Can you sink any lower when your motivation to do a ride is just to get a great meal? Or, is it the other way around: an exquisite meal can elevate any ride? Such was the case with David’s joint desire to go to Treasure Island by bike and to get another meal at Jungdon Katsu in Emeryville. When David broached the idea of this ride with me, he admitted as much: the tonkatsu at Jungdon is ‘omigawd good and I wanna go there again’. Since David hadn’t ridden his bike to Treasure Island heretofore, that became the cover for our chow-down.

I had never heard of Jungdon Katsu but I’ve eaten my share of tonkatsu. Tonkatsu is everywhere in Japan although originally it was an importation from Europe. It’s an adaptation of a breaded veal cutlet or schnitzel given a Japanese twist and using pork instead. We don’t give a second thought about adopted foods because almost all American food dishes originate from somewhere else. But Japan has a long, autochthonous culinary history that has choosily but warmly accepted some imports from India, China, and now Europe and the Americas. Karē raisu (curry rice) is now a Japanese food even though it came from India; gyoza are nothing more than a Japanese version of potstickers; Japanese milk bread or pan is derived from Portuguese bread. What makes tonkatsu Japanese is the use of panko breading for an exquisitely crunchy crust.

Although you can get a few other dishes there, Jungdon specializes in tonkatsu. But it does have other kinds of katsu—chicken, fish, and some vegan and vegetarian kinds you’d never see in Japan, not even in shojin ryori (Buddhist cuisine).

I’ve driven through Emeryville hundreds of time and it was almost always to get someplace else such as the start of a bike ride. Roger and I have been to Emeryville a bunch of times in order to ride on the Alex Zuckerman path to Treasure Island or to lead a tour of the Port of Oakland. Emeryville is one of those Bay Area cities you drive through and have no reason to stop there; think: San Leandro or Colma. Well, there is a ‘there’ there. Back in the day Emeryville was one big, blue-collar warehouse district—similar to South of Market in the 1960s. When real estate in SF started to go astronomical in the early 1980s an artist friend took me over to Emeryville to look for an empty warehouse he could buy to use as his studio/residence. He eventually bought a place there. So for a short time Emeryville was the halfway house for artists priced out of SF. With the tech boom the warehouses are long gone and replaced by high density housing, tech offices, and a small retail sector to support those folks.

I know little of the history of Jungdon Katsu except that it originally was a restaurant in the town of Danville to which we ride often. But it burned down. The site of the current Jungdon Katsu seems to have been another Japanese restaurant and Jungdon took it over and converted it to katsu. Incidentally, in Japan it’s very common for eating establishments to specialize in just one type of food. A place might serve just ramen, another place just udon, or another place just sushi or just okonomiyaki. So Jungdon does just katsu and probably as a concession to American culture relents and offers a few other things.

David wanted to do this ride as a midweek ride because Jungdon has lines out the door on weekends. His plan was to get there at lunch time hopefully before a crowd developed.

Contrary to the weather forecast it was bright, sunny, and showing signs of being a comfortable day. I rode over the hill from Orinda for the 10:30 AM start because I knew I was going to pig out and burning more calories before the food carnage was my safety valve. Jungdon is a small, modest venue right in front of a bus stop for the “Emery-Go-Round” free bus. Soon everybody showed up. Peter again drove up all the way from San Jose, quite a feat. It turned out everybody else drove there too—Joe and Lamberto from Walnut Creek, David and Cathy from SF. We were all ignorant of the parking situation in Emeryville. Word to the wise: metered parking is not cheap. J&L discovered that the public lot down the block was, gasp, free! If you come to Jungdon, you are advised.

We took off and around the corner encountered the Longest Stop Light in the Known Universe. I am not exaggerating: we were there for well over five minutes. You have to cross the Amtrak tracks and naturally we got there when the crossing guards came down and a short Amtrak train came by. Then another Amtrak came by and then crossing guards went up. Minutes passed with a red light. Nothing happened. The pickup driver in front of us gave up and did a U-turn to escape waiting for Godot. Doesn’t he realize that the rail line goes north-south and he’ll just have to cross the rails somewhere else? A lesson in impatience. With both trains long gone the light was still red. We thought it was broken. Two cycles of lights for the other lanes came and went and ours was still red. Peter and David gave up and went through the light and crossed the tracks to the next intersection. The light finally changed and we began our crawl through E-town to the Bay Bridge bike path entrance.

Emeryville has a lively restaurant and shopping district close to 101. I was surprised that Emeryville has a protected lane on the main drag, Shellmound, and lots of lights for peds to get across and to slow down cars.

