Fuzzy Legs

What to do on a chilly winter's day with rain in the forecast? Stay dry? Mostly. Climb a hill to touch a cloud and get wet? Of course.

Today's group was a faster one, and I was pleased to keep up with them. The front group charged off at a pace that was not impossible and I was swept along nicely, drafting a guy riding a fixed-gear bicycle and our ride leaders on their tandem.

Am I spending too much time cycling? The San Francisco Chronicle recently profiled another local cyclist and her cycling addiction. Whew, that's not me. I am not signing up for any double centuries, much less Paris-Brest-Paris. I'm not addicted. No intervention needed. Nothing to see here. Move along, please.

Still, when you recognize at least one cyclist [not riding with you] on every ride, does that mean you're riding too much? When men in Lycra with fuzzy legs look weird to you, are you hanging around too many bike racers?

The tandem flew past me on a straightaway descent; the urge to draft was irresistible. Another rider tried to insert himself as we passed; I defended and held my position on their wheel. Coming up on the fixed-gear as we crested a little rise, I seized the moment (and momentum) to attack. My breakaway would last only until the next uphill, but I knew that. It was fun anyway. Out of the saddle and rocking the bike, he powered past me like I was standing still. I'll never have legs like that.

The View from the Top

I bought my ticket and I boarded the train, touched down in the land of San Bruno Mountain with Marc Cohn singing in my brain. Caltrain did not disappoint: today's delights included train groupies in a state of sheer ecstasy, induced when the engineer blew past one of the local stations along the way. The train came to a halt before winning approval to back up to the missed station. The bike car being the northernmost car (leading the way to San Francisco), it's a natural magnet for the groupies. The cyclist who disembarked muttered "Once a month . . ."

Puddles lingered from the showers that ended sometime last night, as we pulled away from the gray skies of the south bay into the San Francisco sunshine. The conditions at the top of the hill could not have been more unlike those on January 1. Clear, still, and nearly balmy. The view to the west extended past the Farallon Islands; to the north, past San Francisco and the Marin Headlands to Mount Tam and Drake's Bay; to the east, Mount Diablo and beyond.

Coyote Point is a great vantage point along the approach to SFO, and we picnicked near the water's edge before meandering south along the bay shore and the hills of Redwood City to catch a southbound train in Palo Alto.

Bench Henge

You'll find this inviting spot on Coleman Road in San José, not far from Almaden Expressway. It is not a bus stop. Four benches are clustered in a semi-circle facing the five-lane thoroughfare and a light post adorned with a "No Stopping" sign (not the Guadalupe Creek, which runs behind them). A gravel path leads here from some nearby apartment buildings; was this "park" some sort of deal related to that development? I should pack a lunch and sit here one day, just to see how passers-by react.

One of the things I appreciate about biking with our club is the depth of local knowledge. Today's route passed through the Blossom Valley neighborhood, which I had not visited before, on the way to climbing Bernal Road through a section of Santa Teresa County Park. At the top of Bernal sits IBM's Almaden Research Center, and we stopped short of that (private property). It is a modest climb, but my legs were protesting after yesterday's flogging. I learned that this land was all part of Rancho Santa Teresa, part of a 10,000 acre land grant from the Mexican Government to José Joaquin Bernal in 1834.

Traffic was light, as people prepared to party around today's big football game. This year I remembered to record it, so I could check out the much-vaunted commercials. (I fast-forwarded through the football parts.) Not being the targeted demographic, I was resoundingly disappointed. Commercials for three different job-hunting sites? Are there any job openings these days? I did enjoy the half-time show; it looked like Bruce and the band had a genuinely good time.

Sierra Road

It has been a year since I've climbed Sierra Road, and with today's club ride heading up the back of it, why not descend and then climb it? Approaching the summit from the back side, you can see the road snaking along the top of the hill and you can't see the sprawling metropolis below the fog.

Sierra is hard. On the descent, I pondered making a sensible return to our starting point. But where's the fun in that? Thus, having warmed up with 2400 feet of climbing already in my legs, I made the big u-turn and headed back up.

The last time I hauled myself up Sierra, I was earning my place as a spectator during the Tour of California. When I finally reached the summit, one of the local racers teased me:

What took you so long?
I had a mechanical problem, I replied.
Getting the expected look of sympathy, I continued: I need a bigger engine.

A few eyebrows went up when I proceeded to pull a long lens, mounted on a digital SLR, out of my little backpack. Maybe she's not as slow as we thought.

It was so warm today that I was overheating. I pushed up my sleeves. I thought about stopping. I kept going. I thought about turning around. I didn't.

