Sky View

Even if this were not my fourth consecutive day on the bike, I doubt that I could have powered my way up the steep pitches of Skyview Terrace. Most of the riders in our small group had not visited this hill before. Before we made the first turn, we stopped to confer with the ride leader: “Are you sure this is the right way around the loop?”

Then we plummeted toward the nadir. The road dropped 440 feet in 6/10th of a mile.

Good thing we were taking the “easier” way. [Egads!]

Momentum carried me up the first pitch. Not bad, I thought ... until the next pitch loomed above me. Time to use my feet in a different way. (I walked.) Two-tenths of a mile at an average gradient of 14.5%. The pace of the riders ahead of me was barely faster. The terrain relented to about 6% before kicking back up; I dismounted again after a taste of 14.2% and walked another 2/10 of a mile. Steep is not my forté. There was margin in my heart rate, but the muscles in my legs were done, done, done.

This was a social ride, and one of our riders regaled us with stories of her role in a legendary Death Ride stunt. The Rolling Bones, a large group of Hewlett Packard employees, included a guy who would pilot a tandem with a full-sized skeleton for a stoker. When the engineers rigged Ms. Bones with a walkie-talkie, she provided the voice. Trailing at a respectful distance, she would wait for some serious rider to pull alongside the tandem. “Mmm, nice legs!” she'd coo. Ms. Bones retired in 2004, after joining the ranks of the five-pass finishers.

And yes, I am slower than a team of guys hauling a skeleton on a heavy tandem—I pedaled for 12 hours, 55 minutes to finish the ride in 2009.

For the week, about 202 miles with 8,650 feet of climbing. Riding my way back into shape.

See the Other Side

A common question from non-cyclists at the office is “What route do you take?” One colleague could only imagine taking the freeway [which, as a rule, is forbidden—not to mention, dangerous].

If they insist on more detail than “lots of quiet streets,” their attention will stray before I am halfway through the route: I make 27 turns on the way to work. Curiously, the most direct route to the office can be an 18.9 mile drive on the freeway, or an 18.9 mile bike ride on surface streets and a creekside trail.

How do you find a bike route that will get you to work? A reasonable start is to take advantage of the “bicycle” option on Google Maps.

How do you find the best bike route? Explore! [On your bike.] Over time, I have optimized my route along several dimensions: More direct. Less travel on busy roadways. Fewer stop signs and traffic signals. More shade.

Late on this hot afternoon, the freeway sound wall cast a cool shadow. Smell the flowers.

Bling Your Bike at Work Day

Our Bike to Work Day is a week away, and my workplace gets an early start on the festivities. Today there would be a free “Learn how to fix your own bike” clinic at work, plus a station with a colorful array of doodads and raw materials for decorating your bike.

At a previous company, an enthusiastic colleague had collected a handful of garage-sale castoffs to transport us from building to building; my sentimental favorite had a frame covered with something that resembled blue Astroturf. [But I digress.]

I thought I would take advantage of the clinic to learn how to put a new chain on my road bike. Which meant I needed to ride that bike to work. [Or load it on the shuttle. But why would I do that?] Which meant that I needed to do a little extra planning, to avoid carrying a change of clothes in a sweaty backpack.

One mile from home, I discovered that I could not shift my front dérailleur. The chain was on the big ring and it would not budge. There were hills ahead.

Should I turn back and switch bikes? I would be late for my first meeting, and I would not learn how to replace my chain.

Should I turn back and head for the shuttle stop? I would miss out on a nice morning bike ride.

Should I tough it out?

I climbed the hills. I shared a quiet residential street with a coyote. Around mile 7.8, the dérailleur spontaneously shifted down to the middle ring. Biking home entails more climbing—no bus for me today!

At the clinic, they set me up with a visiting “expert.” When he told me I didn't need a new chain because I am lightweight, I sensed this exercise would not go well. Then he mounted my bike on the stand with the drivetrain facing the support post.

Upon learning that we could not shift the front dérailleur, he proclaimed the superiority of friction shifters [pointing to his bike]. Not only did he give up on brifters, he ditched his carbon fiber frame as well. [Behold, the Retro-Grouch!]

His next observation was that my wheels need more spokes. I was ready. “I am lightweight. I don't need a lot of spokes.”

Finally, we tackled the task at hand. He looped the new chain onto the bike and prepared to connect the ends. “Shouldn't we make sure it's the right length?” I asked. [That much, I know.]

A colleague wandered over and finished my lesson in bicycle chain replacement. The Retro-Grouch made himself scarce.

At the end of the day, I made it home before the bike shop closed. My front dérailleur needed a new cable—it was bent, causing too much resistance inside the guide. They admired the yellow flower adorning my seat bag. Did you say “Bling Your Bike at Work Day?” Yes, I did.

Green Means Go

The Anything Goes Commute Challenge may be finished, but this bicycle commuter rolls on. I am determined to bike to work more regularly: once per week, at least.

I have followed a heated debate on a cycling forum recently, in which runners and cyclists square off about whether it is appropriate for runners to use a bicycle lane. I learned that the California vehicle code states:

No pedestrian shall proceed along a bicycle path or lane where there is an adjacent adequate pedestrian facility.

