Get on down
I wanna get on the good foot
Ho! Good foot
I got to get on the good foot
—James Brown

February 28 I got up at the crack of dawn to drive to Linden, CA for the Pedaling Paths to Independence metric century. This was a major accomplishment for me because just a week before Christmas I had surgery to remove a femoral bone tumor. I hadn’t been able to cycle much since July and had mostly been physically inert as the tumor made even walking painful.

My surgical recovery was fairly benign (pun intended). Being characterologically impatient I tried to get on the bike way too early. Pain put paid to that idea. Presurgery I had mapped out a plan to be ready for the DSSF Velo Love ride on Valentine’s Day and then Pedaling Paths two weeks later. This was all governed by my ignorance of how recovery from surgery—it was my first ever—actually unfolds. I discovered that cut up flesh doesn’t like to move, be stretched, or be jostled for a long time. Disheartened I abandoned the idea of doing both rides and removed the ride listings.

After meeting with my surgeon, I started to ride again on February 2. Everything I did was slow, short, flat, and steady. I was probably in the worst athletic condition in my entire adult life, a consequence of being physically inert for five months. Before Pedaling Paths I had managed a grand total of 250 miles; the longest ride I had done was 33 miles.

Then the weather forecast started to look upbeat: it was predicted to be sunny, dry, and 74F. I hemmed and hawed. As Nike says, “Just do it!” I registered with days to spare. It was either going to be a major overstep—a sufferfest—or I would have to ride really, really smart.

No one in the club that I know of other than David Go., Jeff M., and Stephanie C. has manifested any interest in going out to Linden, CA for this lovely ride. The fact that about every third or fourth year it gets rained on doesn’t help its allure. Sometime ago, maybe around 2015, Pedaling Paths caught my eye and I’ve been hooked.

Century rides historically have been put on by cycling clubs looking to raise a little money for the club coffer. A few nonprofits such as the Multiple Sclerosis Society early on did fundraising rides. Now Lions Clubs and Rotary Clubs as well as small nonprofits have been looking for alternate ways to raise money and have jumped into the century business much to our benefit. Pedaling Paths is seventeen years old and has been raising money for the Community Center for the Blind and Visually Impaired in Stockton. However its central organizer appears to be the Stockton-Delta Amateur Radio Club. Some centuries have radio support to handle sag wagons and emergencies but having a radio club be the actual organizer is unusual.

Doing these smaller, quieter centuries—usually well out of the Bay Area—has been an eye-opener. Pedaling Paths probably has less than three or four hundred riders and that’s in a good year. The smaller number and the enthusiastic volunteers have made the event friendly and neighborly. Contrast that with the Solvang Century—at its peak well over 7,000 riders—where I felt anonymous, lost in the crowd (literally) and the whole thing felt very business-like. (It was.) These small, local rides are also less expensive. With centuries routinely costing more than $100, doing a handful each year can clean out your wallet pretty fast. A consequence is that I’ve been much more selective. I’d rather drive far away for something smaller and friendlier than do the mass event rides that are common in the Bay Area.

I rather like raising money for CCBVI. Agencies that serve people with disabilities, particularly the blind and low vision population are gutted these days. It’s not flashy like AIDS or Parkinson’s but these everyday services for people with disabilities are essential even if they don’t have the cachet and virtue signaling possibilities of current ‘Pity Pathologies’.

The drive out to Linden on a Saturday morning isn’t bad, about 85 miles (from Orinda), which is only a little bit further than going from SF to Gilroy for the Tierra Bella (79 miles). The traffic is light and since this event is on the small side there isn’t a spate of cars clogging tiny little Linden. Being a metric Pedaling Paths doesn’t require an early start. There’s no need to hit the road at a ridiculously early time; I left the manse at 7:30. They officially open the gates at 8:30 and I got to Linden at 9. The route has been essentially the same since the beginning: a loop through the nut orchards east of Linden, a zigzag drop southeast to Woodward Reservoir, and then north through the foothills and cherry orchards before heading southwest back to Linden. The total elevation gain is less than 1,500 feet making this metric a good season starter. The route encompasses various kinds of orchards, pasture land and cattle ranches, stockyards (you can’t miss the smell!), and beautiful, quiet country roads. The only downer is maybe a west wind in the afternoon when you’re heading back to Linden and already tired.

