To the Junction

The first time I biked out here, I was not convinced I would do it again. The Junction (where Mines Road meets San Antonio Valley Road at Del Puerto Canyon Road) is a long way from anywhere. Twenty-five miles from Livermore. Twenty-five miles from Patterson. Thirty-eight miles from San Jose (up and over Mt. Hamilton).

This time of year, the stream bed is dry and the hillsides are golden. The road curves and rolls through the canyon; miles and miles of solitude.

Past three horses inexplicably packed side-by-side in a field, the outer two flanking the one in the middle, shoulder-to-haunch. I would have stopped for a photo, but figured that would only spook them into moving. Like the young bull resting in the shade next to the road, who stood up and pointed his hind quarters at me, all the while eying me with suspicion.

There are a few roadside call boxes; don't even think about cell phone coverage out here. I recently learned that the huge numbers on the road surface (mile markers) are painted so the helicopter crew will know where to find you. My ride buddy and I kept each other (mostly) in sight.

I rounded a bend to find a deer staring me down, some 50 feet ahead in my lane. A red Corvette had been holding back for a safe place to pass me; the driver was rewarded for his good judgment when that deer scampered away.

Not too hot, not too windy: a just-about-perfect day to enjoy 58 miles with a mere 3,615 feet of climbing. I will do this again.

The Oberbürgermeister of Tunitas

It must be the flower. Evidently the little yellow splash of whimsy on my saddlebag is misleading.

“Are you okay?” asked one guy who passed me on Tunitas Creek. “Yes, I'm just slow,” I replied. If I had been stopped at the side of the road, that question would be most welcome. But I was moving. Uphill. Albeit slowly.

Then there was the Enforcer, Der Oberbürgermeister von Tunitas. It was his self-appointed duty to tell me where to ride on the road (viz., farther to the right). He had been hit by cars twice on this road, he shouted. [Twice? And I should take advice from you?]

If a cyclist rides through the forest and no one passes her ...

Seriously, dude, I am not an idiot. I stay on the right side of the (imaginary) center line. On a quiet backroad like this, I am not going to teeter on the edge of the pavement or pick my way through the debris fields left by mini-rockslides. If there is a car approaching, I want the driver to see me and slow down before passing. Hang too far to the right, and you invite cars to squeeze past, at full speed, when they shouldn't. I readily share the lane when it is safe to do so. And if I hear someone driving aggressively, I will stop and step off the road entirely.

The forecast called for an inland heat wave; I gambled that a ride over the hill toward the coast would be cool. Descending Tunitas was beyond cool—it was downright chilly. The distance to the Bike Hut seemed longer than I remembered.

I was reprimanded on Tunitas by Der Oberbürgermeister not once, but twice: he started his descent while I was still on the climb. Good thing he wasn't out this morning, mixing it up with clumps of cyclists (all over the road) from the Sequoia Century's workers' ride. He would have been positively apoplectic.

My estimate for the elevation gain was spot on: Thirty-three miles, with 4,205 feet of climbing. Next ride, the flower stays. But instead of a club jersey, I think I will wear this one.

Shade, or Grade?

The Plan: One friend would meet me at my place (arriving by bicycle, of course), and together we would bike to meet the rest of the group. Had I not incited three friends to turn out for today's ride, I would have stayed home—I was decidedly under the weather. I could ride to the starting point and back home. Probably. Maybe farther.

Even with a generous head start, the hardbodies caught us before the first big climb. The day would get hotter and I was already drenched with sweat. I was fully off the back by the time I reached the Almaden Reservoir, which was startlingly blue in the morning light.

I paced myself slowly up Hicks Road, my heart pumping at a moderate rate. Choices, choices: Take the shallower line [in the blazing sun] around a steep bend, or suffer the grade in the shade? This is a tough climb to the summit in either direction; heat doesn't help. I talked myself through every uptick: It's short. It levels off. It's not as steep as Bear Gulch. I'm almost there. I made it without stopping!

And I know when to fold. Much as I wanted head up Mt. Umunhum, I would not push my luck today. Another cyclist joined me for the ride back to town; when we crested the final hill, we smiled and congratulated ourselves on making the right choice. Then, the ultra-hardbodies caught us. [Yes, we did linger to chat. But, still ...]

Twenty-eight miles with some 2,550 feet of climbing. As the rest of the group straggled in to lunch, they were surprised to find me already there. “She led the whole way,” the ultra-hardbodies deadpanned. [In my dreams.]

Drippity Drop

The color of the sky was Ominous Gray. I considered my options over breakfast. Rain is possible in the Bay Area in May, but the showers on the radar map were well to the north. Any rainfall would likely be brief, and light; if not, I could easily find shelter and wait for the storm to pass. Thinking back to being soaked in a downpour last fall, why would I hesitate over mere clouds this morning?

With a late start for a short ride, I opted to bike there. After we completed the second climb, our leader suggested we chase a few more hills. My fellow cyclists hemmed and hawed; today being a holiday, they had slotted this little ride ahead of their picnics and barbecues. After I cast my lot with the leader, most of the group came around. A departing rider assured us the hills ahead were less steep than the hills behind.

