Wow, what a day. I decided that, even though it was cold as hell, I would give it a go and go to the top. So, at 8:00ish this morning I left the house and drove up and over Quimby Road to Grant Ranch Park where I parked and got on the bike. From there I jumped onto Mt. Hamilton Road and started the ascent. 11.5 miles, almost all going uphill. (about mile in the middle goes down a bit) I reached the observatory on the top of the mountain at around 11:15 and continued to the spot they decided was going to be the King Of the Mountain line.
Real quick, road cycle racing has more than just the overall winner. There are things like best young rider, best sprinter, best team, and my favorite, best climber, or King of The Mountain. This year we (San Jose bitches!) are fortunate enough to have the only Hors Categorie (read the last blog) climb in the entire race. Mt Hamilton is home to the highest paved road in the bay area, peaking at 4300+ feet. So, that's where I went. Back to the story.
I got there at 11:15, and it was cold as all hell. On the way up, it varied from rather cold to warm and sunny. Never had any rain, but it was chilly enough. At the peak, the temp varied from 35 to 44. Ew. And of course my dumb ass decided waaaaay back at the car that it was nice, and that I would not need that Columbia windbreaker, that it would get in the way. And those full finger gloves? Meh. Cutoffs are fine. So, here I am, standing still waiting for quite a while in 35 to 44 degree coldness wearing (ready?) a lycra (yes, spandex) long sleeve jersey with a lycra short sleeve jersey over it, lycra long stretch pants, and head band and helmet, a spiffy lookin' pair of yellow tinted sunglasses to help see through the fog, one pair of socks and a nice pair of cycling shoes that breathe better then Mama Cass at an all you can eat buffet. (what, too soon?)
Needless to say, I was cold as all hell. It wouldn't have been so bad if I wasn't standing still so long. I arrived at 11:15 and the racers went by at 1:10ish. The sun poked out once, so I ran over to the speedometer on my bike (also has temperature) and it said 44. Wow guy, wow. On top of all that, there was this jackass county Sheriff up there that came by early and told us we couldn't be there. We couldn't watch the race from the KOM finish line. Right dude. I'll just do what you tell me and go 2.5 miles down the highway, or into your lame ass 4 spot parking lot 3 corners away. We all will. So yeah, I stayed. He came by several times, but I think gave up after he noticed we weren't leaving, only multiplying. There was 3 of us (not counting the observatory workers and residents that were allowed) when he told us the first time, by race time there must have been close to 50. All cyclists. All climbed up that morning.
It was quite an impressive group of folks. This climb is not easy; it really does take quite an experienced rider to get through it. And the assortment of bikes that these folks had was really incredible. My bike is not cheap, but it is an entry level road bike. Good, not great. One other guy had a bike in a similar range as mine, and we talked, and discovered we were both more mountain bikers than roadies. But these other guys, damn. There was literally about 50 top-end pro-level road bikes just strewn about, with their owners shivering nearby in their super-awesome cold weather racing gear.
So anyway, back to the race. I had the best spot on my side of the street. The two guys to my left where chatting in Italian the entire time, to my right (by about a foot) was the poster board telling where the KOM line was, and my right foot was pretty close to the line painted on the street. And yeah, it's not like what you see on TV at the finish line, we were in the street. No fence, nothing. We could literally reach out and touch these guys. Or, take a picture from the middle of the street and hope to hell we make it back out of the way in time before getting pounded in the what-have-you's by a blade's width front tire, and a dude-plus-bike combo weighing in at just over 150 pounds. And the guy to the right of that was the official timing judge for the KOM competition. Which is strange.
Here's why.
They asked us, the spectators, to pick a position and tell which number that was when they came across. For example, if I was the guy picked for first position, I would watch them come by and tell the judge what number it was that won it. International competition. Multi-million dollar team budgets. The same bike racing series as the Tour de France, the Giro de Italia, and all the other biggest races of the year. The Pro Tour. A Pro Tour event. And we, the spectators who bravely (pronounced: mindlessly) climbed the mountain in freezing temperature, who where still so cold we could hardly talk without the steady chatter of teeth clicking, were to decide the outcome of the single largest and most important climb the whole week. Yeah, I declined. And good thing I did, when they came by, shit, I couldn't tell you what team they were on, let alone what number they were.
Don't worry, we were just the backup (or, like, the 3rd or 4th backup). They filmed it, took pictures, there were 3 or 4 judges there, I just thought it was funny. And it was funny, damnit.