David had never ridden onto the bridge. The entrance is directly off southbound Shellmound just past the Ikea. If you don’t pay attention you’ll miss it since there are no large signs announcing its presence. Once on the Zuckerman path things calmed down immensely and we were able to double up and chat amiably. There were almost no other users on the trail. The brisk headwind had the benefit of clearing out the air and the sky was crystal blue. The deafening roar of the cars on the bridge was everpresent, the one buzzkill of riding on the bridge.

We stopped to use the portapotty on the Zuckerman path and some concluded it was, uh, challenging and demurred. There is a nicer restroom on Yerba Buena; it actually gets cleaned!

I hadn’t ridden to TI since the road down to the island had been reconfigured. Instead of Treasure Island Road, which was only moderately steep, we have an ‘improved’ path on Macalla. Now cyclists must drop under the new bridge and do a short grunt to get to the top of Macalla before taking a very steep descent. I was on the brakes all the way down. While we were descending it wasn’t lost on me that this was the way we would have to return. Long ago on a lark Roger and I went up Macalla and afterwards concluded that we’d never do it again since Treasure Island Road was so much better. More on that later.

On TI we actually didn’t do much ‘farting around’ as David had hoped. The views were of course spectacular on such a clear day. We did the selfie thing. Someone asked what else was on TI. The answer is, not much except housing. (Note: there are two decent places to grab a bit, Aracely and Mersea, but they don’t have katsu.) Somehow TI reminded me of Rikers Island. (You do the math.) Climate change is going to make TI a very interesting place to live in about fifty years. We’ll get a picture of that beforehand by observing what happens to New Orleans.

Before anyone could suggest another place to explore, I exclaimed, “I’m hungry!” and that was enough to trigger everyone to head back to Emeryville. But first we had to get up to the bridge.

I wonder whose bright idea it was to close Treasure Island Road and force cyclists to go up Macalla. As we rolled along the waterfront David craned his neck upward and asked, “Is that the road we came down??” “Yes,” I said, “and it’s the only way to get back.” If you didn’t know beforehand, you certainly know when you’re going up Macalla that its construction must have been an expediency because it’s a friggin’ solid and constant 17 percent grade. It’s certainly “above category”, more like “WTF” category. The one crumb thrown to cyclists is that at the bottom four switchbacks have been carved into the cliff to reduce the gradient. You have of course the option to continue on the road. But no sane person does. The switchbacks are rather nice because they’re well landscaped with coastal flora, colorful and redolent with coastal sage. There were gardeners working on it as we climbed.

All good things come to an end and unfortunately on Macalla you’re only about a sixth or seventh of the way up the crazy road when the switchbacks vanish. Why didn’t they continue? Maybe the developer ran out of money (because you know the City wouldn’t spend the money to do this.)

This is when experience is important. Not only did I know we were going to have to go up Macalla but I had to go up another 17% grade, Lomas Cantadas, from our house over the Berkeley hills to Jungdon. I had my road bike with a low gear of 30×34. It got me up Umunhum and it was going to get me through this ride. Whilst I solemnly glided up the hill, the carnage raged behind me. I saw Peter dismount and start walking. Lamberto unfortunately couldn’t get into his lowest gear but somehow grunted out the whole thing. Joe was gasping like an asthmatic when he arrived at the top. From there it was back to the Zuckerman path but not before you have to cross the exit ramp for traffic heading to TI. Another great place to get creamed by a car—be careful. Then it was all downhill back to Ikea, a really nice grade, and I coasted the entire way.

Jungdon was waiting for us and there was no crowd or line. We were able to take over a couple of its outdoor tables. Roger, who didn’t ride, was waiting for us. We had already looked at the menu online and knew what we wanted. I wanted the full Japanese treatment so I got a curry rice with a tonkatsu and miso soup; Roger got the dark meat tonkatsu as did David; Cathy had the chicken katsu; Lamberto and Joe both got the fish katsu (which I was very curious about). Peter being leery of gluten avoided the panko and got a Japanese potato salad and some fried vegetables. David had warned us that the portions were large and he was right. I don’t recall ever getting a tonkatsu meal with more than one cutlet; Jungdon gives you two and they aren’t small ones either. It was super crunchy!

We know we’ll be back and we’ll know where we can park for free next time. Maybe we’ll just go to the vista point on the Zuckerman path and skip Macalla.

I think everyone was glad they didn’t have to cycle after lunch. Like a snake digesting a large rat we were, uh, incapacitated temporarily. The owner came out and thanked us for dining at her establishment. We told her we had come over to ride to TI because we wanted to eat at her place. She smiled. Peter told her about gluten-free panko he gets at Whole Foods. If he brought some, would she consent to use it? “Sure!” she said. You know Peter is coming back for tonkatsu!

