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.

Sometimes a Tailwind

It was a picture-postcard kind of day, with the temperature just right for climbing the back side of Mt. Hamilton. (In other words, cool.) The pros will not be so lucky on Tuesday, when they climb the front side and descend the back side on their way to the Stage 3 finish atop Mt. Diablo.

But first, you have to get to the back side. By climbing the front side, of course.

Ahead of an incoming heat wave, the high temperature at the summit was a mere 49F, and the winds were picking up.

A friend joined me today, eager to climb the back side for the first time. We were both enchanted by the wildflowers and the sweeping views.

Our turnaround point was the bridge over Isabel Creek. Passing motorcyclists seemed friendlier than usual, waving and giving me a thumbs-up. [My “Aha!” moment would come later.]

The climb was less strenuous than I expected—I'm stronger! As the road zig-zagged up the hill, sometimes we had a tailwind. And sometimes a headwind.

By the time we headed back down the front side, the wind was blowing steadily at nearly 15 mph, with gusts to 24 mph. I have descended Mt. Hamilton more times than I can remember, but never with such strong wind. Holding my line was a challenge as the crosswinds buffeted me from side to side. I tucked myself in and low on the bike and kept a firm grip on the handlebar. I was relieved to make it safely back to the starting point; for the day, 50 miles and some 7100 feet of climbing.

At the bridge, I had shed my jacket for a photo-op. I had claimed an unwanted pair of socks from a colleague, and I had promised him a photo. Shocking pink, emblazoned with an up arrow and the words I'm with awesome. “They'll be perfect with my Death Ride jersey!” I had explained.

The one with the skull and crossbones. (Thumbs up!)

How Green is the Valley?

You might think that there could be nothing new for me to discover on Mt. Hamilton (and you would be wrong). I have bicycled to the top more than two dozen times, and in all seasons. As the group prepared to depart, one rider remarked that he had no intention of including Kincaid today. He might do that once a year; he just didn't see the point. [Oh, what he's missing!]

I would not include Kincaid today, either; I am in no shape for that. I crawled my way to the top, where I was most grateful to put my feet up on the Reverend's patio and savor my luscious peanut butter-and-jelly sandwich.

On the climb, it is natural to focus on the road ahead and neglect the view behind. White clouds smudged the sky. Old trees were popping out the first leaves of another spring. San Francisco Bay glistened in the distance. From the summit, the snowy peaks of the Sierras were evident.

The buildings have seen a new coat of paint in the past year or so, and from my vantage point the detail on an external stairway caught my eye. How had I never noticed the curled ironwork, the stars in the railing?

The uphill interludes on the descent afford more leisurely sightseeing. A raucous pair of Steller's Jays caught my attention, and as I slowed to listen I noticed a proud wild turkey strutting his stuff. It's mating season! I was a few feet away from his flock of hens; some were foraging, others were taking dirt baths and possibly nesting. The dominant sound in the video clip is that of the noisy Jays. Listen for the turkeys; they made a sound like the resonant plink of a large drip of water hitting a pool.

Always something new to see, and to learn, on Mt. Hamilton.

Leaves Are Falling

Dry leaves crunched under my skinny tires. I felt strong enough to add Kincaid to my Mt. Hamilton ascent, and the diversion was well worth it. This should be a staple of fall climbing for the colors alone. No match for New England, but better than I thought possible without traveling to the Sierras.

There were fewer cars than bicycles on Mt. Hamilton today (once the Mini Cooper club buzzed by). Perhaps the valley haze discouraged people from making the trek. Perhaps they were out hunting pumpkins. No complaints from this cyclist.

Two cycling clubs chose this route today. I overheard a conversation about two crashes on the other club's ride last weekend, which bolstered my resolve to avoid their rides. A mile after making the u-turn at the end of Kincaid, I found a lone rider fixing a flat. The rest of their group was long gone. We were five miles from the main road, ten miles from the summit. I was out there alone, too, but that was my choice. My ride partners would not have deserted me. In fact, on the way up a fellow club member had stopped to show me a better way to get my dropped chain back into place—a perfect demonstration of the difference between these two clubs.

I know myself well enough to tackle Kincaid on the way to the summit. On the way down, I would never convince myself to turn off the main road for an extra dozen miles worth of climbing. After finishing Kincaid, there is always the option to turn right and head down the mountain.

I turned left. Five more miles to the top.

