Mount Hamilton

Yesterday I rode up Mount Hamilton, the first time I had done so since March, when the grass was green and there was still snow on the ground on the peak.

View Mount Hamilton in a larger map

The day was cloudless and cool, and the parking area at Alum Rock was more crowded than I've ever seen it. We got started at about 9 AM, just as a large group was setting off. Riding among that group was enjoyable, both for the conversation as well as the confirmation that I wasn't the slowest climber on the mountain. Wise riders climb at their own pace, so the bunch quickly strung out and before we got to  the Grandview restaurant we were alone again.

I was riding with a significantly stronger rider, so I had the odd experience of feeling slow because I was holding him up, while knowing that I was keeping up a darned good pace by my own standards.

A lone tarantula on Mount Hamilton Road

On the climb out of Grant Park I spotted a tarantula walking along the road. We stopped to get some pictures, and kept a few fellow riders from accidentally running it over while we did so. Luckily no cars were coming. I've heard of (but never seen) mass Tarantula migrations on the mountains around here, but this one was by itself.

Like Route 9 a couple of weeks ago, Mount Hamilton Road just goes on and on. I kept a steady (but quite slow) pace. I had to stop a couple of times to calm my heart, but not as many as on previous trips. Sometimes toward the end of long climbs I'm completely drained, and every little ramp looks impossible. I didn't get to that point on this ride, although I was happy to reach the parking lot at the observatory.

Elevation profile of Mount Hamilton.
See a note about data for details.

The climb for an up-and-back trip should be about 4800 feet. There's a 3800 foot difference between Alum Rock and the peak, and then there's 500 extra feet of climbing on the way up, and the same on the way down. My little algorithm only gave me 4500 feet, so I have some tinkering to do.

Bear Creek Road and Saratoga Gap

Last week I tried to climb up Route 9 to Saratoga Gap, but what with the length of the ride, possibly the early stages of a cold, and last but not least my lack of fitness, I didn't make it. I abandoned, and called for a ride home.

My wife is very generous about coming to get me, reasoning that having the rescue option easily available means I can consider more ambitious rides. Nonetheless, it's disappointing and embarrassing to have to make the call.

Yesterday I wanted to salvage some ego, if I could. I wanted to climb that road, but if I tried the same ride it would likely have the same outcome. So what went wrong last week? I think the main problem was that I was facing the last climb after 60 miles of riding. I don't have that kind of stamina. So the big change today would be to cut out the whole first part of the ride by taking Bear Creek Road over the ridge, directly into Boulder Creek.

View Bear Creek Road and Saratoga Gap in a larger map

First, I had to get to Bear Creek Road. That meant the same ol' route to Los Gatos, down the Los Gatos Creek Trail, up the dam, then down the dirt trail next to Highway 17 to the overpass.

Looking east from Bear Creek Road

I was a little worried about Bear Creek Road, since the unofficial Stanford cycling page describes it as both "steep" and "busy". I sat for a few minutes at the base of the hill, trying to get a sense for how many cars were heading up. At this point it was a little after 10 AM on a Sunday, and in the few minutes I sat there no cars went up at all. OK, now it's just the "steep" part to worry about.

Bear Creek Road is indeed steep, but at this early stage of the ride, it was manageable for me. I just went very slowly, standing up on the especially steep parts. There was very little traffic on the way up, but enough that I couldn't weave across the lane, much as I would have liked to.

The road grinds up to about 2000 feet, where it levels off and meets Summit. Then it climbs gradually to 2200, where it meets Skyline. I think part of my problem last week was that I didn't eat any quick energy food, although I did eat a real lunch, which should count for something. In any case, trying to do everything right this time, I sat at the top of the road and ate a Clif bar.

Bear Creek Summit

As I coasted down the other side of Bear Creek Road, I was thinking back to my last time on this road. It was nearly a year ago, and I had meant to go from Skyline to Summit. But for whatever reason turning right seemed appropriate, and I had descended to 1400 feet before I started to think "This can't be right". Now, with much more familiarity with the roads up here, that seems especially laughable.

Waterman Gap

Eventually I rolled into Boulder Creek, and stopped at Johnnie's Market to refill my water bottles. Then it was time to start retracing my steps from last week. On that ride, the part of Route 9 just north of Boulder Creek was very quiet, with almost no traffic. That was also a Sunday, but about 5:30 in the evening. This time it was closer to noon, and traffic was much heavier.

