NetNews Usenet Archive 1992 #31/NN_1992_31.iso/spool/rec/bicycles/23762

Internet Message Format | 1992-12-23 | 14.0 KB

Xref: sparky rec.bicycles:23762 rec.bicycles.rides:598
Newsgroups: rec.bicycles,rec.bicycles.rides
Path: sparky!uunet!elroy.jpl.nasa.gov!sdd.hp.com!spool.mu.edu!umn.edu!csus.edu!netcom.com!netcomsv!butch!iscnvx!bushnell
From: [e-mail] (William D. Bushnell)
Subject: RIDE STORY: Quimby, Kincaid, and Mt. Hamilton Rds. (12/20/92)
Message-ID: <[e-mail]>
Followup-To: rec.bicycles.rides
Summary: This was fun!
Organization: Lockheed Missiles and Space Co.
Date: Wed, 23 Dec 92 03:42:37 GMT
Lines: 256


Route Log:

--------                        -----------------       -----   -----------
location                        altitude/climbing       miles   time of day
--------                        -----------------       -----   -----------
Mt. Hamilton Rd. & Alum Rock Ave.    400/0               0.0        8:25a
Grant Ranch County Park (via Quimby)1510/2060           11.4       10:05a
Mt. Hamilton summit                 4170/4940           22.7       11:54a
Mt. Hamilton Rd. & Kincaid Rd.      2540/4940           27.9        1:10p
Kincaid Rd. & Mt. Day Rd.           2320/5790           33.9        1:51p
Kincaid Rd. (second gate)           2750/6210           35.3        2:21p
Kincaid Rd. & Mt. Hamilton Rd.      2520/7230           42.7        3:23p
Mt. Hamilton Rd. & Alum Rock Ave.    400/7700           56.0        4:25a

Total Time: 8:00
riding time: 5:17
average speed: 10.6
maximum speed: 32.0
index*: 87
irp* (Index Rate-of-Progress): 11
mirp* (Moving irp): 16

* Let me know if you want to know more about these statistics.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Old News:

It seems I left some readers hanging with baited breath wondering if I
had found my keys that I thought I had dropped on my ride two weeks ago up
Black Mountain (Monte Bello Ridge, etc.).  I left off the anti-climactic
conclusion of the tale.  In a rare instance of disorganization, I had left my
keys at home.  So, I never brought them along in the first place!  Oh well.
If I had known this, I probably wouldn't have ridden back UP the Indian Creek
Trail looking for keys I hadn't dropped.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Saturday, December 19, 1992

"Oh, don't worry.  We're not a racing club.  I don't think you'll have
any problem on this ride.  The weather report calls for rain or showers
tomorrow, and it is cloudy outside, but I have a feeling it'll be a nice day.",
I say to the voice at the other end of the phone.

"Now, I'm somewhat _older_ than you.  I just don't want to slow you down.
Well.  I think it'll be a nice day, too.  If I show up, I show up.  Don't wait
too long for me, though.", Alex says tentatively.

Alex had called Saturday evening from his home near Lake Merritt in Oakland to
find out more about the Mt. Hamilton ride I was leading for the Western
Wheelers the next morning.

Sunday, December 20, 1992

The morning is clear and cold as I pull into the turnout near the intersection
of Mt. Hamilton Rd. and Alum Rock Ave. at 8a.  Having arrived early, Jude
([e-mail]) is sitting in his car to keep warm.  As we get
ready to ride, a dirty white late-60's model Plymouth Valiant with a slightly
smaller tire on the left front wheel rolls up Alum Rock Ave. and pulls into the
turnout.  The driver waves as he parks his car.  When the door opens, out steps
a short, white-haired old man with long spindly legs, ruddy cheeks and a slight
hunch.  There is a gleam in his eye.

"Hello.", I begin.  "Are you Alex Zuckermann?"

"Yes. Yes.", he says.  "And you must be Bill Bushnell."  We shake hands.
"It's a beautiful day today.  I wasn't sure last night, but when I got up this
morning I knew it would be a great day for a ride up the Mountain!"

"So.  Are you going to go straight up Mt. Hamilton Rd. and meet us at Grant
Ranch Park, or will you be riding up Quimby Rd. with us?", I ask, wondering if
we will be spending a good deal of time waiting for old Alex on the climbs.

"Oh, I wouldn't think of missing Quimby Rd.", Alex says with an air that
precludes further discussion.  "I've ridden up Mt. Hamilton many times, but
I've never ridden Quimby Rd."

