Showing posts with label Low-Key Hillclimb. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Low-Key Hillclimb. Show all posts

November 26, 2015

Thanks for the Snow

The Low-Key Hillclimb series concluded with the traditional Thanksgiving-morning climb to the top of Mount Hamilton. Snowfall would close access to the mountain, and rain would cancel the climb.

The Low-Key Hillclimb finish line at Lick Observatory, Mt. Hamilton, San Jose, California
For the fourteenth time, the weather cooperated. [So to speak.]

Ice-encrusted pine needles, Mt. Hamilton, San Jose, California
The morning sun slipped icicles off the exposed pine tree at the summit ... but not all of them. It was that cold.

Bracingly cold (32F), with snow lingering from Tuesday night's storm. The roads were clear. [Mostly.]

Snow-covered shrubbery at Lick Observatory, Mt. Hamilton, San Jose, California
Ninety-one souls were brave enough to tackle the climb—a little more than half the number who turned out last year. The urge to stay nestled all snug in one's bed can get the best of anyone. [Not me.]

November 8, 2014

WLOD

An historic day in the annals of Bay Area cycling: With permission, our Low-Key Hillclimbers finished at the highest accessible point on Mount Umunhum—the fabled White Line Of Death.

Bicycle downhill from the White Line Of Death on Mt. Umunhum Road, Sierra Azul Open Space Preserve, Los Gatos, California
There are clear “No Trespassing” signs planted below the line, which marks a border between the Sierra Azul Open Space Preserve and private property. The “line” itself is a broad stripe across the pavement, plainly visible in satellite images. The white is aging to gray, but it's definitively edged in red.

I have climbed to the line before, but always felt uneasy about lingering. The view is better lower down, anyway. (The best view would be at the top, but we can't go there ... yet.) My volunteer post today was at the line, affording ample time for some amateur archaeology before the first cyclists arrived. Till now, I had never noticed the fading messages broadly stenciled in red on the white background.

The oldest warning was “NO TRESPASSING,” the paint now barely discernible. Subsequent additions included “NO HIKERS” and “NO BIKES,” accompanied by an image of a bicycle with a giant “X” through it. It takes some careful study to see all of that, but it's there. For now.

There is a brand-new parking lot (and pit toilets) at the trailhead for Bald Mountain, but the gate controlling access to the upper road is still in place. And locked. Except for today, when we were fortunate that a landowner opened it and granted the bicycles free passage up the road to The Line—no need for riders to dismount and thread through the narrow pedestrian opening.

It turns out that the area was recently re-surveyed, as work progresses toward opening the top of the mountain for public access, and the actual property line is a bit higher up the hill. [Bwa-ha-ha.] The signs will move, and perhaps a new white line will be painted. The original WLOD will disappear sooner (if they choose to black it out) or later (when they resurface the road, someday).

Today, it marked the finish for 119 cyclists tackling one of the toughest-rated hill climbs in the Bay Area.

November 22, 2012

Low-Key Thanksgiving

Mount Hamilton on Thanksgiving Day. It is a tradition.

Thanks, Mother Nature, for such a beautiful, warm day.

Thanks, Lick Observatory, for access to the top of the mountain and your gracious hospitality.

I chose not to charge up the mountain at full speed on my bicycle; instead, I played photographer. I was thankful to avoid the suffering, and 143 cyclists were thankful for my support.

Thanks, Low-Key Hillclimbers, for sharing your energy, enthusiasm, and good will.

October 6, 2012

Monte Bello

What attire could be more fitting for the first Low-Key Hillclimb of the season than my newest jersey, Mont Ventoux?

The last time I set out to climb Montebello, my rear derailleur cable snapped. New cables stretch, they say; these have stretched, and stretched, and stretched some more. The net result was that I had few usable gears (again); I fiddled with the barrel adjusters as best I could, to ensure that my lowest gears were attainable. I need to enroll in Bicycle Mechanics 101.

Over the years, I have accepted that the best way for me to support the Low-Key Hillclimbs is in a volunteer capacity. I was persuaded, though, to ride today. My bicycle was delivered earlier this week, with plenty of time to reassemble it. No excuses.

