Just Bike

As much riding as I've done with bike clubs, I've come to appreciate the simple pleasure of hopping on my bike whenever I choose—not having to hew to meeting at a prescribed time and place.

Today was one of those days. After lunch, after the day warmed up, I chose a relatively flat route to reach historic New Almaden and the reservoir beyond. I wanted to gauge the distance and difficulty of this route (which turned out to be hillier than I expected).

I managed to dress just right, for what was surely one of our last warm days of 2022. Holiday decorations are transitioning from inflatable turkeys to Santas (and the occasional Abominable Snowman or Grinch). Trees showered me with falling leaves, and cotton-puff clouds dotted the western sky.

I've introduced one of my neighbors to the quiet neighborhood streets where I prefer to ride, convincingly demonstrating that roads can be more tranquil than the multi-use trails he frequents. As he's opposed to climbing, he would definitely not appreciate the Camden hill (in either direction). Still, I think I can get him out to New Almaden (at least), with less than today's 30 miles and 700-ish feet of climbing. Next outing, whenever that will be.

Hazy Hillsides

You don't get the sweeping view if you don't do the climb.

By the time I reached Bernal, I was ... too warm. I peeled off my wool arm warmers and stuffed my jacket into my bag. I chatted with another cyclist stretching at the base of the climb—he noted that he was wearing a summer jersey. After last week's chill, I'd opted for short-sleeved wool. [Go figure.]

This climb has become familiar enough that the steep start no longer fills me with dread. Being warmed up helps, I'm sure—since it takes me about an hour to get there. In no particular hurry, I reached the top a few seconds faster than my last trip up the hill.

With a short errand added to the mix today, I wound up with about 32 miles and less than 1,000 feet of climbing. No reason not to make this a habit. Really.

Splash of Color

We do get some fall color in the Bay Area, and the point of today's outing was to do some local leaf peeping. [That, and some exercise too: 28 miles and some 440 feet of climbing.]

With my weekend chores done, I hopped on my bike in the afternoon sunshine. Mornings are chilly, days are shorter, and the sun doesn't rise very high in the sky these days.

Could my fingers and toes have been warmer? [Yes.] But the reds, oranges, and yellows overhead were a balm to my spirits as I cruised along the quiet, tree-lined streets of the Almaden Valley.

Leveled Up

As the years ticked by, I would sometimes wonder how many more 100-mile editions of the Best Buddies Hearst Castle Challenge I could complete. I imagined that a day would come when I'd scale it back to the 100 km route (as I did for the loop route in 2018, when the temperature soared). Every trip down the coast was different; if 2019 was to be our last, we were blessed with a beautiful day.

Who expected the world around us would change? After 2020's do-it-yourself challenge, we (cautiously) gathered for a small event in the hills of Marin last year. On the heels of that success, the ride returned this year—but to a different (and incomparable) venue.

I was grateful to stretch my legs on a short hike before dinner after Friday's long drive. And dinner, well ... it was my first indoor dinner since The Before Times. [This will be fine ...] A majestic dining room, filled with tables of humans seated elbow to elbow—some of whom had traveled internationally for this event. Like Thomas Pidcock, who'd joined our little afternoon hike.

It was a special privilege to be a guest in this amazing place. (Not to mention being spared the stress of navigating a twisty rural road before dawn to get here and get ready to ride.)

What a joy it was simply to step outside and roll my bike to the start line!

To finish with enough time to get cleaned up and enjoy lunch, I needed to maintain a brisk pace. No time to admire the redwoods as we pedaled through Samuel P. Taylor State Park.

We rode a clockwise loop this year, heading north on Highway 1 past Tomales Bay. [Is it ever sunny here?] At least the mist was lighter this year; no drizzle.

In the weeks leading up to today, I'd been putting in the miles with after-work rides, following up with some weekend climbing and more distance. [It paid off.] I kept the lead group in sight for miles. The route started with a five-mile descent ... which we would reverse at the end, to reach the finish line. [Gulp.] And the route profile showed a significant climb at mile 54.

I've biked many of these roads before, in the opposite direction. I paused briefly at Laguna Lake; surely there were still many people behind me? Few had passed me, and I'd passed a few.

We were well-supported by a team of domestiques, outfitted with race-caliber radios. I didn't need their physical assistance, but with their companionship and friendly conversation I stopped focusing on how many miles remained.

I finished the route—72 miles, less than 4,000 feet of climbing—at an average (moving) pace of 13.6 mph. (My fastest pace for a Best Buddies Challenge since 2014.) And yet, I was still one of the last riders across the line. How could that be?

Well. When I'd asked a domestique about the folks behind us, he explained that most would be “taking the car.” [Sigh.] I'm a rare old bird (who doesn't act her age). I actually want to do the whole ride.