The people who shout encouragement crack me up. I have lost track of how many times I have climbed Mt. Hamilton. (Ten and a half times, last year alone.) One of these riders was making his annual trip up the mountain. The story gets better: He lives near the base of the climb and bought the house specifically for the hill.

I stretched out on Jeanne's bench to enjoy my lunch (and the view) in the warm sunshine.

Fifty-one miles, 6800 feet of climbing. If I lived at the base of this hill, you couldn't keep me off it.

Over the Top

“Are you training for something?” the visitor asked.

I might have said that I was training for Best Buddies, but mostly I was at the top of Mt. Hamilton for the sheer joy of it. With a plan to visit the back side for the sheer challenge.

We reached the floor of the marine layer at an elevation of 1600 feet, give or take, and quickly left it behind. This summer has been unusually cool, which meant that the temperature was just about perfect for a sunny day of climbing.

It also meant that a summertime descent to the valley at Isabel Creek was conceivable. [Strictly speaking, the descent is always conceivable. Climbing the exposed back side of the mountain is the challenging part.]

Though to be fair, that descent is rarely without drama. There was a rider at the summit with road rash from the back side, making it sound more treacherous than usual. Would I find fresh chip seal, or fresh tar? [No.] It is just a tricky descent, with sharp curves and enough steepness to give you more speed than you need.

The core of our group continued to the Junction, but I knew that was more than I could handle. Still, I was tempted ... What if I went just a little bit farther? Across the bridge, around the bend ... Uphill, of course. After half a mile, I regained my common sense and made a u-turn. Hauling myself back up to the summit would be enough.

With a bit of a breeze and more strength in my legs, I found the climb less arduous than in the past. Oh, and the view! Apart from one ranch, there is no sign of civilization as far as the eye can see—unlike the other side of the hill, which overlooks the urban/suburban sprawl of the Santa Clara valley.

Back at the observatory, I ran into the same visitors again. “I could never do what you just did,” one remarked. I assured them that there was a time when I could not do it, either.

Fifty-one miles, 6,960 feet of climbing. Next time, I do believe I will venture ... just a little bit farther.

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.

Peak Peek

What to do on an unseasonably warm November Sunday?

Climb Mt. Hamilton, of course!

[Last week was so ... October.]

I have not been looking forward to these late-season climbs, having descended the mountain more than once with chattering teeth and numb fingers. Not so today, with the high temperature at the summit approaching a balmy 68F.

This seems to be a banner year for acorn production. I thought my trees had gone nuts [so to speak] after being trimmed last fall, but acorns are bountiful on Mt. Hamilton, too. Happy squirrels; less-happy cyclists, who need to dodge slippery acorns as well as the usual loose rock on the roadway.

Conversation helps the climb seem shorter, and I was pleased to be joined by two friends today.

Practice makes the descent seem smoother, and I was pleased to pass two guys on the way down today—even though I am still descending with an abundance of caution.

Saddle Up

It happened that a fellow cyclist was organizing a group ride today, to support his fundraising for a Light the Night walk. It happened that he chose to send the group up Mt. Hamilton. And it happened that I had not yet climbed the mountain this month.

I will admit some apprehension. The climb? No problem. It was the descent that was on my mind.

As I neared the summit, riders were already streaming down. I caught sight of a pair about a mile from the top and ... where were they? They should have passed me.

I rounded the corner, having just missed witnessing the crash. One rider was down, off the road in a shallow rock-strewn clearing carved out of the cliff. "I looked down," he said, regretfully. "On a curve." Lying on his right side, his hand repeatedly probed a couple of his left ribs. His buddy pulled out a cellphone, and I wished that I were a faster rider to reach the group at the top.

At the observatory, bikes were being loaded onto the SAG vehicle to head to the rescue. I briefed them on what they would find.

The air was clear enough for a rare sighting of the snow-capped peaks of the Sierra Nevada. It was easy to linger in the warm sunshine on a perfect autumn day.

It was not so easy to banish the fresh image of a crash on the mountain.

How many more curves, how many more descents, will it take to get my groove back? More than 50,000 feet of climbing (and descending). More than 850 miles. More than all of that, to wipe out one single memory—fractions of a second long—the feel of my bike sliding out beneath me.

Slip Slidin' Away

Warning: loose gravel.