The only rider I caught and passed was a guy on a mountain bike who was not part of our event. [Sigh.] My finicky front derailleur would not shift onto the big chainring, which meant I could not use the less-steep segments of the climb to full advantage.

Coming out of the initial steep section, a rider in a team kit passed me and commented "Wow, you could pop a wheelie on that!" With my heart rate at 182 bpm, I was breathing too hard to emit even one syllable in response; he laughed. "I'll take that as a yes!"

Why am I doing this, again?

Photo by Luther Pugh
Nearing the summit, I enjoyed a steady stream of encouragement from descending riders. Some recognized me and called out my name; at least a dozen cheered me on. "Good job!" "Bravo!" "Well done!"

That is why I am doing this, again.

The Low-Key crowd includes some of the finest people you would ever want to meet.

November 24, 2011

Cloud Computing

For the 10 days leading up to today, the forecast was dire. Would the Thanksgiving Day Low-Key Mt. Hamilton Hillclimb be canceled for the first time in history?

Fair weather or foul, I was prepared to volunteer for this one. At my current pace, the volunteer crew would be lucky to make it home in time for dessert.

I would bet that I was not the only one hoping for rain this morning. The roads in my neighborhood were dry when the call was made at 6 a.m.: The climb is ON!

The roads at the base of Mt. Hamilton were not dry, but the clouds teased us with glimpses of blue sky (once or twice). More than 100 riders signed in. Crazy people.

I was so glad not to be suffering on the bike today. I cannot imagine spending more than two hours riding up the hill in a cold drizzle, and that is what it would have taken to get me to the top. (Two hours and forty minutes for the next-to-last finisher in my photo above.)

Instead, I spent more than two hours standing inside the cloud at the top, collecting finishing times. A cold drizzle, in other words. Crazy person.

My fellow Low-Keyers, I salute you!

November 19, 2011

Up to You

There were some new faces at today's Low-Key Hillclimb. When I reached the top of Kings Mountain, I caught a snippet of conversation.
I wouldn't call that low-key!
I smiled. It's as low-key as you want it to be.

The road was wet, the air was cold, the trees were dripping. Along the way, the sun cast a spotlight on some moss-covered boulders; no time for a photo. When I heard a toddler's voice behind me, I knew that I was about to be passed by the racer towing his daughter in a Burley trailer.

The women started the climb together; I took my place at the back and watched them pull away. As the pack thinned, I passed one rider; she did not give chase. The gap between us began to stretch, and before long she had dropped out of sight. When she arrived at the top, I congratulated her with a high-five. That was hard, she said.

Yes, it was. A relatively short climb, I vowed to push harder this week. For more than 45 minutes, I sustained an average heart rate of 174 beats per minute, peaking at 179. Still, not as hard as I pushed the last time we tackled this climb, and the result speaks for itself.

Next year, I should train for the series. Or, give it up?

November 12, 2011

Nine, Plus Five

Would I be faster? The weather was dreary and cold; it seemed certain that we would ride into the cloud. Had I vanquished the virus that attacked my body this week? I felt less tired, but still drained. I am five years older and two pounds heavier.

I was most eager to tackle Highway 9 this year. In 2006, this was my first Low-Key Hillclimb. Back then, I wondered: Did they really mean that anyone could participate?

My leg started hurting before I reached the top. Over thousands of miles of cycling, my legs have cramped on exactly one occasion. Did I pull a muscle? I was going hard up the hill, but I had not done anything unusual. Both legs were sore. Really sore.

My chiropractor's words bubbled up into my consciousness.
You are much improved, I was able to start working on your muscles.
Evidently I was not using those long-dormant adductors before he released them. Evidently a relatively short hillclimb of modest grade will tax them.

I had been excited to reach the half-way point in less than 26 minutes. Although I lost sight of the riders ahead, surely I was climbing for a new personal best.

It was convenient to forget that the first two miles of the climb are mellow; at the half-way point, you have ascended roughly 835 feet. There are some 1280 feet up ahead, and that makes all the difference.

Slower by four minutes, I was nonetheless proud of the pink stripe left by the finish-line chalk on my front tire.

October 15, 2011

Are You Slower Than a Seventh Grader?

Photo by Josh Hadley
[Yes.]

Slower than a guy on a mountain bike toting his daughter in a plastic seat mounted behind the handlebar?
[Yes.]

