Sun Day

It had been a month since I'd joined a club ride. Finally, a weekend day without rain, with no other commitments! A ride that would follow a local loop. A ride with a leisurely start time—I could bike to the start! Not too hilly. Not too flat. Not too long. Not too short.

The challenge was to stay with the group, as our (unspecified) route twisted indirectly through unfamiliar neighborhoods. No worries, though; I knew I could make my own way easily enough if I fell behind.

We regrouped in Saratoga at the always-impressive Villa Montalvo after climbing the first of the four hills we'd tackle today.

I suffered less than I'd expected I would; a little cross-training and a little fair-weather bike commuting paid dividends. And spring flowers perked up our spirits.

For the day, 28 miles with 1,960 feet of climbing.

Just right.

Wintry Fun

My recent Heavenly trip whetted my appetite for more. I have some (very!) good friends in Utah, with a standing invitation to visit. Somehow I keep letting each winter slip away without planning a trip. Work interferes, and then there are social commitments—like season tickets to San Francisco Ballet.

March, already. Was it too late? [No!] It has been a good year for snow in Utah, too.

I continued warming up at Deer Valley. Although I picked up my skis (Völkl Aurora) a few years ago, they are still “new” to me. The first time I took them out, I worried that my friends had overestimated my skills in recommending these. After reading some reviews this year, it clicked: be more aggressive. Words from an instructor at a long-ago Snowbird Women's Ski Camp echoed in my head. Pep is a better skier than she thinks she is.

Biking, hiking, skiing—all involve lots of leg muscles. But not the same leg muscles. I took a day off, joining my friend on a short, snowy hike in the neighborhood—before spending the next three at my favorite place to ski: Alta.

So much snow! Fresh snow, just before I arrived in town. Picture-perfect skies. No crowds.

No snowboarders. [Sorry, not sorry.]

My confidence returning, I turned onto a black diamond slope after lunch. Pep is a better skier than she thinks she is. It was fine.

I picked up enough speed to make it, easily, uphill to the top of Razor Back. Several times. [I'm likin' these skis.]

I was also liking the lack of bumps. I mean, they're there if that's what you want. And I don't mind flirting with them, now and then. But they're not my thing.

I'm in it for the sheer joy of gliding down the hill.

And the views.

“If you've left anything behind,” my friends warned, “you'll have to come back for it.”

Deal!

Hikers in the Mist

So much rain. So many bike rides canceled.

“Want to go for a hike?” a friend asked.

El Sombroso, he said.

We started up the Woods Trail. 12 miles, he said. [Yikes!]

It was misty.

It was rainy.

Sometimes the sun came out and the cube atop Mt. Umunhum appeared.

There were cascading streams.

And so much green.

There was much talk of newts (but we saw only two).

There were other hikers, including an intrepid group who were delighted when we offered to snap their photo.

The route was, actually, closer to 13 miles.

My legs would ache for days ...

Sierra Snow Day

Snow Day!

Growing up, that meant no school. Today it meant ... no work!

The trip to South Lake Tahoe went smoothly, though chain controls were in effect (that includes you, Mr. Bus Driver!). A few of us had front row seats for a little drama that played out between the (male) passenger and (female) driver of a sedan. He pulled out the chains. He read the instructions. He circled the car. He read the instructions some more. He walked out of view, presumably to observe the process on other vehicles. He reappeared and read the instructions again. The driver grew impatient. We considered taking up a collection to pay the $20 fee for one of the professionals to do the job, but we figured that would just add insult to injury.

I haven't skied in three years and planned to take it easy. [Where does the time go?] Of course, I went straight to the top of the mountain.

The trees were pretty, even if my skiing was not. Two years ago, I missed out on skiing at Squaw when I was humbled by the altitude. I had donated blood shortly before that trip; I would not make that mistake again.

It's another snowy year in the Sierras, bringing an official end to California's seven-year drought. Not that we should stop conserving ...

Heavenly straddles the state line, and I made a point of crossing into Nevada. The contrast was stark: dry and brown to the east, blue and white to the west.

