I will remain isolated until there’s a vaccine for the coronavirus.

I’ll continue my daily exercise routine, a bicycle ride in the hills or a hike through nearby neighborhoods. But I’ll maintain wide physical distancing, avoiding heavily trafficked routes so I can use the street to separate myself from other walkers.

Beyond that, while President Trump pushes recklessly to reopen the economy and Gov. Gavin Newsom plans a more-measured approach, I’m staying home, probably for at least another year, maybe two.

No trips to the store — thank you courageous workers at Instacart, Amazon and UPS — and no physical visits with my close friends and relatives except in the driveway with significant spacing between us.

I have little choice. I’m a member of that higher-risk population. I’m 64 and have a lowered immune system due to cancer treatment I underwent 15 years ago.

There are about 73 million people in the United States age 60 or older. That’s 22% of the population. The 60s are the age where the fatality rate for those who develop COVID-19 begins increasing rapidly: 1.3% for ages 50-59, 4.0% for ages 60-69, 8.6% for ages 70-79, and 13.4% for ages 80 and older.

We’re the ones with the greatest risk of experiencing a lonely death similar to drowning, perhaps hooked to a ventilator in the intensive care unit of a hospital where no visitors are allowed, as the staff scrounges for masks and other personal protective gear.

No thank you. As long as I can stick this out, I’ll stay home.

Oh sure, there’s talk of therapies to treat the disease. But, thus far, we’re still in the scientific study phase. Some talk about herd immunity — the notion that the virus will eventually run out of people to infect as more are exposed to the virus. But the carnage to get there — potentially hundreds of thousands of deaths in California alone — makes that a ridiculous discussion.

Meanwhile, we haven’t come close to reaching the necessary level of testing that should be a baseline requirement before talking of reopening the economy. As a result, essential data on case levels remains elusive.

Also, as many as half of those infected don’t show symptoms. So, without widespread testing devoid of the current problem of false negatives, people can’t know whether they’re walking around with the virus, potentially spreading it to others.

To the extent we are making progress in slowing the coronavirus, it’s largely due to the sheltering and physical distancing mandated in key states. It seems that, in the long run, the only real protection, especially for at-risk people like me, is a vaccine, which is thought to be 12 to 18 months away from approval so widespread manufacturing and distribution could begin.

It’s a daunting notion that this might be my life, and my partner’s, for the next year or two. I’ll miss my friend’s wedding in September at which I was supposed to be his best man. My granddaughter will enter high school in the fall, assuming schools are open, and the closest we’ll get is via phone or Facetime.

But I recognize that I’m fortunate. I’m relatively healthy, still employed, and I can work from home. So many others are not so lucky, unemployed or forced to work in risky jobs, and, in too many cases, without a home.

In our household, we try to maintain normalcy. We have virtual visits on weekend nights with close friends and family. Before this started, I’d never heard of Zoom. Now, it’s not just a noun in my vocabulary, it’s also a verb.

When the region and state begin to reopen, I’m sure there will be a great temptation to join the emergence. The question is how much risk I am willing to take.

To get a handle on that last week, I wrote my doctor who provides follow-up monitoring after my past cancer. “Hi Dan,” he wrote back. “I would consider you at higher risk for a serious bout of COVID given your medical conditions, particularly your history of cancer, cancer treatments, and low WBC (white blood cell) count. I would be cautious about exposure.”

That confirmed my suspicions. Indeed, the more I learn about the disease, the lower my willingness to roll the dice. For the foreseeable future, I’m staying put.