This past weekend something happened that we haven’t experienced in a quite a while: we had two club rides on the same day. I’m not talking about a choice of two routes for the ‘same’ ride like we have for the Fall Social but two completely separate rides. What made it noteworthy was it was a road ride (Darth Veeder) and an offroad ride (Mt. Tam) as the days of regular mountain bike rides in the club pretty much dwindled out in the Aughts. The last time we had two rides on the same day was in November 2019 a few months before the Pandemic started. Back when we had an active mountain bike contingent, road and dirt rides on the same day hardly was a conflict because those two groups mostly did not overlap.
Like green shoots popping above the ground in spring it’s an indicator perhaps of things to come. That the club is recovering not just from the Pandemic and also is starting to grow again is borne out by our membership numbers. We currently have 113 members. That may seen low but it is much greater than just four years ago when we were in the low 60s. I’d like to say that we are growing despite the Pandemic but the truth may be that we are because of the Pandemic. Other local clubs such as Grizzly Peak Cyclists and Valley Spokesmen have seen their membership numbers trend upward these past two years. As we move out of the Pandemic perhaps we may contract as other amusements vie for members’ time and attention and we revert to ‘regular’ life again.
Although I would have liked to join David M’s ride on Mt. Tam, the other Davids’ ride, Darth Veeder, got unceremoniously rained out on Saturday and postponed to Sunday where it then conflicted with the Mt. Tam offering. I was eager to go back to Mt. Veeder Road in Napa since we hadn’t set pedal on it since 2013. Had it really been that long? On this opening day of spring seven of us showed up. It may have officially been spring but inland valleys of the Bay Area including Napa can still be crispy cold, and it was! The Davids started this ride at Buttercream Bakery in Napa. It must be a very popular locals’ place because there was a nonstop stream of people heading in for everything from breakfast to cakes and donuts; the parking lot was full. Unfortunately we did not have time to partake so it would have to be a post-ride snack.
The route is essentially one big climb, Mt. Veeder; one nice descent, Veeder/Dry Creek; and lots of flat miles in the valley to pad your ‘training’ (or ego). After some warm-up miles strolling through Napa we started up Redwood Road to Veeder. Thinking it was going to be warmer I was one layer short and shivered until we started to climb. Veeder Road is remarkable for a couple of reasons. It has a beautiful and postcard perfect creek, Redwood, immediately adjacent to the road to keep you company as you climb, and it’s one of Napa’s multitude of uncrowded county roads but to the west of the valley; the east side of the valley is where most of the prime cycling lies. Veeder ended up being more of a challenge than I had anticipated, being a combination of time dulling the memory of past suffering and the cruel hand of age cutting down one’s strength. My recollection was that Veeder wasn’t steep yet the 10-11% readings belied that. I was struggling to get to the top.
We all made it to the summit for the fabulous view of Mt. Diablo to the south and Mt. St. Helena to the north although there had been a lot of gasping. Although the terrain had greened up nicely this rainy season, one couldn’t miss the denuded hillsides on the east side of the valley as well as the dead trees crowning the hilltops from the Glass Fire in 2020 and the Tubbs Fire in 2017. After a long respite at the summit we dropped down the other side and contrary to expectations the road surface wasn’t in terrible shape. We quickly turned onto Dry Creek and continued down and here the road got a bit ugly—bumpy, uneven, and coarse. We were passed by a steady stream of cyclists heading the opposite direction; they obviously knew that going up Dry Creek was going to be a lot less brutal than descending it!
Once back in the valley we rolled north along the Vine Trail to Yountville for lunch. The Napa Vine Trail runs between the northbound Solano Road and the train tracks. Although it’s not absolutely necessary—Solano is adequately wide and isn’t heavily trafficked—it’s a pleasant MUP. The last time we were on it in 2019 it had just opened and was empty; now it was used by locals as well as being a tourist attraction. In Yountville we got sandwiches at Velo Deli. Velo Deli is directly adjacent to Bistro Jeanty, which was heavenly cassoulet, and the brunch crowd was thick and raucous. Velo Deli wasn’t doing so bad either and we were lucky to score a couple of tables outside. For the most part people weren’t utlizing masks anymore, even the staff working in the deli market. Are we normal yet? Maybe BA.2 will have something to say…
After stuffing ourselves we rolled east to the Silverado Trail and got the perfect post-lunch present: a strong tailwind back to Napa! We eventually cut over to Big Ranch Road, which I had never been on before, to drop back to Buttercream Bakery. Alas, it had closed early for some reason. A post-ride donut or two with a steaming cup of coffee would have been the perfect end to ride in Napa. Next time!
Boy, it couldn’t have been better than it was last Sunday for the Velo Love ride, a metric century starting in Gridley, CA and going around the anomalous Sutter Buttes. A confluence of incredibly good weather, an early bloom, and a high of 75F was a welcome Valentine. Roger and I have been doing the Velo Love ride for about ten years. Originally this was called the Rice Valley Tandem Rally by Chico Velo, who originated the ride, probably because it’s almost pan-flat and a prime rice growing zone. But at some point they decided a catchier name was the Velo Love Ride since it was usually close to Valentine’s Day.
Scheduling a long ride, in this case a metric century, in February requires chutzpah. The weather is always unpredictable, nay questionable, and winter sloth is hard to shake off especially when it’s very chilly as it is prone to be in the Sacramento Valley. We’ve done this ride when it’s been bone-chilling with dreary, spirit-busting cloud cover and other times when it’s been sunny albeit brisk. However we’ve never done it in rain. Drive 130 miles to spend the day getting soused? That’s positively Seattle-ish! No thanks. In 2017 the rain stopped before the ride and we rode it but turned around at the half-way point when it became clear an upcoming section of road was completely flooded (ahem, rice paddies, darling!) and we’d have to portage the tandem. In 2019 we and Roger S. were planning to go but it rained and we bagged it.
The Velo Love Ride has always been a small event—maybe a couple hundred participants at most—and the unpredictable weather has always been buzzkilling. Chico Velo didn’t put on the event in 2020 because no one in the club wanted to coordinate it. We went up anyway and did it on our own in the worst windstorm I’ve ever ridden in.
