This month we broke the mold of the HHITEB by starting in Moraga instead of Lafayette and pedaled an astounding (!) fifteen miles instead of ten. Whew. All of this epoch-breaking, era-ending change was so we could check out Canyon Club Brewery for dinner. Unfortunately Roger and I couldn’t personally vet this haunt before the ride so we were blindly treading into possibly dangerous territory. A meal at a brewery? This could end badly for all concerned. Getting blasted and fine dining, I’m not sure those two concepts go together. But when you’re toasted doesn’t everything taste delish?

We met at the Canyon Club Brewery but minus Joe. Joe and Lamberto had been showing out-of-town guests around San Francisco when in a moment of inattention Joe twisted his ankle while walking and turning to gaze at something that caught his attention. Hmm, pray tell what was it? (Or who was he?) Of course he consulted that well-known medical expert, Alexa, whether he should do the ride. That hussy in a reassuring, soothing voice urged him to rest his ankle instead of Doing the Right Thing, which is “no pain, no gain”! Joe, everybody knows: “That which does not kill me makes me stronger”, or something like that. That aphorism is attributed to the German philosopher Friedrich Nietzche, another well-known medical expert. (Note: He likely died of advanced syphilis.)

So the four of us—Lamberto, Roger S, Roger H, and I—headed to Orinda for the first leg. The road between Moraga and Orinda is Moraga Way. It’s a two-lane road surprisingly often with heavy traffic. But for most of it’s length—minus the short bridge over the San Pablo Creek—it has decent bike lanes and they’re even maintained (!). The houses that line both sides of the road get an unwelcome symphony of moving traffic daylong as this little road has become a congested thoroughfare funneling umpteen thousand commuters. It amazes me because Moraga hardly has any commercial development and is a sleepy ‘semi-rural’ suburb. But it does have St. Mary’s College and a couple of high schools. I am guessing that most of the cars are just denizens heading to and from work or running errands. The as-yet little known controversy is that both Orinda and Moraga have to increase their populations per the state’s fiat to Develop Housing or Else We’ll Develop It For You. But both towns are in extreme high fire zones, about as bad as possible. This means that evacuation routes for all these people have to work or else after a fire they’ll both look like the remains of Pompeii. And what is the main evacuation route? Moraga Way. That will mean that those bike lanes may be on borrowed time and we cyclists will be back to Frogger again. The dream option is to expand the width by encroaching on the homeowners in order to add a third lane and keeping the bike lanes. That ain’t gonna happen without some serious eminent domain.

The argument that development won’t increase traffic might work in cities. But it hasn’t so far: folks living in complexes without car parking still have cars and are just parking on the street, transit or not, and driving like crazy. Would this work in the suburbs like Moraga? Yeah, it’s laughable. Everybody is gonna have at least one car, usually two. The commuter bus from Moraga to BART is usually quite empty except for some high school students. Moraga Way has a 35 MPH speed limit, which is more traffic advice that is ignored. Moraga Way may once have been quiet but now it’s anything but.

Nevertheless we marched on with Roger S eager and chomping at the bit. It was during the commute but compared to many days, today’s traffic was tolerable. Roger zoomed ahead and the rest of us kept getting stuck at lights. Add a burgeoning headwind and catching him was hardly a ‘chill’ pace.

Once in Orinda we cut through its tiny downtown and headed up the St. Stephen’s Trail, our local MUP. Back on the streets we were passed by lots of cars on the frontage road to Highway 24, escapees from the jammed lanes on the highway. Only after we got to Lafayette did things calm down. Then we were back on the Lamorinda trail and it was oh-so peaceful as usual. It’s such a refuge from the traffic chaos happening all around.

