Mount Hamilton Loop

Bill Bushnell — Saturday, May 15, 1993

Because I was sick on the day of this year’s Mt. Hamilton Challenge last month, I decided not to ride the Davis Double Century this year but instead ride my own Mt. Hamilton Loop on the same day as the Davis Double, an unsupported “consolation ride” for myself and whoever might wish to join me. Coincidentally today’s ride happens exactly one year after my “Mt. Hamilton loop in reverse” ride that I wrote up last year.

At the dark and quiet hour of 3:30, I awaken. I got to sleep at about 22:30 last night, so I slept for at least 5 hours. After dragging myself out of bed, I surprise myself by swallowing and keeping down a large breakfast of oatmeal, dry cereal, banana, and bagels.

Brent is planning to meet me somewhere along the way or at the top of the mountain. I call him and tell him I’ll be meeting up with a few other riders in San Jose, so I’ll probably be running a little later than planned.

After packing all the food I’m going to eat today (6 sunflower nut butter and jelly sandwiches, 8 medium-sized chocolate chip cookies, and 3 Cliff Bars), water (76 oz.), and camera (Yashica T4) with tripod (REI Ultrapod), I set off. There’s just enough light in the sky to make a headlight unnecessary. I ride south on Middlefield Rd. The streets are deserted at this hour, and I commit my first crime: I run the red light at Oregon Expressway. I continue to San Antonio Rd., turn right and then left on El Camino Real. Riding over the overpass, I notice that the sunrise will be partly obscured by high clouds.

I’d never ride any significant distance on El Camino Real during the day, but at this early hour, there is little traffic. I ride slowly as I have a long way to go before I get home. By the time I pass the University of Santa Clara, my average speed is in the high teens.

Riding on Santa Clara Street through downtown San Jose is frustrating even at 7:00 as the lights are not synchronized. Soon I reach Gardner’s condominium, and after passing through the security gate, I find a small group of cyclists preparing to ride:

Gardner, Rich, and Bryan, a friend of Gardner.

As we talk, the garage door of a neighboring unit opens. An unshaven, red-faced, tired-looking man walks out in our direction.

“You know, you guys are making alot of noise, and there’re alot of people trying to sleep behind those windows. Some of us like to sleep with our windows open, and I have to get up at 4:00 every day, and I like to sleep in on the weekend, and I think it’s pretty, damn, FUCKIN’ rude for you to be making noise right now!”, he says in a quiet but tense voice, jabbing his finger toward the ground to emphasize the expletive.

“We’re sorry. We’ll be quiet and good.”, we say like chastened children.

What seemed like normal levels of noise to us must have seemed loud to someone sleeping with windows open.

After receiving our foul-mouthed scolding, we set off up Alum Rock Avenue. At Mt. Hamilton Rd. Bryan and I stop and peel off our cold weather clothing while Rich and Gardner continue on ahead.

As we climb above the valley haze, we see that the sky is somewhat overcast. This is good because it will keep things cool on the backside of the mountain.

Bryan and I don’t catch up to Rich and Gardner until we arrive at Grant Ranch County Park at the bottom of the first downgrade on the way to the summit.

While we top off our water bottles at the trickle-flow water fountain across from the entrance booth, we put on our cold-weather wear as the air has become very cool.

On the second upgrade we pass a couple of bicyclists, and on the third, final, and longest pitch to the summit, Rich points to the section of road where someone had sprinkled carpet tacks on the day of the organized ride this year. Apparently, hundreds of bicyclists got flats. This time tacks are nowhere to be seen.

Near the summit, we pass through long clouds of black flies. They cling to everything like something out of a grade-B horror film. Two days later, I can offer proof that some of the flies were mosquitos.

When we arrive at Lick Observatory, Brent is there talking with another cyclist about the Markleeville Death Ride. We all eat a morning snack and discuss various bicycling-related topics. Rich earns the Frank Award for eating some Easter Treat candies: obnoxious little blobs of white sugar-goop mixture formed and thickened into the shapes of dear, little sitting doves with painted eyes, all lined up in a box, ready to be eaten. At least they’re not soaked in neon-pink dye like some “Holiday Mallow” candies I received for Christmas several years ago. Who makes this crap? Rich starts by eating the head off the first one...

