The Saturday Fog City ride started off badly. I was late. I just missed the train at West Oakland and when the next city bound BART arrived, it was already 7:58. But I knew I wouldn't have to ride alone. Royston was in the same car with me and we pedaled down to Red's Java House expecting a huge crowd. Last year there must have been 75 people waiting at Red's Java House. This morning, there were none.
Could we really be the first to arrive? It was almost 8:15. Sure, it was cold and a little foggy, but nothing that would keep anyone from riding. A few riders straggled in. Fred. Then Jason W. Randy. Ken. Finally Pam and Lynn. But that was all. Apparently there was another group who arrived and left on time, but we didn't know that until later in the day when photos showed up from Carla and Chris.
I knew a few riders were out testing the new Olema ride, but that would hardly account for such a small group on the Embarcadero. Was it the weather? A post-Monterey hang over? No idea. Meantime, we thought we were a very select group of die-hards ready for the circuit of the city. We talked of doing Fillmore and pedaled under blue skies past the bridge and the Ferry Building on what looked like it was going to be a gorgeous day. We couldn't have been more wrong.
Very quiet at Red's Java House
Right from the beginning, the pace was listless and indifferent and the weather started turning ugly. We got separated at Fillmore and Marina and took a long time to get sorted out. Britt flew by us while we were waiting for Fred to collect Royston. Just when we were about to give up and do the normal route, Fred and Royston returned and we set off into Pac Heights. Pam and Lynn didn't want any part of it and took off back to Oakland (or so I heard), and 6 us, myself, Fred, Randy, Royston, Jason and Ken carried the torch for the OYJ.
I had never done Fillmore, so I really had no idea what was ahead of us, but I started to get a sense as we pedaled south away from the Marina. Looming ahead was a concrete wall.
We rolled through the Triangle. Drunks on the side of the road were getting hassled by cops. People were walking dogs, drinking coffee, you know, doing sensible things. We were headed up.
For those who don't know, Fillmore is a series of 4 terraced climbs starting at Filbert and culminating at Broadway. The whole ascent is only about 1350 ft. long, but has an elevation gain of 220 ft giving it a wicked average grade of 16.3%. But that hardly tells the whole story.
Each of the four sections gets progressively harder. So while the first leg from Filbert to Union is only 8%, the last section from Vallejo to Broadway tops out at a lung-spitting 28.3%. Just to put this into perspective, the last climb to the parking lot at Mt. Diablo is only about 17%. Hard, yes, but compared to Fillmore, it's a pussycat climb.
Section Distance (mi) Climb (ft) Grade (%) Filbert to Union 0.057 23 7.66 Union to Green 0.057 49 16.33 Green to Vallejo 0.057 56 18.67 Vallejo to Broadway 0.057 85 28.33 Filbert to Broadway 0.256 220 16.296
Filbert to Union is really nothing. At Union, I stopped and took pictures as Randy, Fred and Royston started to hit the climb. Royston bailed out between the parked cars. Randy weaved his way to the top of Green and Fred slowly powered his way up. I followed in the rear. It was tough sledding, but nothing compared to what was ahead of us.
Randy, Royston and Fred tackle Lower Fillmore
My real fear as I looked up towards Broadway was that I would lose forward momentum, not be able to clip out fast enough, and keel over. The sheer adrenalin from that very real fear propelled me to the top.
I wanted the climb over as quickly as possible so I took it straight on. I got out of the saddle immediately and ascended like a madman. As I neared the summit and started to slow down from the huge effort, I had this awful sensation that the bike was going to flip over backwards. That's how steep it is. Of course, it was just an illusion and I managed to make it to the top, but I was sucking wind so hard, I could barely stand and I felt like I was going to spew my guts out.
I got off the bike and shot some video of Randy and then Fred climbing up behind me. When you look at the video, it's really hard to get a sense of how sheer the climb is until the cars start to descend after Randy made it to the top.
One after one, we all made it. Randy. Fred. Jason and then Ken. It was only Ken's second club ride. We cheered him up the final climb and then assured him that, no, not all club rides include a heart-pounding 25% grade. Royston got there somehow too. Still not sure how, but he was at the top with us. We relished our accomplishment while we tried to recover. I felt fantastic, like I could do anything. It was the high point of the ride as we slowly descended into OYJ chaos.
