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.

Winding Down

Riding out in style, with a tip of the hat to 2011.

A moderate year for me: more than 167,000 feet climbed, over some 2,260 miles.

More, next year.

Hillacious

The first time I saw a bald eagle, it was grounded in a large pen at a zoo. Heartbreaking, but desperately necessary to stave off extinction. Back then, I imagined that I would never see one in flight.

I am pleased to report that the wild lands of San Benito County rarely disappoint—the black wings and white head gliding above me today were unmistakable, and always a thrill.

Climbing Lone Tree, I felt like my bike was laden with lead. [My fellow riders were likely wondering the same, as I struggled so slowly to the summit.] Along the way, a friendly driver in a pick-up truck waved and called out:

You women are motivated!

Determined? Yes. Motivated? Questionable.

The public road ends at a gate, and we were soon joined by the friendly resident dog—a fluffy little white-and-black, camera-shy cutie. Quite comfortable with us, despite being unrewarded with any treats, she trotted along when the last riders took off. She reportedly paced them at 17 mph, hampering their descent as they avoided running her down.

My legs were done. Yet, it seemed a shame to drive all that way to climb just one hill [albeit, a long one]. I headed with the group toward the base of the second climb, knowing that I could opt out for an easy return to the start. When I passed two riders repairing a snapped derailleur cable, I realized I might not be the last straggler to reach the summit if I just kept moving.

Determined? Yes. Motivated? Not so much.

The summit has to be right around that corner.
Okay, the next corner.
The one after that, for sure. Please?

I was never so happy to see the cattle grate that heralds the top of the hill. Fifty-five miles, with a painful 4,965 feet of climbing.

At least it was not 100+ degrees today.

Mines at Last

Approaching Robert Livermore Park in the early morning, the temperature outside the car was rapidly plummeting ... 32 ... 30 ... 28 degrees F. It was supposed to warm up to 60F today; I was seriously not prepared for sub-freezing temperatures. And if cycling sounds crazy, what do you think of the people headed for the open-air lap pool in their terrycloth robes?

What would pull me away from a nice warm house at 7:00 a.m.? Rising early enough to catch the full lunar eclipse was merely a bonus. The main event: Morning on Mines. I have enjoyed many four-wheeled excursions along this route; today I would study it at (comparatively) a snail's pace. Somehow I persuaded a friend to join me for the out-and-back journey through this isolated canyon. Well-matched, we were—two women with frozen fingers and sluggish brains.

Defrosted by a five-mile warm-up, we were both cheerful and chatty when we reached the other riders gathered at the starting point. Still, I would not have predicted that I would comfortably shed my jacket later in the day.

Along the way, one wandering calf affirmed the validity of a posted Range Cattle sign. One distinctive "no trespassing" sign warned Danger: Stay Alive By Staying Out. In full view of the road, a group of men included one sighting a rifle up the adjacent hillside. Local traffic passed with generous clearance. A motorcyclist at the Junction café was impressed that we were out there. Their secret? Heated grips. [Hmm ...]

In all, 3,825 feet of climbing over 59 miles. The longest ride I have taken in quite some time, my legs would have you know.

Then We Were Five

The first rider dropped out around mile four, at the first hill.With the strong headwind, I am not sure he would have been any less challenged on the flatter section of the route.

As hilly routes go, today's was meant to be mellow. Studying her Garmin to validate her suffering, one rider exclaimed: Fifteen percent! [Really? Not.] Another rider shrugged. Felt more like 10%. [Spot on.] My post-ride data show a steady gradient of 9.8% for slightly more than a quarter of a mile. For an accurate reading on the bike, try an inclinometer.

The second hill claimed rider number two. Riders three and four demurred in favor of a social engagement along the route. A fifth rider had a greater interest in extending her mileage than climbing hills and headed yonder. Our sociable little group of ten had been whittled down to a stalwart core of five.

Oh, what a day it was! Warm enough for a vest and arm warmers (in December!), under an extraordinary sky (a gift of the wind). 35 miles and a mere 1,870 feet of climbing.

Extra Helping of Hicks

As if it were not enough to climb Hicks once in the past month (or past year, for that matter) ... what was I doing out there today?

Let me tell you, there is nothing like an extra helping of Hicks to compensate for an extra helping of Thanksgiving dinner.

We warmed up on Harwood—which is, technically, steeper (for short stretches)—before making our way to Hicks. The recent rains had induced a small landslide, mostly plowed off the road and studded with orange cones.

When the group at the top showed signs of restlessness to descend, I took my cue. Following some idle talk of descending speeds, I wanted no one trailing me. On separate occasions, two guys have crashed in my wake. Maybe they were not trying to stay with me. Or maybe they were. A little head start gets me out of sight, and I prefer it that way.

One block from the end of our group ride, my heart rate suddenly spiked: I turned a corner to find a wrong-way cyclist headed straight at me. [On a mountain bike, wearing no helmet, of course.] I braked, I shouted, I swerved toward the curb. Perhaps predictably, so did he. Preparing for impact, I jerked my bike to the left and missed his rear wheel by a couple of inches. You're on the wrong side of the road, I called out. Did he even understand? [Doubtful.]

For the day, 29 miles and 2,110 feet of climbing. Hicks hurts.

Cloud Computing

For the 10 days leading up to today, the forecast was dire. Would the Thanksgiving Day Low-Key Mt. Hamilton Hillclimb be canceled for the first time in history?

Fair weather or foul, I was prepared to volunteer for this one. At my current pace, the volunteer crew would be lucky to make it home in time for dessert.

I would bet that I was not the only one hoping for rain this morning. The roads in my neighborhood were dry when the call was made at 6 a.m.: The climb is ON!

The roads at the base of Mt. Hamilton were not dry, but the clouds teased us with glimpses of blue sky (once or twice). More than 100 riders signed in. Crazy people.

I was so glad not to be suffering on the bike today. I cannot imagine spending more than two hours riding up the hill in a cold drizzle, and that is what it would have taken to get me to the top. (Two hours and forty minutes for the next-to-last finisher in my photo above.)

Instead, I spent more than two hours standing inside the cloud at the top, collecting finishing times. A cold drizzle, in other words. Crazy person.

My fellow Low-Keyers, I salute you!