You Can Ride Your Bike to Work

Time for that annual May tradition, leading co-workers to the office on Bike to Work Day. After all, simply riding my bike to work is no special achievement. Getting a small crowd to work, safely and smoothly? That is a worthy challenge.

This year my co-conspirator and I offered separate starting locations, converging at our rendezvous point with perfect synchronicity. Other riders fell in with our group along the way, knowing our route in advance. True to Silicon valley, technology played a successful supporting role as we invited our riders to track us with Google Latitude.

A flat tire put us a bit behind schedule, but we still managed to sweep up a third small group that wanted our leadership. With that, our ranks had swollen to 32 riders (rather more than I co-lead on a typical club ride)!

We swarmed a couple of Energizer stations in search of sustenance, and left one dad (biking his daughters to school) speechless.

You're all going to the same place? To work?

The prize for Most Creative goes to the company that set up an impromptu "feed zone" (strategically placed along a well-traveled route), where they skillfully handed bright drawstring bags to passing riders, stocked with goodies ... and a list of open positions they seek to fill.

Our record-breaking morning crowd was followed by a smaller, but still record-breaking evening crowd: six riders accepted my offer to lead them back home. We paused to wave at the drivers stuck in the traffic jam on the freeway below us. When one rider fell victim to a flat tire near the end of the ride, everyone readily agreed to circle back and stay together. What a fine group of people!

I always enjoy biking to work, and (almost) always enjoy biking back home. What I love most about this day is proving, to so many less experienced riders, that

You can ride your bike to work!

For the day, 44 miles and 1000 feet of climbing.

Active Adults

In the home stretch for today's ride, we passed a van emblazoned "Moraga Movers, Activities for Adults 55+." They did not seem to be shuttling cyclists home from the Grizzly Peak Century, though. [Not my tribe.]

The stars finally aligned for me to tackle this ride. I was pretty new to cycling the first time a friend suggested riding Grizzly Peak. How many miles?! How many feet of climbing?! She was a weaker rider than I was, and I knew I was not ready. A few years later, illness nixed my first attempt, rain washed out my second ... third time's the charm?

A guy in a colorful Voler jacket failed to unclip at the first traffic signal and toppled over. [We have all been there.] No lasting wounds, other than to his pride. I was relieved that I had stopped behind him; this is not something I would expect to see on a ride of this intensity, and I wondered how he would get through the day.

High atop the ridge, we enjoyed multi-million dollar views of San Francisco and the Golden Gate in the early morning light. I recognized the parking lot where we celebrated the Lomas Cantadas Low-Key Hillclimb, and smiled later when I cruised past El Toyonal on a lower slope.

I was more than a little surprised when our route took us through a refinery—certainly an ironic place to be, on a bicycle.

Around mile 44, I finally met the Mighty McEwen. At the rest stop, I asked "What is the grade?" No one could answer. People shuddered, and muttered. One woman insisted it is "stand-up steep." [I am a seated climber.] At first, my ride partner could not recall the climb, having done it only last year. Had she blocked it out? I worked at calibration. Sierra Road? Montebello? Harder than Montebello, she thought; easier than Sierra, and short.

Her calibration was quite good. I measured a grade of 10.6% for a little more than half a mile. The grade is somewhat uneven, starting out sharply and then tapering somewhat. McEwen? Meh. It's a hill. On a hot day, at mile 44 (with some 2800 feet of climbing in the legs), it is a modest challenge.

The greater challenge was that, at mile 44, we had completed about half of the overall climbing. The "rollers" [ahem] along the rest of the route were extended climbs (3-5 miles apiece), with shorter downhills.

A string of riders that had passed me were still in view as I crested the next climb. I was gaining on them ... could I take them? All of them? The downhill was not steep. With a little turbo-boost kick to the pedals, I sailed past one. The pavement was smooth, the lane was wide and straight, there were no cars. Aggressively aerodynamic, I topped out at 40.9 mph and coasted past two, three, four ... all of them. "You were speedy," they chortled (when they caught me on the next uphill). Yes, I descend like a rock; unfortunately, I also climb like a rock.

For this active adult, a splendid day with her tribe: 76 miles, 5,435 feet of climbing. No people-mover van required.

For the Birds

As I was sitting down to breakfast this morning, a loud ruckus erupted outside my window. I recognized the desperate cries of a baby bird, and the angry squawking of Scrub Jays. I pulled back the curtains to check out the unfolding drama.

Hopping near the street, a pair of scrub jays was mobbing a crow, who was not giving any ground. Then I saw the sad little heap of downy gray feathers, tinged with blue, lying under the oleanders.

My breakfast could wait.

I knew these jays had nested nearby, though I never puzzled out the spot. They have been diligently scolding my (indoor-only) cat for a couple of weeks. Like the crow, they are smart; they have spied the cat in various rooms and harassed her through windows on all sides of the house.

Also like the crow, they are aggressive and will raid the nests of other birds. What goes around, comes around?