Shortly after I arrived at the top, a serious racer arrived, breathing mightily. Before his support vehicle picked him up and ferried him back down the hill, I caught a snippet of their conversation.

How was it?
That was hard. And not in a fun way.

In addition to the usual turkey vultures and hawks, I crossed paths with a magpie and a western bluebird in brilliant plumage, and saw the largest flock yet of wild turkeys. The cows at the top were indifferent to our suffering.

I celebrated with some pretzels and triumphantly descended the back side.

Riding with the Leaders

San José is the tenth largest city in the US, but the beauty of California is that you are never far away from wild land. We started today's ride in the shadow of downtown skyscrapers, but left all that behind in less than eight miles as we crossed the freeways and climbed the foothills toward Alum Rock.

The skies were threatening, the winds were blowing, and there was a damp chill in the air. The landscape is a bit dynamic here; we passed through a section where only one lane of the road is hanging on (barely), and also traversed a few segments of dirt. We saw hawks circling overhead, fields of wild mustard, and even a stray heifer on the wrong side of a fence.

Once the climbing was done, I enjoyed a screaming fast descent (44.5 mph, max) on our way back to the start. Lunch awaited, and I had worked up an appetite.

Today's ride was a generous thank-you from our bike club, ACTC, to all the members who had led rides in 2008. Our pre-lunch ride was thus a rare group - all leaders! Nonetheless, we took direction well, and needless to say, no one got lost.

Montebello in the Rain

This is getting to be a habit - it was raining the last time I climbed (and descended) Montebello Road. Today the radar showed no rain for miles around, and the skies were supposed to clear before 9 a.m. Caveat: when you climb above 2500 feet on a cloudy day, you may meet the cloud. And get wet.

Having survived this climb once in the rain, I didn't have a good excuse to stay dry in a warm house instead. (I lack imagination, or common sense, or both, you say? You can think of plenty?) Well, once you're wet, you're wet; and you'll have to clean the bike later anyway. Bundle up, back off on the tire pressure, don't lean the bike aggressively, and for goodness' sake stay off the painted lines and and all metal (grates, tracks, plates, covers).

An angry horn on the road below me was a harbinger of a common species, The Aggressive Driver. Soon enough, I could hear the accelerating engine and sliding tires, and conveniently tucked myself into a driveway before The Jerk in the Black Mercedes roared past.

I am a Privileged Person in a Powerful Pricey Car, and I am Most Inconvenienced by that Road Closure down there. The Speed Limit on this curvy, slippery detour doesn't apply to Me.

Downed trees were blocking Highway 9 just south of where we'd turned, diverting unexpected traffic onto part of our route. Back on the road after The Jerk had passed, I was left to enjoy the whir of my tires and the creek splashing alongside the road. That, and gunshots reverberating through the canyon from the nearby firing range. The road climbs high enough to escape all that noise.

The Web Site Has Changed

I rolled out before the sun this morning, headed for the usual destination (work) on a most unusual day. The sky brightened from pink and gold to blue, while the air made my fingers and toes tingle and chilled the water in my bottle. It was a lonely ride, with my shadow not joining me until Sunnyvale.

I arrived right on schedule, with enough time to refuel on a second breakfast before the key moments of today's big event. I joined several hundred of my coworkers, gathered to watch live coverage of the Presidential Inauguration, just as Senator Feinstein was wrapping up her remarks.

Today was to be one of those never-to-be forgotten days, and a joyous one! As I reflect on the other such moments in my life, all were tragic. Dismissed from school for lunch and told not to return that afternoon, the morning that John F. Kennedy was assassinated. Accompanying an injured colleague to the hospital, and learning on my way back that the space shuttle Challenger had exploded in the sky. Waking up to an early morning phone call from my brother, as he watched the twin towers burning from his office across the Hudson.

I will remember our cheers as Joe Biden was sworn in, and the hearty appreciation for Aretha Franklin, Itzhak Perlman, Yo-Yo Ma, and the other performers. I will especially remember how we almost missed the beginning of the Presidential Oath of Office. The moment before, the television announcer had remarked that it was now past noon on the east coast and the White House web site had just changed. Our crowd roared with cheers and applause so loud and prolonged that we overwhelmed the sound of the broadcast. Eight years is a significant chunk of my life, of the lives of my colleagues, even more so the lives of their children.

Thank you, Barack Obama, for wanting this job. In all the years I've voted, you're the first candidate in whom I truly believe. And now I can say something that has not been true for a long, long time: I am proud to be an American.