In Which We Conquer Hawk Hill

Crossing the Golden Gate in San Francisco.

Across the Golden Gate Bridge from San Francisco there are tall hills, including one prominent one that offers a panoramic view of the bridge: Hawk Hill.

There is a road that goes up Hawk Hill, and you can ride your bicycle up that road—if you dare. It is quite a climb.

Wednesday, May 29, 2019, was cool and a little breezy, but also mostly sunny. My son and I walked down to The Bike Shed, a bicycle rental place run as a fundraiser by a nonprofit that benefits children, arriving just before 10 a.m. The man running the hut was a few minutes late, and another customer—a woman waiting to purchase a lock and bell for her bicycle—was also waiting.

Once he arrived, the hut man said there were very few bikes in my size, but I rented one of the few: an orange Fuji that was a “gravel” bike—mostly a road bike, but with wider tyres more typical of a hybrid bike. Speaking for myself, if I had much gravel to ride on, I would have rather have a mountain bike—but no matter, today’s ride was totally pavement. Perhaps I got a bit too acquainted with pavement, as you will read.

We went back to my son’s apartment to get his bicycle and, about 11 a.m., we were off.

My son noted there would be a few climbs to get to the Golden Gate Bridge, and at one point, at the top of one, told me that was “the little hill.” It didn’t seem all that little to me, but I guess that was in comparison to what was coming.

The transit of the Golden Gate Bridge was pretty, although very slow. On weekdays, they close one side of the bridge and mix bikers and pedestrians—who use separate sides of the bridge on weekends.

No matter, my one biking super power is an ability to balance while moving very slowly, although as you will read, that ability traumatically failed me once on this ride.

After the bridge we had a decision point. We could ride directly to Salsalito, or tackle Hawk Hill. Well, how often will I be biking in the Bay Area? I told Jon that if we rested for a minute and had a snack, I would be ready to try Hawk Hill.

And so we did. The hill began with a steep ascent that leveled off for a while, but then got steep again. Wikipedia says the hill is 923 feet, although that may be from sea level, which we don’t start at, and the road doesn’t go all the way to the summit—still, we climbed hundreds of feet in one intense hill climb that seems bigger than any Iowa river valley climb I’ve encountered on RAGBRAI. And I made it—slowly. Jon even came back at one point to check on me and passed me again headed uphill—but I rode up Hawk Hill.

CR Biker and son at top of Hawk Hill, cell phone selfie.

The view was quite nice.

However, that also meant I had to ride down Hawk Hill. Much as some ascents are a pain, heading down a steep hill can be a dicey proposition, too. I tested the drum brakes of my rental bike a lot on the twisty back side of Hawk Hill. Along the way, it was interesting to see some old coastal defenses, crumbling bunkers and emplacements for shore guns.

Then we were riding in rural California—dry hills and horse barns. It was a little weird to be in open countryside just a few minutes away from San Francisco, but nice, too. The climate was suddenly warm, with the afternoon sun heating us up. It never got hot, but what had been a cool day in San Francisco was a warm early summer day in the countryside north of the city.

Waiting for ferry (above) on the bike trail (below).

 

We stopped for lunch at a taco place in Salsalito, and then rode over to Tiburon, where we caught a ferry to cross the bay.

We hadn’t done a 10-mile loop on the northern peninsula because I was a little worn by the hill climb and ride, but the ferry ride rested me, and I told Jon we could ride a bit more in San Francisco. Sadly, that was my undoing.

It was late afternoon by now, rush hour traffic was getting heavy. We turned down Market Street. The breezy cool day was back. It was both exhilarating and a bit frightening to be riding through that windy canyon between tall buildings. There was lots of traffic of every type—cars, busses, trucks, bicycles, pedestrians.

I tried to make some images while we were stopped at intersections, but quickly decided one does not take photos while one bicycles in downtown San Francisco at rush hour. Nonetheless, I was putting my camera away at one corner when the light turned green. I’m not sure exactly what happened next—was I starting with just one hand on the handlebars? Did I strike an unseen rock? In any case, on my first push, I somehow overbalanced and tumbled to the street.

Ouch. California bikers turned out to be a caring lot, and I was met with a chorus of “are you OK?” In the scheme of things, I suppose I was. I was lucky to fall while I had not really been moving, but I still hit the street pretty hard.

I quickly pulled off to the side. The handlebars of the rental bike had been turned so they didn’t match the front wheel any more. Still, the bike seemed otherwise undamaged and it was easy to twist the handlebar back into place.

