Top It Off

I haven't pedaled to the summit of Mt. Diablo in a while. It's a tall ask, that last 235 meters. Over about 0.15 of a mile, the road rises 105 feet.

Could I do it? I've done it before. But the last few times, anxious about having a car behind me, I've abandoned and walked.

Today seemed like an ideal day for an assault: Day one of a three-day weekend. With the crowds headed to the beach for summer's last hurrah, I expected few to choose a drive to the top of the mountain.

I was right.

With my heart rate more or less in check, I looked up at that final ramp and continued without a rest. It didn't look as steep as I remembered, but I knew it would hurt. A family hiking down encouraged me. “Good job!” they called out—even the kids.

My heart rate climbed by twos and threes, sampled every five seconds, topping out at 181 bpm for half a minute. Two and a half minutes of suffering, that's all it took. [That's plenty.] Average heart rate: 176 bpm.

A few years ago I had a cardiac stress test, running on a treadmill. They stopped the test at 173 bpm, which they considered 104% of my maximal heart rate. [Pffft.]

It was surprisingly windy, and the wind was surprisingly chilly. I watched other cyclists donning layers for the descent. Ah, well, the faster I go down, the less time spent feeling cold. We watched smoke rising from a fire to the west and fretted about the wind factor. It was a 10-acre grass fire in Sunnyvale, which they fought rapidly to contain. [Whew.] The mountain is recovering remarkably well from the fire that scorched it two years ago. Some evidence remains, like the blackened dead tree that virtually brushes up against the historic stone building at the top. That was a close call, up there.

I was most of the way down when a line of three cars came into view. A minivan, a pickup truck, and a mini-Cooper. Guess which one was in the “lead” (and I use that term loosely). I kept my distance, but I really don't like having to brake behind cars. I'm sympathetic; I'm sure the minivan doesn't handle particularly well, and maybe the driver doesn't enjoy the challenge. But, sheesh .... pull over and let the traffic pass. [Eventually, she did.]

There's a bit of an uphill near the bottom, and I could hear the minivan catching up to me. I was about to crest the hill; I took the lane, hoping to keep her behind me. Reassuring me of her poor judgment, she passed me nonetheless. And immediately slowed as she started going downhill. Slow enough that, when the opposite lane was clear, I pulled around and passed her. Unlike the (large) guy who coasted (!) past me on the way to the top, with his battery-powered electric bicycle, I don't have a motor. The minivan does.

A fine workout on a fine day: 31 miles with some 3,840 feet of climbing.