Pedestrians, by the way, are elsewhere defined to include people on skates, skateboards, scooters, wheelchairs ... specifically, anyone not riding a bicycle.

This morning I had ample room to swing out into the traffic lane to avoid a woman walking toward me in the bicycle lane ... right next to a perfectly good sidewalk.

A few miles down the road, as I prepared to make a right turn in a quiet residential neighborhood, I was so focused on a large construction vehicle approaching from the left that I was startled to find a guy jogging around the corner toward me, next to the curb. There was no bicycle lane, but there was a perfectly good sidewalk.

Not 10 feet later, a woman stopped her SUV in the middle of the roadway. A mountain biker on a dirt trail was waiting patiently to cross the road; the driver had the right of way and should not have yielded. This is how accidents happen.

There was something amazing about my commute this morning, and it had nothing to do with sloppy drivers or pedestrians. [Those are routine hazards.]

My entire 18.6-mile trip was interrupted by exactly one red traffic signal. [This will likely never happen again.]

By looking ahead, I can moderate my speed to roll up to an intersection just as the light turns green, or sprint to avoid losing a green. In some places, I can choose to shift my left turn strategically, turning onto a side street to avoid waiting for the upcoming light to cycle through to next green arrow. This morning, with lucky timing and these techniques, the lights were as green as the park I enjoyed on my way back home.

Anything Goes Commute Challenge: Score It

The time has come to wrap up the Anything Goes Commute Challenge, score it, and reflect on the results.

	Solo Car	Carpool	Bike + Bus	Solo Bike	Group Bike
Overall Time (minutes)	37:46	27:43	45:31	98:16	92:34
Exercise Time	0	0	8:21	90:37	87:51
Reading/ Relaxing Time	0	0	36:20	0	0
Cost	$11.37	$10.66	$0.07	$0.93	$1.00
Bliss Factor	0	-1	8	6	7
Funds for Charity	0	0	1x	2x	2x
Time Wasted	37:46	27:43	0:50	7:49	4:43
Positives	2	1	3	5	5

Not surprisingly, there is no “one best way” to get to work.

The fastest way? Carpool. The downside: this is also the most stressful (for the driver). One alternative that I did not fit into the Challenge is to be a carpool passenger: fast and low stress. Cost is a wash, because I reciprocate.

The most freedom? Solo drive. This is costly (time and money), but sometimes necessary to fit a schedule or allow extra-curricular activities.

The best for exercise? Bike it, preferably with a group that pushes the pace. The cost should be a bit higher than the Challenge suggests, I think (fuel, aka food), but it would still be insignificant.

The best overall? Bike to the shuttle, ride the bus. Low stress, low cost, least time wasted. An additional benefit is having the bike handy for quick trips at work.

There are options I did not consider, such as mass transit. When the schedules align, I can walk to catch a public bus that will drop me off near the shuttle stop—a good rainy-day option. (While it would be technically possible to rely on mass transit entirely, doing so would be slower than biking to work: 2 hours, 30 minutes plus $10.75 to ride multiple buses, light rail, and Caltrain.)

I could walk to the shuttle stop (1.5 miles), but that would be time-intensive. When the shuttle stop was closer (1 km), this was my preferred approach—rain or shine.

I can drive to the shuttle stop. (It has been known to happen.) The cost is low ($0.85), but it saves little time (competing with commute traffic, school traffic, and the vagaries of six traffic signals along the way).

Finally, I would be remiss to exclude one occasional option: the “Solo Scenic Drive.” It takes about 90 minutes, 15-20 of which are wasted in traffic. Standard mileage reimbursement rates don't apply ... but the Bliss factor is 11.

Panoche Pictorial

Our club heads for the Panoche Valley twice a year, spring and fall.
I was disappointed to miss the last outing.

After struggling last weekend, I thought I might not be ready for such a long ride. It is an out-and-back route; I could always turn around. But I knew that if I drove down there, I would want to finish.

I hatched a plan, and the plan was this: bike to (and from) work this week. Not just once, but twice. If I could pull off two 40-mile days in one week, maybe, just maybe, I could make it to the Inn and back.

The bookshelf at Starbuck's in Hollister included a volume on C programming [this is not Silicon Valley]. A local was curious about my ride plan, and yet not familiar with Panoche Road. [You need to get out more, I thought.]

The fog touched down to ground level in Hollister; droplets condensed on my car. The fog zone ended abruptly a couple of miles from our starting point in Paicines, taking with it my regrets about leaving a jacket at home. It would be a hot day, and I quickly realized I could leave my vest in the car.

What better way to spend a few hours, than this? Mostly alone on a winding, little-traveled road. I could imagine that I was seeing much of the same landscape that settlers saw when they first traversed this pass on horseback.

I paused after a challenging pitch to admire the scenery; it was so quiet that I could hear my blood pulsing with each rapid heartbeat.

The road surface is in rough condition at its easternmost end. This is a good place to work on supporting yourself with your core muscles; if you keep a tight grip on the handlebars, the bone-rattling vibrations will make your head ache.