Two years ago I barely survived Pedaling Paths. I had a decent number of miles under my belt. Then for three weeks before the event I was off the bike on a car tour. I tried to ride it smart and almost failed due to technology mishaps. It was pretty grueling although completing the ride left me exuberant if worn out. This year my confidence was shaky. I’m older and can no longer jump on the bike after a long hiatus and be grinding out a century in a matter of a few weeks; body parts are a lot less resilient let alone my mentality, which grows more fragile with each passing year.

I was attempting to do a ‘David Goldsmith’. Last year amidst a short comeback from yet another physical setback David decided to ride San Francisco to San Jose on probably about the same number of miles I had this year, i.e. paltry. He completed the whole thing with only one short episode going up a short rise when the day’s effort became evident. There’s a thin line between suffering and fun when you attempt a big ride on little miles. Overall his spirits were good and if he was suffering he didn’t let on. I should be so lucky…

I did the entire ride and had a fabulous time. The weather cooperated—sunny and warm—and the rolling hills were verdant providing a scenic backdrop that I could actually enjoy since I wasn’t exhausted. This year it seemed there were fewer riders. But I had started later and the 8:30 crowd was well ahead of me and probably went much faster than I. When I made it back to the finish, the dining area was packed, which confirmed that there was a lively crowd in attendance. I had ridden alone the entire time, barely seeing anyone else except at the rest stops thus reducing any temptation to “keep up”. My goal was to average about 12 miles per hour and I ended up at 13.6 for the 65.5 miles. The entire time I stayed well within my comfort range and never pushed it. That I had the discipline to do so was shocking as I’m a ‘burn those matches, baby’ kind of guy. “It can’t hurt to go a little faster.” “I’ll push it just up this rise and then slow down.”

My biggest fear was leg cramps. I rarely got them when I was young; now I get them with abandon. I suspect a contributing factor is that I’m ‘old school’: push the big gears especially on climbs. Back in the day Shimano came out with a 26-tooth cassette cog, which we all thought that was crazy low. Now I have friends who are riding with 42-tooth cogs. Such is change. I don’t fear the granny anymore. And yes, I’m so old school that I use a triple!

At the first rest stop I made a wonderful discovery: Uncrustables™. I can’t say that the food on Pedaling Paths is haute cuisine even by cycling standards, more like haute Clif Bar. But they don’t skimp on quantity, and this year I found a large box of Uncrustables, probably picked up at Costco. What is this shit? It’s totally decadent, a sign that civilization as we know it is collapsing: a pre-made peanut butter and jelly sandwich made by Smuckers. Roger and I make our own PBJ sandwiches for big rides and this was nothing like it. Ours are made with organic whole wheat bread, Pic’s peanut butter (from New Zealand, with high oleic peanuts), and Roger’s homemade nectarberry jam. Uncrustables, on the other hand, are just plain peanut butter (full of sugar), Smuckers jam (sugar), and white bread. They come frozen so you can jam a few in your pocket or bag and let them thaw out. What’s so great about them? It’s the packaging: the bread is pinched around the edges to contain the peanut butter and jam inside, like a turnover. Of course the jam is in the center surrounded by peanut butter so that it doesn’t drench the bread. The whole thing is in an easy-tear plastic package so you can stick them in your pocket. These are amazing because they’re easy to open and easy to eat without your fingers getting covered in jam. It’s the messy food made just for neat freaks. They don’t taste bad either. (Judgment may have been swayed by intense hunger since I hadn’t had breakfast.) I woofed down a few of those before heading back on the road; I felt much better!

