Let me preface this blog entry by stating for the record that I am NOT a climber. My body habitus does not resemble a jockey, and I have no fast-twitch muscle fibers. But I am stubborn and goal-oriented, so climbs appeal to me -- the challenge of them, the getting to the top, steadily and without question. Once you start, you can't stop until you get there.
So in the spring I decided to plan for the fall to do my first annual "Four Peaks in a Week" -- Fremont Peak, Mount Diablo, Mount Tamalpais, and Mount Hamilton.
The week in October did not arrive in an auspicious manner, as I came off about three weeks of not riding at all due to vacation and a terrible sinus infection. But I had set the days aside and set the goals for each day (refer to the "stubborn" comment above), so I was not about to entertain a change in plans. The goal was to get there, so fitness didn't matter.
Saturday was the first, Fremont Peak. There is an awesome little coffee shop in San Juan Bautista, just across the freeway from the approach up Fremont. All I had was my iPhone map app and the experience of having worked the Fremont Peak Hill Climb last year to know where to go. That would be. . .UP.
I rode my titanium Indy Fab with a compact crank and 27 in the back. It was hot and sunny. The climb is fairly gradual, 5-7% with short pitches in the double digits, and mostly in the trees. Unlike the other climbs, there is no tower at the top to dangle in front of you like a carrot. Other than looking at the mileage counter, you're not sure you're there until the road flattens out a little and you're there. My riding buddy, Joe Garmin, registered the climb of 2594 feet in 11 miles. I rode around and checked out the campsites at the top, then rode down and enjoyed a hot cup of Ethiopian coffee at the bottom.
The next day was Diablo. Never had I done this one, so I had no idea what to expect. It's an easy approach, right off 680 just shy of Walnut Creek, Diablo Road exit. I parked in a little shopping center, went over to the gas station for a pee and change into cycling clothes, and scoped out my post-ride snack: Taco Bell.
This was the only climb that I had a little warm-up for. Diablo Road is a flat, curvy, shoulder-less few miles until the turn-off to the climb, full of edgy large-SUV-driving folks that are surprisingly unwelcoming to the hordes of cyclists that one finds on the climb itself. (Note to self: no Diablo Road next time. I saw my life flash before my eyes a few times.)
Once you turn off to Diablo itself, it's a cyclist's paradise. A long, gradual climb out in the open, with oak-studded brown velour hills, Diablo quickly became my favorite of the Peaks. Even though it was 11 or so miles that climbed a whopping 3736 feet (according to Joe), which should have felt steeper, it felt easier somehow. With every curve in the road, the tower at the top would appear, beckoning to me. Bikes outnumbered cars at least 20 to one. Note to self: do this again.
The very last hundred or so yards, however, was a beast. Right about the time my legs were tiring, the final pitch of 18% to the tower loomed. . . . At the top was an astounding view, well worth the pain to achieve it, and a good excuse to stop and let my heart rate return to something approaching normal.
The descent was as nice as the climb -- until Diablo Road, that is. After several more brushes with death, I rewarded myself with a bean and cheese with extra cheese burrito from Taco Bell. Excellent junk food, not Mexican at all.
The next day, I rode to work and worked all day. As my "Peaks" escapade evolves over the years to Seven Peaks in a week, I may have to take some time off.
Tuesday dawned. Mount Tam. I had done Mount Tam once many moons ago on dirt trails on a cross bike -- wondering why everyone I rode with was so impressed, until I got a mountain bike and realized how much I suffered needlessly. Anyway, I had never done it on the road. I was worried about the traffic. Joe Garmin would not be my only buddy that day for sure -- I collared my friend Davy into doing it with me. He seemed to be okay with my fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants approach to these climbs -- in other words, not researching a starting or ending point too terribly much and just figuring it out once I got there. At one point, Davy said, "I'm worried we won't finish this by nightfall." And that was at noon.
True to expectation, there is a fair amount of traffic going up Tam. It turns out that half of the climb is on Panoramic Highway, which, as the word "highway" might imply, most folks are used to traveling by car. Again, no shoulder. Oh, and since it's Marin County, let's add a healthy dose of fog and slick pavement, overhanging redwoods, and lots and lots of curves.
The blessing is that Tam is the shortest and lowest
climb -- 8 miles and 2356 feet by Joe's calculations. The top is actually only accessible by footpath. You climb to some radar tower that looks like a soccer ball, then descend a fair way to traverse the mountain, which is rather wide at the top, to the parking lot and a footpath that climbs higher. Note to self: brin
g regular shoes and go all the way next time.Views of San Francisco tease you through the fog. The descent is treacherous but forgivingly short. Back in Stinson Beach, we changed into regular clothes and hit a real pub, right out of "Local Hero," in Muir Beach, the Pelican Inn. There we enjoyed a Black and Tan and steaming bowl of beef stew with lots of hot bread and butter. Mmmmm. . . . (As you can tell, the "Four Peaks" may refer to the food that accompanies the journey!)
Wednesday, rode to work and worked all day. Normally I work on Thursdays, so I would have done that and done my last climb on Friday. However, I was planning to drive to Napa Friday for a century on Saturday in Sonoma, so I took the day off on Thursday to do the final climb: Mount Hamilton.
I have climbed Mount Hamilton before, so I knew what to expect from her. (As an aside, I wonder what you think about the gender of mountains. In gynecology, we have a general rule: things that are bad are male and things that are good are female. For example, you don't want to make a hole in Mr. Bladder. But you do want to protect Mrs. Ovary. So I refer to mountains as female in gender. My bias. Please share your own opinions.) Anyway, Joanne accompanied me on Hamilton, as we had some other business with her Mrs. Uterus to do over the hill. Again, no warm up. Who needs it really, when the goal is summit not speed?
We parked at a dirt pull-off on Alma, where I mooned several golfers as I peed and changed at the car. No Taco Bell here. For those who have never climbed Hamilton, she is certainly the Grand Madame of them all, 19 miles and 4104 feet. Interesting factoid: nowhere is the road over 7% grade, because they had to drag those huge telescopes up to the top at one point. Talk about a long, gradual climb! Truly Hamilton is a battle of wills. Find your pace and stick to it. Oh, and then remember that there are two -- not one but TWO -- little descents on the way up that totally suck on the way back down to have to climb.
The observatory at the top comes into view and though it seems to get ever closer at one point, appears tantalizingly out of reach for the last 5 miles up. Mount Hamilton is actually a thoroughfare as well, California Highway 130, I believe, and you can descend to Livermore down the other side. At the intersection, still shy of the observatory, Joanne waited and said "Shall we call it good here?" To which (you know this, Gentle Reader) I said, "Hell no! To the top!" and we turned the corner up to the observatory. The view is incredible, and I couldn't tell if the buzzing in my ears was the extreme silence, the radiation in the air, or dehydration and effort. Carrion birds circled overhead the last few miles, as if to say, "shall we call it good here?"
There is civilization at the top of Hamilton -- a public restroom, complete with sink
faucets that I swear they knew would serve as perfect water bottle fillers, flushing toilets, cool marble floors, and a pop machine.The descent is only technical in parts, mostly due to little piles of gravel at curves. The way home was full of much rejoicing after my favorite post-climb treat: frozen yogurt at Sweet Retreat.
The four peaks in a week were done, and all I felt was exhilarated and energetic. (I'm a little nutty that way.) I drove to Napa the next day
to do the Asti Tour de Vine north of Healdsburg, in the shadows of Mount St. Helena. . . . Yes, you know what Peak #5 will be next year!
