November 16, 2019

Scorched Earth

After two weeks of poor air quality, I was excited to get out on the bike. The fog, I knew, would burn off.

And so it did, just as I approached The Wall on Calaveras. (Which is not as daunting as it once was.) It was a glorious fall day, warm and sunny.

Along the way I'd chided a bunch of wild turkeys that were spilling out onto the road, into the path of an oncoming car. Despite their apparent cluelessness, however, I've never seen one as roadkill.

It seemed that there was more litter than usual on our beautiful twisting road above the reservoir; the usual bottles and cans, but also fast-food wrappers and many empty packs of cigarettes (Marlboro Lights, in particular). Why don't people keep their trash inside their vehicles?

I was surprised to pass a disposable lighter. (Disposable doesn't mean dispose of it wherever you please.) Only later did I wonder whether it had been tossed by the arsonist who set a bunch of fires there in late September.

Some of the rolling hills to the west of the reservoir were blackened; the road, and what remained of the golden grasses, had a pinkish tinge from the chemical retardant that had been dropped to contain the flames.

My ride buddy and I turned off to enjoy our snacks in the Sunol-Ohlone Regional Park. As in the past, the rangers were welcoming—offering us water and impressed that we'd taken the steep route from Milpitas.

Visiting the park entails more climbing (in, as well as out), but it's worth it. Another 29 miles and 2,675 feet of climbing for the year.

I regret not picking up that lighter to dispose of it properly.

October 31, 2019

Last Light

How many round-trip bike commutes could I squeeze in this week, the final week of daylight savings time? My work schedule would allow three.

The air quality, however, allowed two. See that orange haze in the distance? (Luckily I stopped for some photos on Thursday before heading home to greet the trick-or-treaters.)

Because, while the official forecast was unremarkable ... I woke up with a sore throat on Friday.

Maybe, maybe ... there can be a few more round trips before the year is over? (Just have to leave the office a bit on the, um, early side.)

October 28, 2019

Camp ... Home

I'll trade turkeys for traffic any day—they make for a much more interesting commute. Six of them were busy pecking something out of a suburban lawn. They were wary of this odd two-legged creature and her two-wheeled contraption, but they were more keen to keep eating.

My (thwarted) plan for the weekend had been to join some club members for a ride up the west side of San Francisco Bay, followed by a ride down the east side the next day. Commuting today was my consolation ride.

Is there a region immune from natural threats? Blizzards, floods, hurricanes, tornadoes ... For California, earthquakes come to mind; but we also have wildfires. It's fire season now, and with the Kincade fire raging north of our Saturday destination, I opted out. At first I was concerned about me: Why would I choose to ride toward, and into, the smoke? As the evacuation area expanded, I was more concerned about others: Why would I voluntarily leave my home and occupy a hotel room that could be used by any of the tens of thousands of evacuees?

When my electricity was cut off on Saturday night, I shouldn't have been surprised. Our embattled utility company had widely publicized that they planned to de-energize parts of their grid to avoid a repeat of the deadly fires they've been causing. While I wish their maintenance practices were such that they could safely operate their equipment, I accepted their decision. Better to inconvenience a million (?!) customers than to incinerate another town and kill people.

Their website had assured me that my place would not lose power, but I'd had my doubts. In fact, at the level of individual addresses, they don't actually know what's connected to what. [Quelle surprise.]

With the help of a flashlight, on Sunday I found my coolers and ventured out in search of ice to preserve what food I could. [Block ice, for the win! My grandmother would have been proud!] After breakfast, I think you'd agree that consuming most of my still-sealed container of now-soupy Phish Food was the obvious thing to do.

Biking to work on Monday was also the obvious thing to do (after that ice cream). “No electricity! No Wi-Fi!” a colleague exclaimed. [Shrug.] After dark, I caught up on some reading, the old-fashioned way. [Well, the paper was old-fashioned ... my light source was a USB-wired LED bulb connected to a power bank.]

Monday night, the lights flicked on—just minutes shy of 48 hours without power. I'm no camper, but I managed.

October 19, 2019

Tony Turkeys

Just as I was thinking that I might not capture a photo on today's short ride, I came upon a small rafter of wild turkeys.

I heard them before I saw them scrabbling under the trees. They were vocalizing, but their calls sounded more like hooting than gobbling.

