The very last race of the year has usually been the Mount Tamalpias Hill Climb. While I do not know how many years this race has been running, I do know that it has seen many an epic battle over the years. Promoted by Velo Club Tamalpias, a club that produced many star riders during the 70's, it has been maintained during difficult times by selfless volunteers like Harry Rethers and Marcia Unkeles. This is a nearly zero money event in terms of sponsorship and prizes, but not on the part of its participants. The race is simple: it starts at Stinson Beach in Marin County, goes north on Highway One for five miles, turns right on Bolinas Ridge Road, and goes nine miles up the mountain, finishing at Pan Toll Station Road at an elevation of 2000 feet.
The 1980 edition of the race saw very overcast skies at the start as my teammate Hal Tozer rode away after only one mile. This surprised me as Hal was just recovering from a knee operation. But Hal was a both a talented and a smart athlete, I and knew that he wouldn't be going hard if it was bad for his knee. I had no difficulty keeping the pace of the pack low so that when Hal got to the turn, he had acquired a significant lead. Hal's lead grew right after the turn when he fearlessly and expertly threaded his way through a group of cattle standing on the road. Our pack nearly stopped at this obstacle until one rider saying "Let me through, I know how to deal with this..." got to the front, and then sprinted directly at the cattle while letting out a blood-curdling scream, causing the cattle to scatter every which way. I witnessed a fence post being knocked down by one of the desperate animals, but our path was now clear.
Almost immediately after getting onto the climb proper, Joe Ryan set what seemed like an unrealistically high pace, with several of us electing to stick with him while wondering how long we could last. Joe was built like a gazelle and was a natural born hill climber as well as one of the true masters of the sport of cyclo-cross. He was also a consistent and dedicated athlete, despite having a full-time law practice. It has been said that Joe knows of more abandoned but bikable roads than anybody else in the state of California.
Somehow I managed to find my rythm while being subjected to Joe's tortuous pace. Others were not so lucky (or stubborn), and by the time we caught up to Hal, only Jim Rogers (the district's time trial champion), Bob Lemond (Greg Lemond's father), and I were still hanging on to Joe. As things sorted themselves out, Bob was dropped saying something about his years (his famous son is three days older than I), and Hal slipped off during a difficult section of the climb, feeling the time off the bike associated with his knee surgery.
As we broke through the clouds and saw a beautiful view, Joe made a silly comment about how we should stick together because of news reports that an infamous serial killer (the Trailside Strangler) was hiding out on the mountain. Neither Jim nor I were in any condition to reply as we were cross-eyed from matching Joe's efforts. We also knew nothing of the course, but Joe has ridden it hundreds of times. My only clues about our progress was from my having memorized the winning times of previous editions of the race, and our elapsed time gained from my wristwatch.
When my mental calculations showed that we should be only a couple of minutes from the finish, the road inexplicably flattened out. Joe was as bad on the flats as he was good on the hills, and Jim and I easily dropped him like a hot potato. After a minute, I looked back to see Joe struggling quite some distance away. Jim took advantage of my lack of attention by launching an attack. I quickly countered, staying right on him, and then noticed a bunch of people standing on top of a little hill next to a rise in the road. I recognized the dress and posture of Harry Rethers and knew that we were looking at the finish.
Jim and I probably realized simultaneously that his attack had actually been to my advantage, and he put up no fight as I came around him. Jim had beaten me fair and square earlier in the season (see Davis Criterium Story and Santa Ynez Road Race Story ), and now it was my turn. Resigned to his fate, I had ample time to sit up and do a nice victory salute. What a cap on the racing season!
It seemed like an eternity before the others finished. While no records were broken, I was happy that my elasped time was only one minute slower than that of the younger Lemond from the previous year despite our slow speed during the beginning of the race. Jim gave me a very heartfelt congratulations, and Joe disappeared, saying something about wanting to go on a long ride. Joe went on to win the national cyclo-cross championship, and in our next meeting (see Mount San Bruno Hill Climb Story ) proved to me beyond any reasonable doubt that he was still the true king of the mountains.