It’s hard to pick a favorite section of the route. The first third has the nut orchards rolling into pasture land to the first rest stop. The middle third is cattle country turning into rolling hills and cherry orchards to the lunch stop. After lunch it’s more quiet roads and a few rollers before ending in Linden. The middle section in the past has had the motos and Speed Racers zooming by, but not this year; it was totally quiet and I was lost in thought, pondering whether or not I would try to press it up each roller or take it easy. I was keeping my eye on my heart rate and even more on my cadence in order not to wear out my legs and induce cramps.

The lunch stop is at the Milton cemetery. It’s in the middle of nowhere, i.e. Milton, a collection of about a half-dozen farmsteads. A 150 years ago there were more because Milton was the end of the Southern Pacific railroad. Now it’s not even a ghost town because whatever old buildings there were have mostly disappeared. Consorting with the dead at a cemetery may not be advisable although breaking bread with them is the one exception. Every year it’s the same food: white bread sandwiches, either turkey and cheese or ham and cheese. And the cheese is always American. For salt it was potato chips, a snack I can never refuse and I made sure to inhale a lot of them because salt. It all tasted really good, food snobbery aside.

For such a small century they sure have a lot of sag cars, at least five. At the lunch stop a sag driver asked me how I was doing. I told him I was doing great considering I had surgery just two months ago. With a smile he gestured to me to get into the truck. I told him I was gonna finish the ride even if it killed me. So far, so good though.

Leaving lunch I got schooled by some fellow oldsters. These old farts were hauling ass making me look and feel like I was my age. I let them go. That was the Devil tempting me, “C’mon, just go a little faster. You can catch them!” Not today, Satan. Some miles ahead they had stopped for some reason, maybe a mechanical. Soon they caught up with me, took a look at my old Rivendell and started to ooh-and-aah at the lugs. “They don’t make them like that anymore, do they?” No, they don’t. I love my Rivendell and it was the perfect bike for a day like today: smooth ride, low gears, upright position. The Riv is no slouch when I want to go fast and it has a Cadillac ride made even smoother by rolling slowly.

I must have been doing something right. Between lunch and the last rest stop is where I’ve run into problems before, i.e. massive leg cramps, but today it was smooth sailing. Nary a cramp to be seen. No headwind from the west helped. I’ll take it!

I actually passed someone on a short rise. He was a really big guy riding an old school, lugged steel beauty like I was. He probably outweighed me by a hundred pounds but he was spinning smoothly. When I see a smooth spin like that I know he’s the real thing. Apparently he’s still a racer because I became his target shortly thereafter and he started to chase me. No matter. I kept my pace. The rollers took their toll on him—he’d get closer on the downhills and drift back on the rises. A couple of those probably wore him out before he disappeared.

I got to Linden without a hint of fatigue. I felt pretty good considering I hadn’t ridden anything close to 65 miles in the past year. I managed to ride steadily if slowly and it was the right plan for a no-miles century. The end-of-ride meal was the same: roasted chicken, pesto pasta, green salad, and focaccia. Man, it sure tasted good.

There are centuries where all I can think of is for the ride to end as quickly as possible. Those rides are more like races to me: just get it over. Mostly what I remember of them is the discomfort, trying to pass as many people as possible, and urgency, i.e. “time hunger”. Then there are rides like this one. What I remember is the quiet, the peacefulness, the comfortable weather, and the beautiful countryside. Learning to ride slowly is unappreciated. It may take longer but boy, I sure had a much better time.

A cup of coffee later and I was ready to head home. It was 80F. On the last day of February! No pain, no pain. What a great day. I’m looking forward to next year already.

It’s difficult to generalize about cycling in Bay Area suburbs because they are so varied. At one extreme are suburbs at the edge of the metropolis such as Hollister, Clayton, or Fairfield; the other end are those centrally located and cities in their own right such as Berkeley or Walnut Creek. Some suburbs have “graduated” into true metropolises in their own right such as Oakland and San Jose. Cycling in Oakland or San Jose is not unlike cycling in San Francisco. But cycling in Orinda or Woodside is significantly different.

