Sierra Century

Plymouth, California? Not Massachusetts?

When my chief biking buddy suggested a new adventure, I signed right up.

A somewhat quirky place, which also happened to be hosting a gathering of military aficionados.

The view from the room at our nondescript roadside motel was unexpectedly, and spectacularly, pastoral.

Despite an untimely injury and an even less timely cold, my cycling buddy still made the trek (and, completed the short route).

As for me, well, with all the rain and recent travel, I questioned whether I really could complete a (hilly) metric.

As it turned out, yes, I could.

The first twenty-one miles were essentially flat, and the last seventeen—downhill!

It had been unseasonably hot the day before, but conditions were just right for the event.

We started together, but our routes eventually diverged. Mine headed into the forest.

The wildflowers and green hills will soon fade away.

Sierra snowmelt will keep the streams rushing for some time, though, given our historic winter.

I never expected to see a Civil War cannon in California, but there it is: the Old Abe Volcano Blues Cannon.

The last rest stop was across from the Daffodil Hill ranch, where a few late-bloomers lingered in the garden. When I walked over to look for the noisy peacock, I was surprised to find him perched right at the fence.

My longest and hilliest ride, to date: 67 miles, 4,250 feet of climbing.

Thanks to Captivating Sports Photos for some awesome action shots! Rounding a curve, at speed, I thought ... good luck with that. They delivered!

Contact

I am a creature of habit. And so it is that, when stopped at a traffic light, you will find me thus:

Standing over my bike.
Right foot planted flat on the ground.
Left foot, unclipped, resting on the pedal.
Right hand engaging the rear brake.

I don't know why or when I developed this habit, but there it is.

And so it was this morning, when I learned that my bicycle can stop a rolling car.



Positioned on the bike sensor at the least-favorite intersection of my commute, I had noticed a minivan stop a few feet behind me.

Waiting at this seemingly interminable light, I thought no more about the minivan. Until ...

WHAM! The nose of my saddle punched my lower back.

What the ... did some cyclist just slam into me? I certainly didn't expect to find my rear wheel wedged [WEDGED!] under the front bumper of the aforementioned minivan.

Unable to free my wheel, I motioned (angrily) to the driver to BACK UP.

The wheel, and the tire, were fine—the latter despite being severely pinched by the minivan.

My habitual stance, whatever its origin, saved me from being (at best) knocked to the ground.

And while yes, this might have happened at any intersection, I have a new habit: Bypass this intersection, where the long wait drives people (literally) to distraction.

Pro tip: When stopped, keep your foot (or your hand) on the brake!

Aloha, Kauai

And now the time has come to say farewell ...

to wild surf and rocky shorelines,

to Ocean Rescue standing by,

to silvery fishes

and flamboyant fowl,

to colorful geckos,

and fiery flowers.

Farewell to the resident hyacinth macaw

and pineapples growing in the lobby.

I adored my view.

I think I shall not wait so long again to return.

Okolehao Trail

Let's get muddy!

We headed north to the other side of the island, and first stopped to visit the Kilauea Point National Wildlife Refuge.

The dots of white speckling the hillside on the far side of the cove are not flowers, but birds. Thousands of nesting shorebirds.

A stately nene took a break from dabbling in the dirt, perhaps to admire the view.

Lured by curious noises near the parking lot, I spied a couple of juvenile birds in their nest—wedge-tailed shearwaters, I think.

The Okolehao Trail is part of another National Wildlife Refuge (Hanalei). We were fortunate to arrive as another hiker was exiting. “Take a stick,” she advised. There was an ample supply at the trailhead.

We wouldn't have gotten far without them. The trail was steep and slick; for some stretches, a mesh “carpet” afforded just enough traction.

Something rustled in the brush and paused to peer out at me—an immature gold dust day gecko.

We met a few hikers on the trail, including one barefoot guy with a baby. I marveled at those without walking sticks. (The guy with the baby finally turned back when he reached a particularly gnarly stretch.)

We did climb high enough for a clear view of Hanalei Bay, but not high enough to reach the summit (much to the regret of my hiking companion). But I'm in it for the sights, so I was happy.

Not many flowers, but this fungus was a lovely color.

It all comes out in the wash.