This year we struck gold. Climate change apparently means less rain for California and when it comes it’ll be in the form of atmospheric rivers just as we’ve experienced this season. A weird “heat” wave coupled with a month-long dry spell meant not only bone-dry roads but also an early bloom of the almond and plum orchards that surround the Buttes making for a heartwarming flower display. Despite the lack of rain many of the rice paddies—rice being one of the biggest crops in the area—were flooded and filled with birdlife. Coupled with the rich green grass surrounding the Buttes we were visually entertained in a way I can’t remember in all the times we’ve ridden there.
This year we were joined by David Goldsmith, who was inspired by having driven through the area a few years ago and been taken by the almond blossoms. The initial part of the ride is a straight shot west out of Gridley six miles and then drops directly south five miles to get to the loop around the Buttes. You have the pleasure of traversing these segments again on the return; however the west leg out of Gridley is the Colusa Highway and although devoid of traffic early on a Sunday, is not quite so bike-friendly in the early afternoon when you’re returning. Nonetheless even when “busy” this road makes Marin roads seem like superhighways in comparison. Heading south we picked up the very slight tailwind and started to pass the rice fields. The Gray Lodge Wildlife Area is midway, where we made a pitstop and chatted with the rangers who were hosting a veterans’ hunting event. The prodigious number of birds makes this a popular birding area as well.
A couple of miles southward and you’re on the 38-mile loop around the Sutter Buttes. There are still plenty of rice paddies but it’s orchard country. This year the warm weather seems to have sparked the almonds and plums to bloom a bit earlier than usual so we were treated to an explosion of color. Although we’ve done the Velo Love Ride when the trees were flowering, this was by far the brightest and most prodigious number of trees in bloom we had seen. Against the Sutter Buttes the efflorescence was jaw-droppingly picturesque. We kept looking for the best place for the moneyshot. In places where the trees were incandescent they were so tall that they obscured the Buttes; in other places the orchards were so far from the road that they hardly made a dent in your eyeballs. We managed to find a couple of nice locations to frame the entire landscape, Buttes and orchards both.
All this time we were keeping a rather torrid pace despite our searching for photo ops. On flat ground it’s much easier to keep up your speed even if the pavement is typical country road asphalt bouncing you along. Originally I was imagining we’d be taking our time and moseying. Instead we were pacelining! We rolled into Sutter, the halfway point and lunch stop, and bumped into a small crowd of cyclists also having lunch. They were also out for the Velo Love Ride! However they were doing the short loop by starting at Gray Lodge Wildlife Area. That cuts out about sixteen miles and makes for a really pleasant bike ride by omitting the Colusa Highway.
After downing our sandwiches we headed out of town and started the only ascent of the day, a gigantic 300-foot climb. Our total elevation gain for the day would be about 400 feet!
The area south and west of the Buttes is mostly ranchland but there were still large orchards interspersed. The road writhes left and right mostly at 90-degree angles that carve out the different properties. By this time I was getting tired and apparently so was David, who hadn’t done a ride this long in over two years. This was Roger’s and my first metric of the year, the last one being the Pedaling Paths to Independence long ago in February 2020 just before the Pandemic broke. We stopped for a break—butts and hands were getting tired as well—and immediately I got a hamstring cramp. Out came the pickle juice. Although David didn’t have cramps, he decided he’d have some as well so we toasted each other with our little green bottles. After more pictures and gabbing we resaddled and took off. I felt much better but nonetheless I had no shame sitting on Roger’s wheel—I wanted to make sure I made it to the end!
We were slowing down and I probably would have gone even slower if I hadn’t had a wheel to follow. There is a point in a century, even one as spectacular as was this Love Ride when it’s all about gritting out the miles. I could feel myself enter that zone: lots of glances at the cyclometer and counting down the tenths of a mile. Gray Lodge, Colusa Highway, city limit sign, finale. Whew. Just under 61 miles. The rolling average was 15.7 mph. Well, by Different Spokes standards that’s a D-pace so quite a bit faster than the B-to-C I had imagined beforehand. Yet another example of club pace inflation. David opined that it wasn’t really because the route was practically dead flat so a higher speed should be expected.
Although we didn’t have a proper meal during the ride, we went to Los Charros just down the street. Two years ago Roger and I found this place and had a delicious meal after doing an exhausting Velo Love Ride with 20-40 mph headwinds. I had had a taco and enchilada plate and after sucking it down I had contemplated ordering another. But I didn’t. Although not quite so hungry nor worn out this time, I was still looking forward to a satisfying meal. In 2020 the place had been almost deserted. Not this time: the place was hopping despite being 2:30 in the afternoon. Was it people tanking up before the Super Bowl? Doubtful: too early and not enough to-go. From the looks of things, the Pandemic is either over in Gridley or else it’s just going to get its second wind: almost no one was making an effort at social distancing and masks inside were rare except on the staff. Maybe it’s because it’s Trump country. We waited for our takeout and sat on the tailgate of the van to woof down our goodies. David had gotten inspired from my story and ordered the taco and enchilada plate. Roger on a lark ordered a “California” burrito; to keep the order simple I did the same. What made it a California burrito was having a raft of french fries rolled into the tortilla along with everything else. It hit all the right notes: (1) huge, (2) friggin’ stuffed, (3) charred, juicy beef, (4) french fries. OMG it was so delicious! I found religion and I’m now a believer.
After bidding goodbye to David, Roger and I rolled back to the Bay Area in the minivan and unlike almost every other Sunday afternoon on I-80 there was hardly any traffic jam outside of Sacramento. Although sitting an additional fifteen minutes on the freeway would merely have given our guts extra time to digest and enjoy a post-ride feeding frenzy, I was glad to make time getting home this year. All in all it was a twelve-hour day: up at 5:30, home at 5:30. A long day bookended by slightly tedious drives but the middle part was so, so worth it. That was a proper Valentine: a long bike ride and a delicious meal (that I didn’t have to make!)
