Independence Day

The morning began celebrating our national holiday with like-minded folks (cyclists, of course) at our club's traditional pancake breakfast. Having learned the hard way last year, I set out earlier to be sure the tables and chairs hadn't already been taken down when I arrived. I'm happy to do my part with that chore, but not when the tear-down starts a full hour before the post-breakfast rides begin.

It wasn't much different this year, with chairs being folded and stacked while people stood patiently in line at the griddle.

My ride buddy and I parted ways at Montebello, which she was determined to climb; I was more keen on the shade of Stevens Canyon and a shorter outing: 38 miles with a manageable 1,765 feet of climbing.

Our route passes the Sunnyvale Rod and Gun Club's property, where members were evidently celebrating their right to bear arms (with like-minded folks). The sound was a prelude to the illegal fireworks that will erupt later tonight.

There were lots of families picnicking in the parks, kids splashing in the creek.

All the bridges on the upper portion of Stevens Canyon Road have been replaced. Not only are the old wooden crossings gone, the new editions seem more deluxe than needed for this secluded dead-end road. The homeowners have some clout, perhaps.

They certainly put out the unwelcome mat: There is no shortage of “No Trespassing” and “Private Road” signs along the way. Or one, simply stated: “Go Away.”

Rather a sharp contrast to the impromptu hospitality of the homeowner in Scotland, a few weeks ago, who invited our entire group into his home to use the bathroom.

Happy Independence Day.

And Again

Calaveras was so lovely last week, we decided to pay a return visit. Looks like repairs will be starting this week on the lower section that's closed, so it was definitely the right call to ride it today.

This week we added a prelude, the challenging climb up Felter—all the way to the vista point on Sierra Road. At least one of our riders had not been there before. A few hardy souls chose to climb Calaveras before Felter; I prefer to tackle the tougher climb first. (I have climbed Felter last, albeit after the full return climb from Sunol, and it hurt. A lot.)

In addition to the usual turkey vultures and a red-tailed hawk, I spotted a Western Bluebird, and an interesting bird I couldn't identify. Plus a small herd of alpacas.

Near the dam, we chatted with a worker exiting the gate. We asked about the closure, about the slide damage blocking the route to Sunol. He said the repairs were done, but the road was closed at the dam by “Homeland Security.” “Drinking water,” he explained. But there has been a reservoir here for more than 100 years,  and the road has passed through this valley for a long time indeed. I expect the closure has more to do with the construction site than with the water below. The project's web site continues to peg the closure on winter storm damage.

As we headed back along the reservoir, a minivan passed us (heading up). What's not to understand about “Road Closed” signs? Not to mention an actual barricade.

Eventually they discovered that they had to return whence they came, passing us again. Frankly, driving a minivan on the curvy ups and downs of Calaveras Road would not be my idea of a fun time.

Back at the park where we started, a whimsical piece of art caught my eye. Was it new, or was it the effect of the breeze setting it in motion?

A more challenging outing this week: 34 miles with 3,345 feet of climbing. Despite having to share the upper road with two vehicles, it was so worth the trip.

All That Jazz

Today was my day to test a cycling route to my new office. I'd studied maps and thought about traffic patterns.

Most of the route would be the same (pleasant). The last few miles ... not so much.

For this segment, evidently I had chosen well—I was surprised to find myself turning onto Sunnyvale's “Bike Route 600.” [There are a few such signs posted around town, with mysterious route numbers; I have found no information online about these.]

I continued down a quiet residential street, knowing I'd have to make an uncontrolled left turn at the end. I could see more traffic on that throroughfare than I expected; two cars sat, waiting to make the same left turn I wanted. This could be challenging ...

Could be. Wasn't. Cars were backed up by a red light on the cross street; here, I had the advantage. The cars couldn't turn left, because there was no room for them. Bicycle? No problem! I eased right on through to the bike lane.

A pair of bike/ped bridges carried me above 14 lanes of freeways: eight lanes of 101, six lanes of 237. (Both jammed with traffic.) The second bridge deposited me conveniently near the company café that is the highlight of my new commute.

Best croissants I've had outside of Europe. The best.

The last mile entails crossing through one of the messiest intersections I have ever seen. In the morning, it's doable. In the evening ... it's terrifying. Drivers weave aggressively as they jockey for position in the correct lane for the desired freeway in the desired direction. It would be safest to load my bike and ride the shuttle home.

Light rail, for the win! Direct from my building's parking lot, to the platform, without using any road at all. Roll the bike aboard, disembark a couple of stops later—one block from a road that was part of my former commute route!

It might seem counter-intuitive to head southwest when my destination is southeast, but this solution saves time (and a little distance). Crucially, it spares me from navigating through that traffic engineering nightmare.

