Traditions

With snow at the summit of Mt. Hamilton, this year I broke with tradition. In each of the preceding four years, I have finished off the Low-Key Hillclimb season with a hundred or so kindred spirits by charging up the mountain on Thanksgiving morning. Expecting to be slower this year, I was not eager to push myself to the max for more than two hours; instead, I planned to get an earlier start and then to assist at the top.

Regrettably, common sense took hold when I saw that the high temperature at the summit on Wednesday was 28F. Sure, I could send extra layers to the top to stay warm after the climb, but it would be impractical to carry all that gear back down on the bike.

Honestly, I can climb Mt. Hamilton whenever I want.

It was one of those rare days when the view extends from San Francisco to the north, clear to the snow-capped peaks of the Sierras in the east. Having spent most of my life in colder climes, it was easy for me to dress for success. With the thermometer climbing slightly above the freezing mark, I didn't even need to tap into my bottle of hot chocolate.

As a volunteer, I stood in the enviable position to witness the first guys crossing the line: Irish hillclimb champion Ryan Sherlock, with three-time Olympian and former Mt. Hamilton champion Eric Wohlberg close on his wheel.

All of this may sound like a strange approach to Thanksgiving, what with most of the country traveling far and wide to celebrate with family; my tradition is to be less traditional. [Although, my all-time favorite was watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, eye-level with the giant balloons, from a hotel balcony on Broadway. It was cold that day, too.]

Envying all the jubilant cyclists at the top of the mountain, I longed to fit some physical activity into my day. In this crowd, one need not look far to find a co-conspirator; a friend was eager to hike after our volunteer duties were done. Some passing hikers alerted us to a bobcat and a mountain lion in the vicinity; birds were abundant, but the only traces of the cats we saw were their tracks.

I finished the day happily tired and sore, though also sad not to have tackled the climb. But another Bay Area tradition is little more than a month away: Mt. Hamilton on New Year's Day. At my own comfortable pace.