Having lived in San Francisco for many years before moving to the East Bay a comment I’ve heard repeatedly from fellow suburbanites is, “I’d never cycle in San Francisco. It’s so dangerous!” That sort of comment amused me because when I was living in SF, which was the 1980s and ‘90s, I found it safer to ride in the City than in the Midpeninsula, where I had lived previously. Traffic was slower in the City because of the numerous stop signs (and now congestion) and drivers were more used to driving among cyclists. That isn’t to say it was all hunkydory. Drivers are just as inattentive in SF as they are everywhere and the constant sensory bombardment in the City can drown out the presence of cyclists rendering us practically invisible at times. In contrast after moving back to the exurbs I found that drivers here were used to barreling down streets at 40+ MPH regardless of the speed limit so used were they to the near complete lack of other road users except cars. Plus, although gargantuan SUVs roam everywhere now, when I moved in the early Aughts to Contra Costa it seemed like every car over here was a SUV. I was missing all those SF stop signs that slowed drivers down! Drivers everywhere are impatient but suburban drivers are more so because they aren’t used to having to slow down. And when they do, their reaction isn’t resignation, it’s outrage because that isn’t supposed to happen in the ‘burbs. After all, that’s one of the reasons people like living there: car freedom and plentiful parking. You don’t have to hunt for parking near your home as I used to in SF nor worry about getting a ticket for forgetting to move your car for street cleaning.

Cycling in Contra Costa is a mixed bag as I noticed two weeks ago on Chris’s ride from Lafayette to Martinez and back. More open space, a greener (or soon to be, browner) ambiance, and roads that aren’t lined with midrise buildings, homes, or strip malls are a welcome relief. They may not qualify as true “green showers”; nonetheless I find myself refreshed after riding on the “semi-rural” roads of Orinda.

But there is a dirty, little secret about riding in Contra Costa and perhaps in other suburbs around the Bay. During commute hours some of those pleasant semi-rural roads turn into thrilling race tracks as commuters bomb down them to avoid congested expressways. Some of these roads have been commuter cut-throughs from time immemorial and then evolved into arterials in their own right such as Crow Canyon Road. Now Crow Canyon is clogged at the commute hours as well.

We rode up Reliez Valley Road in Lafayette and then Alhambra Valley Road on our way out to Franklin Canyon, which is “semi-rural”. I had some trepidation because Reliez is notorious for its morning congestion. Reliez is a narrow two-lane road that funnels a lot of cars out of north Lafayette down to Highway 24. Alhambra Valley Road is another cut-through for Martinez folks to avoid Highway 4 and Highway 680 by zooming towards the Three Bears into Orinda. From there they can either head up Wildcat if going to Berkeley or to Highway 24 to head further west. I usually ride on these roads on weekends and the traffic is less volatile. Fortunately my concern was for naught as we were riding late enough in the morning that the pulse of traffic had abated and we were able to cycle unperturbed by the few cars that whistled by us. Alhambra Valley was pretty much the same: some car traffic but none high-speed and no sociopathic behavior. Our return route eventually took us onto Taylor Boulevard. This is a major, high-speed arterial funneling traffic throughout Pleasant Hill towards Highway 24. It’s actually a mini-highway with divided four-lane traffic. I believe the legal speed limit on Taylor is at least 50 MPH and cars certainly go much faster than that between the few stoplights. Its one lifesaving attribute is that it has a wide shoulder for cyclists. Luckily we dodged the afternoon traffic on Taylor because we were cycling before the afternoon commute.