There is always loose gravel on this road, of the natural variety (shed from the hillside). The signs were posted because Mt. Hamilton Road has been freshly chip-sealed, from mile marker 9.0 to a level just above the Twin Gates trailhead (Joseph Grant County Park). The surface is rough, but there was scant loose gravel after the first few turns.

With September promising to be a busy month, I decided it would be best to climb Mt. Hamilton today. My usual ride buddies had other plans, but a cyclist is never alone on this route. For that, I am grateful.

I was strong on the climb, and cautious descending on the rough road. Taking a tumble on that would be, in a word, gruesome.

As the saying goes, there are cyclists who have crashed and there are cyclists who haven't crashed yet. [Can you guess where this story is headed?]

With less than a mile and a half to the end of the road, I rounded the final hairpin bend. The bike slid out beneath me. In the instant that the wheels lost traction, I knew this one was not recoverable. The road was smooth and dry; perhaps I braked too aggressively and locked the rear wheel.

The stats: My speed dropped from 30.4 mph to 0.9 mph in five seconds. My heart rate accelerated from 125 bpm to 147 bpm in those same five seconds.

Miraculously, the bicycle and I are intact. We slid together, and nothing came unhinged. Water bottles stayed in their cages. My sunglasses did not fly off. Most importantly, my head did not hit the pavement. Once I stopped sliding, I sat up and thought "Huh. That wasn't so bad." I thought back to my favorite Jonathan Vaughters quote:

Next time you're in your car at 50 mph, strip down to your underwear and jump out the door. And that's what it's like to crash in a professional bike race.

My right outer thigh took the brunt of the impact (a fine hematoma, there), and my right arm got most of the road rash. Toward the end of the slide, the edge of my helmet visor grazed the pavement. My bike jersey and shorts? Grimy, but not torn.

Being only somewhat the worse for wear, I declined a ride from the kind motorist behind me. I found a safe spot to collect my wits, pulled out my first aid kit and cleaned up the messiest bits.

The bike seemed rideable, until I noticed that the brake hoods were askew and the stem was not aligned with the fork. As I hiked down the hill, the first ascending cyclist stopped to help. He tugged the hoods into place, realigned the stem, and checked the bike over. Worried, after watching me get off to a wobbly start, he turned around and generously accompanied me back to my car.

Thank you, Monta Vista Velo guy. I apologize for being too rattled to ask your name.

The Following Leader

Unable to lure any of the usual suspects to Mt. Hamilton for the August Ascent, I decided to list it as a club ride. The schedule for today was light; I managed to attract a convivial group of 14, including a pair of Frenchmen and two riders who were climbing Hamilton for the first time. Not to mention the guy on the "three-speed" single-speed bike. (1: Sitting. 2: Standing. 3: Walking.)

I warned the group about my slow uphill / fast downhill pace, but another rider called dibs on being the last one to the top. (He won.)

There is always something new to discover on the mountain, even when you are biking up for the seventh time in eight months.

Surprise #1: Road construction signs. Some stretches have already been re-paved; most of the problem spots have been marked for repair, including my particular (least) favorite. This year, I finally figured out why I never miss it on the descent: it is a nasty little gully that extends diagonally across the entire lane, right past the apex of a sharp switchback. Now it is labeled "3A." Hurray!

Surprise #2: Fire damage. A large grass fire had blackened the hills about halfway up, near a ranch. Closer to the summit, a smaller fire claimed trees and brush on a steep drop right next to the road. A survey marker has been driven into a small boulder at this spot.

Surprise #3: Lick Observatory has kindly modified their public drinking fountain: It now includes a spigot that is the perfect height for re-filling our water bottles. Less fuss, no muss!

For me, the tricky part about leading this ride is the descent. I need to look after my riders, which means I should really be the last one down the hill. The solution? Give them a generous head start. The last three riders included a couple who would stay together, and a very capable guy who insisted that I need not wait.

The couple left first. I lingered, chatting with the last rider until he left. I refilled my water bottles. I had a pleasant conversation with a couple enjoying a picnic on their way to Livermore (for his 40th high school reunion). Despite growing up in the Bay Area, she had never been to the top of Mount Hamilton until today.

On my way down, I passed an ambulance and a paramedic hurrying up the hill. At that moment, it was a huge relief to know that all of my riders were ahead of me. I did not see any incidents along the way, so the emergency must have been on the back side of the mountain.

