Wednesday Workout

A fellow cyclist recently confessed her image of hell, which went something like this:

The Devil opens the door to a huge room, filled with stationary bicycles as far as the eye can see—the best models one can imagine, all gleaming and new. "Choose whichever one you want to ride!" he offers, gleefully. [For eternity.]

As I left the office today, I walked past a group laboring hard on their gleaming spin cycles. I was planning a spin, myself: Up some hills.

An after-work ride is not part of my regular routine (unless I happen to be commuting back home). It was fortunate that I faced a short ride to meet the group, because I managed a couple of false starts before I pulled myself together. Oops, forgot my vest ... Oops, forgot my gloves ...

Our route for the evening was a decent challenge that was virtually in my backyard. In other words, I could easily tackle it any evening, on my own (but, I have not). Riding with a group provides the motivation I lack, evidently.

A short ride (17 miles), with a respectable 1,630 feet of climbing. I pushed the pace much harder than I would have on my own. Surrounded by trees pushing out bright new leaves, descending in the warm rays of the setting sun, startling one wild turkey off the road ...

There is no stationary bicycle in this picture.

Spring Springs

Spring is the season for Soda Springs. The sun was shining, the springs were flowing, and the late rains had coaxed some wildflowers into bloom.

Having spent Saturday as a Tierra Bella volunteer, Sunday was my day to ride. Before tackling Soda Springs Road, we headed up Aldercroft Heights—unexplored territory, for me. The public road ends at San Jose Water Company property, protected by the usual loops of razor wire atop a chain link fence festooned with the usual warning signs.

Inexplicably, there was also a streetlight planted among the trees (in the dense shade, illuminated). The base of Wrights Station is little more than a mile away, on the other side of the fence, but you can't get there from here. A security guard in a pickup truck headed down the road as I climbed back up. Did we trigger a camera somewhere? How disappointed he would be to find a bunch of brightly clad, middle-aged cyclists loitering at the end of the road.

The public portion of Soda Springs is another dead end. The top of Loma Almaden is little more than a mile away; you can't get there from here. The grade of this road is amazingly linear, essentially uninterrupted at 8.2% for a five and a half miles. The lower slopes offer the best vistas; the road ends in the trees at a surprising altitude of nearly 3,100 feet.

With few landmarks, Soda Springs feels like the climb that will never end. Trees, blind corners, more trees ... repeat. I was ready to be done long before I reached the "500 feet to end of road" sign. With less than 200 feet to go, I discovered that I had unintentionally completed the climb without shifting into my lowest gear. Incredible!

The ascent is a test of willpower; the descent is a test of braking power (and nerve). For the day, 21.1 miles, with 3,575 feet of climbing.

Tierra Bella Redux

It is almost that time again: the annual Tierra Bella bike ride is a week away, and today was the day to pre-ride the course (for fun, and to take note of any problems along the way).

With my normal ride routine disrupted by illness and bad weather, I seriously doubted whether I could complete the 100k route. My usual ride buddy has similarly suffered, and I was relieved when he suggested that we should pause after the first loop to assess whether we should tackle the second.

Under the watchful eyes of the sheriff's department, a community service crew was hacking at weeds in the parking area at Coyote Lake-Harvey Bear Ranch County Park. The porta-potty was evidently in need of some serious whacking. While I was in it. Whatever their particular crimes, they were quite the motley crew. It seemed prudent to look the other way; they, however, stared at us without compunction. Hmm, any bike thieves among them?

At our rest stop near Gilroy Hot Springs, how could I not think of Paul? I can still see him there, last year, feeding us cookies and puns. Memories can be sticky, that way.

I trailed my ride buddy for most of the morning, but as we headed down a long straight toward our decision point, he became a distant speck. [Uh-oh. Running out of steam.] He was done; I was determined. He turned left; I turned right. Another 25 miles, or so? The pedals on the bike go round and round ...

In the last stretch, I passed a woman like she was standing still. Not bad, she had been ahead of me all day. Soon some century riders whizzed past, inviting me to hop on their train. With traffic lights ahead, I calculated that I could conserve my energy and still catch them, at my own pace. The payoff was a nice draft, for a mile or two.

My longest ride of 2012, to date: 64.7 miles, with a mere 2,230 feet of climbing. I hope the weather will be as lovely for our guests, next Saturday!

Ped Power

There were plenty of soggy Cinderellas yesterday, but I was not among them. With strong winds and a 100% chance of rain, I stayed indoors.

I was looking forward to biking on one of my favorite roads today, but that plan fell apart. Short on sleep, I was not up for an early-morning start some 65 miles away.

Still, I could not waste such a gorgeous day. I set out, on foot, to polish off some errands. Herewith, I share some sunny Sunday afternoon mysteries.

When pulling over to fuss with your navigation system, why would you choose to block the entrance to the local police operations center?

Behind the wheel of an Audi R8, why would you choose to drive through Vasona Park?

Out for a stroll, why would you choose to carry three identical pens in the pocket of your Hawaiian shirt?