Traffic at the corner where I fell.

I, however, was a bit dinged up. I have collected numerous minor injuries—a large bruise on my upper right arm, a sore left ear and mark on my face, a bit of road rash on my left knee. Biggest of all, my torso must have hit the bike, because my upper stomach has a very tender, very large red mark.

Still, I was lucky. No bleeding, no bad joint sprains and no broken bones. I didn’t jar my teeth on the way down. As falls and injuries go, it was not among the bad ones.

It makes a lot of sense to me now, however, that my sister bought herself a tricycle. They are hard to fall off of, although I don’t think I would have ridden one on Market Street at rush hour.

I’ll have to be a bit more careful. Of course, I was on an unfamiliar bike in a strange place in a crowd of traffic at the end of a bit of a ride—all of those are factors. But the spill was nonetheless something I would prefer to avoid.

Despite the ding near the end, we rode a pleasant 35 miles. Not quite as many miles as I had hoped to—my goal was 40—but it did include Hawk Hill, so I think I can note it as a decent RAGBRAI training day.

And if you get the chance, do ride a bike across the Golden Gate Bridge, it is very nice. If it’s a good enough bike with the right gear, go ahead, ride up Hawk Hill. It’s a challenge, but even an old man can do it.

But when you get back to the city, please take care.

Traffic on Market Street 1906. Not all that different, but more bicycle and less horses now.

In Which We Follow Three Wheels for Almost 50 Miles

Cate and her trike.

We were to meet my sister around 9, but what with one thing and another, 9 became 9:30 before we left home, and it was close to 10 by the time we pedaled over.

My youngest son and I planned a bike ride for today, as he is home for a few days between adventures. It has been cool and wet lately, but today was a sunny, albeit breezy day.

Heading south on trail in Hiawatha.

When we got to Cate’s house, she was waiting with a fancy new trike she purchased this spring. We let her lead the way.

We went south, climbing a wind hill as we went. The day was pleasant, even if none of us wanted the headwind.

We rode all the way down to the end of the Cedar River Trail south of Ely. Cate rode her trike across the gravel to investigate where the trail ended. She says it looks like it’s not far from Highway 1 on Ely Road.

Cate scouts trail end beyond paving. The bicycle riders are content to wait on pavement.

 We snacked and then turned north, stopping again in Ely at the diary for ice cream.

The wind was our friend on the way back, and although we were tired from more than 20 miles riding into the wind, we moved much more quickly.

In the end, we didn’t quite make 50 miles—but came close. It was a good ride.

Group shot at end of trail, CR Biker, sister Cate, and youngest son Ben.

In Which Rain is Followed by Riding

Clouds all week. Riding home Sunday evening after another rainstorm.

Recent rains have kept me off the bikes. It was wet this morning, and another storm blew through this afternoon.

But late in the afternoon, I went to the neighborhood bike shop to pick up some bikes for Mount Mercy University. The sky had storm clouds in it, but was dry. After driving home, I ate a quick grilled cheese sandwich.

MMU Bike Club leader helps me unload bicycles that were fixed at local bike shop.

And then I got  the road bike out. It was already 7:30, but I had about an hour of light left. Dim light—there were plenty of clouds—so I rode with lights. I rode up the Brentwood Drive hill, and then over to Lowe Park.

It was getting breezy and colder, and more rain was expected to roll in later tonight. There were some bare areas in the sky, but plenty of impressive looking clouds in the volatile sky.

The sun went down as I rode on the park trail, and then headed home, riding with lights in the gathering dark.

The weather is expected to get better, but other events will prevent me from riding to campus over the next couple of days, so I’m glad I got the ride in tonight. And as you can see below, it was a pretty post-rain ride.

Tower Terrace Road on my way out to Lowe Park.

New Park going in at Lowe Park.

Lowe Park sky.

Lowe Park sky.

Blackbird that was yelling at me as I made images.

Lights on on Tower Terrace Road as I head home. Below, images of the park from another camera.

In Which A Sweet Spring Day Leads to Mowing

Second-oldest Iowa granddaughter on second bike ride of the morning. We are stopped at corner of C Avenue and Boyson Road waiting to go ride around the Collins Aerospace koi pond, and she is playing with the two bells on the towed seat.

The day began with me taking an unexpected tour of the back yard. I had snuck out for a few minutes to view new flowers, but didn’t plan to stay out there because I’ve planted new grass and clover, and am trying to allow it to get going before it gets trampled into the bare patches my backyard usually features.