The Inn is up for sale; the proprietors are ready for a break.

The solar farm will taint the valley with industrial blight next year. This breaks my heart.

One of our co-leaders joked that we do this ride for the headwind—in both directions. It was a relief from the heat, but ... I had to pedal downhill.

Fifty-five miles of wondrous beauty and peaceful solitude, with a mere 2700 feet of climbing.

Anything Goes Commute Challenge: Group Bike Trip

There are many avid cyclists at my workplace—many commute daily, some over long distances. It has become a tradition for me to lead a group of riders to the office on Bike To Work Day, but that rolls around once a year. What if we biked together once a week?

On most Thursdays, a plan starts to form: who's in, where and when to rendezvous. Riders meet over the first few miles: four guys and me, today. They are stronger and faster and more fit; I rode my heart out to keep up. A sampling of our morning chatter: a fierce-but-friendly competition between two colleagues to establish who can complete more commutes by bicycle this quarter; the recent Boston Marathon (one of our riders had run it, luckily finishing well ahead of the chaos); bridging and nearest neighbors; the n Queens problem. [Yes, these are engineers; this is, after all, Silicon Valley.]

The Stats:

Route: surface streets, bike/pedestrian trail
Distance: 19.9 miles
Elapsed time: 92:34
Average moving speed: 13.7 mph
Exercise time: 87:51
Reading/relaxing time: 0
Bliss factor: 7
Cost per trip: $1.00
Enables: Exercise, camaraderie, Plus3Network and company-sponsored fundraising for charity, two breakfasts.

Yogurt with granola. Shrimp with grits. Slices of melon, and roasted tomatoes. I burned more than 600 calories on the way to work; if I fail to refuel, I will fade before lunchtime.

Here is a common question from solo drivers: What happens when you have an urgent, unexpected need for a car, but you did not drive to work? Today was such a day.

In the event of an emergency, many employers (mine included) will provide a ride home. But this was not my emergency, and home is not where I needed to go.

Mid-day, a colleague reached out for help: Her husband had suddenly fallen ill, she was following the paramedics to the local hospital. She could not leave their dog in the car (for who knows how long); could I meet her and take him? Of course—I did not hesitate to say "yes."

Now what?

Three of my four nearest neighbors had not driven to work; the fourth, with a dog-friendly car, said "Let's go." Dogs are a common sight at work—they are welcome, so long as they are well-behaved. This dog knows the drill; after some reassurances, he settled right in.

Next challenge: This was an open-ended commitment. I had expected to bike home around 5 p.m.

1. I always have a bike headlight with me; it isn't powerful, but it is serviceable. If I had to finish the ride after sunset, I could.
2. The last commuter shuttle home would depart around 8 p.m. I could load the bike onto the shuttle, leaving me with a short ride home in the dark.
3. Later than that, I could bike to the light rail and get most of the way home, finishing with a few miles on the bike in the dark.

Don't worry about me or the dog, I said. We will stay at the office as long as needed. [Till 5:45 p.m., as it turned out.]

Contingency plans are highly recommended.

Anything Goes Commute Challenge: Solo Bike Trip

Biking to work is a commitment. Even though I have the luxury of loading myself and my bicycle onto a shuttle bus at the end of the day, I prefer to cycle home. The round trip translates into some 40 miles and 1,000 feet of hill climbing.

To while away the time, I usually count my fellow cyclists along the way: kids on their way to school, adults on their way to work or just out for a nice ride. Today was unseasonably warm; for the first few miles, I saw surprisingly few cyclists. By the time I rolled up to my building, I had counted 60—that’s higher than I remember for a morning commute (with the exception of Bike to Work Day).

The Stats:

Route: surface streets, bike/pedestrian trail
Distance: 18.6 miles
Elapsed time: 98:16
Average moving speed: 12.4 mph
Exercise time: 90:37
Reading/relaxing time: 0
Bliss factor: 6
Cost per trip: $0.93
Enables: Exercise, errand, Plus3Network and company-sponsored fundraising for charity, two breakfasts.

I needed to pick up some photos today, and when more neurons started firing over breakfast I realized I could do that on the way to work, with barely a detour. With no place to secure the bike in front of the store, I rolled it inside with me.

I have optimized my route over the years to make it safer and more direct. The Bliss factor would be higher if I did not have to contend with a few busy stretches of roadway, and if there were fewer clueless joggers, dog-walkers, and cyclists on the trail.

Once at the office, the first order of business is my second breakfast. Without that, I would bonk later in the morning. The next order of business is to shower and change into street clothes; I keep an extra pair of shoes at the office to minimize what I need to carry on the bike. When I get to my desk, I am energized for the day. More and more research has shown the beneficial influence of exercise on the brain, explaining why I feel more alert (and definitely not tired) after propelling myself to work.

Our company has a generous “self-powered commuting” incentive program. Each time I cycle to work, I earn credits that turn into dollars donated annually by the company to the charity of my choice. Last year, that amounted to more than $200 ... but I can do better.

Note to self: Must bike to work more often.

Bike Lane 0, Hillside 1

Where has all my fitness gone?
Five weeks slacking.
Where has all my fitness gone?
I miss it so.