On a whim I routed through town, deciding to check out the mid-week summer evening concert. The town plaza was packed with jazz fans, and ... I confirmed that I was not one of them. I listened to a few minutes of Paula West covering Bob Dylan's Like a Rolling Stone. It didn't work, for me. Some notes went up, some notes went down, some notes went up, some notes went down. There was no depth, no emotion, no soul.

Not a fan.

My new commute, well ... it's okay. About 36 miles today, with 1,080 feet of climbing.

Carefree, Car Free, Calaveras

Wishing to avoid competing with beach traffic (much of the population of the Bay Area heads west on summer weekends, clogging all roads), we headed east instead. My ride buddy suggested we go for a cruise on Calaveras, and a few like-minded souls joined us for a short trip: a mere 21 miles (1,845 feet of climbing, though).

This turned out to be, absolutely, brilliant. Best. Day. Ever. on Calaveras.

Because ... portions of the road are closed. It is, temporarily, a veritable playground for cyclists (and, hikers).

The lower portion, between Piedmont and Downing, was blocked for all vehicles. Climbing that has never been so delightful!

I dreaded The Wall, but it wasn't terrible. A racer encouraged me, as he flew past, without a hint of condescension.  No zigzagging, I was riding straight up ... at about a third of his pace.

The upper portion of the road was closed at the dam, and will be for some time: it is, essentially, a road to nowhere. And especially with the lower closure, there is no reason for any motoring enthusiast to make the trek.

Ah, if only it could always be so.

Sunnyvale Community Services

“I know you just finished leading a volunteer project,” the email message read. “But we have a few that are still leaderless, and we heard you might be willing to help out.”

I'm a softie (and, the folks who run our company's annual volunteer service extravaganza know it).

I browsed the list to see if any would sync with my schedule.

Not that one. Nope, not that one, either.

I found a winner: Sunnyvale Community Services.

We often hear about the high cost of living in the Bay Area these days, and the challenges faced by low-wage earners, the jobless, senior citizens—but it's not a new problem: SCS has been in operation since 1970. They provide much more than food support for those in need. Caseworkers help folks with all sorts of setbacks—from finding a mechanic to fix a broken car, to emergency financial help to pay the bills. It doesn't take much, when someone is living on the edge, to topple over. SCS is there to catch them before they fall, before the damage is too great (loss of a job for want of a car, loss of an apartment for missing a rent payment).

Some non-profits need brain power; today, SCS just needed more hands.

Our task was to load grocery bags with non-perishables: canned green beans, refried beans, spaghetti sauce, peaches, tuna, plus peanut butter, dry beans, raisins, rice, and quinoa. [Quinoa?!]

We quickly became a well-tuned machine: some folks fed the assembly line with bags and food (and recycled the cardboard and plastic packaging); others formed the assembly line to pack each bag “just so” (forming a stackable package), while others wheeled the finished products to waiting pallets and stacked them.

Six hundred bags packed and stacked in less than 90 minutes!

Plein Air

Spinning in a studio is really not my style.

The first real heat wave of the summer was upon us, so a short morning ride seemed best.
Reynolds Road is always longer and harder than I remember. The top is just around that bend ... no. It's the next bend ... no. We had a tight group today, and for one rider it was a special trip indeed—especially the descent.

Two months ago, she had crashed here (over the edge, into the ravine) on the way down. The road is twisty, and steep; if you're inattentive, you can pick up more speed than you can manage.

It will take more than one trip on Reynolds to vanquish the fright, but she toughed it out. (I sent everyone else down first, because if anyone had an issue, there was no way I'd manage a hill repeat to help.)

Along the way we met five club members—one hiker, the rest on wheels. You'd think we lived in one small town, not a sprawling suburb-opolis packed with millions of people.

We finished our ride in a shady park filled with artists displaying their work (fundraising sale). They'd spent time in town over the past week, painting local scenes—some of which had already been snapped up.

Our hungry band of cyclists got lucky: Trader Joe's was supporting the event, handing out plates of cheeses, crackers, and grapes (complimentary!). Then we got even luckier: one very generous rider treated us to cookies and bottles of juice when he returned with his lunch.

18 miles of cycling with 1,730 feet of climbing—in the open air.

Last Call

What happens if you build an office park in the middle of a freeway interchange?

We're about to find out.

Although I've worked for the same company for more than a decade now, I've hung my helmet in many different buildings (five, to be exact). Next week, make that six.

This time, my team is being shunted to a satellite campus in a neighboring city. And there are many things I will miss: the views, the green space, the straightforward commute.

Today was my last chance to bike the familiar route. I was a bit of a greyhound this morning, averaging more than 14 mph to arrive in time to get cleaned up before my first meeting (9 a.m.).

I routed myself through the egret rookery, raucous in the early morning. On the way home, I dawdled.

Much of the route to our new location will remain the same; overall, it will be a bit shorter. It's the last mile that will be a challenge.

Stay tuned.