The lead group came by at about 1:10, and they FLEW. I came up from the other side, the not-so-steep side (my side averaged 4-5%, theirs more like 6-8% or more) and I struggled. I stopped a few times, and basically did what I generally do when I'm climbing. Sit on my large Italian ass and spin the slowest, most lazy-boy-comfy gear I have. And with an XT rear cassette, I had gears most of the other guys did not have. So I cruised at like 4-5 mph, getting passed by everyone. But I made it. So fuck it. These guys, these pros, these best-bike-racers-on-the-planet, came flying up the other side at what must have been 15-20 mph. Damn. Everyone up there was in awe. You'll see it on the first video, they are soooo fast. It really is amazing. Then some time went by, and a few other guys came through, stragglers that couldn't quite keep up with the leaders. Then, after a few minutes, the main peloton came through. These, apparently, are the guys that can't climb well. Yeah, eff that. They flew over plenty well. Then a few stragglers came across, and then it was done. Except for the cars. The entourage for these guys is truly impressive. The lead pack of 10 or 15 guys had an entourage of 20 cars. The main peloton?! 50. At least. Got them on the video as well. Rock Racing has the best, in my opinion. It's a Caddie, with a pretty sweet LA Ink style paintjob. Looked pretty sick.
Best part of the day, that guy I was mentioning in the last entry, Mario Cipollini, yeah, he came through with the main peloton. Hard to miss. He was sitting up as he came by, zipping up his jacket, and he had to have been at least 2 feet above anyone else around him. The two guys next to me started yelling his name, so I joined in, and he actually turned and waved at us! I swear, I felt like an 8 year old girl at a New Kids concert, or an 8 year old boy at a Michael Jackson concert. Ok, not that intense, but my teats where pretty hard. Not just from the cold, mind you. It's all on the video.
And then it was time to take off. I stopped at the observatory (which I absolutely love to go inside and hang out in, it's the scientist side of me taking over) to use the bathroom and to warm up a bit. Yeah, no use. As soon as I left, I started the arduous task of downhilling for 11+ miles. In 35-40 degree coldness. It took about 15-20 minutes, but my god it sucked. My feet I think may have partially fallen off, my fingers at one point felt like "pins and needles", and then even that went away and they just became hot feeling. It was pretty sweet, although I couldn't really push due to the fact that my hands were so cold they could not apply enough pressure on the brakes to actually slow me down.
But anyway, it was a kickass day, and I do not regret any of it at all. Except maybe the Mama Cass quip.
So, here are some pictures I took. More should be arriving over time, and I will put the videos on later.
So check back!
Parked at Grant Ranch Park, unloading and getting ready. Notice the wetness. And the coldness.
Now, I'm about 1/3 of the way up, and normally right here you have a great view of the main building of the observatory. The big white one you can see from the valley. Not today.
The finish line for the KOM points battle.
The line from the cockpit.
Me at the line, in all my coldness (notice the tenseness).
I love this one. More clouds and fog rolled in, and the 120 inch telescope in the background began to fade.
The TV crew stood right across from me. I will find out tonight if I made the coverage. (Hint, I'm the guy who's jersey reads: Arrogant Bastard Ale.
Rides coming across shots. Didn't get the leaders, because I filmed that. As well as the main pack. Links at 11.
Real quick, road cycle racing has more than just the overall winner. There are things like best young rider, best sprinter, best team, and my favorite, best climber, or King of The Mountain. This year we (San Jose bitches!) are fortunate enough to have the only Hors Categorie (read the last blog) climb in the entire race. Mt Hamilton is home to the highest paved road in the bay area, peaking at 4300+ feet. So, that's where I went. Back to the story.
I got there at 11:15, and it was cold as all hell. On the way up, it varied from rather cold to warm and sunny. Never had any rain, but it was chilly enough. At the peak, the temp varied from 35 to 44. Ew. And of course my dumb ass decided waaaaay back at the car that it was nice, and that I would not need that Columbia windbreaker, that it would get in the way. And those full finger gloves? Meh. Cutoffs are fine. So, here I am, standing still waiting for quite a while in 35 to 44 degree coldness wearing (ready?) a lycra (yes, spandex) long sleeve jersey with a lycra short sleeve jersey over it, lycra long stretch pants, and head band and helmet, a spiffy lookin' pair of yellow tinted sunglasses to help see through the fog, one pair of socks and a nice pair of cycling shoes that breathe better then Mama Cass at an all you can eat buffet. (what, too soon?)
Needless to say, I was cold as all hell. It wouldn't have been so bad if I wasn't standing still so long. I arrived at 11:15 and the racers went by at 1:10ish. The sun poked out once, so I ran over to the speedometer on my bike (also has temperature) and it said 44. Wow guy, wow. On top of all that, there was this jackass county Sheriff up there that came by early and told us we couldn't be there. We couldn't watch the race from the KOM finish line. Right dude. I'll just do what you tell me and go 2.5 miles down the highway, or into your lame ass 4 spot parking lot 3 corners away. We all will. So yeah, I stayed. He came by several times, but I think gave up after he noticed we weren't leaving, only multiplying. There was 3 of us (not counting the observatory workers and residents that were allowed) when he told us the first time, by race time there must have been close to 50. All cyclists. All climbed up that morning.
It was quite an impressive group of folks. This climb is not easy; it really does take quite an experienced rider to get through it. And the assortment of bikes that these folks had was really incredible. My bike is not cheap, but it is an entry level road bike. Good, not great. One other guy had a bike in a similar range as mine, and we talked, and discovered we were both more mountain bikers than roadies. But these other guys, damn. There was literally about 50 top-end pro-level road bikes just strewn about, with their owners shivering nearby in their super-awesome cold weather racing gear.
