ToC 2015: Stage 3 – Mt. Hamilton (San Jose)

Stage 3: San Jose (Mt Hamilton) – Our first real climbing day. The west coast of California is only tenuously attached to the main continental tectonic plate. Basically, San Francisco is sliding very slowly towards Los Angeles (or is it vice versa). Result: frequent earthquakes and jagged fault line upheavals, euphemistically called “mountains”. Where I come from, mountains are granite out croppings (with the occasional volcano for visual relief) covered with evergreen trees, rippling streams descending, and easy gradients to climb – say 6-8% rise (50′ up in one mile of riding = about 1% grade; so 300′ in a mile = 6%). Today, though … Well, Rich, seeing what he had to work with, decided to drive us 30 miles into the route, and let about 8 of us bypass half of the first climb, Mines Road. This so we could get out of the desolate coastal mins before the tour rolled through and trapped us behind the lines. Group A tackled the whole climb, which was only a Cat 4; the rest of us got dropped off half way up (after the KOM flag) and cruised along through amber waving grass fields, melted over the hillsides like living velvet. It went on like that for 30 more miles, including two more Cat 4 climbs. Then, Mt Hamilton. The home of Lick Observatory (not much light pollution still in this desolate area), it rises 2000 vertical feet in 4 miles. So that’s an average of 10% gradient. Some parts more, some parts less. A looong grind. The downhill was equally intimidating. I took the easy way out, and vanned it part way down.

Years ago, I thought nothing of bombing down roads at 40-50 mph on my bike. I never hit the asphalt in all that time. Then I switched to mountain biking, got a little dirty, but still, handled the downs OK. But now, a few things have changed, I guess. First, I’ve got nothing to prove to myself. Second, I’ve spent a couple of weeks in the ICU from crashes (one on the flats, one while skiing a beginner slope as an expert skier). One of those crashes left me with a weakened right arm from a spinal cord injury, so I can’t grip the handlebars for more than about 20 minutes without getting cramps, as well as simply not being able to hold on as tightly. Third, I’ve promised my wife to come back from all my bike trips in one piece, and make it into our 80s with her. At 66, I’ve still got a few years to go towards that goal. This descent promised over 4000 vertical feet of downhill. Sounds like fun, right? To me, not so much. There’s a ride, directly out of Aspen, called Independence Pass. Goes from 7600′ to 12,100′. And back down, I’ve done that a few times, and know I can do it, but…it’s just not fun anymore. So I hitched a ride with X to the 2500′ level, got out ahead of the pack, and wound my way down towards the Santa Clara valley – suburban San Jose. Afterwards, I was told this section – where the switchbacks were lined with hay bales, which the stage leader actually hit on the way down – was the worst part of the ride. Oh well, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

The route ended on closed streets at the edge of the Bay Area metropolis. Wide, smooth asphalt, cops at every corner, and not a car in sight. I was all alone, screaming along, and here comes Jeremy Behler, screaming even faster, I popped on his wheel, and dug in for the finish. Jeremy had his head down, though and didn’t see the yellow “course” sign pointing left. He rammed forward at about 28 mph, while I shifted left at 15. Rich caught me, and decided not to go after him. He gave me instructions for the remainder of the ride, and zoomed on up the road.

The final 11 miles for the day were back out in the country, heading towards a motorcycle park for the uphill finish. Again, closed roads, this time filled with eager cyclists trying to beat the race to the finish. I turned around 3 km from that line, not wanting to be stopped by the oncoming CHP cars. Rich and those who’d made it all the way caught me at the top of a hill; no way was I staying with them on the down. But luckily (for all of us) the CHP bubble topped SUV angrily forced us off the road at the precise point where the sidewalk began. Except…school had just let out, and we needed to politely wind our way past oncoming parents and kids walking home.

The rest of the crew was in a mini-mall parking lot with a Beach City Deli and a pizza place close by. We could see them eating, but couldn’t cross the road. The race was too close. Mt Hamilton had broken up the field, which came by every 5 minutes or so. Finally, two broom wagons, and three ambulances later, we crossed over, got our eats, and headed out towards Monterrey.

(To be continued)