Birdsong

On this day, the first stage of this year's Tour de France, of course I was going to go for a bike ride! (After watching the race. Of course.)

The local bicycle coalition had a pop-up station for a few hours this morning, near one end of a new trail segment. They still had some socks left over from last year's (canceled) Bike to Work Day, so of course I would work that into my route. (Socks!)

It was a breezy day, and I decided to saunter along my old commute route to visit the rookery.

It's always nostalgic to pedal that route, starting with a memory of a now-inactive cycling buddy who introduced me to a section of the trail. I remember the elderly guy who would stand at the center of the bridge over the railroad tracks nearly every morning (watching the trains, I supposed). I think of the woman in a saffron-hued sari that I'd often pass on the way home, resting on a bench with her husband. And of course, the Googleplex, as it was and as it is now. (Still closed.)

Each year there seem to be a few more nests of Black-crowned Night-Herons. There were a bunch of hungry egret chicks being fed by an adult. I had been too lazy to tote a proper camera, and of course I regretted that.

When you think of birdsong, you likely don't imagine the sounds that egrets make. They don't trill or warble, peep or cheep, chirp or tweet. No. They don't squawk or caw. If you haven't heard them, you'd never imagine that such beautiful creatures would make such an unpleasant noise. How best to describe it? Choking? Gagging?

The trail had been busier than I like (of course), so I opted to head back on the road. Stopped at a traffic light, I spotted three girls on the opposite side. One was fiddling with her bike, seemingly befuddled.

I guessed correctly: a dropped chain. Easy-peasy. There was a handy twig nearby, sturdy enough to ease the chain into place (no grease on my fingers!) as I pressed the rear derailleur forward to slacken the chain. I lifted the bike, spun the crank to settle the chain on the cog it wanted, and they were good to go. I narrated as I worked, so they might learn how to cope with this problem, but I suspect the fix flashed by too quickly for the grateful girls to absorb it. (Help a fellow cyclist, whenever you can. That's just the way we roll.)

A satisfying (but tiring) 48 miles, with a wee bit of climbing (1,140 feet).

One Ticket to Paradise

There are a few iconic cycling routes in the Bay Area, and the Paradise Loop is one I had never managed to do. Until today.

When my cycling buddy invited me to join another friend, I was all in. After a too-hot week, San Francisco's summer fog would bring a welcome chill.

We planned to include a Marin Headlands climb, but scrapped that idea given the strong, gusty winds pushing fog through the Golden Gate. Still, we were grateful to be ... cold.

I haven't biked through Sausalito or Tiburon in years, and given how popular this route is, I was pleasantly surprised that the locals were friendly (and, patient). One worker in a pickup truck paused to chat at an intersection where I stopped to wait for my biking buddies. There, next to a fire station, I spotted this sign:

Sure enough, tucked in the parking lot was a public bike repair station—the all-in-one model with a pump and a few tethered tools (like the Dero Fixit).

Paradise Beach County Park was worth the descent (and climb back out); a nice spot to enjoy our snacks at the water's edge (despite the June Gloom).

I was surprised to witness a cyclist pulled over by a motorcycle cop around Sausalito. There were a few small groups of us, heading in the same direction. I'm not sure what his infraction was, but his exasperated tone likely earned him a ticket rather than a warning.

We finished with some 28 miles and more than 1,000 feet of climbing, and a vow to return on some fog-free day in the fall.

Um, A Hike

We didn't start out to hike on Mt. Umunhum.

But when the Kennedy Trail proved too steep for my hiking buddy today, he suggested we relocate a few miles. Paradoxically, there are less daunting trails to be found on the flanks of Mt. Um.

The Bald Mountain trail offered unfamiliar (to me) perspectives. Like the road I climbed to the summit, just yesterday, by bike. And a sky-high view of the Almaden Reservoir and hills to the east. (I've biked there, too.)

For good measure, we crossed the road to hike some of the Mt. Umunhum trail. We took in the views from the Guadalupe Creek Overlook (though I spied no water) before heading back.

Um, enough is enough!

Sittin' on Top of the World

The Cube beckoned.

The Cube, of course, has taunted us for decades. And yet, after we finally got access, I had not cycled to the top.

It was time.

The curious crowds have thinned by now; the novelty has worn off.

Our group headed up the “easier” side; today, I managed to climb that without pausing (or, walking). But the road to the summit ... that could be a different story.

With no marker to memorialize the old White Line of Death, I could not tip my helmet in tribute. I recall there were some steep pitches before we'd reach that point; I managed to climb them.

The pavement is fresh, there are signs warning drivers not to pass cyclists on blind curves, and even a few dedicated spots for us to pull aside. Not needed today, as there were fewer vehicles than cyclists on the road.

One of the strong cyclists in our group rode just ahead, narrating a veritable play-by-play. “From that saddle, you can see the ocean.” (Obscured by the marine layer, today.)

“There's one more steep section after this one, at the top.” [Gulp.]

It's intimidating when you can see the whole stretch looming above you. Or maybe it's worse when you can't see it, and you fear that it will just go on and on ...

I expected that I'd grind to a halt, and walk. But. I didn't!

Victory was mine! At long last, I have vanquished Mt. Umunhum!

Then I nearly passed out. Having not Thought This Through, I had skipped filling a bottle with my electrolyte mix and was ill-prepared for the effort I'd expended. Fortunately, I had stuffed a package of gel blocks in my pocket.

We chatted and explored the views in all directions before heading (cautiously) down.

Back on flat land, I was startled when something dropped onto the road near me. (Fortunately, not on me.) Branches don't go “plop!” when they hit the ground, but ... squirrels do.

Resilient little rodents. Whether they were fighting, or getting friendly, they scampered away.

A brilliant idea came to me as I pedaled toward home: Lunch! Get a proper sandwich; no PB&J for me today. After 41 miles and a 3,660 feet of challenging climbing, I deserved it.

A Ride to Remember

I had a hunch where the ride would be headed on this Memorial Day, and I was right. A place last visited, years ago, on Veterans Day (with the same ride leader).

Some leaders prefer not to share their route, in written or electronic form; today's leader is one of those. Some think that approach encourages the group to stick together, but it also means you need to keep the other riders in sight.

And so it was that I came to be lost. (Briefly.) Evidently I had not fully slid my water bottle into its cage, and it popped out shortly after we started down the trail. One rider paused at the point where the group exited the trail, but ... did they continue straight, or make a turn?

We opted to go straight, but around a bend there were no riders waiting for us. Backtracking, we met a rider who'd been dispatched to search for us.

“The escapees have been caught!” he joked as we rejoined the group.

Seems it was a day for water-bottle mishaps: We followed our leader to a supermarket, where she bought a bottle for herself (having left hers in the car, at the start).

We twisted and turned through the deserted streets of downtown San Jose, finding ourselves the only visitors at the Veterans Memorial.

Socializing with a small group afforded the opportunity to learn more about a fellow rider. Recognizing Best Buddies on my jersey, she shared inspiring stories of some of the special-needs students she'd worked with as a speech therapist.

No hills today, but a decent distance: 37 miles, 460 feet of climbing. And memories, shared.

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.