As Roger and I were leaving, a passerby said, “Hey, was that the Different Spokes ride at Jungdon?” It turns out a club member, Aaron, who lives across the street from Jungdon saw us clustered outside. I told him he should have played hooky and come along. “But isn’t the road to TI kinda steep?” he said. Oh, we’ll have to show him in person next time. But why would he go when he can always just walk across the street to get his tonkatsu fix?

After the summer-like weather in March, this month’s Happy Hour returned to normal spring temperatures much to Roger S’s disappointment. Hoping to escape another typical day in San Francisco, he scooted over to join our East Bay fun group for another short ride on the Lamorinda MUP with a concluding dinner at El Talpense in Lafayette. He wasn’t the only member from afar: Peter, who resides in San Jose, endured the commute traffic to join us! That’s the “problem” for the Happy Hour ride: unless you live in the East Bay, you are probably in for some hellish traffic to get to Lafayette and you will need that ride and the food coma afterwards to reset your mood and blood pressure.

Roger S dealt with the commuter crush by (a) coming over early, and (b) using BART. The latter is not Roger’s usual means of transport but on a weekday at commute time, the bridge is a hopeless mess. BART was the wiser choice. Plus, he was able to get in a longer ride and then met us at Moraga Common. So it was a win-win. This was also not Peter’s first rodeo. He knew the routine: head out way earlier than you think you’ll need to get somewhere at commute time. He got to Lafayette with time to spare and indulged his other interest by going into the flyfishing store next door to El Talpense to kill time.

My husband Roger was hoping to join us for the ride. But a trivial leg injury had turned into a medical emergency when it got infected and now he’s sporting a wound that will take months to fully heal. Although he got released to ride just the day before, he wisely decided to sit this one out and joined us just for the meal post-ride, which is really the point of this “ride” anyway.

We hadn’t seen Peter in well over a year. He was going to come to the Pool Party in 2025 but then got Covid and had to back out. (Thank you, Peter!) Since we’d seen him last he’s had a new job, a new bike, and a bunch of other life changes. It takes a lot of patience to be a South Bay member. Since the club (other than the ALC crowd) infrequently hosts a ride in the South Bay anymore, you all have to schlep north if you want to hang with the cool kids. When Sharon Lum, who also lives in SJ, was more active in the club, she did a lot of cheerleading for our South Bay contingent. David Gaus used to do a lot to hold the freak flag high for us as well. But since his job is like flesh-eating bacteria—all-consuming—he hasn’t been able to lead rides in the South Bay. For those of you who live south of Mountain View and are still members of the club, maybe lightning will strike some club member and they’ll get inspired to lead a ride in your neck of the woods. It’s probably been about five years since the one that David last led. I keep thinking I’m going to head south and do the Tierra Bella metric route or David’s old San Juan Bautista Grade-Castroville-Aromas loop. But it’s so far away…

It wasn’t chilly and it wasn’t hot—it was just right, about 70F. The ride was, as usual, very pleasant and the trail wasn’t crowded at all. Unlike previous iterations we whizzed up the trail. This was partly prompted by leaving late (hey, it’s a Different Spokes ride—would you expect otherwise??) and partly by Peter hitting the afterburners. Joe and Lamberto were no slouches either: they’ve been riding more and doing a lot of hiking and are even planning on running a half-marathon. In my case I was riding my road bike instead of my old beater bike so I was able to keep up. Peter showed off the digital “bell” in his cycling computer as we passed other trail users.

Roger S was waiting for us at Moraga Common. After a pit stop we headed back enjoying a nice coast downhill after St. Mary’s College. And because of the recent rain we even had water running down the ‘secret’ waterfall next to the trail!

At El Talpense, which is right on Lafayette’s main drag, Mt. Diablo Boulevard, Roger had arrived and gotten our outdoor table. Unlike in much of San Francisco, dining al fresco in Contra Costa does not require a down jacket. Lafeyette, whether by chance or efforts of the local Chamber of Commerce, is turning into a mini-gourmet ghetto. Well, maybe that’s an exaggeration. But the number of eating establishments seems to have exploded along Mt. Diablo Boulevard giving us many options for Happy Hour. El Talpense is a sister restaurant to the first one in Berkeley. Years ago the Lafeyette site used to be an excellent California cuisine restaurant, whose name I no longer recall. But the landlord raised the rent, and the husband-and-wife team relocated. In the interim it’s been a Middle Eastern restaurant; it too vanished. Apparently El Talpense thought they’d try their chops in Conta Costa and opened this second branch.