Immediately north of Boulder Creek, Route 9 climbs gradually, gaining only about 300 feet in five or six miles. Suddenly, at about 800 feet of elevation and perhaps a mile short of the intersection with 236, it begins climbing at a very steady 5%. That's a pretty reasonable climb, but man, it just goes on forever. Finally at about 2500 feet it levels off a bit, and slowly climbs to about 2600 feet at Saratoga Gap, the summit.

Looking South-Southwest from the Overlook

That was the high point of the ride. I flew down the east side of Route 9, comfortably exceeding the 30 mph speed limit most of the way. I took the Saratoga/Los Gatos road, which is also Route 9, to Los Gatos, then Blossom Hill home.

Elevation profile for this ride.
See a note about data for details

The whole ride was just about 54 miles, with about 4200 feet of climbing. Both Bear Creek Road and the top of Route 9 were first-time climbs for me, which is always great. I'm still working on the stamina to have more adventurous rides in the mountains, so this is progress.

Boulder Creek

Yesterday I headed out on my road bike with no destination in mind. I enjoyed a recent ride down to Santa Cruz, and decided that riding down to the beach would be a good way to start.

 
View Boulder Creek in a larger map


I left the house about 9:30 in the morning. It was overcast and cool. I took my standard route through Los Gatos, not especially inspired for this ride but enjoying the time on the bike nonetheless.

Highway 17 supports above
the Los Gatos Creek Trail.

A couple of days ago I got a book called Highway 17, which as you might expect is about the history and construction of Highway 17. Definitely a transportation nerd's book. It's easy for a bicyclist to develop an interest in transportation minutia, because you spend all your time riding on obsolete infrastructure.

Among other things the book describes building the road south of Los Gatos, just above the Los Gatos Creek Trail. Back then the trail was an active railroad bed, and they squeezed the road into the steep hill above it. To do that, they had to build a "sidehill viaduct", basically cantilever supports. So on this trip I had my eye out for them, and sure enough they're still visible. OK, it's a little thing, but I had never noticed that before.

 I felt pretty good riding around the reservoir and up Old Santa Cruz Highway. I was so aimless that I thought about riding the southern part of the old highway again, just because it's so pretty. But instead I decided that the point of the ride would be a visit to the beach. So it was down the Soquel/San Jose Road to Capitola.

Capitola was cool, in the temperature sense, and bustling. I headed west toward Santa Cruz, again retracing my steps from a few weeks before. I missed the turn onto Opal Cliff Drive, and learned that riding along Portola isn't nearly as interesting as the beachfront.

By this time it was about 1 in the afternoon, and I was passing by Betty Burger again,  and oh what the heck, I stopped there again for lunch. I wasn't being very original on this ride, but what's not to like?

Train trestle across the San Lorenzo

Once I got going again, I headed toward the boardwalk. Along the way I talked to a friendly pedestrian who, among other things, suggested that I think about Route 9 on the way home. Works for me; that's the new plan.

I rode up the path next to the San Lorenzo River, which eventually meets up with River Street, the southern end of Route 9.

Route 9 starts by climbing a bit up into Henry Cowell Redwoods State Park. As you might expect, that means being among some tall trees. Unfortunately, it also means being in the midst of a lot of traffic. I don't mind traffic much, but it means that I rarely stop and enjoy the sights.

Rincon Gulch trestle

One stop I did make was to take a picture of another train trestle, this one over something called Rincon Gulch. As it turns out, this is the train line that goes up to Roaring Camp. A few minutes later, I saw an odd train on that line, made up of five or six small maintenance engines, the size of compact cars. Surreal. Like a clown train.

Route 9 through Felton, and then Ben Lomond.  All along the way it's very pretty, but busy. As I got into Boulder Creek I was thinking about stopping at the Fosters Freeze, which I've visited on car trips before. Somehow I rode right by it.

Once I passed Bear Creek Road the traffic lightened dramatically, but I started feeling lousy. My legs were tired of course, but worse yet my shoulders were achy and my back was starting to worry me. I trudged along.

A few miles up the road I had climbed very gradually to about 1000 feet, but there the real climb starts. I was about 60 miles into it, my phone battery was almost dead, and I was taking the hills so slowly that I was worried I'd be riding home in the dark. I turned around, rode back to Boulder Creek (I found the Fosters Freeze this time) and called for a ride home.

It's probably the case that I just don't have the strength to undertake a big climb 60 miles into a ride. But as I write this 24 hours later, I know I was coming down with something, so maybe there's hope for me yet.