While we talk, Brent Silver ([e-mail]) pulls up in his VW
Vanagon.  He seems somewhat surprised to see us there.  The original plan was
for us to start up Quimby Rd. and Brent would ride up Mt. Hamilton Rd. and join
us at Grant Ranch Park.  But are late getting started, so Brent decides to have
a go at Quimby Rd.

Soon we're rolling down Alum Rock Ave. toward White Rd.  We turn left on White
Rd. and continue for another three and a half miles to Quimby Rd.  We make a
quick stop at the gas station on the corner before starting up the long steep
climb.  Quimby Rd. begins innocently enough, but after a couple of straight
miles it steepens to a relentless climb with grades over 11%.  We all stay
together near the bottom, but as we climb higher, we begin to separate as each
of us finds a comfortable climbing pace.  The view from Quimby is fantastic as
we climb out of the valley.  I stop once to take a picture of the road as it
soars into the sky.  This is the best time of year to climb Quimby; summertime
would be too hot.

I reach the top first, but Alex is not far behind.  A curious dog near the top
manages to get Alex to sprint up the final hill to the summit.  Brent follows a
minute later, and then Jude arrives.  When we arrive at Grant Ranch Park, the
water is turned off and the bathroom doors are locked.  Fortunately, I'm
carrying enough water to see us to the summit.

We continue up Mt. Hamilton Rd. at a moderate pace.  After the Smith Creek
crossing, Alex and I ride together up the long final grade to the summit.  The
climb isn't steep, but it is long.  Alex watches his heartrate monitor.  I
notice that the county has begun gouging the road to install recessed
reflectors along the center line of the roadway, presumably so they won't
get sheared off by the occasional snowplow.  It looks as if one of the roadway
crew was still practicing with the gouger as some of the gouges are deep and
sudden.  As we climb the final 400 feet to the summit, patches of snow and ice
lie on either side of the roadway.  In some places the roadway is icy, but not
dangerously so.  Only in the last eighth of a mile as the road hugs the north
slope of the mountain does ice completely cover the roadway.  Fortunately,
there is sand and dirt on the ice, so traction is possible.

We stop in the summit parking lot and eat lunch.  The temperature is a cool
42 degrees, but the air is still, and the sun is warm.  Looking north and west
we can see low, dark stratus clouds, but from San Jose south and east, the air
is crystal clear.  I guess we're going to miss any rain today.  Looking east,
we see the snow-capped peaks of the Sierra Nevada Mountains.

We begin the descent, slowly at first past the ice on the road, and then more
quickly.  Mt. Hamilton Rd. is usually good practice for cornering skills as
the road has many sharp corners, but now the corners are strewn with gravel and
rocks, and I find myself nearing the limit of traction more than once.

When we reach Kincaid Rd., we turn right.  Kincaid Rd. branches north from Mt.
Hamilton Rd. about a mile up from Smith Creek or about 5 miles down from the
summit.  Part of the old stage road from San Jose to Livermore before the road
to the observatory and over the Mountain was built, Kincaid Rd. passes through
oak-studded meadows and crosses a few deep, remote canyon streams.  I notice
that the east sides of the mountain ranges are covered with conifers and the
west sides are covered with oaks and grass.

As we ride past a herd of cattle grazing near the road, they get up en masse
and galumph away from the road as we ride by.  I've never seen cattle act so
skittish around bicycles before.  I guess not many bicyclists come down Kincaid
Rd.

Kincaid Rd., an out-and-back ride, doesn't look like much on a map, but
there's alot of up and down over its paved 7-mile length.  The top part is wide
and rough as it descends and then rises over a small hill before starting down
a steeper hill to the bridge crossing Isabel Creek some three miles from Mt.
Hamilton Rd.  Before the road reaches Isabel Creek, it narrows considerably,
and the surface becomes smoother, though the potholes more frequent.  The
bridge over the creek is a slippery all-steel affair with a see-through metal
mesh for a roadway.  We stop on the far side and peel off some of our warm
clothes for the ascent ahead.

Alex charges ahead without stopping.  While we pack away our clothes, one of
the residents walks down his driveway toward us.

We say, "Hello."

And he says looking up at the sky, "Looks like you guys are gonna get wet."

"Well, I think we'll get home before it rains.", I reply.

A low bank of clouds begins to drift over the surrounding mountains.  The
temperature warms, and it feels like we might get some rain.  While I catch up
with Alex, I get hit by a few spits.  After climbing for a while, the road
descends gradually to the Long Branch of Isabel Creek.  On the other side of
the creek, the road ascends several steep switchbacks before descending to a
locked gate at Mt. Day Rd. 6 miles from Mt. Hamilton Rd.  Is this the end of
the road?  Petersen's "Roads to Ride" profiles Kincaid Rd. only to this point.