Roger and I trialed this place about a month ago. To be honest, we thought it was only fair. This is an ongoing years-old problem with our area: really good Mexican and Central American food is rare. Maybe it’s the expensive real estate, maybe it’s the whiteness of the local population, maybe it’s something altogether different. (Although El Jarro directly across the street is a surprisingly good Oaxacan joint.) After living near the Mission and being able to get inexpensive and excellent Mexican food, the Orinda area is a let-down. But El Talpense has a very nice venue and the service is very good. Plus, for the area and with food prices heading skyward the menu prices are reasonable.

Despite the brevity of our ride, there sure was a lot of food being consumed. Joe, so to speak, ‘took the cake’ by ordering a three-item plate that looked like it was a serving platter. Let’s just say the portions were generous all around. Roger’s plate of carnitas was also, uh, generous. This time I ordered fish tacos and they were excellent and tasty. Previously I had had a burrito and it was just okay. That said it’s hard to make a burrito really stand out other than by making it massive. But I’ll come back for the fish tacos!

Of course over dinner (and the ride) there was a lot of catching up to do. On the pet front everybody’s favorite small honorary humans were still alive and kicking despite their ailments. Lamberto has a new sled, a Specialized Roubaix that he got on sale. Coincidentally Peter has the same bike but the previous year’s version, which looked identical. Ah, spring means new bikes. Roger S had new cycling kicks. He ditched his old Sidis, which never were very comfortable for him, for some non-brand name shoes he got on the Internet. They have a much wider and taller toebox that don’t scrunch his toes. He said they’re even comfortable to walk in. We caught up on each other’s various ailments. (What else do old farts do when they get together??) Joe and Lamberto have been volunteering to do some trash clean up and Joe had a nasty run-in with poison oak necessitating a trip to the doctor. Peter it turns out is apparently still suffering some after-effects of his Covid bout last summer though you wouldn’t know it by how fast he was going.

We practically closed up El Talpense. It was getting dark and the owners rolled down the windows between the indoors and outdoor patio. One small group arrived to sit on the patio just as we left but otherwise business looked done for the day. That’s life in the suburbs: everybody is pretty much done doing stuff by 8 PM and the sidewalks roll up. We bid our farewells. Next month we’re going to the Filipino restaurant down the street, Tropa. Oh right, and we’ll ride beforehand!

The return of the East Bay Happy Hour could not have happened at a better time. Coinciding with an incredible winter heat wave—a jaw-dropping mid-eighties in March—this month’s confab/ride/feast had the luxurious feel of a fabulous Southern California evening by the beach. Except minus the beach. There we were post-ride on the outdoor patio at the former Lafayette Chow (now named Tutu’s) in t-shirts and shorts basking in the late afternoon sun surrounded by fellow diners in flipflops, shorts, and tanktops. Wait, where am I??

But I’m jumping ahead…

After a doleful winter recovering from surgery, I decided it was time to get the band back together and hit the road. The last Happy Hour was in October and we put it on hiatus with the demise of Daylight Savings Time. At the time I was thinking we’d restart in April. But the dismal state of the club ride calendar had me thinking, “WTF?! What have these queens been doing besides their makeup? It’s time to HTFU and start using those rubbers on your bike!” Plus, a ten-mile, flat ride was just the thing to ease back into riding again. A quick email to the usual suspects resulted in hearty “Yeah!”. We are on a mission from God…

The Happy Hour so far has been the usual five-mile jaunt up the Lafayette-Moraga Regional Trail to Moraga Common and then back. It takes about an hour depending on how much gabbing goes on. Joe and Lamberto, Roger S, and me and the hubby were there. Chris had to cancel for some reason. His excuse? “I ran out of gas. I had a flat tire. I didn’t have enough money for cab fare. My tux didn’t come back from the cleaners. An old friend came in from out of town. Someone stole my car. There was an earthquake. A terrible flood. Locusts. It wasn’t my fault. I swear to god!” It’s alright, Chris, next month.

Roger came all the way from SF, a bit of a surprise given how troublesome it is to cross the Bay at the commute hour. But ever resourceful he left SF at two in the afternoon and did some shopping in the East Bay to kill time before the ride, so no joy-killing stop-and-go for him. And we do love our shopping! Joe and Lamberto were recently back from an extended stay in Panama. We were eager to hear all about ex-pat life in the soon-to-be…let’s see: Greenland, Venezuela, Canada, Iran…55th state!

