Sky High

The rest of the group had ambitions to climb some popular hills to the north. Knowing that I would quickly be dropped, I was less keen on spending a few hours alone on one of the busier stretches of Skyline.

I headed south, solo. Less traffic (once you're past the entrance to Castle Rock State Park). The park was busier than usual, evidently hosting some event. Land has been cleared for the future entrance, but the pace of progress is slow. It's been more than two years since I led a bunch of volunteers hauling out debris that had been left on the grounds of the former Christmas tree farm.

I was most curious about the road repairs necessitated by the harsh storms of the 2016-2017 winter. A portion of the road washed out then, undermined by the development of a new gully.

I shared the road with a few cyclists (and fewer cars), climbing some 1,945 feet over 21 miles of peace. And quiet.

Wild Flower Hunting

The burn scars are gone; the fields have renewed themselves.

Three women (racers, evidently) passed me as we approached the first descent. Coming around the bend, I was gaining on them, and ... I dropped them. As expected, they caught me when the climbing resumed. “You started it,” they joked, “now you have to stay with us!” Ah, if only ... “I have no horsepower,” I confessed. “You've got great descending skills!“ they replied. I smiled. Yes, there is that.

In 2012, I managed ten and a half ascents of Mt. Hamilton. I missed March and December that year, but surely there were wildflowers in April and May. Why was today so remarkable? Was it the rainy winter, or was I just paying more attention?

I certainly never noticed the lilac bush at the summit. Because, how would you? Unless it was in full, fragrant bloom. Like today.

Yellow flowers along the driveway to the observatory.

Msny flowers I don't recall seeing before.

I started wondering how I'd identify them all, which got me thinking about how it is in our nature to name things. The flowers have no need for being named.

I noticed some yellow lupine on the way up, then regretted not pausing to get a photo. Regretted enough that I actually stopped on the descent.

The usual 39 miles and 4,890 feet of climbing, but I will never tire of this climb.

Even without the flowers.

Bike to Work Day Bunch

Bike to Work Day for me isn't just a another day to bike to work. That would be too simple.

It's a day to lead my colleagues to work.

There will always be riders to join me: some new, some regulars. We had an impressive contingent of first-timers, this year. Some sign up, some drop out, some know where (and roughly when) to meet us en route, and some ... just show up. One doesn't even work for the same company any more.

It all comes together, somehow.

With portable speakers on one rider's handlebars, the voice of Jim Morrison set the pace: Riders on the Storm.

By now, we have the timing well sorted out. Moments after we arrived at our rendezvous point, my co-leader rounded the corner with his group (eleven!) in tow.

After the traditional briefing (the most important rule: Have fun!) and group photo, our line of twenty-odd riders headed up the first bike bridge of the morning. Our route would carry us high above four different freeways, and more than one rider cackled gleefully at three lanes of bumper-to-bumper traffic stopped below. “Wave!” I shouted.

I can always count on extra help: The rider who darts over to press the “walk” button to give us a longer interval for crossing major streets. The rider who hangs at the back, offering encouragement and ensuring that we lose no one.

As usual, we invaded the “energizer station” in a neighboring town, refueling on coffee cake (and for those who wanted it, actual coffee). As usual, they were highly amused. Many photos were taken, including a ring of ankles bedecked in last year's colorful Bike to Work Day socks.

The biggest surprise was meeting one of our executives there. My co-leader and I had no idea that our organization's senior vice president was on that town's bicycle advisory committee. And he certainly wasn't expecting to see the two of us roll up, trailing two dozen cyclists.

This was also our bifurcation point, this year. Roughly half the group followed my co-leader to Mountain View, while I led the rest to Sunnyvale. [My, how the company has grown!] Our building's bike storage room could hold no more.

My co-leader was game to try my route home; I did my best to keep the pace brisk. (For my definition of brisk; slow, for him.) I rounded out the day with 38 miles and 880 feet of climbing, but that's not the whole story.

After Sunday's 53-mile ride, I can tell you that my legs were sore on Monday. [Eh, whatever. Get over it.]

In honor of Bike to Work Week this year, I dialed it up a notch. [Okay, maybe a couple of notches.] There was also a round-trip commute on Monday (36 miles), plus one-way trips on Tuesday and Wednesday (together, 36 miles). That adds up to 110 miles of commuting and 2,920 feet of climbing for the week. Last year, I wasn't confident I'd make it past the rendezvous point.

Friday's a rest day. I need my legs for Mt. Hamilton on Saturday.

Early Nesters

We paused at a park along the way, where a rider called out our first sighting: a hummingbird hovering overhead.