So anyway, back to the race. I had the best spot on my side of the street. The two guys to my left where chatting in Italian the entire time, to my right (by about a foot) was the poster board telling where the KOM line was, and my right foot was pretty close to the line painted on the street. And yeah, it's not like what you see on TV at the finish line, we were in the street. No fence, nothing. We could literally reach out and touch these guys. Or, take a picture from the middle of the street and hope to hell we make it back out of the way in time before getting pounded in the what-have-you's by a blade's width front tire, and a dude-plus-bike combo weighing in at just over 150 pounds. And the guy to the right of that was the official timing judge for the KOM competition. Which is strange.
Here's why.
They asked us, the spectators, to pick a position and tell which number that was when they came across. For example, if I was the guy picked for first position, I would watch them come by and tell the judge what number it was that won it. International competition. Multi-million dollar team budgets. The same bike racing series as the Tour de France, the Giro de Italia, and all the other biggest races of the year. The Pro Tour. A Pro Tour event. And we, the spectators who bravely (pronounced: mindlessly) climbed the mountain in freezing temperature, who where still so cold we could hardly talk without the steady chatter of teeth clicking, were to decide the outcome of the single largest and most important climb the whole week. Yeah, I declined. And good thing I did, when they came by, shit, I couldn't tell you what team they were on, let alone what number they were.
Don't worry, we were just the backup (or, like, the 3rd or 4th backup). They filmed it, took pictures, there were 3 or 4 judges there, I just thought it was funny. And it was funny, damnit.
The lead group came by at about 1:10, and they FLEW. I came up from the other side, the not-so-steep side (my side averaged 4-5%, theirs more like 6-8% or more) and I struggled. I stopped a few times, and basically did what I generally do when I'm climbing. Sit on my large Italian ass and spin the slowest, most lazy-boy-comfy gear I have. And with an XT rear cassette, I had gears most of the other guys did not have. So I cruised at like 4-5 mph, getting passed by everyone. But I made it. So fuck it. These guys, these pros, these best-bike-racers-on-the-planet, came flying up the other side at what must have been 15-20 mph. Damn. Everyone up there was in awe. You'll see it on the first video, they are soooo fast. It really is amazing. Then some time went by, and a few other guys came through, stragglers that couldn't quite keep up with the leaders. Then, after a few minutes, the main peloton came through. These, apparently, are the guys that can't climb well. Yeah, eff that. They flew over plenty well. Then a few stragglers came across, and then it was done. Except for the cars. The entourage for these guys is truly impressive. The lead pack of 10 or 15 guys had an entourage of 20 cars. The main peloton?! 50. At least. Got them on the video as well. Rock Racing has the best, in my opinion. It's a Caddie, with a pretty sweet LA Ink style paintjob. Looked pretty sick.
Best part of the day, that guy I was mentioning in the last entry, Mario Cipollini, yeah, he came through with the main peloton. Hard to miss. He was sitting up as he came by, zipping up his jacket, and he had to have been at least 2 feet above anyone else around him. The two guys next to me started yelling his name, so I joined in, and he actually turned and waved at us! I swear, I felt like an 8 year old girl at a New Kids concert, or an 8 year old boy at a Michael Jackson concert. Ok, not that intense, but my teats where pretty hard. Not just from the cold, mind you. It's all on the video.
And then it was time to take off. I stopped at the observatory (which I absolutely love to go inside and hang out in, it's the scientist side of me taking over) to use the bathroom and to warm up a bit. Yeah, no use. As soon as I left, I started the arduous task of downhilling for 11+ miles. In 35-40 degree coldness. It took about 15-20 minutes, but my god it sucked. My feet I think may have partially fallen off, my fingers at one point felt like "pins and needles", and then even that went away and they just became hot feeling. It was pretty sweet, although I couldn't really push due to the fact that my hands were so cold they could not apply enough pressure on the brakes to actually slow me down.
But anyway, it was a kickass day, and I do not regret any of it at all. Except maybe the Mama Cass quip.
So, here are some pictures I took. More should be arriving over time, and I will put the videos on later.
So check back!
Parked at Grant Ranch Park, unloading and getting ready. Notice the wetness. And the coldness.
Now, I'm about 1/3 of the way up, and normally right here you have a great view of the main building of the observatory. The big white one you can see from the valley. Not today.
The finish line for the KOM points battle.
The line from the cockpit.
Me at the line, in all my coldness (notice the tenseness).
I love this one. More clouds and fog rolled in, and the 120 inch telescope in the background began to fade.
The TV crew stood right across from me. I will find out tonight if I made the coverage. (Hint, I'm the guy who's jersey reads: Arrogant Bastard Ale.
Rides coming across shots. Didn't get the leaders, because I filmed that. As well as the main pack. Links at 11.