Synchronicity

With the rainy forecast for this week in mind, I thought I would tackle some yard work this afternoon.

But, wait ... the thermometer registered 67°F. A shift in the weather promises strong winds on Tuesday. Bike today, rake tomorrow. [Well, technically, Tuesday.]

The hens at Bernal-Gulnac-Joice Ranch were scratching determinedly at the edge of their pen. Plotting an escape, perhaps? They wouldn't survive one night outside. [Coyotes.]

The girls were not the least bit interested in me until I crouched down to their level and experimented with getting close for a photo. Were they curious about my phone, or drawn to the scent of an orange on my fingertips?

I'd rolled out at no particular time, heading for my default low-stress 27-mile route. [Ow.] I clearly haven't been getting enough saddle time. [Ow.] After yesterday's ride, my tender parts were ... tender. [Ow.]

And so it happened that, at the moment I was lumbering up a small hill and a runner was heading down on the adjacent sidewalk, we both did a double-take. Hold on, don't I know you?

The runner happened to be the person who had been my boss—for the longest continuous stretch (years)—until the team reorganized during an extended break I took last summer. When I'd shared, then, that I was “test-driving” retirement, he had been quick to respond. “I don't want you to leave, but I will support whatever you decide. And you will always have a home here.” Neither of us imagined that this would be out of his hands; at the company we had joined, it would not have been.

The company we'd joined was brimming with talent, including some of the best and the brightest I'd worked with at every prior job I'd had. And then, I worked with so many more! When asked what I liked most about my workplace, my answer was always quick: My colleagues. We were the keys to the company's success, and that's why I'd stayed.

For a few lucky minutes this afternoon, we were together again.

Sunny Smiles

Four friends joined me for a relaxed jaunt on a familiar route.

In no hurry, we kept an eye on one another, happy to chat and take in the sights. An impromptu photo stop led to the discovery of a short trail which afforded a closer view of the still-muddy Chesbro Reservoir (nearly 89% full!).

Coyote Creek looked more like a lake than a creek, in places; we spotted a couple of Great Blue Herons hunting in the reeds, and a trio of deer grazing in a field. Also more than the usual complement of diabolical ground squirrels—which fortunately heeded my well-practiced hiss and fled away from us. Tsssss!

Trail-averse as I tend to be, I do enjoy the lower reaches of the Coyote Creek Trail. Traversing wide-open space, with little traffic (cyclists, mostly). And if that's not enough to brighten your day, surely the grins on the faces of approaching cyclists will!

Although we'd hoped for a few more miles on the trail, we were not surprised to find the last stretch blocked. Even though we haven't seen significant rain for a while, there is so much water still flowing—enough to flood one usual section.

We finished our 39 miles (with ~1,000 feet of climbing) while the sky was still mostly blue, especially grateful to enjoy this route without the traditional headwind—and in the company of good friends.

Hardly a Hike

As we reviewed the seven locations in the 2023 Pix in the Parks challenge, we chuckled at one. No need to plan a group outing to Vasona Lake County Park, we agreed; just collect a selfie on your own.

How about ... today?

Bluebirds wouldn't stay put for a photo; mallards preening on a log in the muddy creek were indifferent.

I could have gone out of my way to follow the recommended route, but chose to cover more distance (and add some hilliness) with a more direct route and bonus meadering: a little over five miles. Either way, the “hike” was really just a stroll along a flat, paved stretch of the Los Gatos Creek multi-use trail.

A late-morning start was still chilly, but the skies were clear. My plan to pick up a sandwich (via a slight detour) on the way back worked out just right. Too windy, though, to enjoy it outside.

Five more parks to visit ... which will be next?

Almaden Quicksilver

Quicksilver, as in mercury (Hg). Nearby waterways feature signs warning not to consume any fish caught there, due to enduring contamination from the long-closed mines.

I've biked to (and past) the Hacienda entrance to Almaden Quicksilver County Park many times, but had never started a hike here. Many years ago, I did hike a different section of this park—what I remember most was starting at a trailhead located in an ordinary suburban neighborhood. (New to the Bay Area, I found that odd at the time.)

I was surprised to see fog in the valley, but that would not be the biggest surprise of the day. [By far.]

The Monday hiking group is ramping up, and now ... I will be a regular.

Our route afforded a view of the nearly half-full Guadalupe Reservoir from the “other” side. How many times have I biked along Hicks Road, gazing across the water at the hills and trails of this park?