I stepped outside for a closer look. The crow winged it up to a higher perch, and the jays divided their attention: one kept after the crow, the other landed a few feet from my head and squawked incessantly.

First rule for observing wildlife: If you change the behavior of the animal, you are too close. Yes, but ... It is one thing for the crow to shadow me in the garden, swooping down to gobble the sowbugs and earwigs I unearth; it is another thing entirely to tear a juvenile bird apart. Even if it is a jay.

I turned toward the garage; I would need a shovel. Suddenly, the air exploded with the sound of wings beating into chaotic flight. I looked back to the spot where the (evidently, stunned) bird had lain, and smiled.

I returned to my breakfast. The crow, driven off by the jays, left hungry.

Kindred Climbers

I was psyched for another after-work ride last Wednesday, until I saw the first raindrops splatter the windshield on the way home. The roads were dry but the sky was threatening. Within one minute of deciding to stay indoors, the ride leader canceled; within thirty minutes, the rain came pouring down.

Better luck, this week, for a couple of short climbs with a few challenging pitches. With a name like Overlook, you might expect some nice views (and, you would be right). On the way up, I noticed this elegant little bridge for the first time. [It's private. Guess the size of the house on the other side.] We joked that they could have saved money on their security system had they opted for a drawbridge, instead.

Focusing on the uneven road surface as I descended, my peripheral vision registered ... something. A quick glance to the left confirmed it: there stood a doe, calmly watching me glide past. The vole I saw had been less fortunate; surprisingly so, given how few vehicles travel up this dead-end road.

As much as I enjoyed socializing over a warm bowl of tortilla soup on this chilly night, the real reward was the sunset that warmed my spirit.

Calaveras Cognoscenti

As we approached the turn to climb "the wall," not one (but two) cars made a U-turn and headed back toward Milpitas. At that moment, I knew that today's trip along Calaveras Road would be one to remember.

Big orange signs warn that the road is closed at the county line. And that is true ... on weekdays. The Powers-That-Be appreciate the popularity of this route for cyclists, and they kindly sweep the construction zone and re-open it every weekend. Spelling out such details on a sign could get, well, complicated. Let's just say that the drivers who turn back are exactly the type of driver with whom we would rather not share this road.

Earlier in the week, my ride partner suggested that we lead an "impromptu" ride today, and we tossed out an announcement on the club's email list. We knew that two other riders planned to join us, and expected a small group. (Surprise! Twenty-one!)

The reservoir shimmered under a vivid blue sky. With the late spring rains, the hills are still emerald green and the wildflowers still in bloom. With the passing of each dry day, the colors will fade; today we would enjoy this valley at its peak.

We invaded downtown Pleasanton for lunch, fanning out to explore the Farmers' Market and blending into the crowd on the plaza. On this day, not a single rider regretted that we would make a U-turn of our own to return on Calaveras.

I dawdled so far behind the group that it seemed I could not catch them, slow climber that I am. A photographer with a very long lens was set up to view the bald eagles' nest; I stopped to peer through his viewfinder. At the base of "the wall," a motorcyclist hesitated; I did not. By the time he chose to turn right, I had enough of a lead to keep him at a distance. Then, one by one, I rocketed past the rest of our group and led the way back to the start.

Smiling, one guy remarked: "I think I know which part of the ride was your favorite! I couldn't catch you. I tried."

One mph over the limit is all it takes to make the electronic sign flash at the base of the hill. Good to know.

Hot Ham

Forecast: Unseasonable, with record-breaking high temperatures. pep-cast: Headache, with no appetite. [Could it be ... the heat?] But, I had made a promise to ride up Mt. Hamilton today. And we are tough women.

Rounding the corner to start the climb, a hand-scrawled sign about finding a goat and a dog brought out the poet in my ride partner. Herewith, a collaboration by Taylor and pep:

There once was a goat and a dog
Who went off to find their friend hog.
They found a fritter
But could not twitter,
So they went home instead to blog.

A 21st century limerick for the rural fringe of Silicon Valley.

There were fewer cyclists than usual on the mountain. [What, put off by a little hot weather?] Apart from two stokers on tandems and a mom who rode up alongside her husband towing their toddler, we were the only women.

The heat did exact its toll on me. Over the last six miles, my pace steadily dropped (5.4, 4.7, 4.3, 4.0 miles per hour). One turkey vulture swooped low for a closer look. Suitable lunch? No, still moving. For the day, the usual 39 miles and some 4,805 feet of climbing.

Climbing Mt. Hamilton is half the challenge; for many, descending it is the bigger half. Taylor had only ascended Mt. Hamilton once before, followed by descending the back side. Being an experienced mountain biker, I figured the long, twisty ride to the bottom would not intimidate her.

When we reached the first descent, I had my answer. My ride partner quickly became a distant speck. In front of me. That, ladies and gentlemen, is no mean feat.

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.