Elevation profile. See a note about data for details.

The Garmin reported about 65 miles and a little over 3000 feet of climbing, a large part of which was in undulations on Route 9. The web site reported a ton of calories burned, but considering the burger and an ice cream at Fosters, I may have consumed more than I expended.

A Note about Data

The elevation profile for the Hecker Pass ride

Source Data

The elevation profiles presented here are based on data collected from my Garmin Forerunner 305. This device measures elevation solely through GPS; it doesn't have a barometric altimeter.

My experience with the device is that it gives accurate, absolute results when it has a good view of the sky, and generates random numbers when I'm riding in canyons or (sometimes) along steep ridges. Between these two extremes the readings appear to be realistic, but can be very slow to update and may vary by 100 feet or more.

I'm basing my opinion of the clear-sky results on the readings I get when the absolute elevation is known, such as on mountaintops or at the ocean. I'm basing the canyon observation on the way the value can vary wildly as I slowly ride along steady grades. In some cases, the values can rise and fall so much, so quickly, that the only explanation would be that I was shot out of a cannon.

I use the Garmin Connect web site, which applies some level of correction, apparently through USGS data or similar. The GPX files I'm using to generate these graphs come through that web site, and I'm not sure whether they apply those corrections to the downloaded data or not.

Calculating accumulated climb

A simple approach to calculating the total climb would be to compare each elevation data point with the previous point, and accumulate any positive differences.

There are a couple of problems with that approach. First, the raw data coming from the device is not entirely accurate. Even on a perfectly constant grade the raw data fluctuates up and down, so the naive approach would give you some climb on flat roads. It might even register some climb on a consistent descent. You don't want that.

The second problem is that you really want to count only "meaningful" climbs. This problem isn't in the device, it's in our heads. Even if the measurements from the device were perfect, roads do in fact undulate. If you counted every little rise after every little dip, you would again accumulate climb even on roads that you perceive as flat. You don't want that, either.

To address the first problem, I'm calculating a decaying average of the raw elevation readings from the device, and using that for all subsequent calculations. In my case I'm using a decay level of 10, so:

    ele = (raw + ele*9) / 10.

The elevation graph is actually showing the decaying average, not the raw data, although at this scale the difference is minimal.

To address the second problem, I'm only accumulating climbs when they exceed a threshold of about 50 feet. I have a running "base" value, which is the lowest elevation (using the decaying average) I've seen. Once the elevation climbs 50 feet above the base, I credit the delta and reset the base. Thus if you're riding rollers on the way to the hill, you'll end up getting credited for those little rises... but just once. You will be cheated out of 25 feet (on average) at the top of each climb.

Ultimately this is a subjective measurement, but this approach gives me a result I can accept. If I look at the graph itself and estimate the climb by eye, I normally get to 80-90% of the calculated result, which is probably reasonable. Since it's based solely on the data from the device, if the elevation noise varies too much (more than 50 feet despite the decaying average) then I'll accumulate too much climb. The decaying average removes most of those noisy variations, but on some specific rides the effect has been noticeable.

Calculating Grade

It's easy to calculate the overall grade of a hill, and realistically that's the most important number to me as a rider. But in the interest of teasing some additional information from the data I've collected, I decided to try to calculate the grade at a finer granularity. An instantaneous grade, if possible.

The grade is basically the first derivative (with respect to distance) of noisy elevation data, so it's especially susceptible to bad data. I tried a number of methods to get sensible results. What I settled on was this: every 100 meters of linear travel, I calculate the change in the decaying average elevation and report that as a percentage.

This produces a satisfying result, apart from the rare regions of extremely noisy data. The spikes in grade normally correspond to actual steep ramps, the reported grade of those ramps is believable, and to the extent that you can get a sense of overall grade from the graph, it seems accurate.

The problem with this approach is that it's arbitrary. Two rides over the same road will produce different graphs. They'll be broadly similar, but one point of variation will almost always be in the maximum grade, which is the highest spike in the graph and therefore the most visible result.

The Map

To show a Google map, I start off with a KML file, again downloaded from connect.garmin.com. The raw KML files have thousands of points, but it appears that Google maps will only show about 200 points before starting to break the path into segments. So I needed to find a way to cut down the number of points dramatically while retaining as much of the overall shape as possible.

