Mt. Hamilton Loop ridden Clockwise

Bill Bushnell — Saturday, May 16, 1992

I first rode the “Mt. Hamilton Loop” three weeks ago on the Mt. Hamilton Challenge ride. That ride does the loop in the counter-clockwise direction starting with the ascent on the west side. I very much enjoyed the ride, but I was curious: What would it be like to ride the loop in reverse?

The weather forecast called for inland highs in the 70s (F) and lows in the 40s and 50s. “Great.”, I thought, “The temperature over in San Antonio Valley will be just right for this ride. Last weekend would have been too hot. But if it’s just right in San Antonio Valley, it will be cold on Mt. Hamilton when I arrive in the early evening, especially on the descent. I’d better pack those long pants and wool cap. And since I’m going to be by myself, I’d better take along my bike lock. And since I won’t have sag support, I’d better bring along three water bottles (76 oz.) and a huge lunch. ...” Well, I used everything except the long pants, but it was heavy!

As I unpack my bike from the car and do a few warm-up stretches, the sun shines brightly, and it seems quite warm. But once I start down Alum Rock Ave., I realize the air is still cool and damp. I turn right on McKee and then right on White Rd. White Rd. flows into Piedmont Ave. which takes me all the way into Milpitas and to Calaveras Rd. at the foot of the ride’s first major climb.

Shifting into the granny gear, I start up. After the first few hundred yards, Calaveras Rd. becomes less steep. This isn’t so bad. I pass Ed Levin Park and then a picnic area on the right. The road becomes steeper, though, just before the Felter Rd. continuation. I turn left at the intersection and continue on Calaveras Rd. Now it’s steep. Even in the granny gear, I’m huffing and puffing. I check my heart-rate. It’s somewhere around 170, about 88% of my capacity. A more lightly-loaded rider dressed all in blue has been about 100 yards behind me since about Ed Levin Park. About halfway up the short steep grade, I notice in my rearview mirror that he’s stopped.

Finally the road levels off. From here the road goes up, down, and around as it passes Calaveras Reservoir. This road is tricky. Some of the turns are quite sharp and on more than one turn a patch of gravel has collected at the apex, though there is less gravel now than there was last year. I pass several “hammer brigades” hammering in the opposite direction.

I’m making good time. My goal is to be back at the car by 20:00. The air is still cool, though as I head north I begin to feel a slight headwind. When I reach the Sunol Valley, the headwind is stronger. I press on and eventually reach the I-680 onramp. I stop. The blue rider who has been tailing me for the last 15 miles finally catches up and whizzes past without a “Hello.” or anything. Must be on a “training ride.” Why stop at the onramp? Well, the only way a bicycle can get on Vallecitos Rd. heading toward Livermore is to ride a short section of I-680, which is legal, by the way.

I don’t expect to see any bicycles on Vallecitos Rd., and my expectations are realized. The road has a good shoulder most of the way, and the traffic, while heavy, is polite. Riding northeast, a tailwind helps me along. About a couple miles from I-680, I can see that the road ascends rather steeply, and the adequate shoulder nearly disappears. This is going to be fun. For some reason the highway department chose to cut the road over a higher range of hills than was necessary. If the road had aimed for the lowest crossing into Livermore, I could have saved myself 200 feet of climbing and a steep, narrow section of busy road could have been avoided.

In exchange for putting my life at risk and making me do extra work, the highway department generously gave me a fun, though brief, descent into Livermore. Along this section I reach my maximum speed. I pass Vineyard Ave. on the left. The Mt. Hamilton Challenge ride could have saved about 6 miles by skipping the trip into Pleasanton. But I guess Vallecitos Rd. is too dangerous for an organized ride.

I continue down Holmes Street, then right on Main St., then right on South Livermore Ave. I stop at the Livermore Public Library. There is a large group of bicyclists sprawled out on the lawn in front. Many wear jerseys emblazoned with “Valley Spokesmen”. Even some women are wearing them. While I eat my lunch I ask one of the riders from where did he ride. “We rode out from Danville this morning, and we’ll be heading back in a few minutes.”, he says. He asks where I’m headed. “I’m headed to San Jose, the hard way, up over Mt. Hamilton.”, I reply.

Livermore is the last place to refill water bottles and to get food until The Junction, some 35 miles up Mines Rd. After eating lunch I head south on South Livermore Ave. which turns into Tesla Rd. A short while later, I reach Mines Rd. I turn right and head south. A few miles later I reach Del Valle Rd. I turn left, continuing on Mines Rd and head up into the now mostly brown yonder.

The first real uphill on Mines Rd. is quite steep, but it only lasts a couple of miles. Once the road reaches 1600 feet above sea level, it continues up very gradually for about 15 miles. I remember the headwind coming down Mines Rd. three weeks ago when I rode the Challenge ride. The wind is still there, but now it’s a tailwind, and pedaling is almost as easy as riding on the level. There are several groups of riders and their SAG vehicles heading down Mines Rd. It would be nice to have a SAG vehicle on this portion of the ride. One of the riders shouts what sounded like, “...going all the way? ...”, but before I can respond he’s out of range.