Slower than a guy on a road bike towing his daughter in a Burley trailer?
[Yes.]

In a show of mercy for our selfless Low-Key volunteer crew, the slower riders were ushered to the front of the pack. The announcement went something like this:
Juniors to the front.
And anyone else who thinks they're slower than a 12-year old.
To minimize congestion on the road, we were dispatched in smaller groups at somewhat irregular intervals.

The fastest guys were next; I was about one mile up the road when they sped past. Much of the rest of the field would pass me too, affording more of a sense of participation than I normally get [trailing off the back].

Truth be told, my usual forays up Page Mill Road involve rather wider tires and an enviable level of horsepower. This would be only my third ascent on a bicycle, and my first timed climb. That it would take more than an hour, I had no doubt.

Along the way, my spirits were lifted by so many passing climbers who encouraged me. It's one thing to cheer me along when they are descending, having already finished; it is a true gift to spare even a single word when racing up a hill. This is the essence of a Low-Key Hillclimb, and why I keep coming back for more.

A red Pantera with an out-of-state plate was extremely patient. Without a clear sight line, he hung well behind me on a grueling stretch. As soon as it was safe, I signaled him to pass. Given that there were some 140 cyclists on the road, I imagine he regretted his decision to drive up Page Mill this morning.

A dropped chain at mile 3.5 cost me close to a minute. Nonetheless, I was quite pleased with my finishing time. I ascended 2,035 feet over 8.3 miles, finishing in a tad over 69 minutes. My heart rate averaged 171 beats per minute, peaking at 180 bpm. Evidently I am unwilling to flog myself as hard as I did two years ago.

I know I can do better. The series isn't over yet.

October 8, 2011

Stress Test

Last year, I was a dedicated volunteer for the Low-Key Hillclimb series, having had the good sense to sit out. Consequently, it has been almost two years since I last pushed myself to the limit; once-vivid memories of intense suffering have dissipated.

Sierra Road. It was time. Time to reacquaint myself with the pain. What début could be more fitting for my Giro d'Italia Maglia Bianca?

I admire runners who can perform at the limit. Maybe, if my life were at stake, I could run that hard. Otherwise, my brain would intervene: This is too hard. Stop. Now. On a bicycle, I must keep moving to stay balanced on two wheels. If I stop on a steep hill, I might not be able to start up again.

Racing up a hill has taught me many things: I can push myself much harder than I had ever imagined. The same hill will be a joy to climb every time I approach it at a recreational pace. And, it is worth having a go at it, even if I will be the last rider to cross the finish line.

Technically, I was not last. One of the able-bodied young men in the field flatted, which put him about ten minutes behind me. I take my victories where I find them: today, I caught and passed a guy in an orange jersey. Evidently he was a ride-along (not registered). Just the same, I dropped him, fair and square.

What is this suffering of which I speak? Panting and sweating for a solid 48 minutes and 10 seconds. Sustaining an average heart rate of 174 beats per minute during that time (peak, 179 bpm). Burning Calories at the rate of 569 per hour. All of that to travel a mere 3.6 miles. Oh, and climb 1,815 feet. [Roughly 500 feet per mile, for the math-impaired.]

If you haven't tried something like this, believe me—you don't know what you're missing.

October 30, 2010

Done with Dunne

Ah, the nuances of Bay Area micro-climates. The short drive to the start of today's Low-Key Hillclimb was dry ... mostly. The live radar map showed a distinct lack of precipitation in the area.

As the saying goes, you had to be there.

There, it was decidedly moist. You might think the turn-out for a late-season hill climb in iffy weather would be low. You might think that, and you would be wrong. Some ninety-seven riders headed up a slippery road into the clouds. Cyclists are a hardy bunch.

Last Thursday night, as I watched a Major League pitcher cede the mound in the second game of the World Series [he had a blister on his finger], I thought of the guy who broke his collarbone [in two places] in a crash on the first day of the Tour de France some years back. He got back on the bike, and kept riding. Over the next three weeks, day after day, he kept riding [and even won a stage of the race]. Cyclists are a hardy bunch. Not to mention stubborn and perhaps a bit loony.

October 2, 2010

And, They're Off!