Just when I was getting comfortable, we were advised to head down the mountain. The winds (already strong) were picking up, lifts were shutting down, and I couldn't afford to miss the gondola that would return me to the right base. [Sigh.]

Must. Ski. More. [Stay tuned.]

Spin, Dry

So much rain.

So much cabin fever.

So little fitness.

A modest route drew a good-sized group today, despite the chilly air. Uncharacteristically, there were more gals than guys on the ride. Lots of pink (bikes, accessories, jackets, jerseys).

We started with a visit to Alum Rock Park. The water was flowing well in Penitencia Creek.

Our destination, San Felipe Road, is a welcome rural respite along the southeastern flank of San José.

Streams coursed through the fields: water finds a way.

Cyclists found a way, too—though we constrained ourselves to paved roads. There was ample cardio challenge for me over 37 miles and 2,305 of climbing, though my legs felt stronger than I expected.

Dividends from just a couple of rowing machine workouts on rainy days. There will be more of those.

Yahrzeit

There is likely a new tradition for our club to ride the hills south of Hollister on this day, for it was on Presidents' Day in 2018 that a beloved member was struck and killed here.

Our tradition represents an adaptation of yahrzeit, which marks the anniversary of a death. Our multicultural minyan (of cyclists) gathered at the ghost bike to remember Jon with a recitation of the Mourner's Kaddish (English translation).

We adapted the custom of placing stones at the grave, to place them at this memorial site. And some of our club members had clearly learned more about this tradition. One had chosen a rock at the top of one of the most difficult climbs in our area (Bohlman Road), then carried it in his saddle bag for 200 miles of riding before placing it here. (Jon had completed nearly 50 double centuries.)

Another cyclist (who could not ride with us today) came prepared with a spread of brushes, jars of bright enamel paints, and an assortment of smooth rocks. I was drawn to a particular stone, immediately. “Never Forget Jon” was the message from me.

Afterward, we were left with our thoughts as we pedaled along the back roads. Knowing that we were seeing some of the same sights that Jon saw, that day. Blue skies, green hills, the light of the sun in winter. This year, some of the higher peaks were dusted with snow.

A wild sow and her little brown piglets streaked through a field and across the road in front of me. We abbreviated our planned loop to an out-and-back (24 miles, 1,150 feet of climbing) after hearing that a key connector was flooded.

May the tradition of this day be carried forward in memory of Jon, even past the time of those of us who once rode alongside him.

Crystal Blue Persuasion

The thing is ... it was 32°F on Wednesday morning. [Well, 32.2°F, to be precise.] And 32.7°F on Thursday.

The thing is ... the forecast was showing 100% chance of rain on Saturday; the sky today was clear and oh-so-blue.

The thing is ... there would be little traffic, since many people were extending their holiday time off.

The thing is ... I have not been getting enough exercise.

The thing is ... my morning calendar was clear.

The thing is ... no more excuses!

[Yes, that's more than one thing. I know.]

I pulled myself together, pumped up the tires, and pedaled off on my first ride of 2019. I skipped the club outings on January 1st, because ... I couldn't think of a good reason to go for a bike ride when the thermometer registered 33°F. [Yes, it was colder this morning; but I would be rewarded with a flaky chocolate croissant and a nice warm shower once I arrived at work.]

Look over yonder, what do you see?
The sun is a-risin', most definitely

The ride was ... ah, “invigorating” (once my frozen fingers stopped throbbing). There were very few people out and about, but the birds were twittering. I wondered how they managed, in the cold.

And then ...

On a city street I was startled by a sudden explosion of feathers.

It was an equally startled juvenile Cooper's Hawk, who was loath to abandon its squirrelly meal. [The carcass was still too meaty to carry off, I think.] I parked the bike and sidled ever closer, next to a conveniently parked car, without spooking the bird. [Much to the dismay of a crow with its eye on the prize, cawing high above us in a tree.]

I took the lazy/longer/flatter route (19.5 miles), which still amounted to 260 feet of climbing. [Well, I did go up the gratuitous hill. No excuses.]

It warmed up to 34°F on Friday, and the roads were even emptier. Three days, three rides to work.

There'll be peace and good, brotherhood ...