We had a destination in mind: the site of the Hidalgo Cemetery. Although I'd presumed that the lack of headstones suggested that they might have been simple wood markers, back in the day, a little research revealed that the remains had actually been relocated years ago.

The Santa Clara County Park system is running their last “Pix in the Parks” challenge. How could we not do this?

We took turns posing with the requisite marker before realizing there was a quivering creature on the ground, directly below the sign. Folded up, it looked like this:

We might not have noticed it at all, in that state; but when we first spotted it, it wasn't hard to identify.

Barely able to move, it was likely more frightened of us than the other way around. [Of course, we did not disturb it.]

A pleasant hike—a little over 6 miles—and the closest I've knowingly been to a (live) bat.

Afternoon on Bald Mountain

A friend beckoned me to join him for a hike. Rather than just ambling alongside the creek, why not ... head for Bald Mountain? (I was keen to keep it short and flat.)

We hadn't visited since restoration work on the cube was completed. After our mini-hike, we parked near the top of Mt. Umunhum and climbed the stairs (159 steps, per the sign) to the summit.

The surface of the Pacific gleamed in the distance, bouncing back the late-afternoon rays of the winter sun.

The views, the silence ... this wouldn't be a bad place to spend a weekday afternoon, in a comfortable chair with a book to read and binoculars for bird-watching.

I do have the time, now.

Two-fer

Today is the first day of the rest of my life ... [Well, technically the next phase of my life began eight days ago, with the unexpected end of my professional, working life.] It's all play, now (or so I'm told).

What's better than a bike ride, on a sunny day, to raise one's spirits?

I crafted a route suitable to share with a former teammate, met up and led the way to the end of Cañada Road. The distance, and hilliness, was just right. Given the lingering effects of recent storms, I guessed (correctly) that these roads would be clear (enough). A little work in progress to clear mudslides led to some short delays, but we were not beholden to a schedule.

In addition to more water in the Crystal Springs Reservoir than I can recall ever seeing, there were a couple of surprises in store at the Pulgas Water Temple. A stream of Hetch Hetchy water was flowing out into the reservoir, after spraying into the far end of the reflecting pool.

Having completed 35 miles with ~1,500 feet of climbing on Wednesday, I revisited the area with my chief biking buddy on Saturday (shorter route, 24 miles with a bonus climb for ~1,100 feet of elevation gain).

Here's to a new perspective—the sky's the limit.

Fungible Tokens

Many years ago, there was some belt-tightening during a downturn at the (large) company where I worked. My boss was recruited to help look for cost savings. Reviewing records for the cafeteria, he spied an outlier. “Oho, what's this? Why are we paying this guy so much?!” Um, that's the guy who makes the Eggs Benedict ... “Say no more.”

In the tech sector it seems that nearly every company “over-hired” during the height of the pandemic, and now they have buyer's remorse. Their regrets play out in jobs lost and lives upended—but not the jobs or lives of the people who miscaluated in the first place.

So what's a company to do? What does the company value?

Perhaps the easiest approach involves taking a hard look at the product portfolio, and dropping some. The associated jobs are no longer needed, so eliminating all of them is straightforward.

Or a company might start by apologizing and paring down the people who were over-hired.

Maybe it will focus on job performance, parting ways with people who don't measure up.

Whatever the approach, there will be a real, human toll.

Late last year, I spoke on a panel for our extended team about work-life balance. They're stressed under normal circumstances, and news about layoffs at other companies was spooking people.

I opened with a hard truth: The company pays you in return for the work you do; it doesn't owe you anything else. For many of us, it's easy to get our identities entangled with the work we're doing (speaking from experience); when you leave (voluntarily or not), the process can be gut-wrenching.

This being Silicon Valley, one can imagine another approach. The scale of the hiring and the laying off (tens of thousands of people) begs for a computational solution. (It's really just a math problem; no fancy generative AI needed.) Focus on how much money would be expended on each employee over some fixed period of time vs. how much money it would cost to send that person packing instead. Rank everyone accordingly. [Well, almost everyone. Leave the executives out of this.] Factor in protected class attributes (race, age, gender, etc.) to achieve a non-discriminatory balance. Crunch the numbers, draw a line, and in the wee hours of the morning, send a personalized form letter to every surplus person.

How efficient! How tidy! No need for uncomfortable face-to-face meetings. No need to witness anyone's distress.

Ah, well, I don't know how the sausage is made (as they say). I do know that, despite the hard truth I shared with my colleagues last year, it still stings to be cast aside.

And I also know that the company I joined on this very day, well over a decade ago, is but a treasured memory.