There were plenty of mallards and swallows along San Tomas Aquino Creek, but the prize was a well-camouflaged Black-crowned Night-Heron in the tall grass on the opposite bank.

The headwinds were surprisingly strong. (Builds character. And clears the air.)

Another rider knew a thing or two about birds. Terns! American Coots (male and female).

And of course, egrets. Majestic Great Egrets gliding gracefully above the surface of the bay. Snowy Egrets hunting in the shallows.

The willows are sprouting their leaves, and the birds are back—building and feathering their nests. Early birds claim the best branches.

So many fancy feathers to preen!

This being the start of Bike to Work Week, it seemed only fitting to bike to (and from) the start for today's ride. Which meant 27 mostly flat miles for the group, but 53 miles and 1,100 feet of climbing for me. My longest ride of the year!

Three Bikin' Babes

Looming gray clouds must have convinced my fellow cyclists to stay home this morning. There were no showers on the local weather radar map.

Two women joined me, both excited to share “This is one of my favorite routes!” (Mine, too.)

As I had hoped, the cool (and gloomy) weather meant that we would contend with little traffic; on a hot summer day there will be a steady stream of impatient drivers diverting off the freeway onto the original Santa Cruz Highway. Today, we had the redwoods to ourselves.

A male turkey fanned out his tail feathers for his hen (but not for my camera).

Some of these back roads, I believe, were originally logging roads. They've been paved since then, but ... not regularly. Every rainy winter breaks up more of the pavement, or worse—last winter a car was trapped in a hole (where the road had given way). I couldn't be sure which stretch of smooth, fresh pavement corresponded to that repair. But I can say that no section of road gets repaired before its time. [Which, in some cases, may be a century. Or more.]

A young buck eyed me warily.

Mama T Rex is still defending her hatchling from a diving pterodactyl.

A few drops of rain fell from the sky, barely noticeable. Which was good, because it was much chillier than I expected; I regretted not donning wool socks this morning.

The hillsides were dotted with wild iris, purple vetch, and some very tiny flowers unfamiliar to me.

The patio at the Summit Store was overrun by cyclists—another club's ride overlapped with a bit of ours. Three or four people emptied out of a car, bundled in puffy insulated jackets, and stared at us as if we were a herd of exotic creatures.

Yes, this is what we do on the weekend. 38 miles, 3,370 feet of climbing—even when it's gray and gloomy.

The Mighty Eucalyptus

I set off for home late on a blustery afternoon. No need to hurry, I told myself, with all that wind.

It's not unusual for me to pass a long line of cars along one stretch; some drivers prefer that route, even though a couple of stop signs cause traffic to back up.

Most of them, I expect, regretted their choice today.

I have to admit that I'm not a particular fan of eucalyptus trees. It's wise not to linger near them. Especially on windy days. Or hot days, when they sometimes explode.

I dismounted and took to the sidewalk, chatting with the firemen who were clearing the lane that they could. “It's not often we get to walk to a call,” they noted. (Their station is right across the street.)

Fortunately, there was no one in the path of that falling limb. “It was a close call,” a fireman said.

I can't begin to count the number of mornings I've pedaled beneath that monster and its neighbors, but I can tell you I'll be sprinting in the future.

Sounds of Spring

Oh, that enticing ribbon of road! One rider claimed to see the snow-capped peaks of the Sierras in the distance, but there was too much haze for me. I was tempted, oh-so-tempted, to head down the other side of Patterson Pass, but that was not part of today's plan.

Another rider matter-of-factly identified the repeated trill of a nearby western meadowlark. They'd seen peacocks, too; I had recognized their cries but I didn't catch a glimpse. None of us could miss the spectacle of hundreds of red-winged blackbirds swarming in a brushy field we'd passed. What a cacophony!

Frogs croaked, goats bleated, sheep baaed, wild turkeys gobbled, cattle mooed, cyclists panted.

By the time I reached the base of Morgan Territory Road, I had recovered enough to make the turn with the rest of the group. Why not?

Why not? Because I had climbed the front side once before (and I remembered it well).

But, here I was, again. When I met an SUV coming down the steepest section, I stopped debating whether to attempt it. [I walked.]

I wondered at the rocky peak in the distance, so clearly visible from the park where we'd stopped, just past the summit.

The green hills will fade to gold all too soon, and the poppies will shed their petals and seeds.

Our return via Collier Canyon Road was unfamiliar, and unexpectedly lovely—a very pleasant surprise.

I've been commuting by bicycle with more determination, and it is paying off. My most challenging ride of the year: 43 miles, 3,090 feet of climbing, with no regrets.