My first attempt was to try to eliminate intermediate points that didn't matter much. So I took each set of three points (let's call them A, B and C) and determined the angle between AB and AC. If the angle was small, then the B was close to the line AC, and we wouldn't miss it much. That might have worked in principle, but it was hard to debug the angle calculation. I also iterated over the points several times trying to get down to 200, and in later rounds the algorithm would fixate on one segment, gradually straightening it out. Harrumph.

As I was debugging that problem, viewing intermediate results in gnuplot, I finally noticed that just sampling every n'th point gave me much better results than my "smart" approach. It works best when I'm going slowly (which is most of the time), but it does tend to straighten out roads when going quickly (descending, perhaps). Maybe I'll get around to adjusting for speed, but for now simple sampling seems to give reasonable results.

The Tools

I normally upload my ride data to connect.garmin.com, then later pull it back down through the "export" function as GPX and KML files. To generate the graph I run the GPX file through a C++ program, and pump the results through gnuplot. I'd like to use an SVG result, but Blogger wants only bitmap images, so I use the pngcairo terminal.

The gnuplot script I generate looks something like this:

set grid
set y2tics
set xlabel 'Distance (miles)'
set ylabel 'Elevation (feet)'
set y2label 'Grade (%)'
set style line 1 linewidth 2 linecolor rgb '#60b060'
set style line 2 linewidth 1 linecolor rgb '#b06060'
set object 1 rectangle from graph 0, graph 0 to graph 1, graph 1
  behind fillcolor rgb '#f0ffff' fillstyle solid 1.0
set terminal pngcairo size 800,400
plot '-' using ($1*0.62137):(($2 > 0) ? $2 : 0)
         with filledcurves above x1 fill solid 0.6 border linestyle 2
         axis x1y2 title 'Grade (%)',
       '' using ($1*0.62137):($2*3.2808)
         with filledcurves above x1
         fill transparent solid 0.8 border linestyle 1"
         title 'Elevation'

The data is generated by the program, and of course is metric, converted to feet and miles only in this display step. The grade values include negative grades (ie descents), but I mask those off because they made the graph more difficult to read.

To produce the map I run the KML through a different C++ program that samples the points and removes any points near my house (otherwise these maps would all point directly to my house, which I'd prefer not to do). I upload the result to Google Maps using the My Places feature, then generate embedding code for that.

I started with KML because that's the natural format for Google Maps, but at this point I'm using none of the original file except the lat/lon/elevation points, and therefore could just use the GPX for both purposes.

Hecker Pass to Corralitos

When I ride my bike to Santa Cruz, or just into the mountains, I normally head through the so-called Patchen Pass (aka the Summit area) just south of Los Gatos. But since I live in the Almaden area, there's a somewhat less popular option available: Hecker Pass.

View Hecker Pass in a larger map

Uvas Reservoir

The Hecker Pass Highway, or Route 152, links Gilroy with Watsonville across the southern end of the Santa Cruz mountains. It has a poor reputation as a road for bicycling, but it's hard to know how to take that, since some bicyclists are just uncomfortable around traffic. My only experience with Hecker Pass was a sightseeing drive I took several years ago, and I remembered it as a twisty, narrow road.

I started out about 8:30 AM yesterday. The fog was burning off as I went down the Almaden Expressway to McKean, which turns into Uvas Road. It was nonetheless a cool, beautiful day for a ride, and this opinion was apparently shared by the dozens of riders out there with me. Today was a day for club rides, which meant riders passed me in ones and twos on the hills, and then in large groups on the flats.

It was on Uvas Road that I saw the day's closest encounter between a car and a bike. One of the club riders was just ahead of me and a champagne-colored Cadillac brushed by a few inches from him. From my vantage point I was sure he was hit. No oncoming traffic; it just looked like the Cadillac didn't feel like moving over.

The last time I came down here I explored all the side roads, so this time I was a little surprised to find myself down by the Uvas Reservoir after only 20 miles of riding.

Uvas Reservoir and the lone Twin Peak

I took a right on Watsonville Road, stopped at the Chitactac Park to top off my water, and then paused at the intersection of Watsonville and 152 to eat a few bites of a Clif food pellet. When I got back on the bike, I heard something that sounded like an out-of-tune banjo; sure enough, I had broken a spoke on my rear wheel. No idea how that happened. The wheel was a couple of millimeters out of true, and might get a lot worse. I was near enough to Gilroy that I could probably find a bike shop, or I could call it a day. Or none of the above: I opened my brakes all the way (who needs rear brakes anyway?) and continued on, up the Hecker Pass Highway.