[Apologies to Pete Seeger.]

I miss the bike lane, too. In theory, it makes my commute to work safer. In practice, it started shrinking as soon as it was created. This morning I mustered the courage to document the problem, so I can report it. The speed limit on this stretch of Highway 9 is 45 mph (which means, of course, that the traffic is moving faster than that). When I am in good shape, I sprint as fast as I can. [Which, in my case, is not all that fast; it's uphill.]

Whenever I bike to work, I see many other cyclists. On the trail, there are joggers and dog-walkers, too. But the person who impressed me most today was an elderly woman, crossing the Heatherstone bike/pedestrian bridge in Sunnyvale at a steady pace. Up the incline, over Highway 85, and down the other side. Pushing her walker.

The usual stats for my round-trip: just under 40 miles and 1,000 feet of climbing. Fitness is important at every age. I will find mine, again.

Frosty

Today, I rode almost exclusively on state highways. If you think that sounds unappealing, consider the meandering scenic byway in the photo at the left. This is California State Highway 35; along its southernmost stretches there is no center line, as the pavement is often no wider than one lane.

Given that 3000 feet of climbing felt okay last weekend, why not aim higher this weekend? When I finally crested the top of Highway 9, I was greeted by a cold wind and two steadfast cycling buddies (who reached the top long before I did). I was immediately grateful that I had chosen to wear my vest.

The last couple of miles along Highway 9 were less painful after a colleague unexpectedly passed me, then matched my pace so we could chat. Of course, many riders had passed me on my slow grind to the top—most were local racers, so I felt a bit less decrepit. I am, however, alarmingly out of shape.

The top of the hill was my first decision point: Turn back, or ride 10 miles along the ridge? I turned left, past the orchards and vineyards and Christmas tree farms. I felt good at the next decision point: Turn back, or head downhill to loop back to town? I preferred the longer route to the loop, which includes a few miles along a busy, rutted dirt trail.

One cycling buddy had stayed with me, and she was a trouper—waiting patiently for me to haul myself up the hills. When we hit the first steep (but short) pitches, we both wondered why we didn't take the easy way down. Cyclists are a common sight on that section of Skyline, which is beautiful and little-traveled. The surprise of the day was seeing many other women up there.

My cycling day ended with some 4,450 feet of climbing over 45 miles, which translated into near-total exhaustion. Must ride more ...

Anything Goes Commute Challenge: Bike + Shuttle

My typical commute involves riding a shuttle bus to the office. Sometimes the bus stop has been within walking distance of home; it is always within biking distance. While I don’t mind walking on a rainy day, I am a fair-weather cyclist. Fortunately (or not), we don’t see a lot of rain in these parts.

For the cycling segment, I started the clock just before I began rolling, and stopped it before I folded my STRiDA to load it on the shuttle. I then re-started the clock when the bus started rolling, and stopped it before I stepped off in front of the office building where I work.

Along the way I marvel at the daily clog of solo drivers on the freeway. I have a clear view of the drivers (illegally) texting, (illegally) holding their phones to their ears or in front of their faces, eating breakfast, and applying eye liner in the number two lane.

Riding the bike is fun, but slightly stressful as I cope with morning traffic and pass lots of parked cars—always on the alert to avoid being “doored.” Riding the shuttle is totally relaxing; I listen to my favorite podcasts (Car Talk, Wait Wait ... Don’t Tell Me!, Science Friday, Fresh Air). I might check my email and get an early start on the day, but I will suffer from motion sickness if I do much reading. At the end of the day, I have been known to doze off on the way home.

The Stats:

Route: surface streets (bike), freeway carpool lane, surface streets (bus)
Distance: 1.4 miles (bike), 17.71 miles (bus), 19.11 (total)
Elapsed time: 9:11 (bike), 36:20 (bus), 45:31 (total)
Average moving speed: 10 mph (bike), 39.4 mph (bus)
Exercise time: 8:21
Reading/relaxing time: 36:20
Bliss factor: 8
Cost per trip: $0.07 (bike), $0.00 (bus), $0.07 (total)
Enables: Exercise, Plus3Network fundraising for charity (bike); entertainment (podcasts on bus).

The very first time I rode the shuttle and arrived at work relaxed, I was ready to hang up my car keys. The chief downside is that I generally decline most after-work social gatherings. One upside is that I am a free ticket to the carpool lane for a solo driver looking for an express ride home: people woo shuttle riders every afternoon via a mailing list.

It is easy to “need” your car every day, to run an errand or get to an appointment. It just takes a little planning to align commitments to fall on a single weekday, or two.

Anything Goes Commute Challenge: Carpool Trip

After work, I will head up to the city for a performance by the world-renowned San Francisco Ballet. Which means I need my car. Technically, I could devise a mass-transit solution that entails less driving, but it would be ridiculously complicated and prohibitively time-consuming.

With back-to-back early meetings, I also need to get to the office before 8:30 a.m. I started the clock in my driveway, then cruised over to the shuttle stop to pick up a carpooler. Most people would actually prefer to board the wifi-equipped shuttle, but I got lucky. A colleague was happy to join me, and we had a nice conversation on the way to work.