Since Rich, Gardner, and Bryan have plans other than bike riding for the afternoon, they turn around and head back to Gardner’s place. Brent and I continue to Copernicus Peak and then down to Isabel Creek.

The descent seems shorter than the corresponding ascent felt last year. At Isabel Creek, several large turkey vultures feed on a road-kill cafe favorite: Swirl of Squirrel. I continue across the bridge without stopping and catch up to Brent on the short climb on the other side.

I notice that Isabel Creek is green with algae and froth. Where does this effluent come from?

When we reach San Antonio Valley, I am disappointed to find only a few meager patches of wildflowers. Most of the flowers have died. The grass is a mixture of green and brown; things are drying out.

At Old Mike’s Junction Cafe, Brent and I are surprised to find a large group of Valley Spokesmen lounging on the tables out in front. They had ridden up from Livermore and would be riding back shortly. We go in. I order a 7-Up. What a clash of cultures: bright, lycra-clad bicyclists, a leather-bound motorcyclist, and grubby salt-of-the-earth jeans and cowboy-shirted ranchers playing pool.

Outside another group of bicyclists arrives. I’ve never seen so many bicyclists at The Junction before; there must be 20 or 30 altogether.

“Where have you guys come from?”, I ask one of the riders.

“We started in Livermore, rode over Coral Hollow Rd., down highway 33, and then up Del Puerto Canyon Rd.”, he replies.

“What time did you start?”, I ask.

“We left my place at about 8:45a”, he answers.

“That’s pretty fast. Did you get the tailwind on 33?”, I ask.

“Yeah. There was a pretty good tailwind. You don’t want to ride this loop the other way.”, he replies.

“I’ll be leading a ride over much the same route in June except I’m planning to take the California Aqueduct Trail instead of 33. Can you move along pretty fast on the Aqueduct Trail?”, I ask.

“It used to be better when there weren’t so many gates, but people still take it, and it’s nice ‘cause you don’t have any traffic.”, he answers.

Meanwhile Brent decides to move on toward Livermore. “You’ll catch up to me soon enough.”, he says.

I move my bike out into the small parking lot and strap the camera to the horn of my saddle for a timed photo of myself and the cafe besieged by lycra.

Then I’m off. As I pass the San Antonio Valley volunteer fire station, I notice a hose attached to a faucet inside the courtyard. This is nice to know in case the cafe is closed as there’s no other source of water in the area. Since Brent has maybe a 10-minute start, I decide not to confirm whether or not the faucet runs.

I catch up to Brent on the last upgrade before the long gradual drop to Livermore. I pass him and wait at the top of Eylar Ridge, and with the camera strapped to the saddle I get us both in the picture as he rides over the summit.

The ride down Arroyo Mocho on Mines Rd. to Livermore seems to go on forever. The descent starts steeply, but it soon becomes a very gradual downgrade. Unfortunately, the downgrade doesn’t quite make up for the headwind that blows up the canyon.

Brent continues riding after the picture; it takes me quite a while to catch up to him. Sometimes I swear he rides faster when he gets ahead and then slows down when I catch up.

About 7 miles from Eylar Summit, a fast-moving cyclist catches up to us. He pulls alongside and we chat for a while. His name is Mars, and he’s with the group that rode down the Central Valley. He rarely rides with others, but he’s going with a group today to socialize. Mars must be a very strong rider because after about 15 minutes he bolts ahead and out of sight like a race horse out of the gate.

As we near the bottom of Mines Rd., the rest of the Central Valley group dribbles by in several pacelines. Brent and I grab on to the end of one of the lines for a couple of miles until we reach Tesla Rd. This is the only time we draft anyone on the entire ride.