When we departed it felt like a pleasant summer roll: about 85F with the sun low in the sky. You could feel the heat winding down to a comfortable level. The near-dusk light put everyone in a quiet and relaxing mood. As we rode, Lamberto and Joe made me so envious recounting how they ended up hanging out with Greg Louganis while in Panama. I need to hit them up to get his autograph next year. Maybe he’ll come to the Pool Party if we invite him! A quick pitstop at Moraga Common and it was a fast roll back to town. With the heat there was a spate of young, shirtless Adonises from St. Mary’s College training on the trail. Such lovely scenery…

Our table outside was waiting at Tutu’s. Lamberto and Joe filled us in on life in Boquete, Panama. Boquete, being in the highlands and away from the coast, does not suffer from the equatorial heat, making for ‘just right’ weather. Boquete also hosts the Baru volcano, which tops out over 11,000 feet. Their hiking group, which meets three times a week, tramps all the way to the summit! Besides hiking with the other ex-pats, they indulge in dominos and other tile games with the retirees. Life in Panama for pensioners is pretty sweet; everything is a lot cheaper: food, dining out, housecleaning. Unfortunately Boquete has now been discovered and is fast turning into the place for ex-pats who want to maintain their lifestyle. Next stop: higher costs, more construction! The other topic of conversation was pet insurance (again) and the dirty little secret that when your BFF gets seriously ill, the costs are going to be very similar to when you get sick. Except you have health insurance and there ain’t no Obamacare for pets (yet). Oliver, their dog, has cancer and Roger’s cat has kidney failure; our cats both died after thousands of dollars of care that were only ameliorated by, thank god, pet insurance. It turns out Roger S’s presence wasn’t due to our sparkling personalities, joie de vivre, or even the food at Tutu’s. The mundane reason is that Roger loves hot weather, something that San Francisco rarely has. We’ll see if he comes over when it’s more like 100F this summer!

Little has changed since Chow became Tutu’s. The other Chows were shuttered but the Lafayette branch was bought by its employees. In effect it’s a workers’ cooperative not unlike the Cheese Board, Other Avenues, or Rainbow Grocery. The menu has largely remained intact, which is a good thing because it covers all the bases—omnivore, carnivore, vegetarian, vegan. It’s also organic. This time Joe and Lamberto exercised restraint—only Joe had an adult beverage, a just reward for a bike ride, but he balanced that with ordering the veggie platter. Roger S indulged in a pot roast—by the way, what is a pot roast?—and Roger and Lamberto both got pizzas, prosciutto and chorizo respectively. Tutu’s had petrale sole so without hesitation it was my choice. And *gasp* no one wanted dessert.

The sun disappeared and there we were in the evening dining outside in summer wear deep in conversation. Sated we said our farewells and headed home. Although Tutu’s is always a good choice, next month we will likely wander further afield, maybe Tropa for Filipino food. Stay tuned!

Ed. Ride leader Chris Chiang submitted the following ride recap of Saturday’s Double Hawk Hill.

Today’s ride got a cold and windy start in the low forties. We joined up with the Red Ribbon ride at the National AIDS Memorial Grove in Golden Gate Park sharing a somber World AIDS Day ceremony and reflecting on the strength of our community. As we emerged from the protection of the Grove to begin riding, the frigid wind resumed its assault. Taking the direct approach into the Presidio on Arguello seemed like unnecessary punishment yet that climb sure helped warm me up. Weaving through the Presidio we rode with the Red Ribbon riders and ascended to the Legion of Honor. From there, Larry and I peeled off to get on the Marin side of the business.

On the Golden Gate Bridge the wind usually blows from the west. Today we got an unexpected Nor’easter headwind. Each time I rounded a bridge pillar the wind was mercifully blocked even if temporarily. This morning I was held together top to bottom by just a single layer of spandex, not out of vanity but from practicality to remain light on the pending climb. No piggy in a blanket was I in this deep chill. Once on the north side my frosty fingers managed to text Stephanie who was waiting in the heated comfort of her car.

The first section up Conzelman Road offered a consistent ten percent grade for more than half a mile. We were mostly sheltered from the wind. Occasionally an odd swirl kicked in from the Pacific while rays of light struggled to break through the clouds.  Stephanie and Larry moved ahead while I dealt with another episode of chain drop. The grade moderated as the traffic circle came into view but increased again from the traffic circle to the summit. We did not linger at the top and quickly continued to the sixteen percent descent on Conzelman on the back of Hawk Hill.

Heading toward Battery Townsley the wind was no better. We encountered odd headwinds when we should have been protected by the hillside. Then the chipseal gave way to dirt-and-gravel going toward the big ridge.  But all is good when you’re biking with friends and we arrived at the sixteen-inch big gun with all smiles. On time the sun came out for the photo op. Check out the picture gallery for proof. (You need to be a Different Spokes member to access the photo albums. That and riding with some cool cyclists in spandex! What a steal for only $30 a year!)