Driving in the carpool lane is stressful (see Bliss factor, below). You are traveling at nearly the speed limit in the leftmost lane, constantly scanning the lane of (stopped) traffic to your right: Will that driver suddenly swing out in front of me? How about that one? That one?

I stopped the clock when I parked the car at work and breathed a sigh of relief.

The Stats:

Route: surface streets, freeway carpool lanes
Distance: 18.86 miles
Elapsed time: 27:43
Average moving speed: 40.9 mph
Exercise time: 0
Reading/relaxing time: 0
Bliss factor: -1
Cost per trip: $10.66
Enables: Cultural performance after work.

Later, the trips to and from San Francisco will not be solo drives—a friend joins me for the ballet.

Anything Goes Commute Challenge: Solo Car Trip

A kindred spirit and bicycle commuter par excellence, Ladyfleur, recently wrote a series about her alternative transportation options for getting to the office. She wrapped up with an open challenge to her readers to do the same. I'm in!

Let's start with my least favorite option: driving to the office during rush hour.

I volunteer for a non-profit organization once per week after work, which means I need my car—any of my transportation alternatives are so impractical that I would just stop volunteering.

To avoid the rush hour crawl, I spent an hour at home in early morning video conferences with colleagues in Europe. I started the clock in my driveway, and stopped it when I parked at the office.

The live traffic map looked promising, so I headed for the first freeway; traffic was flowing nicely. From an overpass, I glanced at the traffic on the next freeway ... and bailed out for the local expressway when I saw three lanes of stopped cars stretching into the distance. For a while I was stuck behind a driver who repeatedly and erratically slowed without braking; when I was finally able to pass her, the reason was clear: SHE WAS TEXTING.

The expressway route is less direct than the freeway and has traffic lights—but they’re synchronized. Given that it was now nearly 10:00 a.m., I exited onto one final freeway and suffered through the expected-but-short traffic jam shown above.

The Stats:

Route: surface streets, freeways, expressway
Distance: 20.12 miles
Elapsed time: 37:46
Average moving speed: 32.92 mph
Exercise time: 0
Reading/relaxing time: 0
Bliss factor: 0
Cost per trip: $11.37
Enables: Volunteer activity after work, followed by grocery shopping.

I will use the same quantitative factors to score my commutes (car: $0.565 per mile, bike: $0.05 per mile) as Ladyfleur, but my qualitative factors are somewhat different:

• Reading/relaxing time:
Motion sickness dissuades me from reading, but if my attention is not required I can listen to podcasts or doze off.
• Bliss factor:
A happiness score on a putative scale of 0-10.
• Enables:
The benefits of this transportation choice.

Do I need to explain the Bliss factor for this trip? [There is no joy in a solo drive in traffic.]

Led Astray

Following my five-week hiatus, I knew I would be slow. I loaded shoes, helmet, water bottles, snacks, and the rest of my gear into the car. I chose a local ride on familiar roads, knowing I could easily turn back.

I did not expect to turn back before I reached our starting point, however. As I rounded the ramp onto the freeway, it occurred to me that I did not hear my bike rattling behind me. And there was a reason for that: it was still in the garage. Five weeks of inactivity had obliterated my regular pre-ride routine. Thanks to the ubiquitous California cloverleaf, I immediately circled back and managed to meet up with the rest of the group on time.

The ride took an interesting turn when the group deviated onto Soquel-San Jose Road. Our route for the day included a loop that can be completed in either direction. The route sheet detailed the clockwise loop, but a pair of locals had persuaded the ride leader to change the plan (unbeknownst to me). It seemed prudent to follow the renegades; besides, I much prefer the counter-clockwise version, with its meandering climb through the redwoods.

Of course, I also much prefer the smooth descent on Soquel-San Jose. When the locals pulled aside to wait for the group, I flew past. I surmised that they wanted to ensure that no one would miss the (now undocumented) turn onto Stetson. I know the turn. I also know that my downhill speed will carry me most of the way up its initial steep pitch.

Merrily I rolled along, deep in the shade of the forest. The redwood sorrel is blooming; California Quail skittered into the brush, and a noisy pair of Steller's Jays darted from branch to branch. I stopped at the little white church where we planned to regroup, and waited. And waited. Surely they would catch up to me soon?

One, two, three, four, five ... which rider is missing? Our leader! The same pair of riders who altered the route "didn't see me make the turn." [Which was not visible from their vantage point.] They convinced our leader that I had missed the turn, and she set off to find me. "I hope she isn't going all the way to Soquel," I exclaimed. [Sadly, she did.]

Ironically, she was not looking for me. I would later find a broken-up message on my cell phone, asking me to lead the rest of the group back to the start while she searched for the newbie rider she believed to be lost. I regretted not having the stamina to chase after her.

Twenty eight miles and 3,040 feet of climbing. What a day.

Trendy Tuesday

A bike is a bike is a bike, right? Why would you need more than one?

I log most of my miles on my sporty carbon diamond-frame road bike (about 14,000 miles, to date). My trusty steel frame hybrid pre-dates my road bike and is perfect for long commute rides to work.