Photo by Alison Chaiken
Fall is here, and with it, the start of the Low-Key Hillclimb season. You have been training, right?

Well, maybe you have. I, on the other hand, have been more relaxed about my cycling this year. I thought about charging up Montebello Road today, at close to my maximum capacity for close to an hour. I know how that feels.

Then I signed up ... as a volunteer. Oh, what a noble sacrifice!

After a chilly summer, fall has brought warm weather. I was sweating in the bright sunshine, and I was standing still. [So glad I wasn't charging up the hill.]

The sight of 100+ cyclists, clad in bright Lycra, swarming all over the top of Montebello was something to behold. I was busy collecting finishing times as riders crossed the line, no time for photos.

With our top three endurance cyclists sitting out, there was uncertainty at the finish line about whether anyone was still climbing after the one-hour mark. (There were two.)

By the time we were done, I was longing for a nap. My first cold of the season has really set me back, but still ... all I did today was stand around.

Good thing I didn't try to charge up the hill.

November 26, 2009

Thanks for the Suffering

As we battled challenging conditions on a ride a year or two ago, one of my cycling buddies asked:
Do you have any children?
No, I replied, giving her a quizzical look.
Oh, I asked because I figure you would have declined the epidural.
Thanksgiving Day, chock-full of tradition. Parades, calorie-laden feasts, bicycling at maximum speed to the top of one of the highest peaks in the Bay Area. The finish line for the Low-Key Hillclimb season is at the top of Mt. Hamilton.

We are never alone on the mountain; plenty of cyclists climb it to offset those second helpings of stuffing later in the day, albeit at a more comfortable pace. Along the way, a helpful pair of them suggested that I should get a bike fitting (have had one) and try a shorter stem (he wanted to fit me with a longer one). They probably thought I was rude for barely responding to them, but I was not riding at a conversational pace. Another woman was impressed by my "fan club," as fellow Low-Keyers at the summit or on the descent recognized me and cheered me by name.

Thanks to an inversion layer, at 6:30 a.m. the temperature at the summit was already 10 degrees warmer than at my house, some 4000 feet below. No need for multiple layers or long-fingered gloves to keep my teeth from chattering on the long descent.

The conditions were ideal, but my power was not. Much to my dismay, I was a full 10 minutes slower this year than last. Did I go out too fast, drop into my lowest gear too often, or pay the price for cycling less over the past two months? I did manage to sustain an average heart rate of 174 beats per minute for two and a half hours, and burn more than 1900 calories overall to make room for the amazing six-course dinner (plus two desserts) that my friends served me later.

Will I give it another try in 2010? Less than a year before I decide to ride. No pressure.

November 14, 2009

Top of the Mountain

Before the start of today's climb, a Low-Key regular from Team Spike asked what I thought my time would be. My guess?
About 100 minutes.
His reaction?
That's a long time to suffer!
Those words were echoing in my head at mile nine, 82 minutes and more than 2700 feet into the climb. I was working hard and my pace was slowing. Why was I doing this, again? I was not an athlete when I was young, and I am no longer young. Is it pure folly to push myself to the edge for a solid 100 minutes, or more? The final steep stretch to the finish loomed large in my mind's eye.

It was a trick of the hill that summoned such dark thoughts. Looking at my data post-climb, I can see that the gradient increased at that point. This was my fourth trip to the top of Mt. Diablo, so the nuances of the ascent are not familiar. The gradient of North Gate Road averaged a moderate 5.4%, but the road to the summit averaged 7.1% (with the penultimate mile at 8.3%).

When I reached the base of the final stretch, it didn't look as steep as I remembered. Steep? Yes. Difficult? Yes. Crazy steep? No! The biggest challenge was dodging a dad with a stroller and several errant children who should have been on the footpath, not on the road. The oldest child had noticed our "200 paces" sign and was counting them off.
Eighty-three, eighty-four ...
Would I reach the top before one of her siblings ran into me and toppled me over? Yes.

My results: 106 minutes, 42 seconds to climb 3,525 feet over 11 miles at an average heart rate of 173 beats per minute. My heart rate peaked at 185 on the final stretch, comfortably lower than my last assault on the summit (192 bpm).