About halfway down the hill, I caught up with my last rider. I was convinced that I would not catch the other couple ... until I did. They were stunned to find me back at the starting point; they had not seen me pass. Now, that's fast!

Sit-down Sunday

With yesterday's climbing behind me, sitting around on Sunday seemed like just the right thing. I could certainly enjoy watching some coverage of day two of Le Tour de France, for example.

The marine layer gave us a cool, gray-sky morning. Hmm, I do know a sure way to find the sun. And after all, the calendar had turned another page today. Can you guess where I am headed?

Why not complete the July ascent of Mt. Hamilton on the first day of the month!

Yes, I spent a good part of the day sitting (on a bicycle saddle, while spinning the pedals) around.

My cycling buddy graciously slowed her pace to match mine, allowing plenty of time for us to chat our way to the top. The marine layer evaporated above us, but lingered over some valleys to the north—the distinctive peak of Mt. Diablo rose above it.

The cooler temperature helped boost my climbing speed by 10%, getting me to the top some 18 minutes sooner than on my last trip. With no automotive obstacles, I can also answer the open question from my last visit to the mountain: What is my average speed on the tripartite descent, factoring out the two intermediate climbs? Survey says: 21.4 mph, 22.4 mph, 24.3 mph.

Over the weekend, I managed to climb more than 10,000 feet. More significantly, with this ride I have climbed more than 100,000 feet this year. You might think I am training for the Death Ride or something.

[Not this year.]

Straight Up

Ice would have been nice. It was about 83F degrees at the top of Mt. Hamilton by the time I got there. My friends were drawing straws to decide who should be dispatched to look for me.

They know me; they know I am a slow climber. On the way up, I had suggested that they could descend the backside if they got bored waiting for me to arrive, but they were having none of that.

Down in the valley, it was about 10 degrees cooler than yesterday; which is to say, hot. The temperature at the summit was about the same. So much for the forecast.

After yesterday's adventure, what possessed me to climb Mt. Hamilton today? Well, it is past mid-June and I am not ready to end my climbing streak. So far, I have missed only the month of March. (Hmm, I need to double down once before the year is out.)

If you are looking for a good day to climb Mt. Hamilton, mark your calendar for June 16, 2013 (Father's Day). I have a hunch that, like today, traffic will be about as light as it gets on a dry weekend day. Bicyclists outnumbered even the motorcyclists, today.

I was surprised to find some wildflowers, still, near the top. I enjoyed the company of my friends, then lingered a while longer on the patio. After wondering what the SPF rating would be for the salt on my skin, I decided to slather on some more sunscreen of the conventional kind before heading down.

Ten minutes or so into my descent, I caught up to a knot of cars. I did not envy the driver of the minivan at the front, who certainly was not having a good time driving down the mountain. Technically, with only two cars stuck behind him (and one bicycle, of course), he was not obliged to pull over. But, still ... be polite, have some common sense, and pull over.

That is what I did, at Kincaid Road. I could not get a clear line of sight to pass all three of them, and I was not about to ride my brakes and eat their brake dust until the first uphill section (where they would, finally, pull away). I gave them a four-minute head start, and that was enough to be clear of them.

For the day, the usual 4,765 feet of climbing over 39 miles. My fitness has improved dramatically. I completed the ride in virtually the same amount of time as I did in April, but my heart rate was 18 bpm lower today (both average, and peak). That is huge! And, I did this one day after riding 53 miles and climbing 5,525 feet.

Average pace? 6.0 mph on the way up, 16.6 mph on the way down. I wonder what my pace is on the pure downhill stretches, excluding those pesky intervening uphill bits (where it dips to 5-6 mph)?

July is right around the corner.

Both Sides, Now

It seems that I have inadvertently signed up for the Hamilton-of-the-Month club. January, February, April, and now May (sadly, I did miss out in March).

Wildflowers are still blooming, but the hills are fading from emerald to olive on their way to dry summer golden. Time passed quickly, as a friend and former colleague unexpectedly appeared and was content to match my pace and chat. Not having biked to the top in 20 years, he had forgotten the stunning views. I had forgotten that he had studied geology; he opened my eyes to the significance of the sheer rock faces.

As the first descent approached, I apologized in advance. "You know what happens next," I said. "Go," he replied, "this is your specialty." Resuming our conversation after he caught me on the uphill, he followed up with "You're so smooth, the best descender I have ever seen (at the amateur level)."

