29 May 2011
Mt. Hamilton RR
Masters 45+, 1-2-3
Mt. Hamilton Road Race is another monument of bicycle racing in Northern California, the race having been held for several decades running. All categories are obliged to ride the same point to point parcours, beginning just outside of San Jose and ending just outside of Livermore, by way of 4196 ft. high Mt Hamilton, home of Lick observatory and the tallest point in the bay area. The main obstacle comes right at the start, a solid 20 miles of climbing straight away. From there a scintillating descent and then several smaller climbs before the the final 20 miles of undulating and serpentine downhill drag to the finish. Over 6000' of total climbing. A climber's race for sure.
Arriving a little later than I wanted I had to make a choice: either wait 15 minutes in line to use the Jr. High restroom or spend that time actually warming up. Actually there really was no choice in the matter. I needed that bathroom. Note to self: Get thee to the race with enough time to do everything.
Looking at the number of starters on the line that the race might not be that competitive. only about 23 riders managed to show up. But look again: All of them on the line, on a breezy and cold morning, waiting to take the start, looking like a pack of shivering, hungry whippets. All the skinny VO2 Max guys were there. Probably collectively there was a tablespoon of fat among them. I was feeling a bit apprehensive. Note to self: Stop eating entirely to prepare for these kinds of races.
After only one mile or so, some emaciated waif jacked up the pace to near right my limit. We were lined out on the road, 6-8% grades, fighting for wheels. Guys were already delaminating off the back of the already-small field. Great. Only 19 more miles of climbing. We eased. Then someone else hit the gas. This happened over and over. More guys coming off. I heard a grunting and puffing and chuffing behind me as I endured yet one more body blow well above my AT. Another acceleration shook me loose from the now ~12-rider strong field. The chuffing sound from behind was big Larry Nolan as he holds to the field while I'm cut loose. Note to self: Should have chosen parents with higher lactate thresholds.
So now I'm climbing tempo as what remains of the field is curve by curve gaining time on me. One rider, all in black, dropped earlier, catches me and says let's work together, pushing me. Okay, okay but quit pushing me! I'm already feeling like I'm in the Jenny Craig waiting room. Let's limit our losses and hope that the field rests a little, maybe we can get back.
We're caught by a couple other riders and as a foursome are trying to get a rhythm going. Coming up from behind us is the beefy Dirk Himley, with his noisy bike protesting it's load with each turn of the pedals. His coming up dropped the other guys. So Dirk, myself and Pushy McBlacky (he had an irish accent) are still in pursuit. A bit more work and we've caught Nolan, dumped unceremoniously from the group in front.
Somewhere in here my back starts aching pretty good. I guess 15 miles of near-solid climbing will start to expose one's limitations. Note to self: Give building the rock wall a rest the day before the epic road race, huh?
Our quartet is unstable though, Dirk's power is waxing while mine is waning. I blow out the back of this group toward the top. Himley, Nolan and McBlacky press on, hoping to bomb the descent and make contact. I wish I could join you fellas, but I have a date with my back at Il Pain Grotto.
The top of Mt Hamilton was so cold! I was looking for snow but didn't find any. the officials and timers at the top looked like survivors from the Shackleton expedition.
At the bottom of the descent my former chase-mates were long gone and with no one behind me it looked like a 38 mile solo ride in a cold headwind to look forward to. All With a bum back.
Just then a Montgomery Security bloke comes past on one of the long risers. He gets about 25 meters ahead of me and, at the top of the climb looks back to judge the gap, and then just takes off. Didn't want to ride with me. Giving me up for dead. You bastard.
Another few miles and Alex Osborne, a great NorCal rider from the 80s, come up with one other rider. He seems to think the field must be right around the corner, just up the road. I know otherwise, but if he's got a head full of ambition, who am I to tell him otherwise?
I fall in with this duo and we are riding steady hard into the headwind, me grateful for the company and the shelter. Alex and the other guy are working pretty hard with me trying to pull through if only for the sake of decency.
As the miles tick by, we do some ups and downs, we pass a lot of riders, none from our category though. Then something good finally turns: I'm starting to feel good. My pulls at the front are fresh and strong. I can pull hard for a minute at a time. I can get my nose in the wind and crush it, recover on the wheels, then do it again. Even though I'm a pathetic, dropped old man, it's almost enjoyable out here, in the cold and in the wind.
Only five miles to go: We're rolling like bandits now. The road is falling away beneath our wheels, a slow serpentine descent without centerline (and a motorcycle rally coming from the opposite direction, to spice things up a bit). Up ahead now is the Montgomery Security rider, the one who left me for dead. I make sure to absolutely kill it as our train blasts by him. That'll show you to leave me, you bastard! Note to self: Petty rivalries can keep your head in the game.
It's only another couple miles until we see McBlacky, pedaling in squares. The twin oxen of Himley and Nolan must have finally been too much. Again with the freight train. That'll show you for your condescending pushing me on the climb!
I'm feeling so good now I lead out the uphill, headwind sprint and win the sprint ... for something like 15th. A pretty weak result I know but an outstanding workout still. The race was won by the skeleton of John Cavanaugh, who was a pro for Plymouth Reebok and who I raced against some in the '80s. The KOM was won by a POW-esque Cale Reeder, the current Masters National Champion. I should hope to see these riders soon under different circumstances. Until then I'm going to eat something so I can feel better about myself.
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