Descending through Rodeo Beach we made short work of Bunker Road to return to the traffic circle from the back of Hawk Hill. This climb up McCullough Road is memorable for its unrelenting seven-to-nine percent grade. When we regrouped at the traffic circle, Larry graciously declined another go at the summit. Adding up today’s headwinds, he’s probably logged a second summit and then some.  Stephanie and I dashed to the peak and returned to the traffic circle in fifteen minutes. As the three of us descended down to the bridge, I could hear Larry blurting out that he prefers climbing to descending. Good sign I think when one starts to find a zone of comfort in tackling hill climbs.

After a quick farewell to Stephanie, we looked at the bridge with some trepidation. But it was not bad at all and nothing like this morning’s crossing! Sure there was some crosswind from the Pacific but the bridge was now easy-peasy after the day’s climb, spandex or no spandex. We got back to SF and ducked into a warm coffee shop by 1 p.m. Grateful for all the friends and allies who showed up over the years and gave us a collective push when all the elements seemed to want to pull us down.

Ed. Stephen, the ride leader, submitted his account of the club’s Post-Thanksgiving Turkey Burn.

Tony chided me, lightly of course, for my “terse” description of the Mount Hamilton ride. Now, I can do terse and I can do florid. So this time I am going with florid. If you can’t manage to swim though it all, the short version is: three riders, really cold, great ride, please join us next year!

The Post-Thanksgiving Turkey Burn follows the route of what is likely my very favorite ride of all. It’s another of those rides I would call “race to the pizza”. All the way through its meandering around Marin’s most beautiful scenery, the ride inevitably leads to Bovine Bakery and its sadly limited store of unique pizzas with their magnificent, melt-in-your-mouth crust.

This year after two late cancellations there were only three of us: Elmer, Brian, and I. Yes, it is hard getting up the morning after stuffing yourself with bird or its tofu equivalent. But the upside is that the roads are virtually empty and, more importantly, reminiscing about a fabulous meal with family and friends is all the sweeter on a bicycle, in this case a very cold bicycle slicing through a frigid atmosphere, the pedals featuring “icycle” feet.

The forecast promised an appearance of the sun sometime between noon and two. But the thickness of the clouds mocked the weatherman [sic]. Much bundled up and with muttered imprecations, our little team of three managed to leave fully twenty minutes late, closer to 10:00 than the predicted 9:30. Note to team: given when the sun sets at the end of November, this ride really should start no later than 9:00.

The first stretch down Lucas Valley Road is easy, with the vast expanse of Eichler houses peeking elegantly through the steadily thickening forest, a perfect warmup for the first of four climbs. The front side of Big Rock—don’t get me started on the front and back side of hills, but sometimes it’s obvious—is demanding but not overlong and when the Big Rock heaves into view, at least we were warm not counting twenty frigid digits each. 

But such warmth does not withstand the magnificent descent into the long ride through the dark, towering forest that is the second half of Lucas Valley. The air crackling with cold cannot hide the sylvan cathedral that is one of the finest roads in all of Northern California. You know the reverie is coming to an end when the vaulted ceiling gives way to sky, alas still without sun. We turned right on Nicasio Valley Road for a brief pit stop at the general store, the less said about the “accommodations”, the better. We decided to skip the Cheese Factory so the climb up the—in my view—annoying Cheese Hill, aka “le col de fromage”, our second major climb, did not hold its usual promise of hunting around for someone with the code to the restroom. 

After the goats and the chickens—one of the latter of which had made her way outside the fence—and the aforementioned Cheese Factory with its picturesque pond, and then the fire station, we made the sometimes dangerous left turn onto Hicks Valley Road, a Marin road that fills my heart with glee. There is a little climb but that does not interrupt the painterly rural spread that greets the eye. A left turn at Marshall Petaluma Road with a quick glance to the right and the reassurance that we will not need to do the fearsome, steep Wilson Hill today, led to more meandering through California beauty.

It’s six miles of beauty and then that little bridge and the farm on the left, and no further delay we are on the steep first third of Marshall Wall. Throughout the day Brian was clearly the fastest of us, but not so fast that he tired of waiting at the top of the various mounts. Elmer and I had the pleasure of riding side by side through the steepest part of the climb, again virtually no traffic, and plenty of auditory warning and visual distance should a rare car appear on our heels. Steep climbs go faster when you have a friendly chat, and so it was. Soon enough we crested the first of several false summits and before we knew it we were at the top. No point in stopping to take in the view since it was socked in with cloud and fog.