Hecker Pass Highway

The first mile or so of Route 152 passes through the typical vineyards and farms of the area. Right at the turnoff for Sprig Lake, it changes character entirely. Most noticably, the sparse trees give way to full, deep, enclosing woods. The grade also increases distinctly, although it's still mild.

The road, I must say, is not a bicycle road. Aside from the rare turn-off area, the shoulder is a consistent 6 inches, all the way up (the shoulder shown in the photo is typical).

On the positive side, I don't recall any stretches with no shoulder at all, or especially skinny lanes. There was a fair amount of traffic; I'm guessing I got passed by a hundred or so cars. I had no close calls, honking or other drama. This is all actually OK for me, but if you're ever uncomfortable on roads, you should probably find an alternative.

The road climbs to Hecker Pass at 1309 feet, as the sign tells us. The plaque in the background tells us that the pass is named for Henry Hecker, who advocated the construction of the road in the 1920s. It turns out he was a Santa Clara County Supervisor for the Gilroy area, and wanted a road from Gilroy to the sea without having to go all the way down to Route 129 a few miles south.  OK Hank, you got it.

Just beyond the marker is something called the Mt Madonna Inn. There was also a path leading toward a great view of Watsonville, near some decaying cabins.

Cabins behind Mount Madonna Inn,
with Watsonville in the background

Mt Madonna Inn looks like it's being rennovated, and with any luck it'll match it's heyday in the 1970s.

Pole Line Road

Here at the peak is also the intersection with Pole Line Road, the main entrance to Mt. Madonna Park. I decided to head up through the park to enjoy the scenery. Pole Line Road is short but quite steep, especially in contrast with the mild grade of Route 152.

The fog was still thick on Mount Madonna, visibly rolling over the trees onto the road. It was condensing in the trees and then dripping, creating a reverse-rain effect: wet under the tree canopy, but dry elsewhere.

I rode through the park and my legs were really starting to feel tired. Well, there would be a lot of downhill on which to recharge, at least.

Fog in Mount Madonna Park

The giant redwood in the intersection of Summit, Pole Line Road, and Mount Madonna Road

Mount Madonna Road

At the four-way intersection on the other side of the park, I went the only direction I had never been before: Mt. Madonna Road. Mt Madonna Road is a twisty, one-lane, not-recently-paved road. It seemed pretty steep. The rough pavement combined with my fat keister could result in a lot of energy hitting my wheels, and with my broken spoke that could lead to additional deformation. Of the wheel, not my keister. So I was a little cautious on the descent.

By this point it was about noon, and my target was lunch at the Corralitos Market. At the bottom of Mt Madonna Road I took a right onto Hazel Dell Road, which runs through the woods, climbs a bit of a hill, and at some point turns into Brown Valley Road. Brown Valley Road runs right to the market. There were dozens of cars parked up the road from the market, apparently for some sort of reunion.

My legs were awfully sore, and I still had to get back over the mountain to get home. So I took my time eating lunch.

I got back on the bike and slowly headed up Eureka Canyon Road, feeling very weak on the climbs. Eventually I got to the intersection with Buzzard Lagoon Road, where Eureka Canyon turns into Highland. This is a high point in the road at nearly 1900 feet. Highland immediately drops about 300 feet before climbing right back up to 1900 feet very near the site of this spring's mudslide. This was the peak of this ride. After this high point Highland wiggles along, mostly level, then drops 200 feet or so to meet Summit.

I stopped at the Summit Store for a drink, then went down Old Santa Cruz Highway to Los Gatos, and finally over Blossom Hill Road toward my house.

After a day on Uvas Road and Hecker Pass Highway and all sorts of one-lane roads, it was here on Blossom Hill Road that I had my closest encounter with a car. And not on the skinny part of the road thats heads over the hill, either -- it was east of that, on the four lane road with generous parking lanes. The car was following an SUV pretty closely, so they probably never even saw me. The suburbs are murder.

Elevation profile
See a note about data for details

The ride was a little over 76 miles, which is awfully long for me. The Garmin gave me 5800 feet of climbing, although the real number of probably closer to 4500. Still, the Garmin result shows the value of the elevation correction done by the Garmin Connect web site. Out on the road the elevation reading was a random number generator, fluctuating by 100s of feet on steady climbs. The raw data, with the elevation correction turned off, gave me 14000 feet of climbing.

I suspect the estimate of calories burned is based on the raw data, because it thought I burned 12000 calories. If I had done that, I'd be dead.