We did a slight deviation to take a bathroom break at the Lafayette Community Center. You’d think a town community center would be, well, in the center of town. But not Lafayette: the community center is at the edge of town and a long walk away from anything else. It’s a former elementary school that has been upgraded with a large hall. There are also the ubiquitous pickleball courts in addition to bocce and horseshoes/cornhole toss areas. Speaking of cornhole, do you remember the cornhole toss at the club picnic in Golden Gate Park before the Pandemic? That topic came up at dinner. Wanderson was in charge of games and he brought his dildos for the cornhole toss. The mind boggles.

The community center has clean, spacious bathrooms all freshly improved. The sink has mood lighting in the basin. The children’s play area beckoned but we hurried on to dinner and skipped the slide.

Joe met us at Canyon Club Brewery with a guest of honor, their oh-so-kawai dog Oliver. I hadn’t seen Oliver since two OPPs ago. Apparently Oliver has serious medical issues and that he is still alive and chipper is a good thing. Which is worse, outliving your pet and having to see him/her suffer and die or your pet outliving you and having to worry how s/he will be well taken care of? I’ve been through the former and it’s dreadful. The thought of the latter prevents me from taking on another one.

Having seen how crowded the very cozy outdoor patio was when I checked out the place, I was concerned we’d be crowded out. So I made a reservation and that turned out to be entirely unnecessary for a Wednesday evening. There were plenty of people and their dogs but there was plenty of table space; the fire pits were busy with eyes glued to the FIFA match on the big screen above. Ordering is very modern: scan the QR code on your table and select your meal items and beverages, then pay by the Internet. A human being does deliver your goodies. A few years ago we were on tour from Nagasaki to Hiroshima and we stopped at a seaside restaurant. Same basic deal except that your meal was brought to your table by a robot! Japan is way ahead of us in robots. I’m guessing that the declining population in Japan especially in the rural areas means it’s hard to find employees. So robots.

Joe and Lamberto eagerly scanned the list of beers. What caught their attention was a 3.2 lager. 3.2 beer? I remember that! In days of yore in Colorado if you were eighteen, you could drink 3.2 beer. I haven’t seen 3.2 in ages and the Canyon Club makes its own version called “Cold is a Flavor”. They sipped and adjudged it to be very smooth and tasty, the low alcohol notwithstanding.The rest of us forwent a beer.

The dinner menu was rather lengthy for a beer joint. Three of us settled on the fish and chips, Roger S got a burger, and Joe got a “brewery platter” consisting of mishmosh of noshes including three pretzels, German potato pancakes—they were square!—and bratwurst. Oliver immediately sat at attention giving him that look, “Daddy, please please please! I’m a good boy!” It’s hard to look after the health of your dog when you have to be the bad guy, isn’t it?

The fish and chips was excellent. It can be such a plain dish, kinda like mediocre pizza, but when it’s done well it can be transporting. I was transported. It’s such a contradiction too: mega deep fried food to clog your arteries but fish to cleanse them. Roger S shrugged and said his burger was nothing special. But he liked the fries. So did I—they were crisp and crunchy and artery clogging.

Joe and Lamberto loved the lager and asked one of the wait staff if it was sold in cans or bottles. Nope. But you can get it in a growler to take home. Disappointed faces. I suppose you could get a growler and chug it in the privacy of your home and thereby get the benefit of freshly tapped beer. At least you wouldn’t be driving home smashed—you could just safely pass out on your sofa.

Dinner conversation was strangely medical. Yeah, when together old farts always opine on the latest physical ailments, health catastrophes, and doctor admonitions. We never talked about that when we were younger except to brag about our crashes and road rash. Lamberto and Joe are on a real health kick since retirement. I know exactly what they’re going through. When I retired I was no longer eating greasy food from the student food hall, plus no longer sitting at a desk for nine hours a day. The reduction in stress did wonders for my blood pressure too. And I lost weight even though I was no longer commuting to work by bike. Now they’re prepping for a half-marathon in Canada and doing cross-training: cycling, running, hiking. And, ahem, fueling.