Taylor Boulevard doesn’t hide its colors: it’s obvious that it’s a high-speed thoroughfare and having four divided lanes isn’t exactly what you would expect for a pastoral road. However there are plenty of “semi-rural” roads in the suburbs where the sudden presence of rice rockets and Joe Commuter Late-For-The-Office is going to shock you. Near me we have Pinehurst Road, a beautiful narrow road climbing from Moraga up to Skyline Boulevard through a canopy of redwood trees next to a babbling stream, a picture-perfect representation of a country road. This is part of the route for the Orinda Pool Party and its a showcase for what cycling could be like…if you lived in Humboldt County! I love this ride not only for its soothing ambiance but also because it’s got a challenging climb/descent. However Pinehurst is also a commuter cut-through because of the congestion on Highway 24. In the morning 24 is jammed heading west and commuters from the Moraga area use it to get over to bayside rather than enduring a bumper-to-bumper, slow slog from Moraga to Orinda and then yet more slog on 24. In the afternoon the congestion on 24 heading east is even worse. It regularly backs up for miles and also clogs the traffic on Highway 13 trying to get to the Caldecott Tunnels. So the poor suckers stuck on 13 just cut through Montclair and Oakland up to Skyline and drop down Pinehurst. It only took me a couple of experiences riding up Pinehurst in the afternoon on a weekday to realize I would never do that again, not just because of the level of traffic but because drivers’ frustration at slow traffic was vented through some seriously fast and dangerous speeds on this narrow, curvy road with less-than-generous sightlines.

I mentioned cut-through traffic on Alhambra Valley. Some of that traffic ends up on the Three Bears. Most of you have ridden the Bears and think it’s wonderful—quiet, roomy, surrounded by ranch and park lands. On weekdays it can host a legion of commuters avoiding the mess on Highways 24 and 680. But the Bears (Bear Creek Road) is not narrow at all and the shoulders and sightlines are pretty good; I’ve ridden it on weekdays and although the traffic can be fast it doesn’t strike me as unnerving as it does on Pinehurst. That said I avoid it during the commute hours.

Redwood Road is another quiet, semi-rural road that has this Jekyl-and-Hyde personality. Redwood connects Castro Valley to Moraga and flows between the park land on one side and EBMUD reservoirs on the other. There is literally no development on it. It can be curvy, dark, and narrow. But sections of it are more open. It regularly is driven by motos and sports cars because it takes skill to drive it quickly and thus it has become an informal practice track; I’ve seen the same cars or motos go back-and forth as they try different speeds, leans, and attack angles in the corners. It also is a cut-through for commuters trying to avoid 880 and 13.

So although life out here can be very lovely, appearances can be deceiving especially if you only go slumming in the ‘burbs on the weekends. But would I trade cycling in the Contra Costa for San Francisco? Not on your life!

Nancy and Cathy last led this ride, which they created, in June 2025. Not content just to slog up Mama, Papa, and Baby Bear they added in the short climb up Wildcat to Old El Toyonal to beat us into the ground before heading to downtown Orinda for some well-deserved post-ride grub.

The March heat wave was still regaling us with some of the best riding weather in months, not that I would know as I hadn’t been riding since October. You all know the Three Bears. It’s the classic ride in the East Bay that happens to be in my backyard. It’s become my Tiburon loop to the point that I don’t ride it much anymore; familiarity breeds contempt. Every cycling club in the East Bay does this ride and on some weekends it shows, with good reason because it’s one of the few remaining outposts of rurality that has survived our Growth-Is-Never-Bad mentality. As much as the Greenbelt Alliance has done to slow down suburban expansion into East Bay open space, it’s ultimately a pointless rearguard action against an inevitable megafication of the Bay Area. The only open space that will remain will either be ‘undevelopable’ land–which is laughable because any site is developable with enough money–and land that is strictly in the hands of a park district or a public utility. Private rural land is just future homes and roads, folks. For now the Three Bears is a combination of dedicated open space, utility land, and private ranch land. What’s holding back suburbification is the lack of sewage and water access, a problem that money will eventually solve. Our only hope is that the ranch owners eventually sell their property–and sell they will–to a land trust dedicated to preserving open space.

What a beautiful space it is! The pasture land is a verdant green right now but soon to turn to straw brown, so enjoy it while you can. During the week Alhambra Valley and Bear Creek Roads are actually cut-throughs for commuters from Martinez. But on weekends it’s less trafficky, being mostly the race grounds of local motos and sports car enthusiasts. And a lot of cyclists!