My third bike, an aluminum triangle-frame folding model, is a little indulgence. It is just right for short trips that involve mass transit.

You see, I rarely drive to work; I am fortunate to rely on a commuter shuttle that stops in my town, zips down the carpool lane along the rush-hour-clogged freeways, and drops me off in front of my building. In the evening, lather/ rinse/ reverse.

Technically, I am off the bike for awhile. Walking to the shuttle stop was possible, but painful and slow. Driving to the shuttle stop was possible, but awkward and slow. (Commuter traffic. School traffic.) Biking to the shuttle stop? Easy and quick.

Herewith, in homage to my friend and stylish cyclist Ladyfleur, I present Trendy Tuesday.

The belt drive on the STRiDA is designed to overcome the greasy-chain prohibitions against carrying a bike on a bus or train; it also keeps my gray dress slacks neat and clean. A chunky scarf not only livens up a basic ivory sweater—it is a practical touch on a chilly spring morning.

No need for special cycling shoes with these platform pedals. Black is certainly the most versatile shoe color, and the open-toe design of these surgical shoes incites me to show off a color-coordinated pair of patterned socks. Reflectors on the pedals and wheels keep me safely visible on the short ride home during the fall and winter, along with an added rear red LED blinkie. Disc brakes stop the bike's little wheels on a dime.

With an elastic cord at the ready, the rear rack is handy for a quick visit to the grocery store on the way home. A traditional messenger bag is indispensable for carrying a laptop and other necessities of daily (work)life. This water-resistant design by Alchemy Goods is made of recycled bicycle inner tubes, with a strap fashioned from a recycled seat belt and a former Presta valve as a zipper pull.

Mostly Montebello

I needed a short, but challenging, ride. [Though some would suggest that 35 miles does not constitute a "short" bike ride.]

I plotted out a nice loop, including a lunch stop at a local bakery (a slice of cake with every sandwich!). We followed the route-less-taken to reach Montebello: Mt. Eden and Pierce in reverse. There is a nasty little pitch when you head up Mt. Eden from the south; one rider came to an abrupt stop, and my co-leader remarked that he had not taken this approach in years. I concede that it is steep (but short); my heart rate spiked higher there than anywhere along Montebello.

After sweeping the slowest riders, I fell even further behind the rest of our group. A few friends lingered at the top of Montebello, and we were all impressed with the young dreadlocked guy doing hill repeats.

We were less impressed with the vehicular traffic. There was a big tasting event at Ridge Vineyards; I had never seen so many cars on Montebello. Passing below their upper parking lot, I overheard an attendant say that he needed to park another 100 cars up there. Note to self: in the future, check their event calendar.

Arriving late to the bakery, we were happy to discover a few cyclists from our group had stopped for lunch, as planned.

For the day, 37 miles and some 3,365 feet of climbing. A ride to remember over the coming weeks, as I will be off the bike for a while. A day of stunning views, perfect weather, good food, and great friends.

Poster Girl

Driving to the start of today's ride, I reflected on the importance of looking far ahead, whether you happen to be piloting a bicycle or some other vehicle. At 8:30 on a clear Saturday morning, traffic on the freeway was light and flowing smoothly. Until the moment when it wasn't. The lanes ahead were filled with brake lights; I slowed and scanned for the cause.

Straddling the number two lane at an angle, pointing in the wrong direction, was a car with its front end smashed and steaming. An SUV was stopped in the number one lane. I turned on my emergency flashers and eased past the wreck with the rest of those lucky enough not to be involved. I felt grateful that I had not left home a few minutes earlier, or I might have been swept into the chaos.

Evidence of California's driest January-February on record was everywhere on the hillsides; emerald green is rapidly fading to olive. Still, the winter weather felled more trees than I expected. It has been too long since my last visit to Mt. Hamilton.

There is a bulletin board near the mailroom at the top. One of the few items tacked to that board was a sheet, yellowed with age, that described the vital statistics of the climb for cyclists. I was surprised, and a bit sad, when it disappeared last year. I was even more surprised, then, when I recently heard that a certain poster was still on display.

Last Thanksgiving, I wanted to thank the Observatory for their hospitality. We take shelter in their warm lobby, refill our water bottles, use the restrooms, and try not to jam the vending machine with our damp dollar bills. I created a poster, taped it near the mailroom, and set out some markers for my fellow cyclists to add their messages. (They did.)

I don't know if the poster will yellow with age, but for now it hangs over the water fountain—and has collected a few more signatures from grateful cyclists. That makes me smile.

Unwelcome Mat

The top of the hill on Bernal Road is a great vantage point for views across the valley—Mt. Umunhum and the Santa Cruz Mountains to the west, and Mt. Hamilton and the Diablo Range to the east. Not to mention IBM's Almaden Research Center, tucked against the hillside. It had been our custom to ride as far as the guard house and gate before turning back, but apparently even cyclists are not welcome to traverse that last 400 feet of precious private pavement.

When I woke up this morning, I decidedly felt the effects of yesterday's outing. I convinced myself that I really would feel better if I got back on the bike. Really.