The main topic of discussion was diabetes and prediabetes. That and high cholesterol and blood pressure. The only thing missing was stopping smoking. Speaking of which, nowadays I don’t know of anyone in the club who smokes. If they do, they are totally in the closet. In contrast, in the early days of the club there didn’t seem to be any contradiction between doing a ride and lighting up a cig afterwards (or even before). I recall a ride where one member was riding along AND smoking a cigarette! I recently came across a picture from the very early days of the club and one of the four founders, Brady Ennis, had a cigarette in hand. I’m not sure what that means—maybe that smoking is really hard to quit or like Coke things go better with it, even cycling.

The other topic was the history of the club picnic, probably because it was uncommonly cool for Contra Costa and the picnic suffers from the same problem and also because the play areas at the community center brought up memories of Wanderson’s dildo toss. Of course, I had to opine at length about the picnic since logorrhea is my middle name and I happen to be the only person left in the club who remembers the gory details (and has the evidence). The theme of the club picnic over the years has been to find a place where it’s actually summery and people will neither freeze nor desiccate. That’s why the location has hopped from Golden Gate Park (chilly), China Camp (okay but far away), Sam P. Taylor (okay until it was swelteringly hot), Briones (was hot), Redwood Park (okay), Orinda Oaks (was incredibly hot!), Mill Valley (too shady) and now at Tunnel Tops. So far Tunnel Tops seems to be working. But like Golden Gate Park all it will take is one inclement “summer” day and the club will want to relocate to someplace warmer and sunnier. My vote is for Coyote Point down the Peninsula. Roger S pointed out that there are new parks with barbecue grills in SF near the Chase Center.

Amidst all of this Oliver was resolutely attentive yet not begging. Acting as his verbal advocate I asked Joe if any of the tidbits of bratwurst on his plate would perhaps be an appropriate reward for his inestimable patience. Joe relented and gave him some. You only have so many meals left in life.

Oliver was also the subject of attention of one toddler whose father wisely kept her at arm’s length from him. Oliver seemed unfazed by the attention. Although Oliver doesn’t bite, he does growl. He didn’t though. Joe was concerned that the young girl would strangle Oliver in a love hug or poke out his eyes.

It started to get dark. Despite the immersive conversation the plates were now bare, the glasses empty, and it was the appropriate time to bid adieu. Although it was an unusually cool evening, we did not avail ourselves of the fire pits. Everyone had extra layers to stay cozy and no one was shivering. Next time I guarantee it will be hot. We are thinking we might start our next Happy Hour ride in Walnut Creek and dine there or head down to Danville, which of course will mean having to ride after eating. I’m not sure I’m “hot” on that idea…

Alas I’m not clever enough to have coined that caption. The credit goes to Fast and Fabulous NYC, a somewhat moribund LGBTQ+ cycling club. Apropos of Roger’s and my rides I’ve stolen their motto. I don’t think that when Lance said “It’s not about the bike” that he meant it was really about the food. But maybe it is. Over many years of cycling my focus has shifted lower and lower and I’m not sure if I’ve hit bottom yet but I’m eager to find out. Over many years of cycling experiencially what I’m seeking has shifted, from PowerBars to…

I used to ride like a demon: lots of miles was never enough, fast was never fast enough, and hill intervals and big mountains were fun. Then I discovered cycle touring and it all fell apart. I was on a commercial bike tour, my first ever, and the group was mostly people like me. After two days of beating each other up, the brightest bulb in the group (as well as the fastest), a racer from Stockton, stuffed a Sony Discman and two small speakers in his jersey pocket and we went up Monte Baldo near Lake Garda listening to Pavarotti arias. We slowed down. A lot. And had a much better time. We actually looked at the scenery instead of the wheel in front of us. The combination of cycling in the mountains of Italy while listening to Pavarotti was near-perfection. Then stopping for an Italian lunch was perfection. That set the tone for the rest of the tour and forever changed how I viewed cycling and its possibilities.

