Life in the Bike Lane

Cycling gives you the chance to see all manner of wondrous things, if you will just take the time to look about you. The spider who spun this web was very clever, as there were dozens of gnats bobbing and weaving nearby in the sunshine.

Some of my friends enjoy cycling with a soundtrack, and I admit that the iPod Shuffle mounted on Arriva headphones is an ingenious solution. But with decades of music stored in my head, the gizmo seems unnecessary.

As I cruised to the start of today's ride at Almaden Lake, my internal music source triggered on an Eagles tune, Glass in the Bike Lane (surely make you lose some air). Okay, I improvised on the lyrics. I'm not an Eagles fan.

Without headphones, my ears are open to the songs of birds and the whoosh of the wind, alert for the sound of approaching vehicles and other hazards - like the hooves clattering on the pavement next to me one day when a young buck decided to charge me, or the only time I've heard the eerie cry of a hawk circling overhead.

Other than glass and the ubiquitous cigarette butts, today's roadside debris included a small right shoe (tossed by a petulant child?), a shiny CD, and one of those little plastic flossing tools. Somehow I'd expect that a person so committed to good dental hygiene would also respect the environment, but what do I know?

Today's ride was flat and social; I enjoyed good conversation, a circuitous route through suburban San Jose, and a large chocolate croissant. Not without guilt, enjoying another 68-degree day when much of the country is suffering a deep freeze. But look at this view from my (hilly) route home. How could you not bike on a day like this?

Butterflies in January

I know a butterfly when I see one, you're thinking, and that's a freight train. As I cruised back home from today's ride along a segment of my familiar commute route, I heard an unfamiliar rumble - and there was the train. One blocked a major local road not long ago when it derailed, but I'd never actually seen one here.

Most of the route was considerably more scenic, along the ridge of the Santa Cruz Mountains on Skyline (aka Highway 35) north into the redwoods. Idyllic, if it weren't for the racing motorcyclists and sports car enthusiasts that know enforcement is rare. It seems the authorities would rather just pick up the pieces. Yeeerrrooommm . . . Ferrari. Draft that!

A year ago, I rode up here on a rainy day, pointing my bike through the tire tracks in the slippery residue of mudslides. It was warm enough today for a few butterflies to venture out. On a clear day, the Pacific glistens to the west and the valley shimmers to the east, all the way to Mt. Diablo rising above the haze.

The wheels on the bike go round and round, round and round. The next thing you know, you've traveled 78 miles and climbed 5,965 feet. When some friends looked at my weekend ride calendar, they said:

You're going to do a 97-mile ride?!
No, no, of course not. I'm just doing part of it.

Back in civilization (central Woodside), a thoughtful motorcyclist pulled alongside as we proceeded through the intersection. Despite his Michigan license plate, he was eminently qualified to educate me on some finer point of the California motor vehicle code. Muffled by his helmet all I could make out was " ... RIGHT ... TRAFFIC LAWS ..." Perhaps he took umbrage when I rolled up to the stop sign in the bike lane, passing him on the right? He and his buddy were riding two abreast, which is mighty controversial behavior for bicyclists, by the way - but legal for motorcyclists? Hmm, that's worth researching.

He must have been one of those guys I saw traveling at the speed limit up on Skyline today. Oh, wait, I remember. I didn't see any of those.

Moon Over Cupertino

We're in the midst of a veritable heat wave in the Bay Area, but I needed a rest day yesterday. I overdid it with 83 miles and 5,800 feet of climbing over the weekend, having neglected endurance rides in favor of short, intense efforts over the past couple of months. My legs felt like lead on Monday.

I did capture a picture of the nearly-full moon over Cupertino on my way to work this morning, but it was a disappointment (unlike the real moment). I enjoyed a leisurely ride, but saw fewer cyclists than usual (21).