The descent to Marshall reminds us that the climb up the back side of Marshall Wall is actually tougher than the front side. Again front, back, I really believe it, and I have a categorization of every hill I climb to that end. Then all of a sudden there is that little red church and the stop sign that comes out of nowhere. I always remind riders to watch out for oyster shells on the road. I’m not sure if anyone has every had a flat from one. But they look intimidating and I figure it’s best to avoid them.

In the parade of beauty that is this ride nothing tops Tomales Bay. On this day the muted hues of late autumn filtering through the low, growling clouds gave the scene a Hudson River School quality. I decided that no iPhoto would capture it, and as I was still freezing cold I committed it to memory and pedaled on. I think Brian did take some pics so I will pursue him for those and get them into the album if that works out. 

I love riding along Tomales Bay. I wish it would never end. But it does end in a pitiless little hill that at least now has the advantage of having been recently repaved. Many will remember the broken pavement of that torturous stretch and, thanks be to all that is merciful, the pavement is new if not exactly smooth. We all successfully made the right turn on to Mesa. Brian found it while well ahead of the rest of us even though I told him the street was named “Monte”. Curses to aging memory. And so via that little seemingly square roundabout into Point Reyes Station, the drama of the pizza awaits.

Yes, the drama of the pizza. Why Bovine Bakery can’t just throw in an pie or two, I do not know. Mysteries of quotidien existence. I even wrote them once to no effect despite the nice noncommittal reply. So I waste no time whenever I arrive and dive into the line, which in this event was mercifully short. The pizza was still on the chalkboard so there was hope. I tried to remain calm because I have been disappointed before in these same circumstances. When I was second in the line and the young gal behind the counter finally asked me what I might want, I said, “Is there still pizza?” “Yes, there is one piece left!” One piece, the last piece. Yes!! “I’ll take it, whatever it is.” Their vegetarian masterpieces are really the pick of the lot but the one last piece was a sausage thing. Even so it was pizza and that was good enough for me. I even ordered a small double latte in an effusion of accomplishment although I regretted it later because lattes are not their specialty and they are painfully slow to deliver.

I took my hard earned pizza in its characteristic brown paper bag and labored to eat it as slowly as possible. That crust, that ineffable crust. You must have it to understand its splendors. I pretty much only eat pizza on bike rides, so wow, yes, hosannah.

The pizza finally safely secured in my digestion, we headed to the dreaded Point Reyes Station port-a-potties. Three jaw-droppingly handsome young racers, all of a kit, laughingly warned us that—my words not theirs—the aesthetics of the port-a-potties were substandard even for these notorious parts. A welcome word to the wise. The only downsides of road cycling are road kill and port-a-potties, and the advice for both of them is the same: do not look down. I did not look down, and I managed to get out of there with my vision and my memory unscarred.

From Point Reyes Station we took the well-traveled return to Marinwood via Pt. Reyes-Petaluma Road, to Nicasio Valley Road, and to Lucas Valley Road. The Nicasio reservoir was still plenty full although not overflowing. And again the muted colors of a a grey day made for fantastical vistas. The sun peeked through once or twice but it was only teasing. There was what I believe to be a golden eagle scanning its horizon perched atop Big Rock, and crazily he was there again on Sunday when I rode with Marin Marauders. On that occasion several of us stopped to investigate proffering a variety of opinions about its identity. But I am sticking with golden eagle and I have photos from Sunday to “prove” it.

The back side of Big Rock Hill is almost a relief. The last of the four climbs is easily the easiest but just enough of a climb to remind your legs of all the work they have done but not so much as to make them regret it.

We three met up one last time at the start/end point. What a ride! Who cares about the cold? The Turkey Burn route is epic. Next year, one more time. And I hope all of you will join us then.
—Stephen Shirreffs

Ed. I was going to jot a club history of the Mt. Hamilton ride since Stephen’s recap yesterday was terse. I started to write and while doing some research I realized I had already written a short history! Those brain cells are dying fast. Or, the trivia that sputters out of my figurative pen is rightly flushed out of my consciousness asap. I wrote this article as a come-on for the 2021 Mt. Hamilton ride. I have added a few new, additional comments inline.

No, I’m not talking about Alexander Hamilton or a Tony award winning musical. I’m talking about Laurentine Hamilton, baby, whose name graces Mount Hamilton in the South Bay.