A spur of the moment decision to go to Yosemite in January led to the Feb. 6 ride up Altamont Pass. Being disconsolate at the cancellation of our Austria tour and finally getting cabin fever after almost two years of sheltering mostly in place, we jumped in the car and went to Yosemite Valley for a couple of days. On the way out and back we drove I-680 into the valley and we were mesmerized by the emerald green grass on Altamont—no surprise, I guess, given the inordinate rain in December. This is the time to go, I thought, and began mulling over when would be a good time to ride up there. Of course, silly me, I was thinking that the rains would start up soon since we hadn’t had any for almost two weeks. By February the long range forecast was for “sun, sun, sun, ’til her daddy takes the Colnago away”. Well, there’s no time like the present so up went the ride posting.
The day of the ride was perfect: sunny, absolutely no clouds, and still air albeit chilly. There were seven of us including stalwarts Will, Roger S., and Alan. Alan is new to the club and as I found out also new to cycling. Moving from upstate NY to California apparently meant cycling might just be enjoyable! In any case Alan is a classic case of MAMILs gone wild and he’s grinding out the miles like there’s no tomorrow. Stephanie emerged from her house remodel and other domestic responsibilities to join the ride. In fact I consulted Stephanie while planning the ride because she’s usually the one who’s leading a jaunt up the Altamont hills and I hadn’t ridden up there in two decades or more. Her response was, “oh, any of those roads are great.” A non-Spoker Paul also joined us for his first club ride.
Carpeted with mustard for now, soon to be multimillion dollar homes.
There are only three public roads over Altamont: Patterson Pass Road, Altamont Pass Road, and Tesla/Corral Hollow. We did the first two. But any permutation will do when the hills green up since the roads are primarily used by local traffic while everybody else is either hauling ass or creeping along at five miles per hour on I-680. We went up Patterson to the outskirts of Tracy and then climbed up Altamont to return to Livermore.
Livermore is a city in transition. It’s aspiring to Pleasanton or Danville grandeur but it’s still got farming roots. It already has a sign of greatness: homeless people sleeping in cars at the Livermore library where we parked. With growth pressure breathing down its neck, Livermore is going to be a “big” city in short order. East and north of downtown Livermore is either vineyards or ranch land with a few farms stuck in there for show. Nothing a little rezoning and lots, lots, lots of subdivisions won’t solve… But I digress. We headed east on Tesla Road, which is all wineries and vineyards, and starting climbing at Cross Road, which eventually takes you to Patterson Road where the real fun begins. Cross is a gentle ascent in absolutely deserted grassland. After turning onto Patterson the slope became more severe. It was all so beautiful that I was caught up in the splendor and forget that the grade was creeping up. We started to glimpse wind turbines but today there was no wind to speak of so they were as still as statues. The summit of Patterson was only about eight miles from where we started but the last half-mile was like climbing up a wall. It’s 15-16% just before the pass and that ain’t no momentary blip. Everybody was scrambling for their lowest gear and some were probably wishing for something lower. Suddenly those crazy 46- or 50-tooth rear cogs don’t seem so absurd. Roger H. made it to the top first just in time to snap a shot of Alan who was just behind him.
“All this land be mine!”
Everybody made it up fine and we soaked in the view all the way to Tracy: rolling green hills, wind turbines, and powerlines. The descent was crazy fast and everybody else shot off like rockets whereas I creeped down quite cautiously; the pavement is aging chipseal, there’s no shoulder, and the road winds like a snake. On one left curve there was an ominous “15 MPH!” sign obviously placed there because vehicles and cyclists have occasionally done their best Space-X imitation and launched into space. Other than passing the gigantic PG&E Tesla substation it was all beautiful countryside. The road flattened out as we were now in the valley. Usually you head north to the Mountain House community before heading west. But after crossing I-580 the road becomes full of traffic including a fair number of trucks from all the logistics centers in Tracy for companies like Amazon and Costco. But there is an alternate route, the California Aqueduct Bikeway, that gets you off the road away from traffic. In fact we rolled over the Aqueduct and stopped at a Valero gas station at the intersection. I had suggested that people bring snacks because I didn’t think there were any services on the route. But the Valero proved to be a veritable cornucopia of delectable gas station food. The Valero was doing its best Costco imitation with aisles that had to be the longest I’ve ever seen in a gas station convenience store. The temptation was too great and just about everyone piled in to use the restroom and, uh, stock up. The front window was advertising their “Krispy Krunchy fried chicken”. I was going to buy some but the thought of hurling all that good food on Altamont restrained me. In Roger S.’s case it didn’t and he emerged with a five-piece bag to gnaw on. Next door was a taqueria, which I’ll try the next time, as well as a Subway and a Wienerschnitzel. I’m telling you this oasis has everything you need.
Way better than fighting semis on Mountain House Parkway.
Suitably restocked we turned around and turned onto the Aqueduct Bikeway, which has a gate under which you can carefully roll your bike. Only Will had been on the Bikeway before, long ago when he was training for double centuries. Stephanie, who knows this area like the back of her hand, had never taken it before. The pavement was surprisingly rideable: aging chip seal, slightly bumpy but wide and free of obstacles. The Bikeway rolls about 3-4 miles to Grant Line Road. We stopped in the middle to take in the view and munch on goodies. Roger S. chowed down on his fried chicken. Lucky me, he offered to share a piece. Yum. There isn’t much more goodness than fried chicken when you’re hungry from cycling. The whine of cars on adjacent 580 was the only thing that destroyed the peacefulness.
At Grant Line we headed west and had to put up with traffic just until Altamont Pass Road about a mile away where all of the cars turn onto 580. The climb up Altamont is more gradual and nowhere is as steep as Patterson. Everybody spread out and was rolling at their own pace. The last run-up to Altamont, where you pass over 580, is the only really steep section, about 12% for a half-mile. Alan was waiting for us about midway. Why not the top? “It just looked like a good place to rest!” After we regrouped we took the rest of the climb at a more sociable speed. Once you pop the top the descent to Livermore is sweet: no traffic, only moderately steep so you don’t have to ride the brakes, decent sightlines. Back on the flats it was a pleasant victory stroll back to the library.
I think next time I’m going to do this route in reverse so I can grab that fried chicken later in ride for a real “smack” down!
Can this really be February?
