The Metcalf Mauler

There is a weekly afternoon tradition of climbing Metcalf Road, and since I had the day off, I decided to join the party.

What's that, you say? You can think of better things to do on a day off than ride a bicycle up a steep hill? Ah, well, you're not me.

The downside of this ride (apart from the grade) is that the climb is almost entirely exposed—broiling hot on a sunny July day.

The upside of this ride is that there would be little traffic, mid-week, with the off-road vehicle park at the summit closed.

Grinding my way up the hill, sweat pouring off my body, I tried to hold that image of the serene blue water of Coyote Creek in my head. [Didn't help.] If only those kids with super-soakers who gleefully cooled us down during the LIVESTRONG ride were always here ...

I've climbed this hill a handful of times. Six times, before today. By way of contrast, our ride leader has climbed it more than 1,200 times. [That's not a typo.] It's been a few years since he took stock, and he's continued to climb it regularly, so it's more likely that he's biked up more than 1,300 times.

Who am I to complain? [Nobody. That's for sure.]

Lacking a power meter, my heart rate is a proxy for the effort it takes to get up the hill. It peaked at 178 bpm, and when it would occasionally drop to 176, or 174, that meant the road was a just a little bit less steep for a few moments.

To put that in perspective, that's just shy of 3 heartbeats per second. Which is pretty remarkable, if you think about it; and for some reason I hadn't really thought about it before this ride.

You might expect it's all downhill after reaching the top, and that would be true if you made a u-turn to return to the base. It's not true if you continue down the back side and loop around via San Felipe Road, which (of course) is what we did.

You also might expect to learn something new about this territory from someone who had climbed it so many times, and that was true. Our leader pointed out the remains of a private narrow-gauge railroad barely visible through a thicket of trees. It's neglected, these days, by the current landowner.

For the afternoon, about 17 miles with 1,780 feet of climbing.

Tick-tick-tick.