Today's "Free Lunch" ride is an annual tradition, wherein our intrepid ride leader hauls sandwiches (and more) to the top on a trailer attached to his bike. And yes, even with my 20-minute head start, he still passed me on the way up. This is one strong guy ... Sixty-five riders showed up, and every one of us got something to eat.

My goal today was to reach the summit twice: first, the front side (approaching from San Jose), and then the back side (approaching from the San Antonio Valley). Soon, the back side will bake dry and present a formidably hot challenge. After a brief pause for more water and a snack, I flew down to the turnaound point at Isabel Creek.

What a different world, back there! Fields, foothills, canyons, and mountain ridges as far as the eye can see. A robust breeze kept me cool, and I delighted in the isolation. A few riders were climbing out as I descended, but I would not see more of the group (descending) until I was nearly halfway back up the mountain.

I startled a jackrabbit, and paused at will to enjoy the sights: flowers, distant ridges, a handsome (but dead?) garter snake, a fabled roadside spring. I was pleasantly surprised to make it back to the top before the lunch crew departed, and was lucky to enjoy the last strawberry with some cake and whipped cream. Top that!

Some 7,100 feet of climbing over about 51 miles, same route as last year.

June is but a few weeks away.

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.

In the Misty Morning Fog

With our hearts a-thumpin'; and me, a brown-eyed girl.

On such an overcast day, it takes a leap of faith to leave my warm bed behind. Faith that, if I climb high enough, I will find the sun.

The lower portion of Mt. Hamilton road was as wet as if it had rained. Eyeing the slippery tar snakes, feeling the chill air on the first brief descent ... I questioned my quest. A rainbow sheen of oil coated the downhill lane of one sharp bend. I could only hope that the rest of the group noticed it, too. I was confident that I could avoid it on the return, because I know this road so well.

At 1,875 feet I met the floor of the cloud layer. Happily, it was not as cold or wet as I expected. Many miles later, I would find the ceiling (around 2,300 feet). Inside the cloud, the sound of everything but the birds was dampened and the landscape was transformed.

Approaching the summit ... what, ho! The remnants of Monday's cold storm lingered on the north-facing edges. Sheltered on the observatory's sunny patio, with snow in the shadows, I enjoyed my lunch in quiet solitude.

Quick as a wink, the winds whipped up and I was awestruck as we were enveloped in a turbulent cloud. It was time to make a hasty retreat down the mountain, with teeth a-chattering and fingers a-stiffening.

I reached the Quimby intersection just as a Caltrans driver blocked the road with his truck. Uh oh. I knew there had been an accident yesterday, but they were supposed to retrieve the vehicle this morning. I was not eager to detour onto Quimby. Reluctantly, he allowed me to squirm past.

About a mile later, a vehicle was backing up. [Literally.] Beep, beep, beep ... on twisty Mt. Hamilton Road, an enormous tow truck was comin' round the bend—in reverse. I immediately dismounted and got off the road.

The real action was ahead, and here is where my riding buddy will regret bailing out at mile 5.7 this morning. Look at that equipment! ["No, silly," she would say. "That's not the equipment I'm looking at."] The guys were happy to answer questions, and not upset that a cyclist had slipped through the roadblock.

Some idiot [let me guess, taking that bend too fast] had forced a Caltrans truck off the road—and didn't even stop. [Coward.] The truck tumbled down a steep embankment, overturning a few times, through the trees. Fortunately, a UPS driver did stop. [Hero.] Did I say, steep? As in, pretty much straight down. I can't imagine how he climbed down to help the driver, without ropes.

The guys reported that the driver is okay—pretty sore, with bumps and bruises. Winching had dragged the truck into view, but it was still some 30 feet below the road surface.

Carrying my bike, I tiptoed behind the tow truck, along the very edge of the ravine.

"Have a safe ride," the guys called out.

Lick-ety Split

Destination? The top. It is a Bay Area New Year's Day tradition to cycle up Mt. Hamilton, and that can be a hard sell on a frigid day.

Around Joseph D. Grant County Park, feathery bits of white fluff flew through the air and swirled in eddies on the pavement. Here, they close the road whenever there is snow at the summit. This being January, snow would not be a surprise. This being California, where some plant is always in bloom, the fluffy bits were seeds released to the wind. It was a freakishly warm day, in a winter so dry that the hills have not yet turned green.

