Bike (Not) to Work Day

The morning started with a poignant reminder from Google Photos that on this date in 2013, it was Bike to Work Day.

It was time. Time to go outside and ride my bicycle.

“Why aren't you riding?” friends had asked. I was being conservative, however unlikely an accident might be. So many families had dusted off their bikes, pumped up the tires, and headed out. I've watched them cruise past ... without helmets ... on the wrong side of the road ... and wondered why I was worried that I might crash.

The lupine is still blooming.

My chief ride buddy and I agreed to ride together, not together. To ride within sight and often within earshot, but to stay apart. There is comfort in not being alone on the road.

We rode up and over a hill to visit the Guadalupe Reservoir. Much to my surprise, given that I have not been out for a ride since February 29, my time up that climb was a new personal best. (Thanks to my workouts and weight loss.) I also set a new personal record on one of the descents—despite having to slow and come to a full stop for a turkey that decided to cross in front of me. Lucky bird, because the car that had been politely tailing me also stopped.

I scripted a route to explore a nice neighborhood on our way to New Almaden. Although I'd expected to return the same way, we scrapped that in favor of a flatter option. My legs were feeling it (different muscles), but my main concern was having enough water. (Should have brought two bottles.) The day was warming up, and when we reached the parking lot for Almaden Quicksilver Park we found the water fountain shrouded in plastic and thoroughly taped up. I can't say I understand the calculus of risk, there.

The patriotic New Almaden community was decked out with American flags and many signs thanking our essential workers. I've been here many times before, but never noticed the historic plaque (California State Historic landmark 339-1) across from the park commemorating the nearby site of the state's first mine (cinnabar). Signs warn people not to eat any fish they catch in the local waters (contaminated with mercury).

Neither of us had noticed a tall red tower on the hillside before, either. The parking lot was full; this park is best hiked when the weather is cool. Although I had planned to ride as far as the Almaden Reservoir, we agreed it was prudent to turn back.

By the time we were done we had covered 34 miles and climbed 1,685 feet; not bad for my first outing in 10 weeks!

WFH: Week Eight

I'm sure our local transportaton agency had the best of intentions when they posted these signs, but ... they're rude. [My mode of transportation was my own two feet.]

I've been puzzled by the people I see walking (or biking) through the neighborhood—alone, not another human in sight—wearing masks. Puzzled by (healthy) colleagues struggling to get groceries delivered. Puzzled by people leaving packages, mail, and groceries in the garage for 24 hours or wiping them down with disinfectant. But, I'm over it. If it brings them peace of mind, let it be.

After all, there are still (still!) people who haven't gotten the memo, like the woman I saw during my walk who sneezed ... into her bare hand. [Sigh.] 'Tis the season for springtime allergies ... but sneeze into the crook of your arm. Please.

Everything gets dusted with yellow-green pollen, and here's a major source: oak trees in bloom.

Our first hot days of the season reminded me that I'd intended to make some curtain panels that will fit a particular bare window, to block the sun from baking my upstairs hallway and pumping heat into my office. How many times have I thought about that, and even taken measurements? [Don't ask.] This week, finally, I tackled the job. It was embarassingly easy (and quick).

Ten years ago this week I savored a springtime commute (by bicycle). Oh, how I miss those rides!

One year ago this week I pedaled through the damp redwood forest, despite being somewhat under the weather. That would not happen, now.

One month ago, I was 1.5 pounds heavier. I've settled into a workout routine that's 30 minutes of cardio, plus another ~15 minutes of resistance and floor exercises, four or more times per week. Supplemented with the occasional walk into town (it's still there!) and yard work.

When I made the first batch of this lentil soup a few weeks ago, I opted to keep it vegan. This time, I picked up the bacon it called for ... and that made all the difference.

A highlight for the week was a visit with my chief cycling buddy, spent chatting at a sensible healthy distance outdoors in the garden. We both needed that.

