveling, volunteering, and hobbies, they wondered how they'd once had time for full-time jobs.

Another friend shared thoughtful advice she'd been given: “Don't retire from something—retire to something.”

I still enjoyed my work (and my colleagues). But over the past year or so, I had been growing less tolerant of big-corporation-bureaucracy and less inspired by the work ahead.

Last May, my chief biking buddy and I took a couple of days off to join a group cycling in the Paso Robles area. Arriving ahead of the group, we planned our own adventure for Monday. Sunday night, I tackled Monday's crossword puzzle.

Was the universe sending me a message?! Not just 44 down (RETIRE), but HAHAHA (41 down), NOTAFAN (of work? 39 down), and LIVELONG (37 down).

In case the message WASNTCLEAR (Tuesday's puzzle, 32 down), I was reminded that I was OUT (of office, 53 across).

I had already crafted a plan—a plan to “test-drive” retirement. I had contrived to hoard the maximum number of vacation days, which (when supplemented with a few holidays) would allow me to take off the entire months of June and July.

My plan was to live an ordinary, day-to-day life. Cycling, hiking, catching up on chores. Would I be bored? I've been intellectually engaged for virtually all of my life, certainly academically and throughout my career.

Some days, I felt ready to retire. On other days, the prospect terrified me. Maybe I would return in August and convert to part-time for a while.

During my test drive, I compiled a list (“Things I Will or Won't Miss”); there were almost twice as many “won't miss” items. I also kept a log tracking how I'd spent each day; when August came around, I wouldn't be left wondering what I'd done with my time.

Spoiler alert: I learned that I didn't miss the office.

I did, however, decide to return. Weighing multiple factors, I kept working full-time (with a spring-time plan to propose going part-time through the end of 2023). I went back because I knew I could still be useful. My skills were valued by my team; we were working hard to deliver on a critical, priority-zero project. The reward for me was in the human interaction: coaching and mentoring, supporting my colleagues as they developed their careers.

I had picked up a copy of Steve Lopez's recent musings about retirement (Independence Day), finding many points that resonated. Losing your (professional) identity. A job that no longer feels rewarding. The need for connection. Waking up each day looking forward to something you want to do. Doing what you love to do.

I hadn't quite finished the book when the callous form letter landed in my email inbox in the wee hours of January 20, informing me that my employment would end on March 31 (although I had already been sidelined, along with thousands of others deemed surplus).

A friend asked what would happen with that big project. I shrugged. “Not my problem.”

Laptop returned.

Career ended.

Santa Teresa Loops

With a break from the rain, our Monday hiking group was raring to go on a moderately long hike (about 6.5 miles). Steep bits interrupted our conversation from time to time. [Talk or breathe: pick one.]

Chilly temperatures meant the poppies mostly kept their petals curled up tight.

I've often gazed down at these trails when I bike up Bernal; today I cast my eyes upward for a glimpse of IBM's Research Lab.

We carefully picked our way through the muddiest sections; at one point I followed another's lead onto a short bypass. [Is this a trail or a a stream?] Trails are closed to mountain bikers and equestrians, but hikers are lighter on the land. Lucky for us!

More stormy weather ahead ...