But I was caught. My 3-year-old grandson saw me go out, and insisted that entitled him to get into the yard, too, so I let him put on his shoes and play in back for a few minutes. He’s small, and I was careful where I walked, so I hope we minimized our impact on the new grass—but I did enjoy the cool, sunny morning and the sight of many flowers blooming in my back gardens.

Daffodil I planted last fall is in bloom. The red tulip behind it is new, too, both seen this morning.

Thus began my Saturday in the saddle. His mom was met at my house by her sister, and my two daughters were then off to the Amanas with their children for an event there. Meanwhile, the four grandkids from another mother were dropped off to spend the day with their grandparents.

Before lunch, I took the oldest of the four for a ride as I was seeking a new gasoline container (and beans for the weenies and beans we had planned). I had lost the cap of the old gas can, and don’t want to keep gasoline in a container that is not well sealed. It’s the mix of gas and air, after all, that is most volatile.

Dollar General, as it turned out, has only 5-gallon containers. We did get the beans for lunch, but I did  not want such a large gas can. So the granddaughter and I rode home, and I swapped her for the next younger granddaughter and swapped Dollar General for Drug Town. Which, as it turned out, had no gasoline containers at all.

Lunch came next, and then the three girls and grandma planned a “girls day out.” I told the oldest grandson, who is among those four siblings, that we could ride my bike on the Boyson Trail and turn down the Krumholz Trail to get to Menards. He agreed, and there we found a gas can and a new spay can of WD-40.

Saturday afternoon on the Krumholz Trail. The world has turned green, although the trail is not shady as the trees are just putting out their first new leaves. Still, a pretty green Iowa spring day.

Wild bluebells blooming along Krumholz Trail.

My oldest grandson is not usually happy to have his image taken, and put his head down when I aimed a camera at him. Still, I like the picture of his shadow as we are on our afternoon ride on the trail.

The front derailleur of my mountain bike is not working, but I hope cleaning all the crud off with WD-40 might unstick it. We shall see.

Anyway, the older grandson and I biked home, stopping at a gas station to fill the new gas container (it’s not often you see a bicycle stopped at a gas pump to gas up, but it happened today). Then, I cleaned the front yard and mowed, as the grandson watched for a while and then played in the house for a while.

Grandson and I have arrived home and I have gotten mower out. The bike, the mower, the gas can and the container of WD-40 we purchased. The gas can can fit in one of my bike bags which means I don't have to walk to get gasoline.

My wife stopped by to grab some water bottles. The girls were done shopping and ready to head to Indian Creek School playground, where a rendezvous with the Amana crew had been arranged.

So the older grandson and I biked over there. Before we left the playground, intending to go to my house for the All Iowa Grandchild Spontaneous Pizza Party (thank you, my youngest daughter, for getting the pizza), my 3-year-old grandson got a little sad. He gets prone to being sad late in the afternoon on no nap days, but this particular episode was also a case of But I Want To Ride with Grandpa.

However, I did not have the bike seat for him, so the tears that ensued were for naught. The second youngest of the three girls in the four-sibling family managed to schedule herself for the ride home, so there we went.

When we got there, after our pizza supper, I told the 3-year-old I would put his seat on my bike, and told the youngest of the three sisters, who had not ridden yet, she could have a turn on the towed seat, if she wanted.

She did. But there were two grandsons in another family, who had also not ridden. One didn’t want to, and for the other, I got out a second bicycle and attached a second trailer seat to it, and the caravan—me with a 3-year-old in front, towing a Tag-A-Long with a kindergartener in back, accompanied by my daughter with a towed seat attached to her bicycle, towing her kindergarten son—got going.

We headed up to the duck pond on C Avenue, and then down the Lindale Trail, where we headed back up the Boyson Trail to Boyson Road and then back into my neighborhood.

I’m not sure how many miles I rode today. The morning rides were maybe 3 miles each, for about 6. The ride to Menards and back was likely around 8 or so. There was also the ride to Indian Creek School and back, followed by the probably 5-mile trail loop ride. I suppose all told it was between 25 and 30 miles, so not that great for total miles on a RAGBRAI training day.

Still, I was towing grandchildren on all those rides, and I feel that I earned my pizza. And enjoyed this fine, sunny Iowa spring day. Sadly, more rain is coming, which is shame, specially with serious flooding happening on Iowa’s East Coast. But now my legs feel tired, as they ought to after a pretty day for bicycle riding like this one.

Final look at the trail from today. A gorgeous day to be in Iowa!