After watching On the Basis of Sex, a snippet of a poem by Mary Oliver echoed in my head:

Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

I think (I hope?) my time on the planet has been a net positive, albeit on a much smaller scale.

The week opened with a confirmed 2084 cases of COVID-19 in our county, and closed with 2231 (a 7.1% increase).

WFH: Week Seven

One last, perfect, red camellia of the season.

The time I spent washing windows last Sunday was well invested. Spotted with dirt, I was finding them increasingly dispiriting now that I spend most days gazing at the world through them. [Of course, that also meant it rained on Monday.] Eight down, eight to go. [Or fourteen, if I get ambitious.]

There are more vehicles driving out of the neighborhood. People are getting antsy; I can understand that. This is all starting to feel less like an interlude and more like the next act of the play we call “real life.”

Lots of people are walking, and biking, through the neighborhood. Tempting as it is to ride, I have taken the conservative approach and stayed off the bike. Because, however unlikely a crash might be, I don't need to risk burdening our stressed medical workers. My inner voice would torture me without mercy: “They asked you to do one thing: Stay home. How hard is that?”

My hair is longer than it has been in many years; some of my colleagues have resorted to buzz cuts.  Ten weeks after my last haircut, it's now long enough to be annoying, and just long enough to tie back in a stubby ponytail.

The spring weather was spectacular on the date scheduled for this year's Tierra Bella, which (like so many other cycling events) could not be held.

One year ago this week I visited an unfamiliar part of the state and cycled in a new event, thanks to my regular ride buddy. When I'm comfortable getting back out there on a bike, I wonder how I'll do? [I won't be tackling a metric century, that's for sure.]

Ten years ago this week I biked to Half Moon Bay for lunch, following a route I don't think I have repeated, in full.

Fifty years ago this week marked the debut of Earth Day. Being a somewhat precocious youngster, in addition to whatever activities our school set up for us, I took it upon myself to do more. My parents humored me as I dragged trash out of the then-undeveloped wooded area behind our house. Years later, my coworkers and I would routinely eat outdoors (weather permitting), and it was our habit to leave each site cleaner than we found it. To this day, I am regularly dismayed at the sight of the discarded tires, appliances, and furniture I pass when biking on our back roads. I pick up small stuff, whenever I can—biking, hiking, or just walking around the neighborhood. And big stuff, too—with help! It was fitting to watch Koyaanisqatsi this week; somehow, I'd never seen it (till now).

I took in two more “Best Picture” winners that I'd not seen before, Unforgiven [1992? really?] and The Shape of Water. It was satisfying to see some bad guys get their just deserts; I needed that.

And to close out the week, the star-studded Take Me to the World: A Sondheim 90th Celebration. What a privilege to see so many intimate, emotional performances; more than one artist seemed on the verge of tears at the end of their song. And a beautiful tribute, while the honoree is still here to enjoy it.

The week opened with a confirmed 1903 cases of COVID-19 in our county, and closed with 2084 (a 9.5% increase).

WFH: Week Six

I'm not a television viewer, but was exposed to the airwaves in order to watch the broadcast of Jesus Christ Superstar last week. I'm not sure what I expected, but the combined stream of commercials for prescription drugs and those that were pandemic-themed did nothing but heighten my anxiety.

Those drug commercials are ridiculous. Seriously. Soothing music, lovely images, and a legalistic recitation of possible side effects (all ghastly, and pretty much the same from one remedy to the next). This is what people watch, all the time?

My mom has been gone for nearly five years (already?), and I am relieved that she is not here, now. Even if she might have weathered this storm, we would not have been able to keep her calm in a sea of catastrophic 24x7 news reports.