I make a quick stop at the large turnout that the Challenge ride referred to as the Arroyo Mocho Rest Stop. Some cattle penned on the other side of the road moo. I didn’t realize cattle could moo so loudly. The surrounding hills echo with their moos. Maybe it’s more of a bellow.

As I continue, the road is very quiet now. An occasional car passes. One car, a late-model, metallic gray Ford Thunderbird with tinted rear windows passes. I manage a glimpse of a young fellow and female passenger with long red fingernails. I remember the fingernails because they were hanging out the side window. I come upon the car parked a few miles further up the road. The occupants are nowhere to be seen, but with barbed wire lining both sides of the road, they can’t go far. I ride on.

I wish I had protective eye-wear. This must be ladybug season. There are thousands of them swarming around. Ladybugs have an annoying habit of grabbing whatever they run into, and soon I have ladybugs clinging all over me. I ride on with squinted eyes and mouth shut.

Mines Rd. becomes somewhat steeper now. I must be nearing the top of Eylar Ridge. I glance at the altimeter. 2500 feet it reads. The pass is just over 2800 feet. Finally, I reach the top. I’m hungry and tired now. I stop and drink some water. I try to eat a sandwich, but I can only get about half-way through before I start to feel nauseous. What’s going on? Am I dehydrated or what? The temperature feels in the mid-80s, about the same as three weeks ago. I know I need the Calories, so I eat a couple of fig bars and some more water.

After resting for a few minutes, I head down from the pass. The first downgrade lasts only a couple minutes. I pedal along a dry streambed then climb briefly to another summit before beginning a longer, faster descent. Many cars are parked alongside the road. What are these people doing in the middle of nowhere? Maybe this is the paintball gun area Bruce Hildenbrand told me about? Suddenly, I come upon an accident. There’s a dirt buggy stopped on the road. A boy lies prone on the pavement holding a bloody hand to his head. I slow down. There are several people huddled around, but the situation seems well-enough in hand. I continue.

A short distance later, I pass the junk depot on the left with the old clunker bicycles leaning against the old building’s wall. A few minutes and a short climb later, I reach The Junction. Just then a fire truck comes racing up Del Puerto Canyon Rd., siren blaring.

The Junction is an interesting place. There are all sorts of characters hanging about today. When I rode the challenge ride in April, three short, stocky, leather-faced folks were seated at one of the outdoor tables having an animated conversation, replete with expletives. “What language is that?”, I wondered. After listening more carefully, I realized it was English, but I could barely understand it through the thick, deep-south accent.

I step into the dimly lit cafe. I recognize the guy behind the counter, and he seems to recognize me. I produce three empty water bottles with the tops popped open, the way he likes ‘em. “Would you be so kind...”, I begin. “What would you do if I wasn’t here?”, he replies. He takes the bottles and fills them from the tap. While I’m grateful for the availability of water, the taste of Junction Cafe tap water is nothing to write home about. After thanking him, I ask him where the nearest pay phone is. “Down at the end of the driveway.”, he points south. I want to call home and check in so everyone knows I’m still alive.

Down at the pay phone I meet a couple of characters, Doug and his friend, both from Livermore. Doug sets down his insulated beer can and asks about my bike. “Whoa! Look at this!”, he exclaims, “Is this a 10-speed or somethin’?” I give a brief lecture on bike’s components and their use. Doug seems especially interested in the altimeter as I step through all the functions. “Where’d you come from?”, he asks. “Oh, I came from San Jose via Livermore, and I’m heading back over Mt. Hamilton.” “Whoa! that’s a tough hill. How far you ridin’ today?” “I figure it’ll be about 100 miles when I’m done.” “Whoa! I’ve never ridden that far before. I do some ridin’ ‘round the reservoir [Del Valle] on my old bike since I lost my license, but nowhere near 100 miles! Are you in some kind of marathon?” “No”, I assure him, “I’m just on my way home.” They drive off down Del Puerto Canyon Rd. toward Patterson. Some day I should try that road. I wonder what it’s like?

The pay phone at The Junction is an AT&T phone, and absolutely refuses to connect to the MCI calling-card number. Even the AT&T operator is rude and uncooperative. “I’m sorry there’s nothing I can do.” Fortunately, I carry a small stash of spare change with me. A call to Palo Alto costs $1 for 3 minutes. After calling home, I head south on San Antonio Valley Rd. I pass another two bicyclists about a quarter mile from the Junction. “How far to the grocery store?”, one of them asks. I assume they mean the cafe. “Around the next corner!”, I yell back. For the next 18 miles, there are no supplies, and I see no more bicyclists until I get to the top of the mountain.

