The Ladies Who Hike had wildflowers on their minds, and we headed for another park I hadn't visited. [So many parks, so many trails!]
Having forgotten (again!) to restart my GPS tracker after we stopped for a break, I recorded only a portion of our loop. We ended up, of course, back where we started—certainly more than five miles and 1,000 feet of elevation gain later.
Practically speaking, there's some wiggle room—probably through the end of the year. Our leadership recognizes that we need to re-adjust our lives after two years of working from home, and some people are still uncomfortable about being in the office, mixing with lots of people, indoors.
I've made the pilgrimmage a couple of times during the “optional” return-to-office period; for all but one of those visits, I received a follow-up message that someone who had been in one of the same buildings had tested positive for COVID-19 ... (despite the requirement to be vaccinated, or have a valid exemption, to work onsite).
How about we reckon with whether the old way of doing things really made sense?
I'm all for being onsite if we're getting together as a group, brainstorming in a room with a whiteboard.
But to sit in conference rooms all day, meeting with colleagues in far-flung offices? Nope. I can do that from home—and not resent early-morning meetings with folks in Europe and late-day meetings with folks on the other side of the Pacific.
Have we forgotten how most of our team members sat at their desks wearing headphones, so they could effectively concentrate on their work in our open-plan office environment? [Sure, a serendipitous conversation would occasionally break through.]
Count me in the less-than-enthusiastic camp about returning. And certainly with no plan to spend 90 minutes or more of my day sealed up on a commuter shuttle bus.
I did get my hair chopped off, though. I could say that it was time to look respectable again, but in reality it had just become a nuisance.
Our county has recorded 310,016 cases of COVID-19 and 2,272 deaths—well over twice the number of cases, but only 135 more deaths, than the last time I shared these numbers (Week 62). I know many more people who've contracted the virus (some, more than once); fortunately none required hospitalization.
I felt fine. So up I went.
What is the source of this sudden superwoman power?
There is a word for it. Steroids.
And no, I have not suddenly taken to doping. But if this is a taste of that, no wonder so many professional athletes have gone down that road.
Unable to shake off the lingering misery of sinus inflammation (for nearly a year), I finally saw a specialist. The initial treatment includes a few days of prednisone, which is having the desired effect. [And then some.]
Our merry band picked up a few stray riders along the way, having decided we seemed like a friendly bunch riding at just the right pace. First, a woman riding alone on her vintage bike, somewhat modernized by her boyfriend; later, a pair of guys who had some familiarity with our club. You know a cyclist is truly interested when they're willing to pull over and stop so I can hand them one of our club's calling cards.
Twenty-nine miles, about 1,800 feet of climbing ... and ooh, I feel fine.
There was some uneasiness about whether we could enter the park. Another group had recently been turned away when the ranger insisted that admission was not free. [Hmm.] That has never been the case, before—even after reservations became required (for vehicles).
And it was not the case, today. [Whew.] I was all set to challenge the ranger to Show Me the Actual Regulation; approaching the entrance, I noted the sign that posted the fee for motor vehicles. But we just pedaled on through unchallenged, as we always have.
The condition of the private stretch of road, through Sveadal, was more hazardous than ever. I feel their pain (literally!), all those park visitors traversing the crumbling road through their community. Who should really pay to maintain, or better yet, improve what's left of the pavement?
As we prepared to return, I announced my intention to capture shots of the fields of lupine we'd passed, and was pleased that our group included a few kindred wildflower-spirits.
Biking to (and from) our rendezvous point added up to my longest ride so far this year: overall, 54 miles, with about 2,500 feet of climbing. When I got home, I felt ... oddly ... perky. [Stay tuned.]
What's the formula for coaxing new riders to join a club ride? A gentle pace, a modest distance, not much climbing, a later starting time, a social break?
We had all of that. Yet, besides my chief cycling buddy, the two riders who showed up were stronger than us (and, long-time members).
They rode alongside and chatted with us, loitering patiently at the top of the hill. One enjoyed a concoction that looked like a giant cup of whipped cream. Maybe there was coffee in there, somewhere.
Everyone else missed out on the 31 miles, 960 feet of climbing and the ample camaraderie that I enjoyed.
I was happy to discover how compatible we were—our pace, as well as our interests.
Poppies!
I could get used to this.
A succession of members have kept the tradition of this club ride alive after the closing of its namesake (Bici) bike shop, first moving the start to a nearby park and now to another neighborhood in response to heavy construction at the park. The new location is a winner! (Let's keep it!)
It's still a bit early for wildflowers, but there were some lupines in bloom near the Chesbro Reservoir.
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