tradeoffs

I've had a vehicle now for 32 days.

In this time, I've logged my two lowest weeks of mileage since starting tracking it on April 8 - but not because I've been supporting myself via truck instead of bicycle. In reviewing my Bike Log I can pinpoint a few reason:

• two days immediately following the purchase of the truck, I did not ride at all (playing with my new toy?)
  
• the following week, I was off the bike for four days - Adria and I went to Tahoe that week, and I was off-bike for three days beforehand, then rode hard in Tahoe for two days, then stayed off-bike for one day after returning


• the third week after the purchase, Adria and I went to Humboldt for a family affair and I did not ride

So, I'm OK with how few miles I put in since buying a vehicle, and I don't connect it directly to having access to a vehicle. I think all other things being held constant, I still would have had a couple of low-mileage weeks even if I hadn't bought the truck.

And all that got me thinking about tradeoffs.

I can leave for work 20 minutes later in the mornings if I choose to drive. So, the benefit of driving is extra time. Chilling at home before leaving for work has always been valuable to me. My day is set up so much better when I don't rush out the door for work, but instead enjoy the solitude that morning presents, enjoy some good coffee while reading, make a nice breakfast, or practice yoga.

Then I thought about the cost of that tradeoff. There's the financial cost - $4 round-trip, plus wear-and-tear on the vehicle. There's the mental cost - waiting in lines of cars and not being in control of my world, and the stress that creates. There's the environmental cost - short trips put an inordinate amount of greenhouse gases into the atmosphere. There's the emotional cost - the way I feel when I arrive at work after driving versus riding is the exact opposite of empowering (just knowing that I've ridden for 45 minutes before 7am...super-good feeling).

So, yeah, the benefit of driving to work isn't worth the cost. That being said, I also don't regret having bought the vehicle - it affords me many other benefits that are worth the cost. But I also don't regret leaving it sitting in the driveway more mornings than not as I roll down the street on two wheels.

In celebration of my revelation, I share with you some pictures from my commute to and from work today:

The sky that I got to stare into as I rode my bike:The funniest bumper stickers I've seen in a while:
A guy in a lab coat staring at the ocean as two girls walk by:
Actually, the guy isn't real. He's part of a mural on the Shopper's Corner wall:

bikes I've got my eye on

Biomega's bamboo bike - shaft driven (no chain) with bamboo tubing. Bamboo, when properly handled and treated, is stronger than steel. And the hippie in me like's that it's renewable. $10,000.
Locust's folding bike - it's a concept bike, so it's not in production. If I lived in a big city and used multi-modal transport like trains or buses, I'd be all over this.

Nihola's cigar bike - a reverse trike with room for all your goodies and a little freeloader.

Pashley's Guv'nor. Strictly for major style points. Internal gearing, Brooks leather saddle, and brass fitted lugs. Handmade to order. About $2,500.

Sogreni's MountainGoat - just 'cuz.

hiking in the Land of the Condors

I explored Pinnacles National Monument this weekend.

It's a national park, about 60 miles south of Santa Cruz, in the foothills of the Salinas Valley.

My drive took me through the farming towns of Salinas Valley, and as I passed the strawberry, artichoke, and lettuce fields - harvest in full force - I felt grateful for living here.

When I arrived at Pinnacles, I checked in at the ranger's station to pay my parking fee and get the lay of the land. The park ranger robotically pointed out what were probably the two most popular hikes in the park - telling me the mileage, elevation, major land features of each hike, all while cross-referencing her comments to pictures under glass of tourists from the 1970's on the trail. I got the feeling that she had been doing this for a long, long time and that she just wanted to get back to her sandwich, which was sitting on a desk behind the partition around the corner.

When she was describing the second of the most popular trails, the Balconies Trail, she recited "Watch out for rattlesnakes" and "You should have a flashlight for the caves." Then she paused, probably because she knew exactly what was coming next: hiker across the counter squints and tilts head, wondering "do I have a flashlight?", realizes the answer is 'no', then casually looks around the mini-store to see if they sell flashlights, sees that they do, then thinks 'ha! they're not going to gyp me for a plastic flashlight - I can do the caves without a flashlight and save my money!' That was my internal dialogue. What came out was, "Do I have to have a flashlight?" Her answer was another automatic, well-rehearsed silence. Just enough for hiker across the counter to remember the tip that preceeded the flashlight one. So now I'm the pround owner of an overpriced-plastic-lime green flashlight.

As I exited the cool and dark ranger's station - flashlight tucked into my CamelBak, trail map in my hand - the sun and heat hit me and I felt happy to be here.

I chose the steepest, most strenuous route on the map, in an effort get away from as many people as possible. Non-outdoors people may not understand this concept. It's not that hikers are anti-social, but one of the reasons we get outdoors is to enjoy the solitude. That's becoming harder to find, especially on a beautiful, warm, sunny Saturday in a California national park. Besides...trudging along a narrow path through the mountains, single file among a bunch of other people doing the same thing, makes me feel like an extra in a bad war movie where the prisoners are being herded back to the enemy's camp for interrogation.