We managed to cover a little over two miles, round trip.

Waimea Canyon

Let's go exploring!

A friend was keen to show me the first part of a route he'd planned, having judiciously stepped back from his intended pilgrimage to the summit of Kauaikini. A key skill for off-roading, I learned, is to tilt forward a bit and let your body sway freely as the vehicle bumps and bounces along.

We made it as far as the Kauaikoi Stream, and stopped; although he'd driven through yesterday, rain had since swollen the creek considerably.

Lots of greenery, lots of mud, very few flowers.

Back to the main road, we enjoyed sweeping vistas of Waimea Canyon.

Clouds blocked our view at the Kalalau Lookout, but we were rewarded after waiting out the rain. (Flood damage has closed the Kalalau Trail.)

The foraging bird in the foreground is a (non-native) Erckel's francolin. But you had your eye on the sea, didn't you?

There are only so many roads here, so of course we headed down Makaha Ridge for a look-see.

I'll never forget a local's reaction to a spectacular rainbow the first time I visited Hawaii: “Well, it rains in the hills in the afternoon, and the sun is in the west, so ...”

“Oh, wow!” Should I pull over? “Yes!”

There's a double rainbow here, if you look hard enough.

Waimea Canyon, a waterfall, and a rainbow. Kauai.

Beached

The forecast showed an increasing chance of rain as the week would progress. How disappointing it would be, to be here for a week of rain.

Wednesday, I resolved, would be a beach day. [Good call.] Most of my colleagues opted for the pool. And yes, it's a pretty cool pool at the resort, but ... the beach is right there and pools are, well, anywhere.

Some snacks, some cold water, a book to read. No swimming at the hotel's beach—conditions are too treacherous. I decamped to Poipu Beach and spent most of the day with two colleagues who'd chosen to snorkel there.

There were fish!

Swimming all around me! First test of my underwater camera. I wasn't snorkeling, but it was easy enough to submerge it, point it (more or less), and snap away.

Later I offered it to my snorkeling friends. “Are you sure it's waterproof?” he asked. “Well, if it's not, it's worthless—because that's what I bought it to do.”

A sea turtle came ashore and remained indifferent to all the selfie-seeking tourists. Eventually some conservationists showed up to plant warning flags on either side of the creature, but everyone had been well-behaved and stayed a few feet away.

A pair of lifeguard towers make this beach a good (safe) choice for playing in the water. The currents are ... tricky. And surprisingly powerful despite the shallow depth.

Later in the afternoon, another sea turtle came to visit, clambering well up onto the beach amidst the human sunbathers. “KA 8” was marked on the right side of its shell, but I haven't been able to find a reference online.

Back at the hotel, I was early enough to enjoy dinner at a table with a view.

And thus ends a lovely day, indeed.

Hanalei Bay

There is a surprising amount of traffic in some places on Kauai. When I saw how long it would take to transfer from Kapa'a to Poipu, on a whim I turned north instead. I was intrigued to get a closer look at some jagged peaks, and then ... I just kept driving, to the end of the road at Hanalei Bay.

Had I noticed the path along the coast sooner, I would have rented a bike. [Next time.] I had scoped out a park where I thought I'd enjoy my picnic lunch, only to find the local denizens passed out drunk under all the shade trees. The picnic tables had all been claimed, but I perched on a log and took some trash [a discarded AA battery, go figure] with me when I left.

I passed through Princeville, busy with tourists, and found a parking spot in a residential neighborhood. Living a block from Hanalei Bay has its downside.

The color of the sea was mesmerizing, the waters confused and unpredictable.

A red-crested cardinal teased me, darting in and out of the branches above my head. The beach was sunny, the hills were rainy—it is ever so.

An overlook offered an expansive view of the Hanalei National Wildlife Refuge wetlands.

I stopped along the way to stroll along the path near Kapaʻa; most people, it seemed, venture no farther than the vista's parking lot.

I arrived at the hotel with just enough time to get cleaned up before joining my colleagues for a celebratory dinner.

I stepped into that open-air lobby with its view to the sea, and ... yes, I remembered. Twenty-three years since that first visit, I still feel like I'm crashing the party; but that's okay. I'm here. For three glorious nights.