October 31, 2009

Uphill Finish

If you have watched any professional bike races, you have likely seen those dramatic mountain-top finishes where the cyclist is forced to run the gantlet through crowds pressing along both sides of the road. The heart is pounding, lungs are burning, legs are screaming, pedals are barely turning ... any clueless bystander could topple the racer onto the pavement.

That is what it felt like at the top of Montevina this morning on today's Low-Key Hillclimb, though of course there were fewer people and I had much more room to maneuver than the pros do. For the first 3.3 miles, Montevina presents a challenging gradient of 8.3%. When it gets steep, it is a sign that the end of the road is near. Not nearly near enough, however, as you face a stretch more than a quarter mile long at an ever-increasing gradient that averages 13.1%.

My ever-increasing heart rate averaged 180 beats per minute on that segment, for close to five minutes. At that rate, there is little blood flow allocated to the higher cognitive functions. With people and bicycles everywhere, I had no confidence that I could pedal across the line and bring my bicycle to an uphill stop without toppling over.

I dismounted and walked the last 50 yards. My speed had already dropped to 3.5 mph, so it was not as though I would lose much time. A throng of fellow Death Riders cheered me on, shouting:
This is harder than the Death Ride!
No argument there, though I had been similarly unnerved by the Brownian motion of cyclists at the top of Ebbetts Pass.

On the climb, I worked hard not to be distracted by the incredible views of the Santa Clara Valley and Monterey Bay, blanketed by fog. Even at my pace, the marine layer lingered long enough to collect some nice photos on the trip back down. I should climb this hill more often.

October 24, 2009

Relentless

When you reach the private gate marking the end of Soda Springs Road, you can only imagine the views hidden behind the trees at this altitude of some 3,010 feet. Lower on the mountain, you can catch the occasional sweeping vista that extends to the hills beyond San Francisco Bay.

Before you have traveled the first tenth of a mile along Soda Springs, gaze down at Alma Bridge Road more than 30 feet below. How is it possible that you have already risen so high? Prepare to suffer for the next 5.2 miles, as the gradient is remarkably steady (averaging 8.4%). To reach the top, you will ascend more than 2,300 feet.

Given that I climbed Old La Honda at the rate of 2,426 feet per hour, you can see what was in store for me on today's Low-Key Hillclimb. Soda Springs is longer and steeper - steep enough to tax my legs in addition to my cardiovascular system.

How did I do, mile by mile?
  1. 10:00 minutes, swept up in the excitement of chasing the pack.
  2. 11:20. The rider ahead of me has passed out of view.
  3. 12:25. So much for that early 10-minute pace.
  4. 12:45. Holding my own, more or less.
  5. 11:40. With descending riders cheering me on, I pick up the pace.
Sixty-two minutes and 42 seconds to cross the line. This is the price of laziness. For the past month, I have only gotten on the bike once a week. Not to discount last Sunday's cross-training expedition through the forest, I must get more exercise. The days are short, but I know how to set up the lights on my commuter bike. The mornings are cool, but I know how to dress for success. Next Saturday's climb is steeper.

October 17, 2009

First Impressions

At the end of my first day of skiing, I wanted nothing more than to soak my cold, wet, tired, bruised, sore, unathletic, out-of-shape body in a hot tub for the next day ... or two. Reasoning that skiing was popular, I knew there must be something I was missing. I gave the sport a second chance, and learned how much fun it can be.

The first time I tried a Low-Key Hillclimb, I was concerned that the racing types would look at me with a mixture of disdain and pity. Nothing could be further from reality. All cyclists truly are welcome, supported with shouts of encouragement along the way and cheers at the finish.

In 2007, I rode six of the nine climbs and learned what it was like to push myself to the limit. Last year, I approached each climb with a mixture of excitement and dread. I wanted to ride, but now I fully understood what it felt like to perform at the edge. Each Saturday morning was a struggle . . . why subject myself to an hour or more of lung-searing, leg-burning agony? Each week I won [or lost, depending on one's perspective] that battle; I rode five of the eight climbs.

The gracious folks at Potrero Nuevo Farm welcomed us to assemble at the Bike Hut this morning. The Bike Hut is a local treasure that Bay Area cyclists hope to enjoy for many rides to come. Hospitality, with a sense of humor.