Two years later we were on another cycling tour, this time in Piemonte, and every single day we stopped for a big lunch—I mean really big, like what you’d have for dinner, multiple courses—and it was never less than an hour and a half. The food was remarkable, revelatory, and the thought of regressing to Clif bars and bananas when home was absurd. I used to go on rides and stopping to refuel was a nuisance we abided. The idea of actual food when riding was superfluous. Not anymore. In the evening there was always a dinner that surpassed the lunch. Ride, eat delicious food, ride, eat even more delicious food, sleep.

The chef José Andrés said, “You really have so many meals left in life, you know.” So make the most of each one. And look forward to the next one. For cyclists perhaps it’s ‘you really have just so many rides left in life.’ So make the most of each one as well.

This month’s Happy Hour in the East Bay visited Tropa in Lafayette. Tropa is a “modern” Filipino restaurant. I’m not sure exactly what that means because other than a stray lumpia or two I’m not familiar with Filipino cuisine. Fortunately we had Lamberto to help us decode the menu.

Of course before we ate we did a ride. It was the usual: up the Lamorinda trail and back. As in March we had a heat wave to literally warm things up for us. Much of the Lamorinda trail has tree cover and in the late afternoon heat it is marvelous: warmth with the sensation of cooling down to a pleasant medium. Strollers and doggers were out but for the most part the trail was deserted, allowing us to enjoy it without running afoul of other users. And when we did, we rang our bike bells to greet them.

The turnaround point is Moraga Common. This time of year folks are bringing the barbecue to the park for a little evening cookout and the smell of charring meat whetted our appetites.

Then the long, gentle descent back to Lafayette.

Tropa occupies the former location of The Hideout Kitchen that Roger and I used to take Social A riders to. Hideout got noticed and it became packed and had long waits. Then Hideout relocated to Fiesta Square in Lafayette where the Lafayette Public Garden and Tutu’s also sit. There it had a much bigger venue (and a much pricier menu). I’m not sure when Tropa appeared; Lamberto and Joe had mentioned dining at a pretty good Filipino restaurant in town. That piqued my interest because (a) I don’t know anything about Filipino food, and (b) it’s maybe a sign that insular Lafayette is becoming more cosmopolitan. That restaurant was Tropa.

Our table was waiting for us. Tropa has a pleasant outdoor patio under the trees. Main part of the restaurant as well as the outdoor venue are set off from the street, making for a surprising quiet and seclusion. Their menu isn’t long and Lamberto had to give us the executive summary of each main dish. My god, they had “double fried” petrale sole! It sounded delicious but perhaps a bit much, so I ordered another fish dish, Kilawin, that turned out unexpectedly to be like a poke. It was interesting, tasty, and uh large! The adobo fried rice was heavenly. The table next to us had the adobo sticky ribs—they smelled amazing. But again, maybe a bit much. Roger wanted the petrale sole but was thinking exactly as I was: delicious but too much food. So he ordered an eggplant dish. Chris got the grilled octopus and after his first bite declared it was perfect. He said it’s easy to overcook octopus and turn it into rubber; Tropa cooked them exactly right. I can’t recall what Joe and Lamberto ordered but they were huge.

I’d go back. But I’d get the double fried petrale sole or the adobo sticky ribs the next time and totally ‘pig’ out. Lamberto felt that Filipino food wasn’t generally the healthiest. Maybe he meant it was full of delicous fat. Sounds good to me! Pig certainly seems to be a mainstay. But it is also for Chinese (as least that’s what I grew up on) and no one complains about it being unhealthy.

Next month we’re checking out the Canyon Club Brewery in Moraga and our ride will be long—16 miles.

Can you sink any lower when your motivation to do a ride is just to get a great meal? Or, is it the other way around: an exquisite meal can elevate any ride? Such was the case with David’s joint desire to go to Treasure Island by bike and to get another meal at Jungdon Katsu in Emeryville. When David broached the idea of this ride with me, he admitted as much: the tonkatsu at Jungdon is ‘omigawd good and I wanna go there again’. Since David hadn’t ridden his bike to Treasure Island heretofore, that became the cover for our chow-down.

