Full Moon Rising

Technically, not-quite-full moon rising. The timing would not work out as well on Friday.

It is mighty hard (for me) to get up in the dark and onto the bike. Rooting around for toe covers delayed my morning departure enough to align conveniently with sunrise, without also making me tardy for my first meeting.

It is chilly enough in the morning for a jacket, warm enough in the evening for a short-sleeved jersey. As the end of daylight savings time approaches, darkness closes in before I finish the ride home.

That ride home? Well, just look at that view—and appreciate that the photo doesn't do it justice.

No View for You

The top of Sutro Tower poked through the fog layered over San Francisco. The Golden Gate Bridge did not.

We made our way above Oakland and Berkeley, perched on the ridge above the Hayward Fault. The next time that ruptures, I would not want to be here. Fortunately, today was not that day.

Today was a day to ride with friends, to be led along this route by a club member who has more than two decades on me, to make new discoveries.

Our turnaround point was the Summit Reservoir, originally built in the 1890s. The water is not visible, and although the area is completely covered, it was designed with layers and textures to suggest a natural surface—complete with stylized birds taking flight. It will look very different next year, when construction gets underway to replace the reservoir with a large tank.

The highlight of the day was Pinehurst Road, an unfamiliar gem that I look forward to visiting again. In the late afternoon, it was chilly and dark. This is the type of road that often leaves me wondering why it exists; the map shows a route to the neighboring town of Moraga. Pinehurst passes through an eclectic little community, aptly named Canyon, complete with its own Post Office.

A long day, with a healthy dose of climbing: some 4,700 feet over 51 miles.

The High Point

I was uncharacteristically awake early this morning. Early enough to start my wheels rolling some 13 minutes before sunrise.

My timing was fortunate indeed, because a major intersection was still shut down; the utility company that was supposed to wrap up their overnight construction work by 5:00 a.m. did not. Traffic chaos would surely ensue within the next half-hour, with frazzled and impatient motorists forced on a circuitous tour of the neighborhood. The workers were disinclined to let even a bicycle pass through, so I headed for an alternate route.

I kept an eye on the sky as it grew lighter. There were low clouds along the Diablo Range ... I just might have a shot. I raced the rising sun to the high point of my morning commute, a well-placed gratuitous hill, and won.

A serene start to a busy day.

Expect the Unexpected

Checking your bike the day before you plan to ride is a good habit—one that I have mostly followed. It paid off on Saturday, when I discovered my rear tire was completely flat. In the comfort of my backyard, it was not hard to find the thorn I must have picked up late on last week's ride, replace the tube and pump it up.

I parked about a mile from our starting point. And then discovered that my front derailleur would not budge, up or down. I considered my options. With the chain in place on the middle ring, I could climb most of the hills on today's menu and make it to the annual Cider Party. The steepest hill, I could skip.

Having settled on that plan, my front derailleur woke up and operated normally again.

Our next challenge was a call from our (trailing) ride leader. She was ill; could we take over? [Of course!] Of the four remaining cyclists, two were newcomers to the club and two were seasoned ride leaders.

Children at the party wanted to splash in the pool, but shrieked at the sight of a large bee struggling on the surface. When I was their age, I would have shrieked, too. [One morning my mother found me, famously, sleeping on the living room couch—having ceded my bedroom to a buzzing mosquito.] The fat black bee was within reach; I coaxed it into a paper cup and then onto a shrub, its wings too wet for flight. Happy bee, happy children.

And happy me, with my share of fresh-pressed apple cider. Our roundabout route involved a tad more climbing than strictly necessary (some 3,745 feet over 29 miles), not counting another 40 feet on the 7-mile return downhill.

We arrived too late to help with the apple prep this year. A direct route and an earlier start will set that right, next year.

Beauty Sleep

Why is the ride called “Sleeping Beauty Sunday?” asked a curious cyclist. “Because we're lazy,” someone replied.

Lazy ... yes ... if you think a 44-mile bike ride with some 2,315 feet of climbing is for slackers. We are a bunch of lazy cyclists who sleep in on Sundays and start riding at the decadent hour of 10:00 a.m.

We stretched out like the proverbial elastic band, snapping back together at the top of each hill. At the final summit, I parted ways with the group. Choices, choices ... headwind, or hills?

Along the way, I found a long feather shed by a hawk; I tucked it alongside my saddle bag, but it took flight somewhere on Uvas Road and sadly was lost.

I came upon a motorcyclist, stopped at the side of the road. As I would for a fellow bicyclist, I asked if everything was okay. He had removed his helmet, and was rooting around in a rear compartment. He smiled and confirmed that all was well; he passed me later, with a friendly wave.

Why take a straight, flat route along a busy road (into the wind), when a curvy, scenic route with rolling hills is nearby?

Short and Steep

With a 50% chance of rain today, I was glad that the ride I planned to lead was short and local. We picked up riders along the way, heading out with an atypically tiny group (three) and ending up with six. Our starting point made it easy for the other riders to predict where they would find us: we tackled the hardest hill first.

I explained the first climb to a strong newcomer this way: At any junction, go up. Less than halfway to the top of Harwood, she joked “Can I turn around, now?” Ah, but then you will miss the view, I smiled.

And what a view, today! The skies were dramatic. When I first moved to the Bay Area, I knew that the summer would be dry. What I did not expect was that the skies would be cloudless for months. Uninterrupted blue can be ... well ... monotonous. Not much chance for Bay Area children to lie in a field of green grass, to let their imaginations drift to find whales and dragons in the sky.

Looking at the route we followed, you might think we were repeatedly thwarted in our efforts to find a through way over the hill. But that was not the case—our Sisyphean route was deliberately chosen. Our goal was to climb four little-traveled, dead-end roads, and we took the steepest way to get there. [Of course.]

Our guest rider noted that she could think of a word that aptly rhymes with Arnerich ... I was reminded how steep it gets when I pulled my front wheel off the pavement a couple of times.

The toughest climbs were first, the longest climb was last. After riding through a field of green glass left by some miscreant, one of our riders gallantly posted himself above it to warn the rest of us to steer clear. [A great bike club is the sum of its members.]

As we descended the last hill, the winds were swirling and the clouds were beginning to spit on us. A block from home, raindrops were sprinkling in earnest. The downpour held off, though, until I was comfortably indoors. A perfect day for a short ride.

Losing the Light

The autumnal equinox is nearly upon us; in a few weeks, my round-trip commutes will go on hiatus.

Dark mornings are less stressful than dark evenings; the sky will grow lighter on the way to the office. Dark evenings slow me down—it is too difficult to see, and avoid, rocks, potholes, and sharp pointy things on the road. It is also impossible to establish eye contact with motorists and negotiate the right-of-way. Being lit up like a blinking Christmas tree is still not good enough to prevent a driver from misjudging my speed and cutting me off.

For me, traveling a few local miles in the dark is tolerable; the full 20 miles from the office ... not so much.

This week, I packed in four days of commuting, including today's group ride with six co-workers. They promised to take it easy. “Easy” turned out to be my fastest pace of the week, averaging 14 mph.

I really should push myself harder.