I spent a little time on the mountain I spent a little time on the hill I saw things getting out of hand I guess they always will. -Robert Hunter & Jerry Garcia
After a drenching December we unexpectedly got a dry January—somebody turned off the spigot! The club has taken full advantage of our unfortunate dry spell however. We had seven rides this month with six of them on the weekends. That’s pretty good for a month that is usually cold and wet. It may not have been wet but it certainly has been chilly yet that hasn’t deterred Spokers from clogging up the local roads with turnouts we usually see only in the height of summer and early fall: a dozen or so per ride! David Goldsmith’s dream has been to have “mo’ rides, mo’ rides, mo’ rides” and he may be getting his wish. Four years ago he said he wanted a hundred rides per year or about two per week. Call him ambitious (or Ahab). Maybe we’ll get there this year?
Keeping with tradition (a nice way of saying ‘lack of inspiration’) we started the month with the Resolution Ride: up Diablo with a bullet! Ten butch boys checked that one off. The following week’s Jersey Ride had thirteen riders. The Davids had planned a short outing across the Bay Bridge from Oakland the week after but the Tongan tsunami put paid to that escapade. David Goldsmith immediately replaced it with a short jaunt to Nicasio on MLK day that managed to roust five Spokers to join despite it being a ‘flash’ ride. The Davids then led the second in their training series the following Saturday, Jan. 22, around the Three Bears in Orinda. Was it boredom in San Francisco or did somebody not explain that this wasn’t Folsom Street—we had sixteen riders! The next day Roger and I led the first Forty & Fab (maybe that should be “Fab despite Forty” or better yet “Fab because Forty”!) ride around Portola loop that attracted thirteen riders. The one and only Early Bird ride this month garnered four participants before closing out the month with this past weekend’s training series ride around Stage Road and Highway One near Pescadero with nine of us. That’s a total of 70 riders out of club of 112 members!
Will we be so fortunate in February? I hope not—I mean, for the sake of our water supply!
The Davids as part of their Winter/Spring training series led a loop ride this past weekend from Pescadero up the Stage Road and then back south on Highway One to Gazos Creek before returning to Pescadero. It’s about 30 miles. If you’ve been around the club for a while or you’re a regular cyclist from the Midpeninsula, you’ll recognize these roads and you’ve probably ridden them many times because they’re marvelously scenic, beautiful, and serene, comparable although different from what you may experience in Italy, Japan, New Zealand, or almost any other touristy part of the world.
The difference this time was that we started in Pescadero rather than some distance away. When I lived in Palo Alto I used to head out to the San Mateo coast on my bike and it was always a long ride. In high school on a 32-pound Schwinn bike it was an exhausting trek up and over the Coast Range and then up and over to get home. When I lived in San Francisco, it was a really long ride down Skyline to 92 and then down to Pescadero before returning to the city. The most popular way the club does this ride is to start in Half Moon Bay and cycle down to Gazos before returning up the Stage Road as well as a couple of additional inland forays. That ride is quite a bit shorter than starting in San Francisco but it’s still nothing to sneeze at, coming in at over 55 miles.
That’s not the sort of ride you want to do when you’re starting out your riding year unless you’ve already been riding all winter. So the Davids’ little trick is to cut out all the lean meat and leave just the delicious fat. And yummy fat it was! Stage Road is quiet, almost devoid of cars (except for the occasional car rallies), and a pastoral sensorium guaranteed to quiet your uneasy mind. Highway One takes in the beautiful San Mateo coast with its blooming coastal daisies and iceplant as you roll over one short hill after another. We passed the Pigeon Point Lighthouse, which incidentally is part of the club’s very first ride in 1982, before turning up Gazos Creek, another isolated country road that follows the rushing creek up a serpentine canyon. Then it was past Butano State Park and quiet ranches before returning to Pescadero. This short loop leaves out the long slogs up to Skyline from the Bay or the very long trek through surburbia down the Peninsula. Those additional miles might do wonders for your conditioning but the tedium of getting to the good part takes away a lot of the enjoyment. That I had never realized until I relented and joined the ride at my husband’s urging. Being the kind of child who was lectured incessantly about eating everything on my plate and by nature obediant—we didn’t have a dog, unfortunately—I was often too full to enjoy dessert. To this day for me dessert is still the least significant part of a meal. And I still always eat all my vegetables. The Davids’ ride philosophy is like being told that I can eat dessert first. Skipping the sloggy parts of a ride to get to the good part is like taking a helicopter to a mountain pass—the long, hard trek to the top is what makes the view so impressive, right? Well, it turns out, no. That’s just propoganda. You can take it easy and enjoy the view even more. So much for all that training to tolerate delayed gratification, the value of hard work, yadayadayada…
It’s going to make getting over to coastside a lot more pleasurable now that I’m hooked on just driving over there to ride. Of course this philosophy is what is destroying Western Civilization, right?
They’re dancing on the good foot I got to get on the good foot Got to do it on the good foot Do it with the good foot —James Brown
Yeah, soulful people knows what it’s all about. And they showed up to ride up Diablo on New Years morning, hangovers be damned. I woke up Saturday morning and checked the weather on top of Diablo at 3,849 feet: whoa, 26ºF. But it was going to be clear and sunny, as bright as your eyes can bear. I couldn’t get a road report, or rather the recorded road report mentioned nothing. So I presumed that meant all the snow that fell earlier in the week was not going to be a problem.
At the start everyone who had registered showed up including one who hadn’t preregistered. Coincidentally I happened to have brought a paper waiver with me, which is technically a no-no since Covid, so all the bases were covered. There were ten of us, which is a big group for the Resolution Ride—why was it popular this year?—Roger and I, Roger S, Mark, Alan, Stephen, Bud, and three non-members, Ofer, Julian, and Robin. Club use of BART still hasn’t recovered: everyone from SF came by car except Stephen and Ofer. Everybody was dressed for the cold with multiple layers, shoe covers, tights, full-fingered gloves, you name it. Several of us had little heater packs shoved into our gloves—they worked perfectly all day! Julian had the awesomest piece of kit: battery heated gloves! But at the summit he said he didn’t need to turn them on, so it proved to be overkill.
I’ve gotten into the bad habit of leading the Resolution Ride the same way—up North Gate, down South Gate—and I probably should mix it up one of these years or else someone else should lead this ride another way. Someone at the start asked me which way was “steeper”. I have no idea although I probably should since I’ve been going up Diablo since most of you were in diapers. They’re both challenging and when you’re doing about 4,000 feet of gross vertical it all comes out the same in the wash: it’s hard.