I had never heard of Jungdon Katsu but I’ve eaten my share of tonkatsu. Tonkatsu is everywhere in Japan although originally it was an importation from Europe. It’s an adaptation of a breaded veal cutlet or schnitzel given a Japanese twist and using pork instead. We don’t give a second thought about adopted foods because almost all American food dishes originate from somewhere else. But Japan has a long, autochthonous culinary history that has choosily but warmly accepted some imports from India, China, and now Europe and the Americas. Karē raisu (curry rice) is now a Japanese food even though it came from India; gyoza are nothing more than a Japanese version of potstickers; Japanese milk bread or pan is derived from Portuguese bread. What makes tonkatsu Japanese is the use of panko breading for an exquisitely crunchy crust.

Although you can get a few other dishes there, Jungdon specializes in tonkatsu. But it does have other kinds of katsu—chicken, fish, and some vegan and vegetarian kinds you’d never see in Japan, not even in shojin ryori (Buddhist cuisine).

I’ve driven through Emeryville hundreds of time and it was almost always to get someplace else such as the start of a bike ride. Roger and I have been to Emeryville a bunch of times in order to ride on the Alex Zuckerman path to Treasure Island or to lead a tour of the Port of Oakland. Emeryville is one of those Bay Area cities you drive through and have no reason to stop there; think: San Leandro or Colma. Well, there is a ‘there’ there. Back in the day Emeryville was one big, blue-collar warehouse district—similar to South of Market in the 1960s. When real estate in SF started to go astronomical in the early 1980s an artist friend took me over to Emeryville to look for an empty warehouse he could buy to use as his studio/residence. He eventually bought a place there. So for a short time Emeryville was the halfway house for artists priced out of SF. With the tech boom the warehouses are long gone and replaced by high density housing, tech offices, and a small retail sector to support those folks.

I know little of the history of Jungdon Katsu except that it originally was a restaurant in the town of Danville to which we ride often. But it burned down. The site of the current Jungdon Katsu seems to have been another Japanese restaurant and Jungdon took it over and converted it to katsu. Incidentally, in Japan it’s very common for eating establishments to specialize in just one type of food. A place might serve just ramen, another place just udon, or another place just sushi or just okonomiyaki. So Jungdon does just katsu and probably as a concession to American culture relents and offers a few other things.

David wanted to do this ride as a midweek ride because Jungdon has lines out the door on weekends. His plan was to get there at lunch time hopefully before a crowd developed.

Contrary to the weather forecast it was bright, sunny, and showing signs of being a comfortable day. I rode over the hill from Orinda for the 10:30 AM start because I knew I was going to pig out and burning more calories before the food carnage was my safety valve. Jungdon is a small, modest venue right in front of a bus stop for the “Emery-Go-Round” free bus. Soon everybody showed up. Peter again drove up all the way from San Jose, quite a feat. It turned out everybody else drove there too—Joe and Lamberto from Walnut Creek, David and Cathy from SF. We were all ignorant of the parking situation in Emeryville. Word to the wise: metered parking is not cheap. J&L discovered that the public lot down the block was, gasp, free! If you come to Jungdon, you are advised.

We took off and around the corner encountered the Longest Stop Light in the Known Universe. I am not exaggerating: we were there for well over five minutes. You have to cross the Amtrak tracks and naturally we got there when the crossing guards came down and a short Amtrak train came by. Then another Amtrak came by and then crossing guards went up. Minutes passed with a red light. Nothing happened. The pickup driver in front of us gave up and did a U-turn to escape waiting for Godot. Doesn’t he realize that the rail line goes north-south and he’ll just have to cross the rails somewhere else? A lesson in impatience. With both trains long gone the light was still red. We thought it was broken. Two cycles of lights for the other lanes came and went and ours was still red. Peter and David gave up and went through the light and crossed the tracks to the next intersection. The light finally changed and we began our crawl through E-town to the Bay Bridge bike path entrance.

