May(Be)rnal

Later in the day, I was halfway up my first hill on the way to Bernal when I realized there was another reason I felt so light.

I'd left my saddle bag at home. [Sigh.]

I'd taken it off the bike because it needed a little repair work (still pending). I turned back, choosing not to risk stranding myself without supplies to deal with any mechanical issues, however unlikely.

After that false start, I opted for a flatter route. Encountering a bunch of teenagers riding straight at me (wrong way) in a bike lane, my mood went from not-great to worse. “Other side,” I said as I gestured to each one of them. They studiously ignored me, which is why I mostly don't bother chiding wrong-way cyclists any more. But five or six of them, together? Just too egregious. One was wearing a helmet, at least.

Month-of-May ascent of Bernal completed: 40 miles, 1,300 feet of climbing for the day.

Cachagua

Some years back, I had planned to ride this loop (in the counter-clockwise direction). Not knowing what to expect, I drove it first. (Yikes! Steep!) There's a reason our club tackles this in the opposite direction.

Mother Nature had a different plan for that day: a wet one. Ride scuttled.

I was excited when my friends suggested this route for day two of our little getaway, and cast my vote for riding it clockwise. I also expected the wind to pick up later in the day and didn't look forward to battling headwind for miles and miles on our return.

I was somewhat apprehensive about biking on Carmel Valley Road, but there was very little traffic. It was a long, gradual climb ... until it kicked up a notch before our turn onto Tassajara, and then Cachagua.

Unfamiliar territory is both fun and a bit daunting, not knowing what's ahead. The more the road descended, the more I wondered how much we'd climb on our way out. (Altogether, we covered 27 miles, with 2,220 feet of climbing.)

We'd played leapfrog with the local UPS delivery van—the speed-racer of a driver was obviously intimately familiar with the road and beating his truck mercilessly. Ahead of my friends, I slowed when I saw the roadway covered with sand, near a bridge over a creek. Thinking there was a reasonable path through, I didn't stop. [Well, until I fell over.] On the plus side, deep sand cushioned my fall (somewhat) and I was able to wave down my friends to stop (in case their judgment was no better than mine).

I had forgotten that last year's fires tore through this canyon. What remains is strangely beautiful, but I regret not enjoying it before it burned.

Back in Pacific Grove, I had ample time for a coastal stroll after getting cleaned up. The deer are much too tame (and the bane of residential gardeners, I'm sure).

I managed two strolls, in fact: before and after dinner.

I have a hunch that I would never tire of these views.

17 Mile Drive

It will be fine, I told myself. We're vaccinated. We won't be indoors with other people.

It was time to leave the nest (for a couple of days). More than 16 months have passed since I spent a night away from home. Certainly the longest such stretch of my adult life; maybe even, in my entire life.

A pair of biking buddies planned a short getaway to Pacific Grove and coaxed me to join them. I teetered on the edge for quite a while before committing.

They've made this trip before, so I was game to follow their routine—which entailed meeting up and biking the famed 17 Mile Drive before checking into our motel.

There were more bicycles than vehicles on the route; not only were we ahead of the summer tourists, we were all taking advantage of free admission. No toll for cyclists: a dedicated lane bypasses the booth.

I did a bit of exploring on my own, after we finished our loop; I had some photos in my mind's eye, but the moment had been lost—the sky had become overcast, turning the blue sea gray. Noodling around (I wonder what's up this street?), I found a building topped with beautiful images (evidently empty, formerly used by NOAA), rounding out my biking for the day with 27 miles and 1,360 feet of climbing.

The next record to fall was dining at a restaurant (comfortably, fully, outdoors)—another indulgence I've foregone for a similar span of time.

We strolled along Monterey's Cannery Row, which was fairly busy, before I introduced them to the prime sea lion viewing to be had on the Coast Guard pier.

Yes, this was the right thing to do. It was fine.

Bike to Wherever Day

This year's spin on “Bike to Work” Day was “Bike to Wherever” Day. I scoped out the list of “Energizer Stations” and scored one just a couple of miles from home that I could visit before starting my workday. No actual Hobee's blueberry coffee cake (a coupon, instead), but I did pick up a mandarin orange for a snack. They had a supply of paper Bikeways maps (in Spanish); I rely on maps online, anyway.

