Poster Girl

Driving to the start of today's ride, I reflected on the importance of looking far ahead, whether you happen to be piloting a bicycle or some other vehicle. At 8:30 on a clear Saturday morning, traffic on the freeway was light and flowing smoothly. Until the moment when it wasn't. The lanes ahead were filled with brake lights; I slowed and scanned for the cause.

Straddling the number two lane at an angle, pointing in the wrong direction, was a car with its front end smashed and steaming. An SUV was stopped in the number one lane. I turned on my emergency flashers and eased past the wreck with the rest of those lucky enough not to be involved. I felt grateful that I had not left home a few minutes earlier, or I might have been swept into the chaos.

Evidence of California's driest January-February on record was everywhere on the hillsides; emerald green is rapidly fading to olive. Still, the winter weather felled more trees than I expected. It has been too long since my last visit to Mt. Hamilton.

There is a bulletin board near the mailroom at the top. One of the few items tacked to that board was a sheet, yellowed with age, that described the vital statistics of the climb for cyclists. I was surprised, and a bit sad, when it disappeared last year. I was even more surprised, then, when I recently heard that a certain poster was still on display.

Last Thanksgiving, I wanted to thank the Observatory for their hospitality. We take shelter in their warm lobby, refill our water bottles, use the restrooms, and try not to jam the vending machine with our damp dollar bills. I created a poster, taped it near the mailroom, and set out some markers for my fellow cyclists to add their messages. (They did.)

I don't know if the poster will yellow with age, but for now it hangs over the water fountain—and has collected a few more signatures from grateful cyclists. That makes me smile.