Emeryville has a lively restaurant and shopping district close to 101. I was surprised that Emeryville has a protected lane on the main drag, Shellmound, and lots of lights for peds to get across and to slow down cars.

David had never ridden onto the bridge. The entrance is directly off southbound Shellmound just past the Ikea. If you don’t pay attention you’ll miss it since there are no large signs announcing its presence. Once on the Zuckerman path things calmed down immensely and we were able to double up and chat amiably. There were almost no other users on the trail. The brisk headwind had the benefit of clearing out the air and the sky was crystal blue. The deafening roar of the cars on the bridge was everpresent, the one buzzkill of riding on the bridge.

We stopped to use the portapotty on the Zuckerman path and some concluded it was, uh, challenging and demurred. There is a nicer restroom on Yerba Buena; it actually gets cleaned!

I hadn’t ridden to TI since the road down to the island had been reconfigured. Instead of Treasure Island Road, which was only moderately steep, we have an ‘improved’ path on Macalla. Now cyclists must drop under the new bridge and do a short grunt to get to the top of Macalla before taking a very steep descent. I was on the brakes all the way down. While we were descending it wasn’t lost on me that this was the way we would have to return. Long ago on a lark Roger and I went up Macalla and afterwards concluded that we’d never do it again since Treasure Island Road was so much better. More on that later.

On TI we actually didn’t do much ‘farting around’ as David had hoped. The views were of course spectacular on such a clear day. We did the selfie thing. Someone asked what else was on TI. The answer is, not much except housing. (Note: there are two decent places to grab a bit, Aracely and Mersea, but they don’t have katsu.) Somehow TI reminded me of Rikers Island. (You do the math.) Climate change is going to make TI a very interesting place to live in about fifty years. We’ll get a picture of that beforehand by observing what happens to New Orleans.

Before anyone could suggest another place to explore, I exclaimed, “I’m hungry!” and that was enough to trigger everyone to head back to Emeryville. But first we had to get up to the bridge.

I wonder whose bright idea it was to close Treasure Island Road and force cyclists to go up Macalla. As we rolled along the waterfront David craned his neck upward and asked, “Is that the road we came down??” “Yes,” I said, “and it’s the only way to get back.” If you didn’t know beforehand, you certainly know when you’re going up Macalla that its construction must have been an expediency because it’s a friggin’ solid and constant 17 percent grade. It’s certainly “above category”, more like “WTF” category. The one crumb thrown to cyclists is that at the bottom four switchbacks have been carved into the cliff to reduce the gradient. You have of course the option to continue on the road. But no sane person does. The switchbacks are rather nice because they’re well landscaped with coastal flora, colorful and redolent with coastal sage. There were gardeners working on it as we climbed.

All good things come to an end and unfortunately on Macalla you’re only about a sixth or seventh of the way up the crazy road when the switchbacks vanish. Why didn’t they continue? Maybe the developer ran out of money (because you know the City wouldn’t spend the money to do this.)

This is when experience is important. Not only did I know we were going to have to go up Macalla but I had to go up another 17% grade, Lomas Cantadas, from our house over the Berkeley hills to Jungdon. I had my road bike with a low gear of 30×34. It got me up Umunhum and it was going to get me through this ride. Whilst I solemnly glided up the hill, the carnage raged behind me. I saw Peter dismount and start walking. Lamberto unfortunately couldn’t get into his lowest gear but somehow grunted out the whole thing. Joe was gasping like an asthmatic when he arrived at the top. From there it was back to the Zuckerman path but not before you have to cross the exit ramp for traffic heading to TI. Another great place to get creamed by a car—be careful. Then it was all downhill back to Ikea, a really nice grade, and I coasted the entire way.