This morning it was pretty quiet. Hardly anyone was stirring about. I led the group through the side steets of Walnut Creek rather than taking Walnut Ave., which is a dreary arterial, up to the entrance station and then everybody started climbing at their own rate, stopping at times to take pictures or to strip off layers now that we were sweating. A few years ago I was so hot I took off my gloves and rode up barehanded. Not this year—it was just too chilly. The crystal clear air and intensely green grass on Diablo’s slopes made for some acid-like moments you would only appreciate if you stopped pedaling to take it all in.
We regrouped at the junction and there were hardly any other cyclists—now that’s a change! New Years brings out all the local clubs and in all previous years it’s been a mosh pit with hordes converging from South Gate and North Gate. It was as if everyone was taking the year off from riding up. Alas, no rangers with coffee and donuts this year either for the obvious reason. After the obligatory selfie shot, we continued upward. The segment from the junction to the summit is only 4.5 miles but it has over 1,600 feet of unrelenting vertical. Plus, once you pass the junction you’re now exposed to the wind making for a bracing, at times onerous effort. On the one hand you want to go as fast as possible to get out of the cold and the wind; on the other hand you’re getting your ass kicked by the unrelenting grade, the headwind, and the chill. We passed patches of old snow by the side of the road. More cars were appearing and passing us at random despite the double yellow line and the numerous signs not to pass cyclists on blind curves. A couple of times cyclists cursed out the drivers and deservedly so. I was surprised at how abundant car traffic was this year. It must have been everybody’s bright idea to get out on NYD by driving up Diablo.
Cars weren’t the only company we had. There were boatloads of electric mountain bikes riding up…on the road (!). Like WTF, clueless dudes, there’s an awesome trail open to dirt bikes, Summit, that goes to the top! Interestingly I was able to overhaul and pass all of them, which proves either that I’m superbutch or they’re total noobs. (I think I know which is correct.) There were also more hikers than I have ever seen going to the top of Diablo on NYD or any other day. They were all shapes and sizes, lots of families with kids. Awesome.
Roger and I got to the top first. More butch points perhaps but in exchange we had to wait the longest for everyone to show up, enduring the bone-chilling northeast wind. Eventually everyone made it to the top but in the meantime the small parking lot filled up fast. We had just beaten the crowd up the road and now they were swamping us. A cyclist asked the ranger overseeing the parking lot, “Is there water up here?” “Yes”, he responded, “But the faucet is frozen. You’ll have to use the restroom over there.” Everyone was jubilant to have made it to the top despite some being frazzled by the effort and the cold. There were a few wise cyclists who knew the NYD routine: get out the extra cold weather gear you hauled up and put it on! We did exactly that. I had carried up an extra windbreaker, wind chaps (you never know who you might run into…), a fleece neck gaiter, and lobster gloves with heater packs dropped inside.
The descent may be physically easier but mentally it can be harder. A typical New Years Day ascent has the road swarming with delighted cyclists and fewer cars. But this year it was exactly the opposite, lots of cars and fewer cyclists. For the most part cars were patiently waiting behind slow cyclists but every now and then a car would zoom around in the oncoming lane—oh, that would be the lane we were on—much to our aggravation. Dancing with elephants couldn’t be more fun. With the higher number of cars that meant we were often slowed down behind them. A decade ago I would have been irked, but not today: those cars were taking care to descend and so should the cyclists. Did you know the speed limit on Diablo is 20 mph? That’s for cars AND bikes. Given how crowded it was we were pretty much held to that speed limit. This was the first time I can remember where I was not passed by harebrained cyclists going warp speed, crossing the center line and passing cars. Julian led the descent and if he hadn’t been slowed by the cars I don’t think I would have seen him until the bottom.
We all made it down safely without incident, cut through Diablo—which was also eerily quiet—and ended up at Lunardi’s in Danville. I had been dreaming of hot soup on such a cold morning and Lunardi’s deli counter had a choice of several. We had the outside tables all for our little group. It was about ten degrees warmer and nicely sunny. Hot chili stew with a steaming cup of coffee hit the spot. I was reenergized. We were chattering now and it wasn’t because we were cold! Stephen happily opined that this was the only proper way to start the new year: go up Diablo! “Accept no substitutes.” A bag of evil-looking butter cookies from Lunardi’s was passed around. Much grabbing ensued. Roger S. stared at the bag, sighed, and remarked, “Well, there goes that New Year’s resolution!”
The cats were eventually herded to head back to Pleasant Hill. It was a ‘chill’ crowd in both senses. But being preternaturally skinny I get cold easily and so I took off to warm up. Only Ofer followed me. We soon lost the group and waited for them in Walnut Creek. However they had diverted onto the Iron Horse. We saw Stephen pass by heading to BART, which is where Ofer was also going. So I took off to catch the rest of the group, which I only did right at the PH BART station. By now it was about 3:30 and the temp was dropping again. I was glad to get into the van and turn on the heater!
Now, that’s getting the year off on the right foot!
Where people do the sign and take your hands And dancin’ to the music James Brown band They’re dancing on the good foot I got to get on the good foot Got to do it on the good foot —James Brown
This past Saturday, November 27, was the 43rd anniversary of the assassination of Harvey Milk and George Moscone. Roger and I led this “ride” for the first time in 2018 and I’ve reposted its blog entry below because I don’t have much else to say about this day in history. But before I do that I’ll briefly recap how this year’s ride went.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to lead this ride again. But at the time there wasn’t another ride listed for the Thanksgiving weekend and I sure as hell wasn’t going to ‘just go on a ride’ without thinking of the date. Roger was enthusiastic about it so I relented. In 2018 it was Roger and I—no one else attended—and I wasn’t expecting it to much different this time. It is Thanksgiving weekend after all when everybody is preoccupied with things more personal. I was badly mistaken as fifteen people showed up. I’m not sure why it sparked an interest this time. But three ALC folks showed up because David Gaus told them about it. Speaking of ALC, I had no idea that it was also starting a training ride at McLaren Lodge at the same date and time. I emailed everyone to meet just to the west. I guess in addition to coopting a lot of LGBT cyclists it’s also taking over our traditional ride start location. Oh well, there is cultural appropriation and then there is…appropriation.