Turns out that Pinnacles has a great story. The jagged rocks, definitely out of place in this farming valley, are half of a volcano from 200 miles south of here. They got a free ride here millions of years ago due to the shifting of the tectonic plates of the San Andreas fault. Amazing. Violent. Reminds me that we are tiny. AND! Pinnacles is a breeding ground for California condors! They have red heads and large white triangles on the underside of their big-ass wings. My neck hurts this morning from looking up so much trying to spot one. I ended up seeing one near the end of the hike and got a picture of it from a distance. Trust me...her head is red and there are white triangles on her big-ass wings!

So I hiked for over three hours - covered ten miles, and climbed over 5,000 feet! I did an out 'n back along the same route - here's the profile from my GPS:
There were trail sections that were so steep and rocky that handrails were installed and small steps chisled into the rock.



The effort was worth it - this is my favorite view of the day. It's called Machete Ridge.



I also like these two rock formation. What do they look like to you?

These golden grasses were covering a lot of the hills...
...and these lichens were going nuts all over the rocks.

I got off the trail about an hour before sunset - dusty, tired, and a bit dehydrated.

I never did get to use that flashlight.

Commute for a Cause

Check it out: http://www.commuteforacause.blogspot.com

I am raising money for The Homeless Garden Project, by riding my bike.

I am going to contribute ten cents for every mile that I ride my bike - from 5/18 through 11/29.
In this 27 week period, I estimate that I will ride about 1,900 miles. This doesn't include a bike tour that Adria and I are going on in September (from Banff, Cananda to Jackson Hole, Wyoming) that will add about 800 miles.

My goal is to get other people (you and people you know) to contribute, too.

If you're wondering why I'm doing this, what prompted it, what the HGP is all about, and how you can help, you should check out the link above. I will be adding entries to it a couple of times a week.

obstacles

I've ridden trails the last three days - about 60 miles - all in the redwoods of UCSC and Henry Cowell State Park.

Monday was my first trail ride after my crash commuting home last week. I'm pretty much all healed up, except my left hand. It's still really sore when I put pressure on the palm and squeeze my fingers into a fist. Turns out that affected my riding - I crashed two times on my Monday ride.

The first crash happened in the first few miles of my ride. I was just settling in after a short but very steep climb - a couple hundred feet of elevation gain in less than one mile. When you get to the top the terrain changes from steep to very twisty with tight trails. You're able to recover aerobically, but still have to be on your game with your bike handling skills in order to make it through the narrow singletrack.

Then, after the twisty tight section ends, it opens up...but only after you get over this little obstacle - two roots that happen to be exactly the same distance apart as your wheelbase. If you relax (i.e. stop pedalling), and go into it without speed, you're screwed. I know this because I've ridden over this obstacle a few times successfully. But not this time. I approached it, tired from the climb and the twisty section, thinking I could just roll over it. Instead, when my front tire hit the larger root at the top of the trail, I ended up going over the handlebars.

I ended up with both palms on the ground, one foot still clipped into the pedals, and the rear tire sticking straight up into the air! It was really pretty funny, so I took a picture of it. You can see that my left foot is still clipped into the pedal behind me.

After I stopped laughing and tucked the camera back into my jersey I rode on and said to myself, "Maybe I shouldn't be back on a bike yet, especially on trails."

A few miles later I found a trail with a bunch of obstacles. Someone had taken the time to scope out this trail, build these obstacles, huck them deep into the woods, and construct them for everyone to enjoy.

I enjoyed taking pictures of them.

Three shots of someone's idea of black diamond fun...

The approach down a steep downhill section...

...the ramp is only about 16 inches wide....

...and here's the side-view... Another obstacle further down the path.

They chose to give riders a heads up here...

...and then give you direction at the last minute...
The third obstacle.

You've got a choice here, too. Hit the berm, or ride over the teeter-totter...

(Every time I look at these pictures, I think that my brother should use his huge backyard in Texas to build a course for his kids. Think about it, Garrett...a perfect combination of your woodworking skills and landscaping skills. And it will give Mitchell an outlet for his daredevil tendencies. I'm just sayin'...)

On the way back home my second crash happened. I was on a trail off the side of the main fire road, not really paying attention, going sort of fast, when I noticed a little swale. I didn't think much of it until I got closer and realized that it was sharp and deep. I was in no position to bunny hop it, and I knew I couldn't ride through it without going over the bars (again), so I hit the brakes. I ended up doing exactly what I didn't want to do...going over the bars (again). At least this time I managed to unclip myself from the pedals. But not before the handlebar dug into my thigh and gave me this little freshie:

And, yep, I took a picture of the offending swale. Trust me, it's meaner in real-life.
When I was driving home in my new used truck (yep)...
...I was thinking about obstacles.

The dictionary defines an obstacle as something that hinders progress. I sure experienced that on the beginning of my ride when I hit the root and went over my handlebars. But what about the trail with all of the man-made obstacles? What obstacles have I built and put in my own way? How are they hindering my forward progress? And isn't it nice when I recognize a sign before the obstacles hinders me, so I can change my course! How many different paths are there around an obstacle? Can some obstacles be fun? And what about the following day, when I chose to go down the same path, and saw the same obstacles, but approached them with a different outlook?