Jungdon was waiting for us and there was no crowd or line. We were able to take over a couple of its outdoor tables. Roger, who didn’t ride, was waiting for us. We had already looked at the menu online and knew what we wanted. I wanted the full Japanese treatment so I got a curry rice with a tonkatsu and miso soup; Roger got the dark meat tonkatsu as did David; Cathy had the chicken katsu; Lamberto and Joe both got the fish katsu (which I was very curious about). Peter being leery of gluten avoided the panko and got a Japanese potato salad and some fried vegetables. David had warned us that the portions were large and he was right. I don’t recall ever getting a tonkatsu meal with more than one cutlet; Jungdon gives you two and they aren’t small ones either. It was super crunchy!

We know we’ll be back and we’ll know where we can park for free next time. Maybe we’ll just go to the vista point on the Zuckerman path and skip Macalla.

I think everyone was glad they didn’t have to cycle after lunch. Like a snake digesting a large rat we were, uh, incapacitated temporarily. The owner came out and thanked us for dining at her establishment. We told her we had come over to ride to TI because we wanted to eat at her place. She smiled. Peter told her about gluten-free panko he gets at Whole Foods. If he brought some, would she consent to use it? “Sure!” she said. You know Peter is coming back for tonkatsu!

As Roger and I were leaving, a passerby said, “Hey, was that the Different Spokes ride at Jungdon?” It turns out a club member, Aaron, who lives across the street from Jungdon saw us clustered outside. I told him he should have played hooky and come along. “But isn’t the road to TI kinda steep?” he said. Oh, we’ll have to show him in person next time. But why would he go when he can always just walk across the street to get his tonkatsu fix?

After the summer-like weather in March, this month’s Happy Hour returned to normal spring temperatures much to Roger S’s disappointment. Hoping to escape another typical day in San Francisco, he scooted over to join our East Bay fun group for another short ride on the Lamorinda MUP with a concluding dinner at El Talpense in Lafayette. He wasn’t the only member from afar: Peter, who resides in San Jose, endured the commute traffic to join us! That’s the “problem” for the Happy Hour ride: unless you live in the East Bay, you are probably in for some hellish traffic to get to Lafayette and you will need that ride and the food coma afterwards to reset your mood and blood pressure.

Roger S dealt with the commuter crush by (a) coming over early, and (b) using BART. The latter is not Roger’s usual means of transport but on a weekday at commute time, the bridge is a hopeless mess. BART was the wiser choice. Plus, he was able to get in a longer ride and then met us at Moraga Common. So it was a win-win. This was also not Peter’s first rodeo. He knew the routine: head out way earlier than you think you’ll need to get somewhere at commute time. He got to Lafayette with time to spare and indulged his other interest by going into the flyfishing store next door to El Talpense to kill time.

My husband Roger was hoping to join us for the ride. But a trivial leg injury had turned into a medical emergency when it got infected and now he’s sporting a wound that will take months to fully heal. Although he got released to ride just the day before, he wisely decided to sit this one out and joined us just for the meal post-ride, which is really the point of this “ride” anyway.

We hadn’t seen Peter in well over a year. He was going to come to the Pool Party in 2025 but then got Covid and had to back out. (Thank you, Peter!) Since we’d seen him last he’s had a new job, a new bike, and a bunch of other life changes. It takes a lot of patience to be a South Bay member. Since the club (other than the ALC crowd) infrequently hosts a ride in the South Bay anymore, you all have to schlep north if you want to hang with the cool kids. When Sharon Lum, who also lives in SJ, was more active in the club, she did a lot of cheerleading for our South Bay contingent. David Gaus used to do a lot to hold the freak flag high for us as well. But since his job is like flesh-eating bacteria—all-consuming—he hasn’t been able to lead rides in the South Bay. For those of you who live south of Mountain View and are still members of the club, maybe lightning will strike some club member and they’ll get inspired to lead a ride in your neck of the woods. It’s probably been about five years since the one that David last led. I keep thinking I’m going to head south and do the Tierra Bella metric route or David’s old San Juan Bautista Grade-Castroville-Aromas loop. But it’s so far away…

It wasn’t chilly and it wasn’t hot—it was just right, about 70F. The ride was, as usual, very pleasant and the trail wasn’t crowded at all. Unlike previous iterations we whizzed up the trail. This was partly prompted by leaving late (hey, it’s a Different Spokes ride—would you expect otherwise??) and partly by Peter hitting the afterburners. Joe and Lamberto were no slouches either: they’ve been riding more and doing a lot of hiking and are even planning on running a half-marathon. In my case I was riding my road bike instead of my old beater bike so I was able to keep up. Peter showed off the digital “bell” in his cycling computer as we passed other trail users.