The temperature at the summit peaked above 67F; I shed my jacket before I reached the halfway point and hoped the sun would be kind to my un-screened arms. I regretted wearing wool socks. I drained both water bottles. In January?

Not seeking a new record today, I spent a leisurely three hours on the climb to Lick Observatory. Nonetheless, I managed to catch and pass a few riders on the way up (and, on the way down). Round trip: 39 miles, with 4,895 feet of climbing.

Another local club was also out for some fun on the mountain. I tallied 47 Porsches snaking their way down the hill, but it was the interloper in their midst that caught my eye. Orange. Italian.

Tomorrow, I think, is not for bicycling.

Green to Gold

Evidently the local BMW motor club decided to head up the mountain today. I parked my four wheels near the base instead and headed up on two. Given how reluctant I was to forgo a couple more hours of sleep for this morning's early start, I had a remarkably strong day. And eventful.

Not even one and half miles into the ride, my ride buddy for the day dropped out with a mechanical on her still-pretty-new bike: broken shifter. She turned back, I carried on.

Since I was a bit low on red blood cells [having donated just a few days ago], I needed a rev limiter. Anything higher than 160 beats per minute felt hard, so I rode at a comfortable pace.

Halfway up the hill, I chatted with a guy [who weighed a little more than two of me] riding on a very fancy bicycle [which cost four times as much as mine]. Already panting, he was disappointed when I assured him that Mt. Hamilton is not high enough for altitude to be a factor and turned his attention to a sprightly young woman who caught up to us. Accelerating to stay with her, he quickly ran out of steam. She vanished, he stopped, I carried on.

Around mile 14, I approached a cyclist at the side of the road. Broken frame, he said; his chain (and rear derailleur) drooped in defeat. Not an auspicious day for Specialized bicycles.

At the summit, I felt surprisingly ... fresh. I was not ready to be done, and it was a perfect day to venture down the back side of Mt. Hamilton. Soon it will be too warm for that approach to the summit, which is steeper and more exposed. Now, about that helicopter ...

As I descended, a steady stream of Team in Training cyclists warned me about an accident ahead, cyclist down in the middle of the road. More than 20 twisty mountain miles from the edge of San Jose, medical support out there is not straightforward. [Hence, the helicopter.] The first responder (sheriff) passed me. Passersby had stopped a car in each lane to protect the injured rider. I dismounted and walked slowly along the edge of the road, dismayed to recognize a guy who had passed me on the long climb to the top. Very fit, very capable, wearing the team kit of one of the regional racing clubs. Feeling rattled, and unsure where the hovering helicopter might land, I carried on.

The climb back up was less difficult than I had remembered; perhaps, because the temperature today was cooler. Reverend Hamilton's sunny courtyard was mine to enjoy in solitude, allowing me to relax for the long descent. For the day, 7,100 feet of climbing over 50.6 miles. I should feel tired.

Along the way, I stopped and tossed off the road: one foot-long strip of metal, one super-sized pine cone, one substantial D-shaped iron ring, and one large nasty nail. I did not, however, stop to study the small snake curled in a divot on the center line.

Divertissement

Kincaid is a long lonely road that forks off Mt. Hamilton Road about five miles from the summit. Years ago, my first ride with the club included the upper half of Mt. Hamilton and Kincaid. I had little solo cycling experience at that point, and I remember how unnerved I felt out there. The road descends to Isabel Creek and then climbs again, with public access ending at a cattle guard and gate. Separated from the fastest (and slowest) riders, I was edgy.

Today I explored this isolated canyon with fresh eyes and more confidence. Still, I would hesitate to ride it alone: a twisty six-mile dead-end road, with spotty cell phone coverage and a few gated dirt roads leading to cattle ranches. Getting there is not easy: by the time I reached the intersection with Mt. Hamilton Road, I had already traveled more than 14 miles and climbed 2,790 feet.

Unlike my first visit, I was not eager to return from the solitude of the canyon. As I drew closer, Mt. Hamilton Road sounded like a motor speedway. This unseasonably warm and sunny day in February drew a veritable parade of motorcycles and sports cars to the mountain.

The summit was little more than five miles away; it would be wrong to head downhill. The wind up there was a steady 23 mph, with roaring gusts to 42 mph. Needless to say, this added to the challenge of controlling the bicycle and making forward progress—but was well worth the effort.