The park was teeming with people, and the trail was as chaotic as ever. People strolling, roller-blading, cycling. Dogs on long leashes. Kids on scooters. I intervened to help a dad who was struggling to moderate, simultaneously, the downhill speed of one child on a plastic trike and one child in a stroller.

Canada geese are a year-round nuisance, making a mess of the fields. One scofflaw's [off-leash] little dog gave them a run, but the effect was fleeting. Send in the coyotes!

I felt like royalty, commanding traffic to obey my every whim. Press the big button and post haste, all the drivers endure a long red light while the walk signal counts down. Pedestrians rule in California.

Errands accomplished: 7.7 miles, four stores, one ATM machine, one county park, and lots of sunshine.

Slow Motion

The force [of laziness] is strong in this one.

I feel tired.

You got plenty of sleep, it is time to get up.

I don't want to.

It is so easy, you laid out everything last night.

It's 39 degrees!

Wear wool.

After two consecutive rainy weekends, if I did not bike to work today it seemed doubtful that I could complete the Cinderella Classic next Saturday. Now, how silly would that be? It is sad enough that I am not in shape for the Challenge course.

By the time I failed to talk myself out of riding today, I was running 30 minutes behind schedule. Which means contending with more rush-hour traffic.

It was a good ride nonetheless. Slow, but good. Breakfast was still feasible when I arrived, but the biggest surprise was the shower upgrade. Two stalls! Plus, two private unisex stalls. [I know what you're thinking ... keep it clean.] As you might imagine, one shower stall for all the women in a four-story building was less than adequate.

Then again, on the east coast I last worked in a building designed with women's restrooms on every other floor. (Decades later, they repurposed some of the men's restrooms when scientists came to outnumber secretaries.) How times have changed.

At the end of the day, my ride home was the . slowest . ever. It wasn't enough that my fitness has eroded, or that I was tired, or that the ride home is all uphill? Noooo. The weather is changing, and the approaching storm front blasted me with headwind. At times it felt like I was pedaling just enough to keep from moving backward.

When I paused to admire the wildflowers near the Mary Avenue Bicycle Bridge, a passing cyclist asked if I needed anything. [Turn off the wind? Slow down and let me draft you? Better yet, tow me home?] "No, I'm okay."

For the day, 39 miles and about 965 feet of climbing. Sixty-plus miles on Saturday? Er, sure, no problem ...

Recovery Ride

The post-op instructions suggested that I could return to my normal activities after 3-5 days.

Define normal.

Bike up Mt. Hamilton? Somehow ... I think not.

I waited, well, almost two weeks. And I started with a more modest outing.

This image is remarkable—not for the drab scenery—but for capturing five modes of human transport in a single frame. From left to right: VTA Light Rail (Tamien Station), California State Highway 87, the Highway 87 Bikeway, Caltrain (Tamien Station), and a jet approaching San Jose International Airport.

I chose a ride that I would normally avoid—mostly on paved trails. Charging up a hill for my first time back on the saddle did not seem like a sensible plan, so I followed a "flat" route to the starting point [N.B., a mere 125 feet of vertical gain].

My chief concern was running out of energy. After a week of lolling about the house, followed by a week of work, I still needed more sleep than usual. On the bike, would I bonk?

We navigated through a veritable maze, alongside Highway 87 and the Guadalupe River in San Jose. These trails may be a boon for bike commuters; without the guidance of our local experts, we surely would have strayed off course. On a dreary Sunday morning, we shared the trails with very few recreational visitors.

The ride satisfied my curiosity on two fronts: What was it like to ride these trails? What did it feel like to be back on the bike?

The route was confusing, with trails often dumping out onto city streets with no advance warning. I was glad to be traveling in a group when we passed the homeless encampments, and dismayed at the graffiti, roadside trash, and broken glass we encountered. There is only so much a city can do, and San Jose is not in the best financial health. One of our riders proudly showed us a segment of the trail that our club maintains; he hauls water (by bicycle) to sustain the fledgling native plants our members dug into the slope, and a small group regularly blots out the latest graffiti and sweeps up. We ventured as far as the airport; with some riders reluctant to continue along the next stretch of packed gravel, we turned back.

After returning to the start, I was ready for the direct route home.

Up the hill!

For the day, some 37 miles and 1,060 feet of climbing. It feels great to be back on the bike.

One Lone Leader

Daffodils. Blossoming trees. Has Spring arrived?

The brisk wind reminded us that the proper season is Winter.

When leading rides for the club, I prefer to share the duties with a co-leader. (Having two responsible adults is a good thing.) As fate would have it, I was forced to miss our last ride and my co-leader was forced to miss our next one. [Today.]

Our modest route drew quite a crowd, with a plurality of strong riders. Content to bring up the rear, I looked after one who was new to the club. I hope he was not expecting a flat ride ...

Twenty-one miles, with a bit more climbing than I had guessed (2,695 feet). The ridge line we cruised under a clear blue sky is forecast to see a dusting of snow, a few days hence.