This is the best part of the ride. There is a slight side-wind, but the road descends gradually. San Antonio Valley is still mostly green. There are some wildflowers, but not as many as there were three weeks ago. The road dips down into curiously-named Upper San Antonio Valley. The grass here is drier and less green. Unfortunately, the road has virtually no shoulder, and barbed-wire fences have been constructed against the edge on both sides. There isn’t much room to stop and rest, but I stop anyway near the gate to Upper San Antonio Valley Rd. to take a picture. Just then two men wearing army fatigues driving an S-10 Blazer come out the gate. Guns are visible through the tinted rear window. They ask if I need help. I tell them I’m fine, and they drive off. I’m curious. What were these guys up to? I notice a white sign nailed to a fence-post. “Avoid Arrest.”, it warns. Some sort of outdoorsman club, it seems, owns or leases the land. Maybe they like to take home some of the outdoors.

I start up China Grade, the climb out of Upper San Antonio Valley, into a stiff headwind. Fortunately, the headwind is cool, and before long I reach the China Grade Summit. From here the road travels along the Arroyo Bayo. In the rain shadow of Mt. Hamilton, this area is very dry and desolate. A few cars pass going the other way, but there doesn’t seem to be any development within miles. After several miles, I start up the first portion of the climb to the top of the mountain. The road is steep, but finally I reach the pass, a false summit. Now I can see the climb ahead. I rest for a minute and prepare for the final killer climb of the day.

I enjoy the final, brief downgrade to Isabel Creek. The ascent from Isabel Creek to Copernicus Peak is about 2100 feet in 4.4 miles for a grade of approximately 9%. (My altimeter compressed the readings.) The grade is very consistent, letting up for only a brief moment about a mile from the top. I shift into my granny gear and begin the long slow haul. I stop briefly to stretch at the spring that Jobst told me about 0.7 miles up from the cattle grate. I have enough water from the Junction, so I decide not to hazard the water flowing from the pipe. After a couple minutes, I resume my steady cadence up the hill. My heart’s beating just over 150 bpm. Fortunately, the sun has set behind the mountain, and the air is getting cooler as I climb.

As I near the top, I see another bicyclist up ahead slowly riding up the hill. He’s riding an old beat-up mountain bike with a heavy-looking pack slung over his back. I catch up to him gradually. I catch the strong smell of body odor as I draw near. “Where’d you ride from?”, I ask. Silence. I try again, “Where you headed?” Silence. Just then we reach to top. He pedals off without saying a word. I stop to write down a distance/altitude reading in my little book. Odd. I wonder if he’s deaf. He didn’t even look in my direction.

I continue on and stop at the Staff Dining Room building at the corner of the spur road leading to the summit parking lot. A woman is at the window washing dishes. I refill my water bottles at the tap. A sign warns “Water on the mountain is expensive. Use it wisely.” I chat with the woman. “How far’d you come?”, she asks. I tell her where I’ve been and where I’m going. “What kind of food do you eat to prepare for this kind of ride?” “I eat alot of complex carbohydrate, stay away from junk food and fat. I don’t eat meat, dairy products or eggs, either.”, I reply. We talked about the roads in the area. Her 14 year-old son rides his bike down the west side of the mountain and then out Kincaid Rd. and back. Unfortunately, Kincaid dead-ends. I’ll have to try that one sometime, though it’s too late, and I’m too tired now to explore any more roads today. She tells me about a beggar who claims to be riding his bike to Boston ‘cause he can’t afford the bus fare. I think a minute and then remember the smelly voiceless fellow I passed going up the mountain. “Is he still around!?”, she exclaims, “That’s the same guy. The police found him sleeping in a ditch down the mountain. They brought him up here, and I gave him a sandwich and some money. I guess he’s going to stick around for the food.”

After saying goodbye, I continue up to the summit parking area for a look at the view. Two guys are up there, and I ask one of them to take my picture in front of the observatory building. After resting for a while, I start down the west side. What a relief! The hard part is behind me. I catch up to the two guys who took my picture. They’re heading down in their white VW Rabbit. They try in vain to pull ahead of me, but I can tell that they’re already pushing the limit as I hear their tires squeal around every turn. Finally, they wave me past. “Thank you!”, I shout. This is one road where a bicycle can descend faster than most cars.

Just as I begin the middle descent into Halls Valley, I find my indexing is a little rough. I look down and adjust the little barrel adjuster on the downtube. All of a sudden, I’m off the road and headed into a ditch. For an instant I think, “Well, here’s your opportunity to practice a crash landing. Which way are you going to fall.” I’m only going about 15 miles an hour, and I manage to stay on the bike and bring it to a semi-controlled stop. I look around, suddenly feeling very foolish. Fortunately, no one is in sight. I continue down without incident, taking care to watch where I’m going and to pick gravel-free paths through the turns.

I reach Alum Rock Ave. as the sun prepares to set. Well, I made it by 20:00, and with 10 minutes to spare!

Ride stats:

distance: 99.6 miles

climbing: 7790 feet

total time: 9:50

riding time: 7:16

average speed: 13.7 mph

maximum speed: 41.5 mph

index: 130.8

An article on indexing can be found here.

©2004, Bill Bushnell

Please do not publish or distribute for profit without permission.