After regrouping, Jude, Alex and I decide to climb over the gate and continue
a little further.  There is no indication that the continuing road is private,
and evidence that the road is still public.  Several Santa Clara County
road construction horses lie by the road, and mileage markers stand along the
shoulder.  Brent decides to turn around and head back.

As we continue up the road, a couple of "Bronco Blazers" pass us going the other
way.  No one challenges us, so it must be O.K. to continue.  The road passes
through a meadow and fords Bonita Creek before ascending another set of steep
switchbacks.  Along this section we enjoy a picture-perfect view of the white
domes of Lick Observatory framed by the steep hillsides on either side.  After
a mile and a half we reach another locked gate.

"Well, I don't know about you guys, but according to my map, the pavement ends
just around the corner up there, and the road is probably private past this
gate even though there are no 'Keep Out' signs or other evidence to indicate
such.", I say.

We take an "end of Kincaid Rd." group picture and head back the way we came.
When we reach the first gate at Mt. Day Rd., a truck is pulling through.  Once
again, Alex gets ahead of us and rides through the gate.  I ride up to the
driver's window and introduce myself.

"How far up the road can we ride?", I ask the woman behind the wheel.

"It's a county road up to the second gate up there.  After that, it's private.",
she says.  "This part used to be private, but the county took it over several
years ago.  They kept the gate locked because of the fire danger in summer.
Sometimes these guys come up here in their four-wheel-drive vehicles.  They cut
the lock and drive through.  There are lots of roads up in the surrounding
hills, but unfortunately, most of them cross private property.", she seemed
glad to talk about living in the mountains.

"Is it possible to ride up to Mt. Day?", I ask.

"Well, this road right here goes up.  You continue until you reach a cyclone
fence and then you go left up to the mountain.  I used to ride my horse up
there, but now you'd have to get permission from four landowners along the road,
and the guys that live up there aren't likely to give it.  I've been shot at,
and one of the guys shot my mule that had wandered over onto his property.  I
tried to get the DA to press charges, but I didn't have enough evidence.  They
probably wouldn't shoot you if you were in a group, but they probably wouldn't
take to having bicyclists ride up their road," she says.

"If you talk to the old timers, they'll tell you they used to go all over the
mountains when they were kids and no one minded, but now you get alot of
screwed-up engineers from the valley buying land and living up here with their
guns.  They shoot first and ask questions later.  One guy used to work for UC
Santa Cruz up at the observatory.  He's pretty screwed up."  She gestures by
twirling her finger at the side of her head.

"One time a couple of guys came up here with their pit bulls to go
boar-hunting.  The guy that owns the land came down with his gun and ordered
them off, 'This is ma' lan', naw git off!'  When they balked he shot one of the
dogs. 'Naw git!'  They took off fast after that."

"If you stay on the county road, you won't get bothered.  We sometimes get
joggers and bicyclists, and we don't mind if you jump this gate down here."

"Well, thanks for the advice, and the information.  I don't think I want to
cross someone who's ready to shoot me.", I say,  "G'bye."

Jude and I continue riding back to Mt. Hamilton Rd.  Jude says he's going to
take the climb easy, but I try to catch up to Alex who has gone leaping ahead.
About a half mile from Mt. Hamilton Rd., I see him spinning easily up the road
by the meadow with the cattle.  I pour on the steam.  As he turns to the
left he looks back and sees me catching up.  He spins faster.  A minute later
he lets out a yell as he reaches Mt. Hamilton Rd., and I'm still a couple
hundred yards behind.  When I finally catch up, Alex is still panting hard.

"Did you used to race when you were younger?", I ask, pointing my finger at
him.  "I saw you look back and then speed up when you saw me!"

A few minutes later Jude hovers into view looking very relaxed.

"Let's get going.  It's getting late now, and it'll take us about forty-five
minutes or so to get back to the car.", I say.

The ride down to the car passes uneventfully.

"Well, that was a good ride.  More climbing than I expected.  And, Alex, I
didn't think you'd be able to keep up.", I say.

"It was just a great ride.  I probably overdid it a little bit going up Mt.
Hamilton, but I feel great.", Alex says.

"If you don't mind my asking, just how old are you, Alex?", I ask.

"Seventy-one.  And I feel like thirty-eight.", he answers with a smile.

--
[e-mail]    (Bill Bushnell)