The number of dicey driving maneuvers was about typical, though (3). Starting at 7:20 am with the ignorant motorist who honked at me for being in the right place (the right edge of the lane proceeding straight over the freeway, as opposed to the right edge of the lane turning onto the freeway). Good morning.

Next up, a guy in a Jeep waiting to turn left at a light, with his cell phone plastered to his right ear. Unsure whether he planned to steer with his left hand or his knees, I gave him plenty of space.

Finally, a commercial pick-up truck turning left onto another freeway, trailing the line of cars before him, through a light that was already quite red. Always bike attentively.

Calaveras

We do need more rain, although from this angle you can't appreciate the low water level of the Calaveras reservoir. Another perfect day for cycling, though. Rainy work days are always welcome. No bald eagle sightings this year; speculation is that they sought better hunting grounds.

It's hard not to run on about the things you love. Cycling, for example. I have inspired a few people to get back on their bikes, while driving others to distraction. One conversation from my holiday visit back east springs to mind.

How do you stay so thin?
I bike. A lot. More than 3300 miles and 178,000 feet of climbing [in 2008]. Pass me that plate of cookies? Thanks.

For the most part, my family members have never been physically active, and I'm not sure they quite believe me.

What happens if you get a flat tire?
I fix it.

It's a lot easier to fix a flat in warm comfort at home, so don't ask why I had procrastinated about a slow leak in my rear tire for months. But when I found a small piece of glass embedded yesterday, I read that as a sign. I knew it wasn't the glass, which was a new acquisition (and thank you, Continental Grand Prix 4000S, for resisting that puncture). Much to my surprise, I found a wire fragment piercing the tube (and, more or less, plugging its hole). I also learned that my neurotic cat finds small children and bicycle wheels equally terrifying, as she fled to her safe haven under the comforter on my bed.

Metcalf

Shortly after I moved to the Bay Area from the East Coast, the following item appeared in the local police blotter:

A woman called to report that she'd just seen a coyote kill a raccoon, and she was concerned about the safety of small pets in the area.

Life is different out here. As we descended the back side of Metcalf Road today, a scrawny coyote scurried across our path and eyed us from the opposite slope. I could still hear the little white dog yapping at us from the property we'd just passed; I'd been relieved to see that this dog could not chase us. Now I realized that we'd probably spooked a hungry coyote and I wondered how things would turn out for that little white dog, chained up in the front yard.

I'm not sure how a relentless gradient in excess of 10% can look flat, but it does in this photo. Can you spot the cyclist making a slow ascent? We've had a relatively dry winter so far - just a touch of green in the landscape. We were blessed with a clear, unusually warm winter day (temperatures in the 60s). I settled into a comfortable pace that was merely two minutes slower than my Low-Key assault on this hill two months ago. Go figure.

I found it surprising when the inaugural San Jose LIVESTRONG Challenge included Metcalf on their 100k route last summer. Dropped chains on the first overpass did not bode well for many of those riders, and more than a few walked up Metcalf Road that day.

Firsts on First

They said the fog would lift at 10. It lifted, grudgingly, at 4.

It was less cold and wet than yesterday, but the mist brought a certain surreality to the San Bruno Mountain Hill Climb. I would hear the finish line before I could see it.

The pack took off at a blistering pace. Yikes! I was off the back in no time, and with adrenaline spiking my heart rate, spinning seemed like A Mighty Good Plan. I caught and dropped another woman from the Cat 4 field before the veil of fog shrouded the rest. Her front wheel came into view briefly near the bottom of the upper climb, but I held her off - to finish: Not Last!

It's important to have goals. Being a late bloomer, I focus on the achievable. Although, this being an official bicycle race, being Not Last was conceivably a stretch goal. I was delighted to be cheered by spectators along the way, enthusiastic children with cowbells, and the encouraging shouts of descending racers as I approached the summit. And with so many familiar faces from the Low-Key Hillclimbs, overall I felt more relaxed and less intimidated.

My first official bicycle race. My best time up San Bruno Mountain. A blog begins.