He was almost right. (I nearly stalled out on the last one.)

From the street, this structure looked more like some mod hotel, but we were definitely in a residential zone.

For the day, a healthy 48 miles with some 2,550 feet of climbing. On the way home, I got a little wet. Hardly worth mentioning. Really.

Biking to Sunshine

Herewith, a tour of Bay Area microclimates. First, we rolled through the dry golden hills of the peninsula on a breezy day.

Up and over the ridge, we skirted along the edge of the El Corte de Madera Creek Open Space Preserve. Wet pavement, blustery winds, and green fields were gifts from the marine layer above us.

The public segment of Bear Gulch West ends in a redwood grove. It is essential to shift into your lowest gear before you stop; the first mile of your return trip is a tad steep (12.3% grade, on average).

When I added a flower to my seat bag on Bling Your Bike at Work Day, I did not imagine how popular it would be. Even on Old La Honda Road, where cyclists often take themselves far too seriously, I caught some compliments and smiles.

The winds were fierce at a particular elevation on both sides of the ridge. I enjoyed a lovely car-free descent of Kings Mountain, with a little extra caution for unpredictable gusts.

By the time I reached the historic Woodside Store, some 31 miles into the ride, the water in my bottles was refreshingly chilled.

42 miles, 4360 feet of climbing—and don't it feel good!

Grade Inflation

Over the past 10 years, I have sampled many organized rides. For some, once was enough. But year after year, I eagerly register for Strawberry Fields Forever. The first time I signed up, it rained and I skipped the event altogether. One year, it was so blistering hot I packed my bandana with ice and wore it around my neck. Another year, the cold fog drizzled and made us miserable for the first few miles.

Today, the weather was perfect. Just warm enough for the fragrance of ripe strawberries to waft across the fields.

Before meandering through the farmland of Monterey and Santa Cruz counties, our first rest stop is always hosted at Calfee Design. The airstrip must be seeing more use these days; there were new gates and signs (look both ways, indeed). When was the last time you bicycled across an active runway?

The water in the Pajaro River was beautifully clear, despite the colorful patches of growth on its surface.

The event organizers must be getting soft on us; this year, they dropped the challenging Tustin grade from the traditional route. The climb to lunch at Royal Oaks Park, however, is unavoidable. I dropped into my lowest gear and motored along, passing a few people who opted to walk. When a woman riding nearby asked me about the climb, and the rest of the route, I could tell her this was the toughest part. Based on my perceived difficulty, I told her I thought the grade was 9%-10%. At lunch, another woman insisted it was 17%. [No way.] People take great pride in the instantaneous readings of their cycling computers; unfortunately, such readings are unreliable.

You can count on seeing some unusual sights at this event. Women decked out in pink feather boas or tutus, as if they had cycled in from the Cinderella ride. One guy riding with a full-sized floor pump protruding horizontally from his backpack. As this unicyclist approached a paddock, I watched a horse saunter over to the fence for a closer look; after he passed, the horse turned tail and walked away—not the least bit interested in the recumbent.

After my hiatus from cycling in March and April, I was concerned about how I would fare on this ride; that motivated me to step up my training. A tad over 61 miles, with some 2,935 feet of climbing—at an average speed of 12.3 mph (whew, same as last year).

Oh, and that climb to lunch? Surprisingly, two-tenths of a mile averaging 13%. [It didn't feel that bad.]

BIK LAN

Reacting to several tragic accidents on California State Highway 9 between the towns of Saratoga and Los Gatos, funds were found for critical safety improvements. Bike lanes have been in place for a couple of years; more recently, a few sidewalk segments have been introduced.

While I am happy that accommodations are being made for pedestrians, these should not come at the expense of cyclist safety. The bike lane is slowly disappearing: swallowed by the hillside in one section, obliterated by the new sidewalk in others.

More frightening than the narrowed bike lane is the new curb that separates the sidewalk from the bike lane: both are formed of black asphalt. The construction signs and cones have been gone for some time; can it be possible that they have no intention of painting the curb, or at least the sloped, leading edge of the curb at intersections? This is an accident waiting to happen. It seems just a matter of time before a cyclist runs into the curb and crashes—unable to see the curb at night, or having been intimidated to the far right of the narrow bike lane by fast-moving traffic.

Having explored the relevant section of the California Highway Design Manual, it seems clear to me that this (Class II) Bike Lane no longer complies with the standards.

The speed limit on this section of the highway is 40 mph or less; Section 301.2 states that the minimum width of the bike lane should be four feet. The width can be reduced to three feet if there is an adjacent concrete curb and gutter. There is certainly no gutter (which would effectively widen the available lane for bikes), so the bike lane should still be four feet wide. [It is not.]

The speed limit is 45 mph on the section of road where the hillside is overtaking the bike lane; per Section 301.2, the minimum width of the bike lane there should be six feet (!). [I assure you that you will not need a measuring tape to see that it is not.]

Of course, I am not a highway design engineer, so what do I know?