Down the Shore

I'd reserved Sunday for a family visit. Perhaps, I suggested, we could take a walk on the boardwalk and enjoy an early dinner.

Yes, it does snow at the beach. Evidently the sand held enough heat to fend off any accumulation from this early storm.

It was uplifting to see Asbury Park in its revitalizing state. I'm sure I rode the merry-go-round as a child; the building remains, though the carousel is long gone.

When the city slid into its deep decline, we'd stroll the boards through the neighboring town of Ocean Grove and turn back at the border. The line in the sand wasn't hard to miss; sketchy characters loitered on the Asbury side. It was no longer the town that Bruce romanticized.

Things are turning around, these days. A jazz band played as we strolled through a fair inside Convention Hall, where artisans were selling their wares.

I never had the chance to notice the architectural details, before.

The interior could use some more work, but somehow the building and its ornamental flourishes survived those sad decades of neglect.

And the wintry waves of the steely gray Atlantic roll on.

Musical, Magical, Manhattan

Luckily I'd re-checked the forecast when I was packing on Thursday night. Snow! On Saturday! (Not Tuesday, per earlier forecasts.)

I broke out the insulated winter boots for slushy sidewalks and my ski jacket to stay warm and shed the flakes.

Big, wet snowflakes drifted down from the sky and melted on my tongue. The first snowfall of the season was just enough to make the city pretty, and not enough to wreak havoc or summon the plows.

To make the most of my short trip, I headed for a quick morning visit to the American Museum of Natural History—via the subway.

I'd read about the deteriorating state of the subway system, but from afar I didn't follow the details.

What a mess. I walked over to 34th to catch the D train, only to discover it's skipping that station (repairs). I re-routed, and found some holiday cheer in a car where a three-piece ensemble (accordion, guitar, and bass) played and sang Feliz Navidad. They appreciated the applause (and donations).

I focused my abbreviated visit on something new: geology. It's sobering to cast your eyes on a sample of a rock that includes zircon crystals dated to be the oldest material on earth (over 4.276 billion years old).

I studied a cross-section of folded rock from the Sequoia National Forest (Kings Canyon), and a slice from the familiar San Andreas Fault.

A spectacular 12-foot geode was popular.

I hustled back to the subway to head downtown for my matinee. Having just missed one train, I listened to ambiguous announcements about a stalled train near Columbus Circle. The next train arrived, and was held in place by a red light.

Time for a taxi. Chivalry is officially dead: standing there in the snowstorm, a “gentleman” positioned himself upstream to intercept the cab that should have been mine.

I made it to the theatre in time. (Just.) Another bittersweet musical, Dear Evan Hansen. The staging included panels onto which images and words streamed; social media plays a big role. It can be hard to laugh when you know the story must spiral out of control, that it can't end well. Ben Platt (Evan) was brilliant.

So much to see and do ... I was already regretting how short this trip would be.

For the evening, I necessarily had Plans A and B—both at Lincoln Center. Plan B would be to see NYC Ballet's Nutcracker. Plan A relied on someone freeing up a ticket to a sold-out performance of the NY Philharmonic, the last in a short concert series commemorating their 175th anniversary.

The box office window for “this performance” was shuttered. I figured I'd plead ignorance at the “future sales” window, but there was no need. “What's your price range?” he asked. The weather had scared people away, and I wound up with a lovely aisle seat in the orchestra section!

For the occasion, they were repeating the same works performed at their very first concert. Which made this performance of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony one that assuredly I will never forget: the first one I've seen live.

I opted for a subway ride back downtown. No cycling for me ...

New York, New York

I miss NYC at Christmastime. I miss NYC at other times, too. But especially at Christmastime.

When I was a child, it was a regular treat to make a trip to the city, admire the wondrous tree and the skaters at Rockefeller Center, the elaborate animated window displays, and all the colorful decorations.

It's a longer trip now, but I'm a grown-up. I bought a plane ticket.

