Motorcycles, Mostly

As the group was gathering for today's ride, one rider proclaimed “You helped me become a better cyclist!” He explained that he used to bonk all the time, and then fished a sandwich bag from his pocket filled with my “cure:” Salted, peanut butter pretzel nuggets. I smiled and held up my cache of the same. Another was grateful for comments I'd shared long ago about recovering from a PCL injury.

Unexpectedly, those two guests on today's ride knew me from a road bike mailing list at work. [Small world!] It was pure luck that we met today for the first time. Especially since one of them is now based in Australia.

Unfamiliar with this route, I told them what to expect. Motorcycles, mostly. Sports cars. “Pickup trucks,” our ride leader added.

And views that the vast majority of Bay Area residents will never see.

They were somewhat uncertain about going the distance to The Junction, concerned about climbing back out. But the thing is, once you make that turn onto Mines Road, there is essentially nothing until then. (Except those views that the vast majority of Bay Area residents will never see.)

One guy was getting over a cold, the other had just flown in yesterday—and then broke a spoke after the first few miles. The wheel was still true enough; another rider helped him weave the broken spoke through others to tuck it out of the way. They kept going and were glad they did. “It's just like you said it would be!” one exclaimed.

I was surprised that wildflowers were still blooming, and flowering shrubs on the hillsides shimmered in the light.

There are creeks running alongside the road, but there was another area that caught my eye. There was something different about that standing water. Was I looking at sag ponds? (Indeed, I think they were. Mines Road basically aligns with the Greenville Fault.)

We passed a few Aermotors along the way; this one begged for a glamour shot.

The temperature will be unbearable here tomorrow, but today it was just right. A bit windy, but that helped keep us cool as we climbed 3,705 feet over 62 miles. Of the times I've biked this road, today was the prettiest.

Wazombies

A warm summer weekend in the Bay Area sends thousands of people in their cars over the Santa Cruz Mountains, to the beach.

I made the same trip ... on my bicycle.

Sirens wailed as we climbed Old Santa Cruz Highway, heralding the latest crash on nearby Highway 17. Sure enough, bursts of cars soon appeared on the old road to the coast as Waze helpfully re-routed drivers around the backup. One of them nearly mowed me down.

I'm a skeptic when it comes to self-driving cars, but one of those would have yielded to me today. Instead, a zombie driver, unfamiliar with the area and fixated on his or her navigation screen, pulled alongside me as I approached Mountain Charlie Road and then veered directly across my path to make the turn.

I was semi-expecting this move after watching a few other vehicles make that same turn. No one familiar with these roads would take that steep, twisty, one-lane shortcut; they would stay on the main road and turn right at the summit. But Waze will recommend the shortest (fastest) path, thus sending a stream of zombies up Mountain Charlie.

When we reached the summit, we could see that the marine layer was thick; the descent was cold, and moist. On a sunny day I wonder where all those thousands of people go, when they get to the coast. On a day like today, I wonder even more. What do they all do?

There were only four of us planning to do the full route today; I contemplated re-routing straight to Corralitos, as I was pretty chilled and saw little point in biking all the way to the beach. But we were looking after one another, so I carried on.

We would not see blue skies again until we were partway up the return climb on Eureka Canyon Road.

It's been a while, so I had forgotten how long that climb is. Most of it seemed to be in better shape than I expected, but Highland Way certainly took another beating over the winter. I had shortened the route by starting on the south side of Lexington Reservoir, as 62 miles and 4,655 feet of climbing seemed like enough for me.

And, it was.

Twistin' 'n Turnin'

Without a route sheet, it was important to stick with the leader, and so I chose the slower of two groups today.

So many turns (!) as we wound our way through the residential streets of Almaden.

At the far end, we passed the remaining cabins of New Almaden, built along the creek when the nearby hills were mined for cinnabar (mercury ore). As many times as I've passed “Casa Grande,” I didn't realize it houses a museum devoted to the local mining history (until today).

We rode as far as the Almaden Reservoir, and saw a few fishermen casting their lines despite the signs posted to warn that the fish are contaminated. (Mercury, hello.)

Wait a sec ... reservoir? Drinking water? Mercury-contaminated fish?

Out there, I could have made a right turn and taken a (difficult) shortcut home. But that wasn't the point, today; socializing and spinning on a sunny day, that was the point.

I kept it flat: 38 miles, 875 feet of climbing.

Engineering Cyclists

Today marked the 25th anniversary of Bike to Work Day in the Bay Area; for me, number thirteen.

Every year packs a few surprises. This year my new co-leader brought Penny (in her pink goggles).

We had the best lighting, ever, for our traditional group shot. This would be the first time I led an all-male group on Bike to Work Day.