Randy and Fred power up to the top of Fillmore. (The breathing you hear is me sucking wind as I try to recover from the climb.)
Uncertain of the way, we headed down Jackson and weaved our way through a bike path in Lincoln Park. When we regrouped, we were missing Ken. Jason said that he had a puncture back on the path so we rolled back to help him out. It took a long time to get rolling again. The first tube was bad and by the time we got him sorted out probably 45 minutes had gone by. I passed the time watching people do Tai Chi in the park. I was anxious to get going.
Fred leads out the Crew after Ken's flat
(from right to left: Royston, Fred, Jason, Ken and Randy)
We got through Golden Gate Park without incident, except I rolled through what I thought was a 4-way stop and almost got flattened by a black Suburban. Then we had another problem in the Inner Sunset. I made the left at Kirkham and was waiting at 7th for the other guys, but they never showed up. I thought maybe then went another way, so I went ahead to Clarendon. No sign of them. I waited. I waited some more. Then I headed back. I found them on 9th Street ready to roll. Royston had flatted. We carried on to the top of Twin Peaks through some seriously dense fog.
When we arrived at the summit, it was shrouded in swirling mist. You could barely see the curvy road we had just climbed up to get there. But a strong wind coming off the Pacific was blowing the fog out towards Oakland and before we left, you could see across the bay. It was a gorgeous day on that side of the city. But it was very different on the western side where we were headed.
The view from Twin Peaks really cleared up as
we were ready to set out again
Ken, Randy and Royston headed back after Twin Peaks leaving Fred, Jason and me to continue the route. We settled into a nice descent, got lucky with the lights and arrived at the Great Ocean Highway in a few minutes. After a very short rest stop, we continued down Highway One. The weather had turned really sour.
The fog was thick. The wind was howling off the Pacific. I could feel the cold creeping into my bones. On top of that, the bike path was mostly covered in sand. It just felt dangerous. This is the sort of weather I associate with fatal Dickensian respiratory ailments. None of us contracted Consumption or Whooping Cough (yet), but it was less than pleasant all the way through Daly City to the bottom of Mt. San Bruno.
Fleeting moments of sunshine as we left Twin Peaks
The climb up Mt. San Bruno started casually enough. The weather was improving. We were looking forward to the descent. The three of us were just chatting when I rolled over a branch at around 5 mph and it brought me down.
I saw the branch in the road and I knew I didn't want to hit it. It might have been a little thicker than a quarter. It looked like trouble. Fred was to my left, Jason behind me and like I said, we weren't exactly blazing up the climb. For some reason, I couldn't get away from this stick. Even while I was telling myself, of course, I'm not going to hit this stick, I rolled right over the branch and it lodged itself between my fork and my front wheel bringing me to an instant and complete stop. I careened over sideways into the little gully by the edge of the road.
It's almost like having an out of body experience when you're clipped in and you know you won't be able to clip out before gravity takes over and you crash down to earth. The whole time, I'm thinking, man, how stupid is this? Am I really going to hit this #@%&ing stick?
I got up and did a personal inventory. I dusted off my right knee which was bleeding, but not badly. I had some soreness at the base of my right thumb which probably took most of the impact of my low-speed wipe out. My camera was in my right back pocket, but it seemed ok too. I clipped back in and we carried on.
Fred Flats on Bayshore—The last mishap of the day
With only three of us left, there was no need for a regroup at the summit and we hit the descent of Mt. San Bruno, which is one of the best in the OYJ world: Long, smooth with very gentle curves. Just super fun.
At the bottom, Fog City becomes a grind through industrial San Fran. Lots of lights (almost always red). Lots of crap in the road. Looks like they wanted to corner the market on ugly and succeeded. It was no surprise when Fred flatted on Bayshore. Then we missed the turn on Tunnel and got lost, but only until Jason sorted us out with his iPhone GPS.
Finally we rolled into the Embarcadero at 1:45, only about 2 hours later than I planned. 6 riders. 3 flats. 1 crash. As Randy said later, "It was just one of those days".