I made a list, and checked it twice. My flight landed early enough to take in a Friday night Broadway show.

My first choice was The Band's Visit, a stage adaptation of an Israeli film (though I didn't know that when I chose it). It was well-reviewed and perhaps not likely to play elsewhere. Plus, it presented an opportunity to see Tony Shalhoub (live!) in one of the leading roles.

I scored a ticket, grabbed a quick bite to eat, and headed for the box office of the next show on my list—securing a ticket for tomorrow's matinee.

Theatres sometimes (always?) hold back a few good seats “just in case” they need to accommodate someone special, or to recover from some mishap—a patron unhappy with his or her seat, a botched ticket. At some point, they might decide to release the hold. I believe this is how I ended up with a Broadway producer (Pamela Cooper) on my right, and a guy affiliated with the show on my left, jotting down notes that he would later take backstage.

Pamela (and the random theatre-goer to her right, who positively gushed about Pamela's Come From Away) convinced me that I should add that one to my list. It should have won the Tony for Best Musical, of that they were sure. The 9/11 theme had given me pause. (It will tour, if I don't make it back to Broadway soon enough.)

Pamela had brought Ben Vereen (seated elsewhere) to the show. From the deep recesses of my memory, I recalled the day my mom took me to my first Broadway show (Pippin). Starring ... Ben Vereen.

Tonight's musical comedy was bittersweet, and evidently starting a theme for the works I'd chosen: ordinary people, leading ordinarily complicated lives, learning about themselves and each other as they make their way in our complicated world.

After the show, I found my way to Rockefeller Center, merging into the Friday-night crowd taking selfies with the famous tree

 and the angels

and the elaborate light show on the front of Saks Fifth Avenue).

I love NYC at Christmastime!

Parade Route

A short ride with a holiday theme was the ticket today. And of course there were hills to climb.

The rider who joined me assured me that a particular “short-cut” was legit, and after completing our final climb we passed through an open-space gate to clamber up some rocks, enjoying our snacks with a view.

Our holiday reward was the 61st annual Los Gatos Children's Christmas Parade. The Recreation Department even had a balloon!

A crowd (and personal) favorite is the irreverent Cucuzza Squash Drill Team. Tottering out-of-step down the street, wielding their vegetables with Italian music blaring, they are nothing short of hilarious.

There were marching bands and dance troups, Cub Scouts and Girl Scouts and Indian Princesses. Rowers rowed (on machines) under the canopy of a racing shell.

Canine Companions for Independence walked alongside their humans. Crowds filled the sidewalks to view more than 200 floats and groups parade through downtown.

The perennial highlight is Jiffy Market's float, which features a pair of daredevil ramps (along with a crew of certified daredevils). The first rider raced down the street, launched into the air, landed and pedaled on. [Child's play, comparatively speaking.] His compatriots launched higher, one spinning a twist and the other flipping a full 360º in the air before touching down.

As for me, I strive to keep both wheels, upright, in contact with the pavement. I was more than content to cover 17 miles and climb 1,825 feet.

But who doesn't love a parade?

Tunnel of Leaves

New high-temperature records were set today: 78F in Gilroy, 80F in San Jose. I peeled off the arm warmers early; later, I shed the vest.

It was incongruent to see cars pass with Christmas trees lashed to their rooftops. Too early, and definitely too warm.

We biked the length of Redwood Retreat Road, and although I spied one large redwood at the end, mostly we were shaded by other trees. Fallen leaves littered the roadside—only fallen leaves, a welcome sight after miles of broken glass, trash, and smashed car parts. What if a bottle was worth more than the beer it contained? Imagine a refundable $10 deposit, per bottle. Would that dissuade punks from tossing their empties on the road?

And is no one responsible for clearing the debris after a car crash? There was a disturbing spread along Santa Teresa, perhaps from a red truck that met a very violent end. Do they leave the remains as a cautionary tale? We cycled past at least three roadside memorials today.