Today was a great ride. It was my longest ride in years, and one of the few times I've managed to cross the mountains over and back. I'm getting to the point where I can get a little more ambitious in my routes. My options are expanding.

Laurel

Yesterday I rode to Laurel, a town that shows up on most maps of the Santa Cruz mountains but doesn't exist.

When they built a rail line between San Jose and Santa Cruz, they dug tunnels through some of the ridges to keep the grade manageable. One tunnel ran through the Summit ridge, from Wright's Station to Laurel. Then another tunnel ran from Laurel to Glenwood, through the ridge that Highway 17 now runs across.

Little towns sprung up at each of these entrances, born to serve the tunnel workers and then sustained by train traffic. But as the railway declined and disappeared, so did these towns. Wright's Station, Laurel and Glenwood are all ghost towns.

I left the house about 9 in the morning. I warmed up the legs by taking Shannon across to Los Gatos, then took the Los Gatos Creek Trail up to the reservoir. For the second time in a row, I spun my skinny tires on the dusty ramp at the end of the trail and had to walk up. Part of the problem is that it's late in the dry season, but another part is that there's really only one solid line, and if the trail's busy you end up in the dust.

At the top of the dam, the parking lot at Lexington Reservoir was overflowing with cars. I have no idea why. As I rode around the reservoir on Alma Bridge Road, there were also cars in each of the turnouts by the side of the road, near the trails. Could it have been the Coast Cleanup Day?

If you have this, why do you need Highway 17?

At the southern end of the reservoir, I took Old Santa Cruz Highway and climbed up to Summit. For the first time, I went straight across. Until now I've only seen the northern section of the road, which is a lightly-used but normally maintained asphalt road. The southern portion still has its original concrete surface from the 1920s, and looks like it hasn't seen much work since then. Despite the many cracks and occasional asphalt patches, you can almost see ghosts of Nashes and Packards puttering along on skinny spoked wheels. Now, like many of the old roads in these mountains, this one has been ceded to bicycles.

Wooden bridge on Old Santa Cruz Highway

This part of the road runs about a mile, basically level, until it meets up with Highway 17. I suspect that the old highway ran along the same route until it met up with Glenwood Drive, somewhere.

I turned around at the highway, the high point of this ride, and headed back to the intersection with Schulties Road. There was a permanent sign at the intersection indicating that the road was closed, which can't be good news. The reminder that there's no turn-around is amusing, and a good sign to take seriously if you're driving around here.

Intersection of Schulties and Old Santa Cruz Highway.
You can't say they didn't warn you.

Vineyard near the top of Schulties Road

Schulties Road

Schulties runs through thick woods, down a steep-sided gulch formed by Burns Creek. It drops from about 1600 feet to 800 feet, and its quality drops along the way. It starts out with smooth asphalt, and toward the bottom it's so broken up and gravelly that it's not clear whether it's paved at all. The road has become feral.

Toward the bottom of a very slow descent, I came across the construction that closed the road. This wasn't some pothole; apparently the whole road has washed away, and is in the process of being rebuilt. I had a hard time finding a path to even carry my bike through the work zone.

Major construction on Schulties Road

Laurel historical marker.
The tunnel entrance is in
the shadows to the left.

A little further down one arrives at the intersection of Schulties, Redwood Lodge Road, and Laurel Road. This, apparently, is the former location of the town of Laurel. Today there are a couple of houses and a historical marker.

I'd love to look around the tunnel entrance a bit, but it's at the end of a private driveway, right next to one of the houses. And yesterday two big dogs were barking at me as I took pictures. I knew the tunnel entrance was back there somewhere, but I couldn't see it, let alone get a picture of it.

Now, there are two old tunnel entrances near Laurel. This tunnel ran to Glenwood. The other one ran to Wright's, and this side of it was actually back up the road a bit -- I had missed it. I knew the entrance would be on my left, but I had imagined that it would be near the road. In fact, it must be across the creek. I'll have to try again. If you look at a terrain map it's pretty obvious where the entrance should be, so I'll just have to keep my eyes peeled.

My plan was to ride up Redwood Lodge Road. Schulties had dropped more than I expected, so I was amused to find that Redwood Lodge dropped another 100 feet to about 800 feet as it crossed back over Burns Creek. I was worried that Redwood Lodge might be steep, but as it turned out I motored on up in a way entirely unlike me. Redwood Lodge is a single-lane road, with more traffic than you might expect.