And I did.

Asti Tour de Vine

This event had not been on my radar (but now is).

I learned about it by sheer happenstance, when I squeezed onto a bench next to a couple of riders at Gizdich Ranch earlier this year. They were enjoying their first Strawberry Fields Forever ride, comparing it to (and highly recommending) the Asti Tour de Vine.

Previewing the route we'd take through the Alexander Valley—with a stop at Lake Sonoma—brought back fond memories of the long-ago second-day route for Waves to Wine. Today's starting point was above the northerly end of that route: Cloverdale was new territory for me.

It's a small town, with a stunning church. Presumably old, but I couldn't spot a cornerstone.

I was impressed with the route, which included areas both familiar and not—and very little traffic.

We even rode past a local purveyor of windmills! [How could they know?]

With the grapes harvested and the tourists gone, this promised to be a good time for biking in wine country. [And it was!] With predicted temperatures in the 90's, we were motivated to keep moving to be done before the hottest part of the day. Added incentive for me was to test myself in advance of next Saturday's big event. Today's route would be a bit shorter and decidedly flatter, but could I hold myself to a brisk (for me) pace?

And the rest stops! Hearty breakfast at the first stop. A revelation at the second: “Acorns.”

1. Pierce one end of a donut hole with a pretzel stick.
2. Smear the other end with creamy peanut butter.
3. Dip/roll the sticky end in chocolate sprinkles.

[This is why we bike.]

Each rest stop was lovingly decorated and showcased a different beneficiary of the local Rotary Club (which was hosting this event).

After waiting longer than expected for my chief biking buddy to reach the third rest stop, it occurred to me to check my phone. She'd missed a turn! Unclear on whether she was backtracking or riding the route in reverse, I lingered at the next two rest stops before concluding we'd just reunite at the finish. The day was heating up; the home stretch was fully exposed to the sun, but mercifully short.

A feast awaited! Salad, pasta, pulled pork. Wine and beer (for those so inclined). One of the women serving us interpreted my jersey as a joke, advertising the (Pescadero) Arthritis Classic bike ride. I suppose my hair color played into that. [It felt rude to set her straight, so I just smiled.]

This ride is a keeper: I liked the size (small), the route, and being part of a field of courteous riders. [Not to mention the food.]

I completed 65 miles with about 2,000 feet of climbing and didn't feel spent. Next week's ride seems ... doable.

Up We Go

How could it be so, that I had not yet ascended Mt. Hamilton in 2022? It's October, already!

My cycling buddy graciously joined me in riding to the top, despite this being one of her least favorite rides.

The landscape is slowly healing from the firestorm of 2020. Conditions were ideal for cycling: cool, sunny, and almost no wind. There was an unusually thick layer of fog blanketing the valley to the south.

It was uncharacteristically quiet for a Saturday on the mountain: we saw only a handful of cyclists, and none loitering at the top. Few cars (but more than a dozen motorcyclists) passed us as we pedaled up. We traded tales of epic rides on two wheels with a couple of them as we enjoyed our lunch on the the observatory's cozy patio.

When I'd shared my ride plan with some friends, one presaged a certain wildlife sighting.

It's tarantula season, though I'd never seen one on Hamilton before.

On the way up, I'd dodged some suicidal squirrels as they darted back and forth across the road. On the way down, I spied a very robust coyote standing in my lane, focusing on the opposite hillside. Trot up the road apiece, I thought, for some easy pickings. I slowed my approach until the coyote retreated into the brush.

Higher on the hill, I'd passed a band of teenagers (boys) setting up their cameras and skateboards for a different sort of descent. I was relieved to get well ahead of them.

For the day, the usual 39 miles and 4,860 feet of climbing.

Bernal or Bust

Three. [The number of vehicles whose drivers discovered that they must, in fact, turn back at the IBM gate at the top of Bernal Road.]

There are a couple of challenging rides coming up on my calendar, and although I've upped my weekly mileage by hopping on my bike at the end of my workday, I haven't done much climbing. Nor have I been spending time on my road bike.

I got a late start and headed for the first climb (Shannon) instead of my comfortable (flat) after-work route. I will make it up Bernal somehow, I told myself. I must not surrender.

The promise of another warm day likely discouraged the mountain bikers; I had the little picnic table at the turnaround spot to myself. Eyeing litter as I enjoyed my snack, I followed up by collecting it and depositing it in the trash can that is right there. Including one forlorn, inside-out sock (found a pick-up stick to handle that).

A pair of women jogged all the way up (and, back down). As for me, I had one more hill to climb. [Or not.] But of course, I did; for a total of about 28 miles and probably 1,500 feet of climbing.

That photo at the top? The leaves dangling down in the center are pointing right at next Saturday's destination, across the valley: Lick Observatory.