I'll let you know when I have the answers...

Bike Week, Day One

It's "Bike Week" in Santa Cruz this week.

Or maybe it's "Bike to Work Week", I'm not sure.

If I want, I can get a free donut or bagel on Wednesday morning at some local coffee shops.

Or look at some tricked out bicyles on display downtown on Thursday.

But what I really want to do is compete in the "Commuter Race" tomorrow at 5pm.

It's a "race" between a bicycle and a car - to see who can make it across town fastest - from downtown Santa Cruz to Capitola.

I do that ride at least once or twice a week. Sometimes on my fixed gear, sometimes on my single-speed. Sometimes loaded down with panniers, sometimes with a bag slung over my shoulder.

And nearly every time I keep pace with the same car the entire way. It will pass me on the downhill curve approaching the beach at the Harbor, and I will catch it as it sits in line to go right at the stop sign. I will pass it, briefly, then it will pass me on the short uphill that passes in front of Five Branches Chinese medicine clinic. Then it sits at the stop light by the Mexican food restaurant, usually to go left, where I catch up to it. And track stand at the red light. And then it's all over from there. The light turns green and we both go left, me first in line always. It gets to wait in line. On the bridge over the harbor. At the stoplight in front of Seabright Brewery. Maybe it passes me on the short straight-away approaching the stop sign overlooking the Beach Boardwalk. But then I slip in front of it while it waits in line. I get a head start and power down the hill, hitting speeds up to 30 miles per hour. Then another handful of stop signs and stop lights before we reach downtown. At the same time.

So, yeah, I wanna try it tomorrow and see what happens. We'll see.

Today I rode 22 miles - to work in the morning, a couple of errands at lunch, home after work, then back to work to get something I forgot, then up Hwy 9 to Felton.

Caution: Wet Paint

I was riding to Felton on Hwy 9 on Monday.

It had been raining all day.
And all day the day before.
And half the day the day before that.


So I was used to the rain, and kinda took it for granted. That, combined with my mental state during the ride - I was in LaLa-Land (I was making a list in my head of all the things I have to be grateful for, one of which included the privilege of being a bike commuter and being able to bike through the redwoods every day on my way home. You'll see the irony of my thinking in about 12 words) - made me ignore my surroundings and crash my Soma for the first time.


Adria's gentle reminder to me after she inspected and dressed my wounds: "You really have to be present when you're riding Hwy 9, Clay."


Yeah, I wasn't present, so the the left side of my body and the left side of my bike got a gentle reminder.


Here's how it happened: There's a spot on Hwy 9 with a long slash of dried paint - maybe 30 feet long. I've always noticed it on my rides, and never paid it much attention. Not until this crash. When I limped up the road to snap this picture, it became obvious how the paint ended up on the road. I think the road crew that painted the barrier ended up dropping the paint on the road, as well. The red "x" marks the spot where I crashed.


So, it turns out that paint gets really slick in wet conditions. Note to self.

Wet paint, combined with the fact that I was not "present" and was going downhill on a curve with full panniers was too much; physics took over, and I ended up sliding about fifteen feet on my left side, the bike on top of me. Yes, I had my helmet on, and yes, the monster truck that was 50 feet behind me didn't hit me.

That night, shortly after washing down three Advil with a big class of cheap red wine, I was reflecting on the accident. And that was the only moment that I called it an "accident", because "accident" implies that it could not have been prevented.

Then I thought, ",Hmmmm...if it wasn't an accident then I wonder if there's a new bike commuting law that could be created from this." Turns out there's not. That law was already created - it's #2 here (http://clayton-ryon.blogspot.com/2009/02/four-laws-of-bike-commuting.html). Note to self.

Anyway, the monster truck driver was very nice - he stopped in the middle of the road to make sure I was OK. I waved him off as I shook the cobwebs out. As I was picking up my bike and moving it off the road, I looked down the hill and noticed that the monster truck had pulled off the road. I think he was waiting to make sure I was OK. That made me happy. It also reinforced a recent observation about monster truck drivers...but more on that later.

Here's a picture of the injuries immediately after the accident. A strawberry under my left kneecap where I hit the road. Roadrash on my left shin from sliding on the asphalt. A shallow cut on my right calf from the chainring. (BTW, this is why some bicyclists shave their legs. It has nothing to do with aerodynamics, everything to do with giving the road less stuff to grip when you crash.)

And this little gem on my hip. I took this picture at home, not on the side of the road. :)The bike took a little hit, too. Cracked the hoods on the handlebars where the shifter attaches...
...and my rear hub is making a funky sound. And the brakes are a little jacked up.

In addition to reminding me about my laws of bike commuting, I took a few other learnings from this crash:

FACT: The scariest part of crashing is the split-second before you crash - when you know you're going down and you think you may be able to prevent it.
FACT: That feeling is a rush (...afterwards, when you're OK).
FACT: When you crash, you become very present. What you did at work that day and what you're going to make for dinner that night no longer concern you. What if we could be that present every moment of our life!
FACT: There's something very manly about sitting naked on the side of the tub with a stiff drink watching your blood swirl down the drain.