There were lovely sights, too. Deer, goats, horses, cattle, llamas. Sweeping vistas, fall colors. A barrier closed Mt. Madonna Road shy of the spot where we normally turn around (at the end of the paved road). Inquiring minds want to know ... and so we eased on by. Nothing remarkable about that last stretch; perhaps the unseen unpaved side bore the brunt of last winter's wrath.

Shortly after a pit stop at a local library, one of my ride buddy's tires exploded with a loud “Pffft!” [Uh oh.]

A few inches of her front tire had slipped off the rim, exposing a sliver of the tube. [In retrospect, we should have replaced the tube, then and there.] The tire was not losing pressure (or so it seemed). I released enough air to slip the tube back inside the tire, and the tire back on the rim. A CO2 cartridge made for a quick re-inflation and we continued on our way.

The weirdly warm weather also suppressed the headwinds that traditionally plague the return trip. I pulled out ahead, believing that I still had her in sight. [I was wrong about that.]

Back at our starting point, I admired the sunny yellow ginkgo leaves. Today was the day for many of the local specimens to drop their leaves; we had been showered with them as we started riding this morning.

When my ride buddy had not appeared after ten minutes or so, I set out to find her. As I'd feared, the tire had gone flat; luckily, another rider helped get her back on the road. Thus, I rounded out the day with a respectable 63 miles but a measly 2,625 feet of climbing—despite leading us on a scenic diversion along some steep residential roads.

Lesson for the day: Heed the hiss. Swap the tube.

Coming Attractions

'Twas the night before ... Thanksgiving?

The weather outside is ... (not) frightful.

Wait, what's going on here?

An unexpected treat on a bonus ride home!

The morning commute traffic has been light all week; the evening commute ... miserable. With most people ducking out early today for the long holiday weekend, I decided a round-trip was feasible. Timed just right, the sky would have some light left by the time I got home. It was weirdly warm today—I enjoyed my lunch outdoors, no jacket needed. And for most of the ride home, no jacket needed.

I slipped into the park, and ... surprise! Of course! Displays need testing, bulbs need replacing, before the gates will open for the first visitors (less than 10 days from now).

How lucky to get a sneak preview, without the crowds. A fine reward for wrapping up a workday with 36 miles and a wee bit of climbing (700 feet).

Leaves of Gold

Brrr! Frost on the rooftops, this morning.

To warm up, I chose to park a couple of miles from the spot where we would rendezvous with today's leader. To be honest, the parking lot I chose was also somewhat more convenient for me. And I felt better about leaving my car there; the only litter was a smattering of Cheerios—no broken glass, no beer bottles or cans.

We would be tracing a route similar to a ride I led a few years ago, and pretty much for the same reason: on a cold day, it's prudent to stick to roads that are well-exposed and low.

Along the way I caught a whiff of a politicized topic that has been sensationalized in the press of late. “I'm glad I'm not in the workplace now, I'd be afraid I'd get accused of sexual harassment if I gave a lady a pat on the back for doing a good job.” [Sigh.] Actually, probably not. Context matters. But how about using your words instead of your hands? The lady would rather have your support when she's looking for a raise or a promotion.

I did not interject. [I just want to ride my bike.]

Our group of nine splintered after the first two climbs, with some riders eager to tackle a couple of the steeper hills in the neighborhood. [I was not among them.]

When two riders opted to follow me, I regretted not having studied the map last night. I had brought a copy of my old route (and managed not to get us lost).

After we finished the third climb, I was conflicted about skipping the fourth. Continue straight to my car? Or backtrack, to climb the road we'd just descended.

I gave my companions the choice, still unsure I'd head for the hill if they declined. “Let's do it!” they said. We paused to peel off our jackets and watched a coyote trotting across the field next to us. It changed course once it finally noticed us.

In all, an efficient 2,730 feet of climbing over 29 miles. Somewhere along a descent it appears that I topped out at 42.3 mph, which was perhaps a tad over the posted limit. [A tad.] Perhaps.