The route was the same as before: out Golden Gate Park to the Great Highway and then south through Westlake Shopping Center to Colma. We stopped at Jose Sarria’s grave as well as George Moscone’s before returning to the Park and then to the SF Columbarium to see Harvey Milk’s niche. Along the way I played docent and recounted what (little) I knew about Jose Sarria, George Moscone, and Harvey Milk. No one else in attendance had been in SF on 11/27/78—I felt like a dinosaur! Afterwards a few of us went to Arguello Market, got some delicious sandwiches, and sat outside at their tables in the marvelous sunshine.
Here is what I wrote in 2018:
For better or for worse having lived through a historic event inclines one to dwell on it or perhaps incorporate it as a seminal touchstone from then on. In November 1978 two such events took place for me: the Jonestown mass suicide and the assassination of Harvey Milk and George Moscone by Dan White. I didn’t personally know anyone who was part of the People’s Temple or Jonestown nor did I ever meet Milk or Moscone in person. But Jim Jones, Harvey Milk, and George Moscone touched many lives in the Bay Area and they definitely were part of the post-60s ethos: radical Christianity of the poor, identity politics, and violence as a reaction to the cultural throes we were experiencing. It was like the end of a dream and left a withering cynicism among some and acted as a call to greater action to others.
40 years is a long time. I think about how Pearl Harbor, undoubtedly a turning point in the lives of the Americans who lived through it or during it, yet to me it was just another distant historic event, on a feeling level no different than the American Revolution or the Civil War—abstractions. So it is with the Milk/Moscone assassinations for many of you.
I had never been to Milk’s memorial at the SF Columbarium nor to Moscone’s grave in Colma. To give you an idea how long it’s has been on my mind, about ten years ago I was thinking of leading a ride to see them. But it just didn’t come together; I was busy chasing high heart rates and had a busy work schedule as well. About a month ago I suddenly realized it was 40 years ago when those events took place. Wow, a lifetime. So I made it happen and on time, which is contrary to my usual MO, i.e. to completely forget about an anniversary until a week later.
Fortunately the Camp Fire smoke ended and the rains did as well. Roger was going to miss the ride for medical reasons but at the last minute threw caution to the wind and came along.
We took BART to the City and rode from Civic Center to McLaren Lodge. I’ve done it many times since moving out of the City, but this time I was noticing the changes along the way. Long time businesses that were there in 1978 were no more. There are now so many more cyclists plying the streets than 40 years ago. Ah, but the old Freewheel Bike Shop is still there on Hayes!
Starting a ride at McLaren Lodge is a real throwback. In the early days of the club it was THE place to start a ride, that position having been usurped by Peet’s in the Castro. I remember meeting Michael John, Bob Humason, Dennis Westler, Abel Galvan, Walter Teague, Ron DeCamp, and many others—some now ghosts—at McLaren to head out on rides. In any case no one else chose to join us for a stroll to the boneyards, so off we went to Colma.
Getting to Colma is pretty easy and we decided to take the ‘scenic route: through GG Park to the Great Highway and then down the coast to Westlake Shopping Center, and then cutting through to Hillside Blvd. By now the fog had lifted and it was a beautiful blue sky day, perfect for a visit to the cemeteries. Once in Colma housing and businesses abruptly stop at the city limit and are replaced by miles and miles of green lawns of the various cemeteries. Some of them have their origin in being kicked out of SF, the land being too valuable to leave to the dead. George Moscone is buried in Holy Cross Catholic Cemetery but there are plenty of other well-known figures interred in Colma and why not pay them a visit as well? Our first stop was Woodlawn Memorial Park where Jose Sarria a.k.a. the Widow Norton was laid to rest. You may have heard of Jose Sarria from his drag doppelganger, the Widow Norton, a drag gag take on the famous SF eccentric, Emperor Norton. The latter declared himself the ruler of the US and Mexico in 1859 and was treated deferentially by Barbary Coasters despite being a bona fide bum. The Emperor Norton was interred at Woodlawn and by coincidence the plot directly in front of his was available and that is where the Widow Norton is buried! You may not know that Jose Sarria was much more than his drag persona. Before Harvey he was the first openly homosexual candidate for the SF Board of Supervisors back in 1961. He came in 9th out of over 30 candidates and got 6,000 votes. Sarria also founded an early LGBT rights organizations, the League for Civil Education. He got his taste of discrimination when he was busted for cruising in a tea room and the morals charges prevented him from becoming a public school teacher. He ended up working as a waiter at the infamous Black Cat bar at the edge of North Beach, a gay hangout, that was repeatedly raided by the SF Police because it was then illegal to sell alcohol to homosexuals as well as to “impersonate members of the opposite sex.”
Finding Sarria’s gravesite took some effort. Woodlawn isn’t on Hillside Blvd. where all the other cemeteries are located, rather it’s down off of Junipero Serra. We eventually found it and the office kindly gave us a map. We had to climb up a steep hillside to get to his plot and we only found it after scurrying around on a very wet lawn for about 20 minutes. But there it was. On his tombstone it says, “United we stand, divided they catch us one by one.” Someone else had recently visited because a fresh flower was on the site.
A quick descent to Junipero Serra and then a slog back up to Hillside took us to our next stop, Hills of Eternity Memorial Park, to look for Wyatt Earp’s and Levi Strauss’s sites. But when we got to the entrance it was chained. What kind of cemetery isn’t open on Sundays?? After looking for a second entrance (there isn’t one) we gave up and headed south to Holy Cross.
Besides George Moscone Holy Cross has a slew of famous people buried there. You could spend the better part of a day hunting for all of the sites. But today we were looking just for Joe DiMaggio, Vince Guaraldi, and Benny Bufano. Holy Cross has two entrances and unfortunately the one I had planned to use was closed. The other entrance was open but I was disoriented because we were now off-route and Holy Cross is a bit of a warren. We rolled right by Joe DiMaggio’s grave but didn’t notice it until we were further along. Oh well, another time. Finding Vince Guaraldi’s was easy. You probably know him as the composer of the music for the Peanuts special, “A Charlie Brown Christmas.” But he was a very well-regarded jazz pianist and a SF native as well. His grave is very modest and like a good Italian boy he’s buried along with his mother, who long outlived him. He died in 1976 at the early age of 47, a real loss to the jazz community.