Roger and I had ridden the Bears just ten days ago and we were anticipating more poppies blooming on the hills. Alas, the cows apparently mowed them all down and we could espy only the patches that were high up on the hilltops. Ironically the most bountiful spreads of California poppies turned out to be next the road because the cows can’t graze there.

Cathy and Nancy managed to entice not only us but Roger S from SF, who only the day before came over for welcome heat at the Happy Hour ride and Ken from Solano, a long drive for such a short ride.

Usually we do the Bears clockwise and so it was this time. Ken asked which way was easier. Well, opinions vary. Roger likes to do it counterclockwise while I prefer clockwise. Clockwise you get the most dangerous leg done first—riding on San Pablo Dam Road. It’s more downhill so you can go faster and get away from the high speed traffic more quickly. Counterclockwise you get the worst hill out of the way first, Papa Bear (Baby Bear is actually before but it’s all downhill in this direction). Papa Bear is steeper going counterclockwise. On the other hand, Mama Bear is steeper in the clockwise direction. So, pick your poison.

Speaking of poison, the condition of San Pablo Dam Road is execrable. But that’s an improvement. Five years ago it was double-plus ultra execrable due to extensive rain damage. In addition to the plethora of remaining heaves, cracks, debris, and dropoffs on the shoulders, to reduce head-on car collisions bollards were installed almost the entire distance from Wildcat to Castro Ranch Road to “prevent” head-on car collisions. Maybe it’s good for cars but for cyclists it’s hell because cars no longer move over when they pass cyclists. And you go into the road lane at your own risk. This is dumbfounding because the plastic bollards are scattered along the roadside, having been smashed and sliced off by cars anyway. So many of the bollards are decapitated that the county has to replace them on a regular basis. It’s not like the bollards cause drivers to hesitate moving over anyway. I suppose that tells you something about the drivers on San Pablo Dam Road.

About the Three Bears: amidst the pastoral beauty there is some serious uglitude. Alhambra Valley Road and Bear Creek are go-to places for the local household dumpers. Those self-employed haul-your-crap-away businesses forego the county dump fee and just take your junk to Alhambra Valley Road. Massive piles of household crap—broken furniture, concrete debris, black plastic garbage bags of who-knows-what, washing machines, refrigerators, you-name-it—periodically populate the roadside. A few years ago I counted no less than thirteen piles. I thought I was in West Oakland rather than rural Contra Costa. Signs were put up to report dumping. At one point someone put a security camera on Alhambra to record dumpers. This time it was stuck high up on a pole by the road. Now it had a loudspeaker barking in its best Obey Authority voice, “Warning! You are trespassing! Leave immediately! You are being recorded!” even though we were merely riding on the road. This time we saw only one pile. Oh yeah, and instead of just one section of road collapsing into the creek, there are now two necessitating a one-lane-only set of K-barriers. The last time these road collapses were repaired was after the rains washed away the bridge connecting Castro Ranch to Alhambra Valley. In less than ten years we now have two more road collapses.

The turn onto Bear Creek is roughly midway along the Three Bears. It’s the usual regroup spot. You may notice that the wide turn now has a crapload of Botz dots in the corner. Why is that? To encourage drivers and motorcyclists not to cut the corner and to take it wide. And why is that? So that they slow down slightly and not mow down cyclists who have a tendency to stop at the curve. Apparently this happened to Ken some years ago. He was hit by a Porsche there.

That intersection also coincides with a fast downhill from Martinez along Alhambra Valley, a thrilling descent off Pig Farm. Back in the day the road was in not-so-great shape and on a club ride Walter Teague, a retired Pan Am purser and probably the second oldest member of the club at the time (Gene Howard of Bike-A-Thon fame being just slightly older) hit some gravel at the turn onto Bear Creek and went down, breaking both wrists.

