All Quiet on the Mountain

More than halfway through the year, and I hadn't climbed Mt. Hamilton ... unthinkable. Today was the day to fix that.

The temperature was perfect, and for some reason there was little traffic; motorcycles, mostly.

Along with little traffic, there was little breeze and little view. There is likely a relationship among those three elements. The sky was layered with smoke from distant wildfires.

I paused to watch some deer munching on the still-green leaves of a large branch that had snapped off an oak tree. Flora and fauna, stressed by the drought.

There were, of course, other cyclists. I chatted with a couple of first timers, and passed an over-dressed guy who was struggling. He hadn't gotten much farther when I passed him again on the way down, despite the additional time I'd taken for lunch at the top.

I'd heard they'd done some work on the upper section of the road; notably, they re-graded a gnarly switchback near the top, making the steep inside curve more gentle. On one trip up the mountain, I had witnessed a motorcyclist stall and tip over on that curve. With its wheels uphill and weighty body downhill, he needed help to stand the bike back up.

I was surprised (and mystified) to see Cipollini's name freshly stenciled on the road in multiple spots, as he retired some time ago. And he's not exactly local.

For the day, the usual 39 miles and 4,860 feet of climbing. My favorite.