At work, this was “Bike to Wherever” Week, with a challenge to see if our global workforce could log enough human-powered miles to circumnavigate the globe. [Achievement unlocked.] I did my part: 130 miles, for the week. (Including a properly long 27 miles after work, today.)

I do miss leading the usual crowd of suspects to work. Maybe, next year?

Wistful Wednesday

Well, I guess my fellow cyclists just aren't into after-work rides any more. With most offices still shuttered due to the county's pandemic health restrictions, it's not as though they would have to tangle with commuter traffic to get to the starting point.

It was a chilly evening, with strong, gusty winds. Being the sole rider, I considered whether I should simply abandon. [Yeah, right. Like I'm gonna do that.]

I had (blissfully) forgotten how hard tonight's climbs would be. Whose idea was this, anyway? [Oh yeah, my idea.]

Time for some self-talk. [Pep talk.] You've done these climbs before. You're in better shape now.

Should I skip Overlook? [Oh, c'mon, it's only a little over a mile.]

An uphill, seemingly unending mile. (For the whole route, just 14 miles, but 1,680 feet of climbing.)

There was another cyclist on Overlook, evidently doing hill repeats. [So, quit yer whining.]

When my heart rate spiked much higher than I expected, I questioned my “in better shape” assertion. Until I looked at the data.

Faster, by more than a minute, on the first climb.

Faster, by three minutes, on the last climb.

Just like Greg LeMond said: “It never gets easier; you just go faster.”

Look at it this way: you suffer for a shorter period of time.

WFH: Week Sixty-Two

A very important milestone for me this week: I am, at last, considered fully vaccinated against COVID-19!

When I successfully booked the appointment for my first shot I was, in a word, stunned. To be honest, I had been deeply cynical. Congratulations, you're eligible! Good luck trying to get scheduled.

After several tries over the course of two days, when I landed a slot it felt like I'd won the lottery. I was surprised at how happy, how relieved—euphoric, even—I felt. Post-shot, I discovered Tweety Bird on my arm—which brought another smile to my face!

I don't think I've ever felt lucky to run a fever and have chills before, but on the day after my second shot those reassured me that my immune system was working.

I'm not planning any radical adjustments to my lifestyle, but I welcome the chance to spend more time in the company of my vaccinated friends. And even though I have been comfortable joining (socially-distanced) groups for our club's rides, I had held back from leading rides until I'd had my first shot.

When will I feel comfortable returning to the office? The plans are uncertain, and ... let's just say, I'm not eager to be in the vanguard.

Nearly one million county residents are now fully vaccinated (nearly half the population). Still, the county has tallied 118,569 reported cases of COVID-19, and tragically 2,137 confirmed deaths—which is heartbreaking and horrible to contemplate.

Being There

I was in my usual place (in-between)—faster than the slower riders but slower than the faster riders. Though I did manage to hang with them longer than I expected, climbing Metcalf. Steep climbs are not my forte.

That's where I heard the sound of a crash, and a male voice call out “Oh fudge!” (or, some word like that). I couldn't see him, as he was above the embankment next to the road, in the motorcycle park. The cyclists trailing me evidently could see him, as I heard them shout “Are you okay? Don't move!”

Much to the confusion of the fast group waiting at the top of the hill, I turned directly into the park and headed for a building that looked official. I couldn't give them details, but I could share what I'd heard. The rangers were aware of an ATV crash; maybe that was the same one. Or maybe not.

With the rest of the group, I explored a stretch of road (Las Animas) that was unfamiliar to me. Lovely ranch land, but as a (remote) dead end, not a place I would venture alone.

The group split, with a few of us opting for a shorter route through the foothills. As my ride buddy and I took a break, a lone cyclist appeared. He seemed hesitant, but sporting a Paris-Brest-Paris vest, he was certainly the self-sufficient type.

He was, however, not familiar with the area. I confirmed which road was Metcalf, and which was San Felipe; this was where he expected to be. “Are you randonneuring?” I asked. Indeed he was. And he was looking for an electrical box at this intersection. [Hmm.] An odd place for an electrical box ... oh, wait, there's a white box on the far side of that utility pole. “That's it!” He darted over, snapped a photo, and continued his ride.

And so did we. A meager—but eventful—26 miles (with 2,460 feet of climbing) for us. Just being there, though, was what counted today.