I remember the first time I climbed the steeper side of Westridge, early in my cycling days. I wasn't sure I'd make it up the hill; I thought my heart might explode (and here I am, so ... it didn't). Portola Valley is a tony town, but the locals didn't chew us out today for daring to ride our bicycles on their public streets.

I waited for my biking buddy at the end of Alpine Road, watching others (on road as well as mountain bikes) continue onto the dirt section. “Have fun!” I said. They understand what lies ahead.

The strongest rider in our group tacked on a few wickedly steep climbs nearby, but most of us kept it short and simple: 16 miles and 1,515 feet of climbing for me.

October 12, 2019

Hamilton, the Mountain

That view means one thing ... I have made it to the top of Mt. Hamilton ... again!

Somehow, 2019 had mostly slipped by without undertaking my favorite climb. I decided to try something I haven't done in a long time: Pedal non-stop to the top. Just take photos at the top, I told myself.

Smoke from a distant fire added to the haze, but it was an otherwise perfect day. Expecting to see no flowers, this late in the dry season, I was surprised by yellow blooms. How have I not noticed these before? (In 2012, I climbed this mountain 10 times, missing only the months of March and December.)

This was the maiden voyage for my starry Lick Observatory jersey. I truly didn't need another bike jersey (don't ask), but how could I not add this one to my collection?

A staff member gave me a thumbs up as she pulled out of the parking lot. “You earned it!” she said. [Indeed.]

I offered a head start to the others in our group, in case any of them felt uncomfortable about having no one behind them. “It normally takes me about an hour and ten minutes,” I explained. One rider's eyes grew wide. “It takes me two hours!” she said.

In all, 39 miles with 4,855 feet of climbing. I summited in just a tad (less than two minutes) over three hours. Turns out I descended a bit faster than I expected (62 minutes), despite having to brake repeatedly behind an SUV—and a teenager on a skateboard (!) on the lower section. Those two pesky climbs on the way down hurt less today.

October 7, 2019

Infinite Loop

It's that fall-heat-wave time of year, and a Spare the Air Day had been declared—a fine day to bike to (and from) work.

I always see other cycling commuters, but we rarely chat (other than a friendly “good morning” or “on your left”).

This morning two of us were stopped at an intersection that has recently been reconfigured for cyclists, and I cannot figure out the city's intent. I struck up a conversation, and my fellow cyclist was just as mystified as I am.

Here is  the view from the southeast corner (where we were), facing in the direction we will travel (north). There is a dashed green bike lane for cyclists crossing from west to east; there is no bike lane  marked for cyclists heading north (there is a sharrow on the far side of the intersection, before the crosswalk).

But the oddest feature is the green square that has been painted in all four corners of this intersection, each with an arrow pointing left. It does not align with the bike lane, and if you needed to turn left, you would not make that turn from the far right edge of the right lane.

Here is the view from the southwest corner, captured on the way home after I crossed the intersection. Are they trying to tell us to turn left, directly into the path of straight-through traffic?

This is Cupertino, home to Apple; 1 Infinite Loop is not far away. If I followed these four boxes I would, in fact, circle the intersection forever. But this can't be some grand municipal joke ... can it?

The county is already setting up for the Fantasy of Lights; riding through a set of arches made for a triumphal celebration of my commute (38 miles and 920 feet of climbing). The end of daylight savings time will soon signal the end of my return commutes.

October 6, 2019

Seals and Sunshine

I could have returned home last night after the Aquarium party, but ... why? I would much rather wake up in Pacific Grove and spend another day on the shores of Monterey Bay.

Asilomar State Beach was a short stroll away; I'm not sure I've explored it, before.

The locals were out, and some tourists, too. On the way back to my hotel, I eavesdropped on a conversation. A guy with a very long lens had captured a photo of a butterfly. Was it a Monarch? I peered at his display and confirmed that it was. He wasn't the first person I met who was feeling disappointed not to find them fluttering everywhere, but it will be a few more weeks before they migrate north from Mexico.

It's not the season for the magic carpet to bloom, either, but there were some stragglers.

Harbor seals were hauled out and sunning themselves on rocks close to the shore, occasionally lifting their heads to survey their human onlookers.

It was a spectacular fall day, and I made the most of it—on foot. (It's not always about the bike.)