That turned out to be true, with liberal use of low gears on the hill climbs. [Yes, of course, there must be hill climbs.] I added a pair of hills and some distance, for good measure, by riding to (and from) our starting point: thirty-one miles, with a mere 1600 feet of climbing.

Wintry weather will return next week. It is February, after all; the acacia trees are in full flower.

Goldilocks and the Three Hills

Today's ride was not too long and not too short, not too steep and not too flat. It was ... just right.

A bunch of other cyclists thought so, too—more than a dozen joined us for three climbs deep in the forest.

First, we climbed through the redwoods along Old Santa Cruz Highway, to the summit of the Santa Cruz Mountains.

Once is not enough, so we descended back down to the level of Los Gatos Creek and then climbed back up through the redwoods along Wrights Station Road.

Finally, we circled back to climb through the Aldercroft Heights neighborhood. You guessed it: this involved descending back down to the level of the creek, but not another climb to the summit. (If the water district allowed passage along the old railway bed, we would have a direct route to Wrights Station. It is safe to assume that we will never see this.)

Twenty-three miles, some 2700 feet of climbing. No bears were sighted.

Green Acres

Dress warmly to enjoy the rolling green vistas along Calaveras Road; the peak months of the rainy season are cold, and the hills block the low angle of the winter's sun.

Heading east on the lower section of the climb, I thought of Sierra Road's steeper ascent of this slope a few miles to the south. I will need to be in better shape before I tackle that, this season.

The level of the reservoir is lower than I have ever seen it, as the water district works to replace the old dam. Lying along the roadside were some new utility poles, waiting to be erected near the site of this massive construction project.

Our 50 mile route passed through the tiny town of Sunol to explore some new territory, Kilkare Woods. The dead-end road climbs gently along Sinbad Creek, and despite the variety of architectural styles and vintages, there was a strong sense of community there. We passed a noisy flock of turkeys midway up the road, and several (human) families strolling along the upper section.

Returning to Sunol, I was happy to enjoy my lunch at a sunny picnic table in the Sunol Community Park. This little gem is tucked alongside the railroad tracks; until today, I had never even noticed it. At the entrance, a small sculpture sets the mood for an exuberant romp in the park.

I took advantage of a head start on the rest of the group to avoid trailing the pack on our return to San José. Along the way, I was impressed with the behavior of two drivers. An SUV was in a position to overtake me, just as a small oncoming car appeared in the middle of the narrow road. I thrust out my left arm to signal "wait" to the driver behind me; the approaching car froze in place. Moments later, the SUV safely passed me; the driver (a woman) gave me a friendly toot on the horn and waved.

The second courteous driver was a man in a sizable pickup truck who caught up to me on the fast descent of lower Calaveras. With a couple of cars behind him, he allowed me a generous and steady lead, even when he might have pulled out to pass. Perhaps he gave me some respect for traveling close enough to the speed limit and appreciated that he would gain little by passing me?

Wrap Party

I never was a tomboy, but I am nonetheless deficient in many traits common to my gender. I seemingly lack the fashionista gene, as well as the one that inspires home decorating. I have never had a pedicure. The notion of pampering myself is alien to me.

Could I relax during a two-day getaway? If I could not join my buddies on the ski slopes, should I just stay home? I suppose I could walk down to the lake, or read a book. I could ... try some spa services. (Seriously?)

Day One: Alone in the swirling hot mist of the steam room, it was hard to breathe, at first. Water condensed on my skin, and every other surface; droplets rained down from the ceiling. It was glorious! My skin was already softer, and this was just the warm-up. I moved on to a full-body treatment, exfoliated head-to-toe with ground grape seeds, slathered with a mixture of aloe and seaweed that felt like molten honey, wrapped up in plastic and layered with blankets. After rinsing off the green goo, the finishing touch was a nice botanical lotion.

Having spent the day doing nothing, more or less, I was ready for bed. Score one for relaxation.

Day Two: My first-ever facial. Call me a skeptic. The descriptions of the procedures always read like a mix of faux science and new-age hocus pocus. My skin was still supple from the steam room. Products were applied, to sting and to soothe. More steam, warm towels, cool towels. The finishing touch? A slick moisturizing lotion.

Facing myself in the mirror, I had to admit it: some all-too-familiar sunspots were, indeed, lighter. Score one for skin care.

Maybe there is something to this pampering stuff, after all.

Toasty Toes

Toasty toes and tingly tips. (Fingertips, that is.) Another chilly day on the bike.

A reasonable person in sub-prime condition would not spend a cold January morning biking up the steep side of Hicks Road. But today was the club's annual luncheon to thank those of us who led rides last year, and it was inconceivable to eat pizza without burning some calories in advance.

Sleeping in seemed like the better option. Cleverly, I had talked a friend into riding with me—I had to get out of the bed.

I was altogether unconvinced that I could power myself up Hicks. Should I declare victory when I reached the dam? Having made it that far, surely I could at least ride to the bridge.

Having lured myself to the bridge, I carried some speed to begin my assault on the steepness that is Hicks. With two short stops to lower my heart rate, I made it. Another rider looked at my rear cluster and observed "That's not really a climbing gear. I add a tooth every year," he joked.