After paying our respects we rolled off to our real goal, George Moscone. His site was also fairly easy to find and like Vince Guaraldi’s, a very modest bronze plaque on the ground. You would never know a Mayor of San Francisco was interred there, a nearly anonymous plaque amongst thousands. On this day hardly anyone was visiting cemeteries. Was it the good weather that turned people’s minds to other forms of pleasure and amusement? On his plaque it read, “We miss you, Dad.” If you aren’t old enough or local enough, Moscone is merely a name of a historical figure. But in the 1960s and ‘70s he was a liberal politician aligned with the Burton brothers and their allies who included Willie Brown and Nancy Pelosi. He was an ally of the LGBT community during a time when being an ally was politically costly. He was known for sponsoring legislation for the first school lunch program in California as well as repealing the anti-sodomy laws. When he ran for Mayor in 1975 he beat out a terribly conservative real estate broker, John “Garbage-alotta” Barbagelata, as well as Dianne Feinstein, who to this day has never attended a Gay Freedom Day Parade in our city. (Oh, and by the way do you recall when Diane Feinstein, who succeeded the assassinated George Moscone as Mayor vetoed the domestic partners legislation in SF?) Moscone was a true friend of our community not an expedient supporter trying to catch the LGBT gravy train.
Afterwards we mounted our bikes and rolled by Benny Bufano’s grave, which is topped with one of his iconic sculptures, and headed back to SF to visit Harvey. The ride back was a bit easier because Hillside Blvd. is up on a hill. So we rolled mostly downhill back to Westlake and up Lake Merced. We headed back up 37th into the Park and then up Arguello to the Columbarium. I’m sure almost all of you have never been to this hidden, tucked away site dropped down in the middle of a residential neighborhood. Being on a cul-de-sac it was very easy to miss. The Columbarium is a place where those who’ve passed away can be memorialized. It’s not exactly a mausoleum because some of the dead people honored there actually have no cremains placed there nor is there a corpse. That is the case with Harvey Milk. The Columbarium may appear small but it holds the remains of a LOT of people. Fortunately there is a kiosk in the office that allows you to look up the location. For the record Harvey’s location is in the House of Olympians in the Dionysus room, tier 4, niche 26. The House of Olympians is the side building just to the north of the main capitol. Harvey’s niche is decorated with memorabilia including buttons against the Briggs Initiative, in which he was instrumental in fighting for its defeat, as well as items from the film Gus Van Sant directed about him, Milk. There is also a toy camera there reminding us that Harvey ran a camera shop in the Castro and from which he ran his campaign to become Supervisor.
Afterward we ran into the manager who wanted to be sure we visited the niche of Chet Helms. You remember Chet Helms, don’t you? He was THE hippie: he produced concerts at the Fillmore and the old Avalon ballroom during the ‘60s. Roger didn’t seem interested but I remember Chet Helms!
By now we were starving since we did not stop at Westlake for lunch despite plans. Luckily Velo Rouge Cafe was just a few blocks away. Being a bright, sunny Sunday afternoon I thought it would be packed but it wasn’t. In a way it was a perfect end to an interesting day: the clientele was distinctly Millenial but it looked like a Haight St. cafe from back in the day (minus the love beads and patchouli). Oh, and the huevos rancheros were excellent!
Although those days were very dark and depressing, somehow we managed to move into another era thanks to the steps that people like Harvey Milk and George Moscone made. I didn’t think I’d see it in my lifetime. Instead of being treated with thinly veiled contempt (or no veil whatsoever) the LGBT community is treated more like a formidable third rail: fucking with us will have a cost. Instead of getting stomped on we are fighting back. Harvey and Jose told us to fight, and we are.
Norris Canyon is an oft overlooked rural road surrounded by a sea of Alameda county suburbia. How much longer will it last? Set between Castro Valley and the burgeoning city of San Ramon this idyllic island in the East Bay hills surely makes developers go gaga and slobber like wolves eyeing a fawn. For the time being it’s a convenient escape from neverending encroachment and makes a lovely road to visit by bike.
We’re deep into autumn so the sun sits lower in the sky and casts a warm radiance over the landscape and since we’ve been fortunate to receive copious early season rain, grasses are bursting forth regreening the hillsides and displaying an unreal emerald glow in the sunlight. The valley fog finally receded and brought us clear skies and beautiful sun, making it a perfect day to roam the hills on a bike.
Last Sunday nine of us headed out of Orinda to visit Norris Canyon, six from SF, Eric the lone member from Marin, and then Roger and I from the EB. After a short hop to Moraga and a pit stop at the trailhead restroom we headed south on Pinehurst and then Redwood Road on our way to Castro Valley. Pinehurst and Redwood are roads frequented by East Bay cyclists. Surrounded by park land and EBMUD holdings, no development—for now—can take place leaving the Oakland hills relatively undisturbed and natural despite the mishegoss just over the hills. There is traffic but it’s nothing like what you confront in the rest of the suburbs where people live, work, and shop. Other than the occasional car or motorcycle you’re left to your own thoughts, which are mainly about the vagaries of the multiple ups and downs thrilling your thighs.
Everybody quickly spread out or at least it seemed so from my perspective at the rear. Roger H. surprised me by saying he wanted to do this ride because he’d only just started riding again. We were also pretty beat from hauling buckets of concrete the day before. We happily parked ourselves at the back of the group and ‘took it easy’. Roger S. and Carl kept us company and we chatted away about all things inconsequential.
We regrouped at the Redwood Canyon Golf Course after the stunning and fun descent from Chabot Park and then headed over to Castro Valley to cut through to Crow Canyon Road. Crow Canyon is usually a terrible road for cyclists. At one point in its distant past it was like Norris Canyon. But it is less steep and wider and so became the preferred road that got widened. With explosive growth in the San Ramon valley and the bumper-to-bumper traffic on 680 and 580, it’s now the commuter cut-through to get from there to SF and Silicon Valley. Many moons ago when ignorant I rode Crow Canyon during the commute period. Just once—lesson learned. But on a Sunday it’s much less terrorizing and even halfway reasonable. Fortunately it’s not long before you leave it behind and turn onto Norris Canyon. The transformation is quite abrupt: from cars to almost nothing but quiet. The price you pay for this peace is an increased gradient. But at its worst it’s ‘only’ 11%! Norris Canyon is narrow and lined with oaks and pleasantly shaded, which makes for dappled relief on a hot summer day. As you progress uphill it opens up into grassland, which now is iridescent green.