Redwood Lodge meets the Soquel/San Jose road at a little over 1300 feet. I took a left, riding up toward Summit Road. I had been seeing enigmatic signs reading "Goat Hill" around the Summit area. I was assuming it was a bike thing, but there wasn't a clue. On Soquel/San Jose there were more signs, and around Summit Woods Drive there were dozens of cars. Apparently the signs referred to something called the Goat Hill Fair, and it was fairly popular.

Since it was now a little past lunchtime I stopped at the Summit Store for half a sandwich, then continued down Summit back to Old Santa Cruz Highway. This time I went around the west side of the reservoir, which incidentally follows the other remaining part of Old Santa Cruz Highway. So yesterday I rode the whole thing. Apparently, the part of this road that parallels Highway 17 is relatively new. If you look at Google Earth images from the early1990s, Old Santa Cruz Highway just meets up with 17, so for bicyclists it was like the section between the Bear Creek overpass and Alma Bridge Road.

Still feeling reasonably good, I crossed back over to Almaden on Kennedy.

The Garmin reported a little over 45 miles, but its elevation readings in the gulch pretty much went nuts -- it recorded some 8000 feet of elevation, on a ride that never went above 1800 feet. The real number was probably below 3000 feet of climbing.

Santa Cruz and Mountain Charlie Road

A while back I rode my bike to Felton, with the idea that I'd take Mountain Charlie Road back home. In the event, I tuckered out and had to call for a ride. Yesterday, confronted by a beautiful day and strangely motivated by watching the Vuelta a Espana climb the comically steep Angliru, I decided to try again.

This time I hedged my bet considerably by driving to the Lexington Reservoir. This cuts 8 miles off the front and end of the ride, and eliminates a good 600 feet of climbing. I very much prefer to ride from my house, but on the other hand I've never crossed over the Santa Cruz Mountains and then made it back. So I drove to the end of the Old Santa Cruz Highway, to the parking area near the Bear Creek Road overpass.


View Mountain Charlie Road in a larger map

What with watching the Vuelta stage and being generally lethargic, I didn't get started until about 10. The sun was out in Los Gatos but it was still cool as I climbed up the Old Santa Cruz Highway to Summit Road. I took the left, and for the first time I can recall I had no excuse to stop at the Summit Store, so I zipped past and headed down the Soquel/San Jose Road toward Capitola.

Summit ridge, with the Thayer/Umunhum ridge in the background,
from the Soquel/San Jose Road.

In retrospect, this ride touched on a great deal of the history of the roads between San Jose and Santa Cruz. The Soquel/San Jose Road, for example, approximates the route of the old San Jose Turnpike, which was built in 1863 to compete with Mountain Charlie Road. But I get ahead of myself.

Capitola Beach on a gray day

The Soquel/San Jose Road drops off the ridge on nice pavement with wide turns. It would be a great ride except that it lacks shoulders and has considerable traffic. It falls for about 6 miles, then runs for another 5 flatter miles into Capitola.

As I rode into Capitola, I went from sunny skies into a gray mist near the ocean. The whole oceanfront was pleasantly busy as I rode along Cliff Drive. In particular there were a lot of surfers in the water -- I'd guess at least 100, and several times that number milling about on the beach and on the road. As it turns out, that was probably due to the surf being unusually high due to a Pacific storm.

A surfer heading out in Capitola

Surfing near Capitola

This ride along the beach was a little reward to myself. I had a good time watching the surfers and the surrounding crowds. It was a completely different in every way from the rest of the ride -- cloudy, crowded, and cool, where the rest of the ride was sunny, solitary and sweaty. Those major differences in environment give a sense of scale to the ride; when you're riding through thick forests later on, the time at the beach seems a lifetime ago.

By this time it was about 1 PM, and my thoughts turned to lunch. I had some food pellets with me, but with the whole of the waterfront available I was sure I could do better. As I rode on Murray Street I passed a place called Betty Burgers. Burgers, open tables outside, perfect. I had a great burger, sitting outside in the emerging sun to ward off the 57-degree temperatures.

The Santa Cruz  Boardwalk, from across the San Lorenzo

Fully loaded, I set off on the return trip. Following some wise advice I rode up the San Lorenzo river path to its end at the Cabrillo Highway, then took Plymouth to Emeline, under Route 1, and back to Plymouth, which turns into El Rancho and parallels I-17. After the leisurely lunch and long, cool, slow ride through town, I found the short ramps on El Rancho the most difficult climbs of the day.