Twenty-five miles, 2300 feet of climbing, and some mighty tasty pizza.

Where the Sun Don't Shine

It was a cold morning, and heading deep into a narrow canyon seemed less than enticing; but that was my plan for the day. With the thermometer hovering near the freezing mark, I revised my attire. Wool jersey, wool socks, thermal tights, booties, serious jacket and gloves. [There, that feels better.]

Given a comfortably late start for this ride, and a route that would circle back toward home, it made good sense to bike to the start. Good sense in a frigid-air kind of way.

We met the first deep pocket of cold shortly after entering the canyon. Eyeing frost-coated leaves along the roadside, I focused on the road surface. Bridge Freezes Before Road echoed in my brain. In this dead-end canyon, there is little need for signs. My cycling companions were chattering about the hazards of black ice as I studied the haze of white frost on the bridge. Above us, a patch of snow lingered on the rocks. Snow? In Stevens Canyon?

When did the last storm pass through? Certainly, it was more than a week ago. This part of the canyon must trap some really cold air. Climbing gently along the creek, the rest of the road was wet, and muddy—but thankfully, not icy. December's heavy rains had triggered some large slides. Occasional patches of sunlight were a welcome surprise; I was eager to find more. I was not eager to socialize (and cool down) whenever we regrouped.

I slowed on Mt. Eden as something clambered down the hillside toward me. Too bold for a coyote ... it was a fawn! Mom was waiting on the other side of the road. They calmly looked me over before continuing on their way.

I suffered up the steep hills, but I made it to the top of every one. Endurance, I have. Strength, I have not. Sheer ornery determination, I have.

Thirty-six chilly miles, with 2,350 feet of climbing. One look at my bike and you would think I had been off-roading. So much for yesterday's thorough cleaning. Lather, rinse, repeat.

What Am I On?

I am on my bicycle.

Celebrating a friend's birthday. Cruising down a coastal trail, hugging the shoreline of Monterey Bay. Riding through drifted sand, following the paved path up and down the dunes. From the heart of artichoke country, past Cannery Row and Lovers Point. Along the famed 17 Mile Drive, past the unnatural greens and sand traps of Pebble Beach. Into Point Lobos State Reserve, and back again. Sixty-four miles, with a challenging 2100 feet of climbing.

I am the antidoper. I had a pint of blood extracted this week. Not for my own benefit—not to boost my performance on a bicycle on some future ride, but to help save the lives of people I will never know. When my oxygen-starved muscles spiked my heart rate to 189 bpm climbing an unexpectedly steep hill in Carmel, I stepped off the bike and walked the last few yards.

We stopped for a treat at a French bakery, and it was a chance encounter that many of us will remember about this day. A beautiful elderly woman, impeccably dressed, stopped to chat with us. She was spry and quick-witted, and eager to encourage us to keep riding our bicycles. She talked about the freedom it brings, and shared fond memories of girlhood cycling adventures in the Black Forest. Some riders in our group soon engaged her in speaking German and French. We were speechless when she revealed that she is 96 years old.

Riding back to our starting point, I reflected on the cognitive advantages enjoyed by the multi-lingual. I thought about our freedom to ride. No entrance fees for bicycles on the 17 Mile Drive. No entrance fees for cyclists at Point Lobos. We coasted past a line of idling cars waiting for others to exit on an over-capacity day; no entry delay for bicycles.

I basked in the bright sunshine of a California winter's day—on my bicycle.

No Excuses

It is cold, not even 40F. The roads are slippery from a short, late-night downpour. The rear tire on my bike had gone flat. I am still a bit congested. My ride buddies shun the cold even more than I do; I bet they will stay home.

But, what if they don't? I suggested the route; I should not renege.

I bundled up: wool jersey, fleece-lined tights, serious winter cycling jacket, thick wool socks, booties. The roads will dry. The tire stayed inflated overnight. I tucked an extra package of tissues in my pocket.

Convinced I would end up riding alone, I signed in with the leader. Much to my delight, both ride partners materialized. We were all a bit dazed by the cold; the temperature never reached 50F. If that does not sound uncomfortable to you, you are not factoring in the effect of wind chill: self-generated, with an assist from Mother Nature.

We agreed to follow the most modest route, 35 miles with a mere 795 feet of climbing. My endurance was well-preserved, but my muscles are sore. (My last bike ride was 49 days ago!)

Oh, and about that flat tire. It had a slow leak, and the last time it went soft I was convinced it was punctured. The replacement tube (supplied by a fellow rider) also had a slow leak—a bad patch. Re-inflated, I could not find a leak in my original tube, which seemed willing to hold air again.

Still, there was a lesson to be learned about my tube. Specifically, about the Presta valve on that tube. It has a removable core. The next time I unscrewed the valve cap, the core came with it. [Accompanied by a rather dramatic release of the pressurized contents of the tube.]

The loose core explained the slow leak. Lesson learned: Know your valves. Make it a habit to point that thing at the ground, lest you unleash this pressurized little projectile in a most unfortunate direction.

[Like, your eye. Or, a roadside thicket, never to be found again.]