This coming Sunday [November 7, 2021] club Treasurer Roger Sayre and VP David Gaus are going to lead the charge up the Bay Area’s tallest peak full-bore, no-holds-barred, take-no-prisoners….well actually not: it’s going to be a delightful romp at a modest pace with the dynamic duo sweeping you upward. The club’s annual foray up the hill, which we had to cancel last year due to you-know-what, is going to be extra-special this year. David is going to sag the ride…in his car. So you’ll be able to bring along your hair dryer, curlers, and change of wardrobe—at least two!—and David will carry them to the summit for you. And if you want to bring along that picnic basket with the 10-lb. Honey-Baked Ham with all the fixin’s he’ll shove that in the back as well so you can brunch to your heart’s content whilst your eyes lovingly adore the Lick contemplating your (in)significance in the vast universe that said observatory has explored.

Seriously, this ride is a part of DSSF history. The first club ride up Mt. Hamilton was in October 1983, less than a year after the club’s birth, led by then club mover-and-shaker Michael John. MJ was responsible for numerous club rides in the nether regions of the Bay Area as well as several club bike touring trips around the US. He also led club rides up Mt. Tam on the Railroad Grade on full moon nights on his touring bike (!) However he never led Mt. Hamilton again for some reason. (I’ll have to ask him about that…) [I never did ask him until I reread this article. I’ve now written MJ about his virginal Mt. Hamilton ride and we’ll see what he says!] All was not lost however as Ron Decamp, another early member who happened to live not that far from the start of the ride, loved to go up Mt. Hamilton and led it no less than four times in 1984! Kevin Anderson aka ‘Flo Velcro’ and ‘Rex Flash, Mountain Biker’ led it in 1986. (Kevin actually did bring several wardrobe changes on club rides. He’d use a restroom and emerge in entirely different bike drag!) [Kevin did it the hard way: he went from Pleasanton up Mines Road to the top. The back way is much steeper than the front.]

Then it sort of lapsed until Sharon Lum came along in 1991. Sharon is also a South Bay denizen and liked to do long rides. So naturally she and Hamilton were a match. Sharon led the ride annually until 2007 when David Gaus took it over. [Sharon is still a club member although she has retired from any cycling other than running errands around her neighborhood.] Why does David love this ride? You’ll have to ask him yourself this Sunday. But I’m betting that one of the reasons is that despite the enormous elevation gain—over 5,000 feet in total—that makes it a double-dare-you challenge, it’s entirely doable because the average gradient is only about 6%. It is however a bit long at 18 miles to the summit. But then it’s 18 miles mostly downhill afterward! That’s only about 36 miles total. Sure you can do that! Just take your time. Despite the elevation gain (or because of it?) the 2015 edition brought 33 people out of slumber to ride to the top! That was the most people on a club ride until this year’s Pride Ride. [It’s since been beaten by subsequent Pride Rides. I also overlooked that Derek Liecty’s inaugural American River Bikeway trip in 1984 had 35 Spokers.]

Weather on Mt. Hamilton has been unpredictable. Some years it’s been unseasonably warm making for glorious basking at the top…

…and other years it’s been extraordinarily chilly leading to huddling in the lobby next to the wall heater.

And of course there’s always the chance of rain. Ten years ago Roger and I did the ride and it was in the low 30s at the top. Everybody crowded in the lobby to get some heat. The descent was unbelievably cold even with wind pants, GoreTex jackets, wool caps, and winter gloves. Roger could barely control the tandem it was so cold. And yes, it snows on Mt. Hamilton during the winter! (If you want to peruse the gory details of that ride, go here.)

This Sunday be sure to check the weather forecast before you head out the door. You will want to make sure you have plenty of warm—preferably windproof—clothing for the descent if the forecast looks at all chilly. No reason to hold back because you can always give what you don’t want to wear going up to David. Although the lobby has vending machines for snacks and drinks you will probably want to eat something more substantial like a small sandwich to replenish those calories so pack a lunch. Although Lick Observatory in recent years has sold hot coffee in the gift shop, it may not be open this Sunday. So throw that thermos of hot coffee into your goody bag just in case.

Sharon always brought freshly baked muffins to the start, something we always looked forward to. Rumor has it that David is going to show up with some special donuts. See you Sunday! To see the ride listing at the club website and to RSVP, go here. [Speaking of sag, it’s a rare Different Spokes ride that has had a sag or a luggage wagon. The old Russian River Weekend trips started off being self-supported but quickly adopted a luggage van to get everybody’s tents, sleeping bags, clothes, and food up to Guerneville. One time I recall “Loudmouth” Mike Reedy piloting his monster Cadillac, the “Burgundy Brougham”, up to Guerneville as a true sag. For the 1987 Tour of the Trinity Alps trip riders took turns driving the luggage car. But day rides? No way. The old ethos of being prepared and going self-supported is fading away, says the Old Grouch.]