Roger S was waiting for us at Moraga Common. After a pit stop we headed back enjoying a nice coast downhill after St. Mary’s College. And because of the recent rain we even had water running down the ‘secret’ waterfall next to the trail!

At El Talpense, which is right on Lafayette’s main drag, Mt. Diablo Boulevard, Roger had arrived and gotten our outdoor table. Unlike in much of San Francisco, dining al fresco in Contra Costa does not require a down jacket. Lafeyette, whether by chance or efforts of the local Chamber of Commerce, is turning into a mini-gourmet ghetto. Well, maybe that’s an exaggeration. But the number of eating establishments seems to have exploded along Mt. Diablo Boulevard giving us many options for Happy Hour. El Talpense is a sister restaurant to the first one in Berkeley. Years ago the Lafeyette site used to be an excellent California cuisine restaurant, whose name I no longer recall. But the landlord raised the rent, and the husband-and-wife team relocated. In the interim it’s been a Middle Eastern restaurant; it too vanished. Apparently El Talpense thought they’d try their chops in Conta Costa and opened this second branch.

Roger and I trialed this place about a month ago. To be honest, we thought it was only fair. This is an ongoing years-old problem with our area: really good Mexican and Central American food is rare. Maybe it’s the expensive real estate, maybe it’s the whiteness of the local population, maybe it’s something altogether different. (Although El Jarro directly across the street is a surprisingly good Oaxacan joint.) After living near the Mission and being able to get inexpensive and excellent Mexican food, the Orinda area is a let-down. But El Talpense has a very nice venue and the service is very good. Plus, for the area and with food prices heading skyward the menu prices are reasonable.

Despite the brevity of our ride, there sure was a lot of food being consumed. Joe, so to speak, ‘took the cake’ by ordering a three-item plate that looked like it was a serving platter. Let’s just say the portions were generous all around. Roger’s plate of carnitas was also, uh, generous. This time I ordered fish tacos and they were excellent and tasty. Previously I had had a burrito and it was just okay. That said it’s hard to make a burrito really stand out other than by making it massive. But I’ll come back for the fish tacos!

Of course over dinner (and the ride) there was a lot of catching up to do. On the pet front everybody’s favorite small honorary humans were still alive and kicking despite their ailments. Lamberto has a new sled, a Specialized Roubaix that he got on sale. Coincidentally Peter has the same bike but the previous year’s version, which looked identical. Ah, spring means new bikes. Roger S had new cycling kicks. He ditched his old Sidis, which never were very comfortable for him, for some non-brand name shoes he got on the Internet. They have a much wider and taller toebox that don’t scrunch his toes. He said they’re even comfortable to walk in. We caught up on each other’s various ailments. (What else do old farts do when they get together??) Joe and Lamberto have been volunteering to do some trash clean up and Joe had a nasty run-in with poison oak necessitating a trip to the doctor. Peter it turns out is apparently still suffering some after-effects of his Covid bout last summer though you wouldn’t know it by how fast he was going.

We practically closed up El Talpense. It was getting dark and the owners rolled down the windows between the indoors and outdoor patio. One small group arrived to sit on the patio just as we left but otherwise business looked done for the day. That’s life in the suburbs: everybody is pretty much done doing stuff by 8 PM and the sidewalks roll up. We bid our farewells. Next month we’re going to the Filipino restaurant down the street, Tropa. Oh right, and we’ll ride beforehand!