I was riding alongside Ken and he said “You write a lot!”. Being aged and full of decrepit parts including ears, I thought he said ‘You ride a lot”. I told him I hadn’t been riding since last October because of surgery. He corrected me and I thought, “Somebody actually reads the club blog??” That number is solidly in the low single digits, all the more to bolster my increasing irrelevance to the club. He didn’t mention whether he thought what I wrote was worth reading. It doesn’t matter: when one suffers from logorrhea, it’s all about quantity, not quality. But I do love my adoring readership!

Roger was stopping, as usual, to take photographs of the scenery including the explosion of poppies we encountered by the road. We all crept along at our own pace. On every Bear we were surmounting Cathy was bemoaning her lack of climbing to date. By now it was past noon, the sun was high, and although being warm it wasn’t at the uncomfortable level. The descent down Papa Bear is fast and not for the faint-hearted. It’s wide open, steep, and you pick up speed immediately. Back in the day it was the club challenge to see who could go down the fastest. I never recorded anything above 39 MPH on my old Cateye Solar computer. At that point cowardice always got the better of me. I don’t recall precisely but it was likely Bruce Matasci who went the fastest. He was a skilled bike handler and fearless. Keep in mind in those days we were riding 20 mm wide tires pumped up to 110 PSI, which made for a rough ride and the ever gruesome fantasy of hitting a rock or pothole, exploding your front tire, and ending up a miserable pile of road rash. Or worse. Today I’m even more of a coward and hit the brakes well before 35 MPH, and that’s even using 42 mm tires with disc brakes, which I was this day.

Back at San Pablo Dam Road Ken bid us an early farewell as he had to get back home to take care of family affairs. The five of us then went up Wildcat Canyon. Until mid-December Wildcat had been closed for almost three years after it collapsed. This was my first time up Wildcat after the completed repair. (Last June we rode up through the collapsed section as the repair hadn’t begun yet.) You would hardly know it had collapsed except for the suspiciously clean galvanized guardrails.

I’ve never enjoyed climbing Wildcat, not even when I was young and strong. It’s only about an 8% grade but it feels way steeper. On weekdays it’s also a commuter cut-through so the car traffic is not just be bothersome but menacing. On weekends it’s mostly folks heading up to Inspiration Point or Tilden Park to go hiking. But the impatience of drivers still astonishes me—close passes, following too closely, passing on blind curves despite a double-yellow line. The last time Cathy led this ride it was right after she had completed the Sequoia metric, a Midpeninsula climbfest. This time she was decrying her lack of training and willing herself up the hill. Nancy is amazing. I’ve done innumerable climbs with her. She spins the cranks like a hamster on a treadmill and it doesn’t matter how steep or long the climb is, she just keeps going and always has a cheerful demeanor. Riding uphill with Nancy is like a feel-good mood pill.

We finished the day by climbing up Old El Toyonal and descending to Orinda. Old El Toyonal was always sort of a secret byway for local cyclists. But after Wildcat collapsed three years ago it’s been discovered and become a mainstay for cyclists from the Bay side. I view that development with some dismay because I liked the quiet and privacy afforded by its anonymity. Now it’s common to see cyclists on it probably for the same reason I cherish it. Wildcat may be quicker, less steep, and easier to navigate but Old El Toyonal is definitely more peaceful, has little traffic, and feels like you’re on a forest path.

We took tiffin at Petra Cafe at Theatre Square in Orinda. Tiny downtown Orinda has a handful of restaurants in two blocks and just about any would do for a weekday lunch. Although ‘bustling’ might be a stretch it would be fair to say that Orinda seemed to have a lot of folks enjoying the sunshine and warmth. We sat outside eating our gyros except for Roger S who was saving his appetite for Loard’s ice cream around the corner. We chatted about weekday club rides. The club has enough members interested in weekday rides but the problem has been nobody can agree on a good day because schedules are different. For now Cathy and Nancy are plotting more rides for either Tuesday or Thursday. Stay tuned.