I was not sure how long it would take me to reach the top this morning, but I figured it would be well over an hour. Today presented the longest climb of the series so far (7.6 miles), and I doubted that I could average any speed close to 7.6 mph going uphill.

Once the back of the pack sorted itself out, I found myself in an uncommon position: bracketed by two other riders. The distance between us was somewhat elastic, but our pace was pretty constant. Until, as in the immortal words of the legendary Phil Liggett, the elastic snapped. The guy ahead of me ran out of steam. It was one of those rare moments for me, as I passed him, to experience the sensation of being in a race (as opposed to a solo time trial). The guy behind would sometimes draw near, but I held him off. The only cyclists who passed me then were the mighty specimens with chiseled calves, including one guy on a shiny Cervélo who admired my Death Ride jersey.

From Tunitas Creek, we turned onto Star Hill to head for the rudest part of the climb, the aptly named Swett. I carried what speed I could into the turn and gave it my all. (I highly recommend this approach to avoid stalling out and toppling over.) Some say that the gradient is 19%. You can see the top of this segment from the bottom without having to tilt your head back too far, but with all the debris from last week's storm you had little choice other than to follow one of the two car tire tracks straight up.

If you had suggested that I would reach a top speed of 22.1 mph from a standing start, while heading up Tunitas Creek Road, I would have called you crazy. If you had suggested that I would find a place to shift into my largest gear while climbing Tunitas Creek Road, I would have given you a hearty laugh. Yet, today I did both of those things, averaging almost 7.5 mph to arrive at Skyline in 61:04.

This year, excitement has vanquished the dread. Each Saturday morning, I am eager for the challenge. I will never be fast, but I am having a blast.

October 10, 2009

Without Mercy

This graph expresses the highlight of my Low-Key day, setting a personal record on our renowned local benchmark climb, Old La Honda Road. My official time was 31:54.

The diagonal line represents the climb, with a gradient averaging 7.3%. The grade looks constant, but note the bumpy line at the bottom of the graph. That line represents my speed; for the most part, if my speed goes up, the slope has gotten flatter.

Finally, there is the relatively steady horizontal line at the top. That would be my heart rate, which climbed above 170 beats per minute after the first 35 seconds and averaged 177 for the duration of this exercise.

Like most Bay Area cyclists, I know this climb well. I know that I am stronger than the last time I charged up this hill. I knew that the rush of competition would make me go faster. I believed I could push myself very hard and make it to the top without fading. No mercy, today. I would glance at my heart rate monitor from time to time: 177, 180 beats per minute. Was my pace slowing? No. Well, no reason to back off, then.

When I reached the edge of the rough pavement near the top of the climb, I knew the end was near. I glanced down at my time ... I was close to finishing under 32 minutes! I accelerated ... I could hear the finish line ... the mailboxes were in sight. I crossed the line with six seconds to spare. Now you understand that final upward blip in speed (and heart rate) at the end of the graph.

Today I shaved two minutes, eleven seconds from my previous best time, and it was worth every heartbeat. All 5,646 of them (give or take).

October 3, 2009

Why I Climb

My top five reasons for bicycling up hills:
  1. The descent.
  2. The view.
  3. Chocolate.
  4. Fitness.
  5. The pain subsides at the top.
Today was the opening of the Low-Key Hillclimb season, which means that Reason #5 was necessarily promoted to Reason #1.

There is really nothing like charging up a hill in a pack of fast cyclists to test one's limits on a bicycle. Last year, many of us were caught in the rain; this year, the weather was sunny and cool. Last year, I was hurting and miserable; this year, well, I was just hurting.

I love the spirit of Low-Key: friendly, fun, full of good humor and encouragement. We are all out there mixing it up together: commuters, recreational riders, and racers from the local clubs. Road bikes, mountain bikes, an electrified recumbent, and a fixie (whose rider leaves most of us in the dust). Men and women of all ages. It's an open field.

When my Five-Pass Finisher jersey arrived yesterday, I took it as a sign. There could be no more fitting debut than this. I wore it with pride, and set a new personal best time on Montebello: 54:43, almost one minute faster than my best time in 2007, and at a lower average heart rate (173 vs. 177 bpm). Could I have pushed harder today? No, I am pretty confident that I gave it what I had.

I wasn't the last cyclist up the hill. Not ready to retire, just yet.