It’s there we finally caught up with David. He was riding very smartly. Not having the big miles in his legs yet he was going steady the entire time, hardly stopping at all, maybe not burning up the pavement but also not lagging. We stopped at the top to take in the view: green pastures, happy cows, serpentine formations. And below in the distance, lotsa houses! Mark, who lives in the City, commented that we live in ‘paradise’ over here in Contra Costa. Yes, there are still smidgens of it left. Perhaps not for much longer as the imperative to grow relentlessly destroys all the open space here filling it with houses and cars.
The descent is fast and straight (uh, not gaily forward in my book!). I waved the group ahead because I wanted to take my time and not worry about crashing. In a trice we’re in San Ramon. What a contrast. Were we really just minutes from all that tranquility?
In Danville the little burb was hopping with Sunday brunch mania; the parklets were packed with diners. Our lunch stop was Henhouse at the north end of town. We lucked out: there was no one there and the picnic tables outside were free for the taking. The choices for lunch in Danville are practically unending. Domenico’s is the usual club go-to stop. But its popularity means crowds—even with outdoor tables—and a long line, and today it was doing very good business; Sultan’s Kebab we ate it the last time we rolled through town; and alas, Homegrown, that Seattle transplant that I enjoyed every time I ate there, including the 2020 Resolution Ride, didn’t survive the Pandemic. Henhouse is a new addition to the Danville scene and the idea is simple: fried chicken sandwiches. You can get other stuff but there’s no point if you’ve got a killer sandwich and it does. Almost everybody got some version of it and the verdict was it was pretty good. Even the veggie version made with deep fried cauliflower got a thumbs up from Carl. I wouldn’t say it was the best fried chicken sandwich I’ve ever had. But it was also only $7 for a huge, juicy breast on a fluffy brioche bun. Such a deal!
Everybody left (over)full. Usually that means end the ride with a scarf ’n barf: hit the gas on Danville Blvd.! But instead we went easy up the road. We took the shorter way back to Orinda involving a short but stupid incline, Hillgrade. Will instead decided to head straight back to BART. Mark and Carl missed the turn to Rossmoor so Roger gave chase and steered them back on route. It’s a short noodle through Lafayette and we were back in quiet ol’ Orinda. A fine fête on two wheels to greet the new greenery.
Ed. Below is the report of the club’s annual Mt. Hamilton in the Fall ride courtesy of co-leader David Gaus.
My first Mt. Hamilton in the Fall was in 2004. I was nervous: 4,000 feet of climbing over 22 miles was significantly more than in my very first century, the Marin, which I had completed just that summer. But it turned out to be a lovely day and probably on the warm side for late October except a couple of miles from the top I experienced leg cramps for the first time. Fortunately I had stopped to stretch just before the cramp hit. I was able to get to the top, got lots of advice on why I was cramping—not enough to eat, low sodium, dehydrated, probably all three—and then got to enjoy the (mostly) 18-mile descent. I’m not sure what year was the first time I led the ride when Sharon could not, maybe 2007. [Ed. Actually it was 2005.]
The last year I completed the entire route was 2016. In 2014 I led Ron H on a three-mile detour adventure—don’t ask me why I turned onto Clayton or why I didn’t realize my mistake sooner! By the time we got back up Hwy 130 we were so far behind everyone that when we came upon the riders coming back down, we turned around also. In 2017 I was running out of steam about three miles from the top and a friend and I both turned around.
With almost two years of very little cycling compared to a normal year and four months of PT for hip pain, I could only offer to drive SAG for the ride. Thankfully Roger S offered to lead the ride with my SAG support offer.
Fuel (but unleaded!)
So early Sunday I was off to Vegan Donut Cafe to get donuts for the riders. My friend David P, who also was not up to attempting the ride—next year, though!—offered to co-pilot and pick up a Peets coffee traveler for the riders also. The folks at Peets thought he wanted to order the $115 five-gallon “traveler”, and as he said “it would have been enough coffee for me for a month”.
MINI convention
Five riders—Will B, Alan L and his friend Jon, Mark C and Roger—headed out for the long climb to Lick Observatory. It was a gorgeous fall day, in the mid-fifties at the start and very pleasant in the sun. David and I leapfrogged the riders to the top, getting lots of photos along the way. There was a gaggle of MINI Coopers at the Grant Park regroup, having passed us on the way up. The entire Highway 130 seems to have been repaved making for excellent road quality. With the repaving the road was also restriped with a double yellow line making the lanes seem very small from the car. The SCU Lightning Complex fire burned so close to the observatories it must have been terrifying. All the fire hydrants are painted a bright red now. I’m so glad that they were able to stop it when and where they did!
Almost torched!
At the top everyone had a bit of lunch, between the last of the donuts or food or bars they sent up with us in the car, and then layered up for the descent. Will borrowed my sweatshirt for a bit of extra warmth for the first half to Grant Park, as he had only a pair of arm warmers with him. Alan was the first to arrive at the end of Highway 130; his smile after the longest descent he had ever done said it all! Somewhere between Grant Park and the end of Hwy 130, we lost Will. So David and I backtracked to where he had returned the sweatshirt. No sign of him and I kept thinking he must have turned off on Miguelita, the only alternate route that made sense. [Ed. Miguelita cuts off Highway 130 and more directly goes to Alum Rock Park.] Sure enough we got a text from Roger that Will made it back to the start. It was a nice day and hopefully next year I’ll be back for more but on two wheels.
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.
…but this Hamilton!
This coming Sunday 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…) 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!)
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. 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
Weather on Mt. Hamilton has been unpredictable. Some years it’s been unseasonably warm making for glorious basking at the top…
Warm!
…and other years it’s been extraordinarily chilly leading to huddling in the lobby next to the wall heater.
Becoming *good* friends with 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.
The Chain Letter 