A young couple greeted me with a thumbs-up and praise for biking up the mountain. I shared the sunny courtyard with a fellow cyclist and the toddler he had hauled up the hill in a trailer (filled with toys and other necessities). An elderly couple emerged from a back door at the observatory and slowly climbed inside their late model black Mustang. A stout rider with a wild gray beard and a head scarf (no helmet) caught up to me on his bike with tri-spoke carbon wheels, easily matching me turn-for-turn as I rocketed down the descent. Our pace slowed by an ungainly Ford Expedition, he pulled out and passed us both, never to be seen again.

Fifty-one miles, 6,965 feet of climbing, some 2700 Calories burned. Followed by a delectable six-course dinner prepared by friends, I still managed to end the day at a caloric deficit.

The Hamilton Habit

Such an inviting plaza for a summer picnic, don't you think? It happens to be on top of a mountain ...

Having convinced two riding buddies that half is not enough, we rolled out early to climb up to the starting point for today's club ride—which was scheduled to cover only the upper half of Mt. Hamilton. It must be a cool summer if this registers as an appealing ride in late July.

Curiously, the temperature was warmer on the upper slopes. Warm enough to put my ride buddies into some difficulty, I would later learn. Merrily pedaling ahead, exchanging greetings with the many riders who passed me, I was oblivious to their discomfort. [Some friend, I am!]

I arrived at the sharpest, steepest hairpin near the top at just the right moment for a little drama. Two motorcyclists passed me on the approach, and as the second one entered the steep curve, he stalled his bike and went down. The only real injury was to his pride, and likely some regrets about fresh scratches on his BMW. I rounded the corner as he extricated himself from his machine and began the struggle to set it right. In this, I could be of no use; a larger cyclist behind me did stop to lend some muscle to the effort. Raising that beast from a flat surface would be hard enough—now imagine what was required to push it upright with all that weight downhill from the wheels.

Once everyone had recovered at the top, I led off down the hill. The car that was preparing to leave the observatory at the same time caught me only after I stopped to wait for my ride buddies at the base of the first descent. With all the gravel I had noticed in the corners, I took it easy. [Honest. One cyclist even passed me.] On the way up, one of the riders in our group had caught me on this last ascent. "I was behind you," he said, "and I was sure I would catch you on the descent, but I couldn't." Shaking his head, he added: "I thought I was a good descender."

Half is Not Enough

When we reached the turn-around point at Grant Ranch Park, the summit of Mt. Hamilton was so alluring that I could not resist. How could I climb only halfway up the mountain today?

I continued with the rest of our little group on our planned route along the easy eastern approach to the summit of Quimby Road before dropping back down to resume my climb to Lick Observatory. It was a spectacular day to head up the mountain—cool and breezy, with little traffic.

Most of the traffic was well-behaved, with the notable exception of one driver who crossed the double yellow line completely into the opposite lane on a blind curve to pass me. Knowing it was not safe for a car to pass, I had moved to the center of our lane to send a clear message: Do Not Pass Me. Had there been a cyclist or vehicle coming downhill in the other lane, I would have been collateral damage. I saw the Sheriff three times before that, but he missed this moment of stupendously dangerous driving.

I did not set out this morning to climb all the way to the summit. Cool day? One water bottle. Not much distance? Eat a sandwich after the ride. I consumed everything I had stuffed in my pockets: one Balance Bare bar, one molten PowerBar, a dozen peanut butter-filled pretzel nuggets, and three Clif Shot Bloks. Plus a few cherries shared by a fellow rider, and the best energy bargain in the observatory's vending machine, a Nature Valley Sweet and Salty Peanut bar. Intake: 876 Calories. Burned: 2040 Calories.

Free to be a tourist, I enjoyed the wildflowers and lingered at the top. Along the way, I pocketed a shiny nickel that caught my eye, saw my first skink, and watched a pair of acorn woodpeckers for awhile. A friendly biker (of the motorized sort) offered to take a picture of me ("to prove you were here!"), before confessing that they had "cheated" (driving, rather than pedaling, to the top).

Just yesterday a friend commented that he does not enjoy descending Mt. Hamilton. What's not to like?! So long as you respect the gravelly curves where the hillside is chronically crumbling, and keep an eye out for the suicidal squirrels ... His hands hurt, he explained. You're braking too much, I replied.

A fabulous day on the bike: 42 miles, 5,635 feet of climbing, maximum speed 35.3 mph.