El Rancho turns into Mt. Hermon Road as it crosses I-17 into Scotts Valley. I stopped at a gas station to fill up my water bottles, then headed north on Scotts Valley Drive. Where Mt. Hermon is like a highway rest stop, full of national chains and oriented toward cars, Scotts Valley Drive has the feel of the main drag through a small town.

Scotts Valley Drive meets up with Glenwood Drive, which begins a gentle climb. Apparently Glenwood Drive was the main highway between Los Gatos and Santa Cruz from 1916 through 1934, when the highway was realigned toward the current Highway 17.

Looking west from Glenwood Drive

Glenwood Drive is a very pretty road, and a gentle climb. It meets Mountain Charlie Road at about 900 feet of elevation. I knew that, very near the intersection, there was a disused tunnel entrance, but as I passed through I missed it.

Let's talk a bit about the history of Mountain Charlie Road. If you look at the history of the Bay Area, you could be forgiven for thinking that the world was created in 1848. Before that there were thousands of years of Indian inhabitants, but little change. There were decades of Spanish missions and sprawling Mexican ranchos, but the Mexican population was tiny and their lasting impact on the area was minimal. Throughout this time roads were used mostly for communication -- people waking or riding from mission to mission, for example. Think: single track.

But then came the American expansion, driven by the discovery of gold, and commerce. Commerce means wagons full of stuff to sell, and that requires wider and flatter roads. Initially road building was itself a commercial venture, and before too long we had Zacharias Jones' road, the Mountain Charlie Road, and the San Jose Turnpike. Eventually these roads would be purchased by the county and made public, and as time went by they were replaced by increasingly level and direct routes.

Mountain Charlie Road

Mountain Charlie himself was born Charles McKiernan in Ireland, and arrived in the area as a "forty-niner", shortly after the discovery of gold. A few years later he settled in the Summit area, ranching and killing off the grizzly bears that were plentiful in those days, but threatened ranchers. His legend was born when a bear turned the tables and made off with part of his forehead.

Mountain Charlie died in 1892, and his road is beginning to show signs of wear. It's a one-lane road all the way up, serving sparse houses along the way. The pavement near the bottom is especially rough (I wouldn't want to come down this way), and there are patches of sand and gravel throughout.

The lower parts of the road head steadily up at a moderate grade. It runs through a heavily wooded area punctuated by occasional houses (including one modeled on a submarine). Once you get to about 1300 feet, somewhere near Old Japanese Road, you start seeing steep pitches followed by level sections. On one of those pitches, standing on the pedals, I spun out on a sand patch. I guess it couldn't have been too steep, though, because I was able to resume.

A precarious tree. Could this have been originally exposed by Charlie himself?

Giant redwood on Mountain Charlie Road

Steps off of Mountain Charlie Road

Mountain Charlie runs sporadically along a ridge that gives you alternating views east and west. After Riva Ridge Road, Mountain Charlie Road flattens out, running through heavily shaded woods to Summit. The silence is broken only by the incredible roar of nearby Highway 17.

I knew that somewhere along here I must be going by the site of Mountain Charlie's cabin and site of his fight with the bear, both marked with historical markers. I missed 'em both. I'll have to catch them the next time.

When I got to Summit, I could have crossed Highway 17 and then down the other part of Mountain Charlie Road. But I wanted to try riding through Redwood Estates instead, which meant turning left on Summit and climbing another 200 feet.

Houses in Redwood Estates are perched irregularly on the hillside cheek by jowl, as the terrain allows. They are served by a confusing network of steep, serpentine single-lane roads. Actually, the roads only look confusing on a map; once I turned off of Summit into Redwood Estates on Woolaroc Drive, it always seemed pretty obvious which way I should go. All the roads are skinny and steep, and with lots of people out and about, I was hard on the brakes the whole way.

Fixer-upper garage near Holy City

I stopped briefly at the store near the bottom of Redwood Estates, then dropped down the last hill to Holy City, on the Old Santa Cruz Highway. From there it was a short fast trip back to the car.

So now I've almost made it over and back again. At the end of the ride the Garmin read 47 miles and some 4600 feet of climbing, which probably should have been closer to 3200. By starting at the reservoir I had cut out 600 (real) feet of climbing, which is a large percentage of the total. I don't know whether I would have made it from home, but I'm close, and getting closer.

Elevation profile and 100-meter grades.
See a note about data for details