Hot Ham

Forecast: Unseasonable, with record-breaking high temperatures. pep-cast: Headache, with no appetite. [Could it be ... the heat?] But, I had made a promise to ride up Mt. Hamilton today. And we are tough women.

Rounding the corner to start the climb, a hand-scrawled sign about finding a goat and a dog brought out the poet in my ride partner. Herewith, a collaboration by Taylor and pep:

There once was a goat and a dog
Who went off to find their friend hog.
They found a fritter
But could not twitter,
So they went home instead to blog.

A 21st century limerick for the rural fringe of Silicon Valley.

There were fewer cyclists than usual on the mountain. [What, put off by a little hot weather?] Apart from two stokers on tandems and a mom who rode up alongside her husband towing their toddler, we were the only women.

The heat did exact its toll on me. Over the last six miles, my pace steadily dropped (5.4, 4.7, 4.3, 4.0 miles per hour). One turkey vulture swooped low for a closer look. Suitable lunch? No, still moving. For the day, the usual 39 miles and some 4,805 feet of climbing.

Climbing Mt. Hamilton is half the challenge; for many, descending it is the bigger half. Taylor had only ascended Mt. Hamilton once before, followed by descending the back side. Being an experienced mountain biker, I figured the long, twisty ride to the bottom would not intimidate her.

When we reached the first descent, I had my answer. My ride partner quickly became a distant speck. In front of me. That, ladies and gentlemen, is no mean feat.