Two Too Close

I nearly died today.

It was my second close call in a week. The first incident, a few days ago, happened when I committed the sin of cycling near a school as parents were picking up their children. [No school buses?! Don't ask.] You might think parents would be extra careful around all those children. [They're not.]

When Minivan Mama evidently finished chatting with another mom across the street, she suddenly and sharply pulled away from the curb. Without looking. Right. In. Front. Of. Me.

Even though I was being cautious, moving slowly, I still had to panic-stop.

Her son waved happily through the window to his friend, and off they went—utterly oblivious to the accident narrowly averted.

I would have been injured, perhaps seriously, colliding with that minivan. Today's incident was much, much worse.

Today I'd decided to get some climbing in; having completed the first hill, I came to a stop at a T intersection where I would turn left. I unclipped and waited astride my bicycle, having heard a vehicle approaching from the right. A white Tesla waited behind me.

The vehicle I'd heard was some deep shade of red; burgundy, perhaps. A small SUV or crossover, perhaps. Driven by a woman with longish dark hair, perhaps. That much registered in my brain.

She was turning onto the road where I stood, cutting the corner at speed—completely on the wrong side of the double yellow line, into my lane. Hurtling straight at me. I'm pretty sure my mouth hung open; my expression was likely one of disbelief rather than terror. This is it, I thought. I'm going to die now.

Here I am, though, telling the tale.

Brakes screeched. The lanes flare out at the intersection, the corners rounded for cars turning right. Mindful of drivers seeking to turn right, I was positioned far enough to the left, and the Tesla just far enough behind, that the reckless driver managed to thread the needle to the left of me and to the right of the Tesla. And simply continued on her way.

Flowers, Frogs, and Fish

Riding on my own, I've fallen into an all-too-comfortable pattern—cruising through quiet residential neighborhoods with wide streets. But, honestly, there are more scenic routes that also have little vehicular traffic (on weekdays).

Just look at the Almaden Reservoir, framed with lovely lupine!

At the water's edge, I was puzzled by a noise I'd never heard before. I figured it had to be a frog, but it sounded more like moaning than croaking. When a fisherman wandered by, he confirmed that the frogs hang out in the reeds along the shoreline. (Cleverly concealed.)

I decided to venture out onto the dam for another perspective (on foot, though I hefted my bike across the vehicle-blocking boulders to keep it close). In the past, I've focused on admiring the water; today, I turned to the side and spotted the giant chimney in Quicksilver Park, a relic of New Almaden's cinnabar-mining and mercury-production days.

Fishing here is strictly a catch-and-release sport—too much mercury contamination. I don't get the attraction of catch-and-release, but I suppose the fisherman doesn't get the attraction of biking out here just to turn around and bike back home (32 miles round-trip, about 900 feet of climbing).

To each his (or her!) own.

Fluff

Normally I avoid biking on trails; today's route with some friends included a stretch of the Los Gatos Creek Trail that I've rarely used.

What was going on with these trees? I doubled back later, not wanting my curiosity to interfere with our group's plans.

Fluffy white stuff drifting all around us; not snowflakes (of course), not bits of dust on the lens of my camera ...

Puffy balls hanging all over the tree ... could these be cottonwood trees? [Duh!]

I took note of another oddity that caught my eye, and managed to find it when I returned: white California poppies (a cultivar, as it turned out).

A social ride with a little extra exploring, 36 miles with about 1,000 feet of elevation gain along the way. No better way to spend a sunny spring day!

May Day Flowers

A docent-led hike, focused on wildflowers? Count me in!

First new fact: The pond is here because the water table is high at this spot. We were following the familiar Zinfandel trail at the Picchetti Ranch Open Space Preserve today, pausing only briefly to admire the pond and convince ourselves that the duck we saw at the far side was a female mallard.

While I recognized many of the flowers we found, the wind poppy was new to me (and, evidently, fairly uncommon).

Many flowers rely on pollinators—like this variable checkerspot butterfly visiting our native golden yarrow.

Having hiked this (wooded) trail in other seasons, I was honestly surprised to discover as many flowers as we did. Red larkspur and white globe lilies, columbine and smooth mule's ears, Fernald's iris and bluewitch nightshade, orange bush monkeyflower and blue-eyed grass (of course), and so much more.

A leisurely 4.4 mile walk, for the love of flowers.

Still Blooming

The signs are there: the green hills are fading softly to brown.

The trails in Santa Teresa County Park are exposed and best explored during our cooler months (which will soon be behind us, until late fall).

If you know where to look, there are flowers to be found. (And we do know where to look.)

Clear skies, a perfect spring day to share a challenging hike with friends old and new (7.5 miles, about 1,000 feet of elevation gain). Smiles, all around.

Feathering Nests

I was itching for a long bike ride. A long, slow bike ride, playing amateur naturalist along the way. I didn't intend to visit the rookery; it felt too early to find much activity there.

A great blue heron took flight, skimming across the water, when I stopped to snap a photo.

I was hungry by the time I reached Baylands Park, where I settled at a picnic table near the area where a few guys were flying their model aircraft. A perilous activity, given the wind, I thought. “Not if you're a good pilot,” one remarked.

Shorebirds are a reliable sight along the bayside trail. Pondering the route I'd take back home, visions of a fresh fruit tart clinched it. Onward, then, to the rookery!

Some nests were under construction; a few were well-established and occupied.

Big nests for big birds.

And a big ride for this old bird: 46 miles with about 1,300 feet of elevation gain. Powered, in part, by a luscious fruit tart.

In the Eyes of a Child

I'd never really considered spending an entire day (or close to it) at the Monterey Bay Aquarium—until today.

A good friend had family visitors from afar; thinking they would enjoy it, I invited them to join me.

It's fascinating to experience a familiar place from another's perspective. Years ago, at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, I'd explored galleries I'd never considered after asking friends what they'd like to see. Today I got a pint-sized view of the Aquarium's exhibits, and a solid appreciation for the play-centric areas where children can climb and slide and manipulate child-friendly features. [Kudos to those who designed the exhibits, including their durability.]

The little ones were too young, perhaps; will they remember anything from this day? [I will.]