I still smile when I think of the Thanksgiving we spent in Manhattan. When she was young, she had worked in the city. When she was older, she grew afraid of it (thanks to the nightly news). Somehow, I persuaded her that we should spend the weekend there and see the parade, live. We had dinner at Tavern on the Green and walked around Rockefeller Center in the sunshine. Another night, I scored a pair of tickets to see Showboat by waiting at the box office for a cancellation, but that left no time for dinner before the show. I figured we'd duck into a hotel restaurant later; flipping through her Playbill, Mom pointed to an ad and said “Let's go here.” And there we went, strolling up 7th Avenue after 11 p.m. (!) to the Carnegie Deli. Reality: 1, Nightly News: 0.

Five years ago today I sought solace where I can always find it, along the shoreline, as I prepared to lose her. I could use a coastal walk today. But that's out of reach, for now.

Ten years ago this week marked my first bike ride to the Panoche Inn—which immediately became one of my favorite routes.

One year ago this week I stopped a moving minivan with my bicycle (without any damage to me, or the bike).

Our cooking class for the week was Molten Chocolate Cake, which looked surprisingly easy. Our chef made a point of taking ramekins out of the oven at different times, to demonstrate what happens if you don't let them bake long enough (or, too long). He mentioned a recipe that's possible to freeze (before baking), which would make this practical (since I'm not going to eat four of them). [Well, I could, but ... I would certainly regret that.]

For entertainment, I watched the 25th anniversary performance of The Phantom of the Opera, which was so stunning I watched it twice. I was lucky enough to see it on Broadway during its initial run, but not again since. I particularly loved seeing four former Phantoms (plus the Phantom of that night's production) reprise The Music of the Night. I wish I could have seen all of them in the role. “Silently the senses abandon their defenses ...”

I finished The Adventurer's Son, fully empathizing with the family's frustration, anger, and despair as the authorities clung to the warped narrative they'd concocted. Which the media ate right up. [Nightly news, see above.] And by quoting from her poem Sleeping in the Forest, the author introduced me to the work of Mary Oliver.

This week I heard that one of my colleagues had fallen ill with COVID-19 (and recovered); that's the first case for someone personally known to me. The week opened with 1621 confirmed cases in our county, and closed with 1903 (a 17.4% increase).

From another poem by Mary Oliver:

When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.

I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.

WFH: Week Five

As it turns out, there are a few pink blossoms tucked deep inside my white camellia bush. Two distinct shades, in fact.

Ten years ago this week I eyed the weather forecast and skipped the event I'd planned to ride.

One year ago today I managed not to lose my footing on a slippery hike that got me and my hiking partner thoroughly muddy. In the pre-pandemic era, we were mulling over the timing for a return trip this spring. That was then.

This is now. Given that asymptomatic people can spread the virus, we're all supposed to wear face coverings now when we're near other people—keeping a safe distance from one another is also necessary, but no longer deemed sufficient.

I have fabric, I have thread, I have skills ... and a sewing machine.

The machine was an uncharacteristically extravagant gift for my 13th birthday. [Which makes it, yes, quite old.] I grew up in a family with a grandmother who crocheted, and embroidered, and sewed outfits for me. It was a way to save money—well-understood by those who had weathered the Great Depression and rationing during the second World War. I had learned to sew using her classic black Singer machine.

Time to figure out how to treat my Singer to some long-overdue lubrication, and get to work.

There are many patterns for fabric masks circulating online, and I decided to make two varieties. After reading an article in Popular Science, I was intrigued by the idea of using NWPP (non-woven polypropylene). What a great use for some of the surplus reusable bags in my collection! I could easily sacrifice three that I would never use. After deconstructing, laundering, and doing some geometrical planning, I had enough material to make three three-layer Surge masks.

I can also make a lot (A Lot) of simple fabric masks.

I borrowed The Adventurer's Son from a local library, thanks to Libby. (The library buildings, of course, are closed.) And yes, I know that story does not have a happy ending. “Movie” of the week was a contemporary performance of Jesus Christ Superstar (with Alice Cooper as Herod?!).

I watched the talk Larry Brilliant gave when he was awarded the TED prize. “Early detection, early response,” he said. In 2006.