There were about two dozen of us, including one guy on an “electric unicycle.”

When we swarmed the Cupertino Energizer Station, they told us we were early this year. [We're famous. Or infamous?]

Later, as we passed a construction site, a hard-hatted worker in a bright orange vest smiled and high-fived every one of us.

This would be our first year without my usual co-conspirator. We missed his smiles (and his mobile donut rig), and he missed riding with us. To commemorate the occasion nonetheless, he designed and 3D-printed bespoke tire levers as gifts for the group. [Engineers! I love 'em.]

Our organization's all-hands meeting was in progress when I rolled in. [Who scheduled that on Bike to Work Day?!] Luckily, I was not too late to score a jelly donut.

Nor was I too late to find a place for my bike on a rack in our building. (Whew!)

Two guys joined me for the return trip at the end of the day; somehow it always seems shorter when I have some company.

In all, 37 miles, 800 feet of climbing, and no rider left behind. [I do need to live up to that inscription on my (personalized) tire levers!]

Wine Country Century

Racers have an expression for this: It's known as getting “chicked.”

You made me pass you,
I didn't want to do it,
I didn't have to do it.

What's worse than being passed by a chick? [If you're a guy.]

Being passed by a chick with gray hair and a flower tucked into the back of her saddlebag.

Maybe I was a little naughty. Or playful. [But they started it.]

I get irritated when a bunch of guys pass me and then ... slow down. I mean, I'm slow enough, don't block the road and make me ride slower. Especially when I have some momentum.

I pulled around, called out “On your left!” and started passing. That was enough of a blow to one vulnerable ego that he stood and applied some serious power to the pedals. [Whomp. Whomp. Whomp.]

I have seen this movie before, but this time it played out differently.

I had momentum. He didn't. I held my lead.

When a friend suggested we sign up for the Wine Country Century, I agreed. In 2007, it was my first century. [It's an easy one.]

As the date approached, she reached out again. Would I mind dropping down to the metric (100km) route, instead? She had misunderstood the other women who'd enticed her to sign up. [Sure, no problem.]

The first time I did this ride (in 2004), I rode the metric. New to cycling, I was the stoker on a recumbent tandem, which was handy for picture-taking.

What do you see on this ride?

Grapevines, mostly.

And colorful rest stops, with treats for every palate.

Lots of cyclists. Too many, maybe.

Also, some old friends (who relocated up here). I was focused on the snacks, not the volunteers, until I heard my name!

The first time I visited this area, I was astonished to ride past acres, and acres, of grapevines. Translate those into actual grapes ... All for wine? Some grape juice, maybe? No raisins, or table grapes, or jam?

The Santa Rosa Cycling Club does a great job with this popular event, no question. The riders? Not so great. Too many close calls involving groups of cyclists oblivious to their surroundings, riding three or four abreast, chatting with their friends.

It's a gentle route—only 1,770 feet of climbing over 61 miles. Flat. Some rolling hills, sure. Basically, flat.

A Touch of Cold

It was inevitable, really. Sharing a road trip and hotel room with my ailing biking buddy last weekend all but ensured that I would get sick, too.

Dry air, I told myself when I detected the first hint of a sore throat. [Wrong.]

Luckily it didn't hit me quite so hard, and I really did want to ride my bike today.

From the highway, I saw the fog capping the Santa Cruz Mountains. [Uh oh.] Warm enough for a vest and arm warmers, I'd thought. [And I should know better.]

I could always do the first climb and turn back. [Right, like that's gonna happen.]

The redwoods rained big drops on us, at the top. The road was thoroughly wet. Visibility was fine, as the fog bank was above us.

Kind of mystical, really. And I think all that moisture helped me cough out some of my cold.

A brisk 23 miles with 2,320 feet of climbing.

Black Chasm Cavern

I have my biking buddy to thank for introducing me to the wonders of caverns; that was something my family never explored.

Before returning home, we headed for the nearby Black Chasm Cave near the town of Volcano, and ... wow!

This is no run-of-the-mill cave (which, still, would be fascinating).

Look closely at that photo above, and notice the thin white crystalline structures poking horizontally out of a seam in the rock.

But ... but ... gravity, you say? How can this be? Well, evidently, scientists haven't quite figured that out. [Yet.]

This is a cave filled with bizarre, delicate helictites. [The things you learn!]

 They grow every which way, sometimes spiraling into curlicues.

Far, far down, there's a lake. [Keep a tight grip on that phone.] And thank you, Night Sight; this place was meant for you.

The cave is a National Natural Landmark, an official designation that was unfamiliar to me—despite having visited six other sites in California.

Twenty-nine to go ...