At Tesla Rd. we turn left and head for the Livermore Public Library where we eat lunch on the shady lawn. After refilling our bottles we set off again. We have decided to return home via Calaveras Rd. rather than take Niles Canyon Rd. to the Dumbarton Bridge. We will follow the Mt. Hamilton Challenge route most of the way until we get to Milpitas.

We ride through downtown Livermore, head south on Holmes Street and past the end of town, turn right on Vineyard Rd. Fortunately, there is only a slight breeze from the front. In Pleasanton we top off our bottles at the public fountain in the center of the old town.

Our route takes us south on Pleasanton-Sunol Rd. to Calaveras Rd. As we pass by the tree nurseries, we both begin to feel the miles. I start to feel sleepy, and my bottom begins to feel numb. I’ve been pretty good to myself today: I’ve eaten enough, and I’ve been drinking large quantities of water, so much so that I’ve had to stop frequently and relieve myself of the excess. But this is better than collapsing from dehydration, which has happened to me more than once in the last year. Brent has switched to “constant power mode” where his body wants neither to stop and start nor to race along at 22 mph.

At the bottom of the long grade to the top of Calaveras Dam, I stop to adjust my right cleat and to eat a couple cookies. Brent continues.

I catch up to Brent past the first summit on one of the uphills.

Later a cyclist on a mountain bike with slick tires passes quickly by. I notice, though, that once he gets a couple hundred yards ahead, he doesn’t increase the distance. I’m maintaining a constant pace, and at one of the hairpins, the cyclist in front looks back furtively and then pedals harder to “get away”. Is there a “mountain bikers’ inferiority complex” when mountain bikers ride with road bike riders? I don’t consider myself in one group or the other, though I suppose I have more in common with road bike riders.

We stop at Ed Levin Park. I eat a sandwich and refill one of my bottles. Brent eats a snack. Brent has to be home by six o’clock, so we don’t stop for long. The bumpy ride down Calaveras Rd. is interrupted by a “Road Closed” sign and a detour on Old Calaveras Rd. I didn’t expect any more climbing, but fortunately, the hill isn’t long. The bottom of Old Calaveras Rd. is very steep and bumpy, and the stop sign at Evans Rd. is a brake cable snapper.

We turn left on Evans and right on Calaveras Blvd. and continue downhill into Milpitas. Calaveras Blvd. between I-680 and I-880 is a horrible route for bicycles. Everyone drives through here. At a break in the traffic, we manage to squeeze into the left lane and turn left onto Milpitas Blvd.

At San Tomas Expressway, we turn right and head for Central Expressway. I stop at the Shell station at Old Oakland Rd. to get some water and to eat a bite. Brent continues ahead. I don’t catch up to Brent until just before Central Expressway and Wolfe Rd., Brent’s point of divergence.

I’m on my own now, and I realize I have neither time, food, nor energy to ride 200 miles, but I could manage 150. If I go straight home I’ll get to the low-140’s. So I do something compulsive: I decide to arrive home like an airplane landing in the direction opposite current travel. Yeah, I’m tired, and I admit my imagination is running wild. I head south on Mathilda Ave., turn right on Homestead Rd., and then right again on Foothill Expressway. I ride north at a moderate pace of 16 to 18 mph. Oddly, I neither pass nor am I passed by other cyclists.

I continue on Junipero Serra Blvd. behind Stanford University to Sand Hill Rd. I toy with the idea of finishing the ride with The Loop. I’d have just enough daylight, but no. I’ve ridden more today than ever before. I’ll save a longer ride for some future time, giving me a slightly easier goal to achieve next time, whenever that is. After spinning down Sand Hill, Arboretum and Embarcadero, I arrive home, tired and numb but pleased I had finished in good shape.

Ride stats:

distance: 156.0 miles

climbing: 8490 feet

total time: 13:52

riding time: 10:45

average speed: 14.5 mph

maximum speed: 37.5 mph

index: 190

irp: 14

mirp: 18

climbing density: 54

climbing ratio: 0.0103

An article on indexing can be found here.

©2004, Bill Bushnell

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