Someone chalked “Hello” on my driveway, and that called for a response. Did I have some chalk? (Yes!)

The week opened with 1207 confirmed cases of COVID-19 in our county, and closed with 1621 (a 34.3% increase).

WFH: Week Four

“You should take a vacation!” our friendly HR automaton scolded me (again). No matter that sheltering-in-place is hardly a “vacation.” [Use it or lose it.] Needless to say, trips I'd been plotting for March and late April could not proceed.

So this week, and next, are short weeks. My laptop is powered off.

Neighbors are doing what they can to spread cheer. I strolled into town, to the Post Office, before the rains would move in and erase this fanciful stretch of sidewalk.

I decided to make a loop, rather than retrace my steps, and found an unexpected bounty of wild lupine in an otherwise weed-strewn patch of dirt. While I paused to snap a photo through the fence, a woman who'd been walking nearby and chatting was more bold. “There's an opening in the fence. Why not pick some? They're only going to die.”

Here's the thing about walking through a familiar neighborhood during different seasons. You just might discover a blooming dogwood tree—which you'd never expected could grow here.

The rain was coming for us, but my umbrella was ready.

The lupine wilted pretty fast, but perked right up with some fresh water. I tucked a few into my garden; some had pulled clear of the ground with their roots, when I'd tugged at them.

Ten years ago this week I enjoyed a long ride to the Pinnacles, before it became a National Park.

Five years ago this week I cruised past the wildflowers and reservoirs of south county.

One year ago this week I frolicked on the hills and curves alongside the Calaveras Reservoir. They will fade to brown before I next see them.

One month ago today, I was two pounds heavier. Eating healthy (and less), along with my morning exercise routine, is paying dividends.

My movie choice for the week was Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri. To counteract that darkness, I also streamed Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, which was ... very trippy and very 60's. (Universal Pictures is sharing one Andrew Lloyd Webber musical on Fridays, free, for the next few weeks.)

The week opened with 646 confirmed cases of COVID-19 in our county, and closed with 1207 (an 86.8% increase).

WFH: Week Three

The beauty of the white camellia is fleeting, as the blossoms are quick to turn brown. Somewhere on that same bush there are light pink blossoms, but it might be too late in the season to find one.

Ten years ago this week I sauntered up the Bay Area's benchmark climb at a leisurely pace.

Five years ago this week I benchmarked my new wonder bike on a familiar descent. [Wow, it's been five years, already?]

One year ago this week I chose a sensible local ride.

This week, I realized that the days are all muddling together, blending into one stressful, unending day. I started putting marks in the squares of a good old-fashioned paper calendar. WFH. Post Office. Grocery store. I'm still taking the conservative approach and not biking outdoors.

I was all set to try a new lentil soup recipe, one that made the news recently because a nurse (who was about to retire) ate it for lunch every day. For 17 years. I had picked up everything I needed ... or so I thought. I pawed through my collection of spices. And then, made another pass over all the jars and tins. Nope. No whole coriander seeds.

The markets are sold out of many things, but I didn't expect to find an empty space on the shelf where those seeds should be. A clerk was restocking spices in the next market I visited, and I got lucky: there were just a couple of packets left. [Hmm, did everyone get the same idea from that story?]

I skipped this week's pastry lesson (Crêpes Suzette) in favor of a competing session (fried rice). The trick, we learned, is to open a circle in the middle of the mounded rice and scramble the eggs there before mixing it into the rice. (Aha!)

For entertainment, I watched a recorded performance of A Midsummer Night's Dream, which San Francisco Ballet was able to share (for one week only) with those of us who had purchased tickets. Puck was, well, puckish ... Cavan Conley stole the show, I thought. The dancers took their bows to an empty house and not to the applause they deserved. They've promised to perform this work again next season. (And hopefully, by then, we will be able to enjoy it live.)

The week opened with 302 confirmed cases of COVID-19 in our county, and closed with 646 (a 114% increase).