Downing Rode

As a cyclist, there are roads that I’ve ridden hundreds of times. You get used to them. There are markers that give you encouragement when you are “almost there”. Calaveras Road is a favorite climb and a favorite decent and Downing Road is one of the markers between the top and the bottom of Calaveras. On one spirited commute, my friends and I were racing down Calaveras. Just as we reached the turn in the road where Downing Road enters on the right, there was a family of turkeys slowly crossing the road. With fortunate timing, we just missed them! There are countless other stories that involve Downing Road. Sometimes, you are simply at the right place at the right time.

Years ago, Calaveras Road was relocated to its present site. The renamed Old Calaveras Road is also a fun climb. Downing Road connects the two. But otherwise, Downing Road has little significance. It is only significant for visitors of the local park, for the very few local residents and for cyclists. And what is the significance of its name, Downing? Who gave their name to this place at that time?

This history of this corner of the San Francisco Bay area is one of local native Americans (Ohlone tribe), conquest by Spanish missionaries and eventual conquest by the westward migration of European-Americans following the gold rush. In the hills west of what is now Milpitas, local ranchers and farmers often rented the land to immigrants for Portugal. There are families of Portuguese descent all over this area – I know some of them. But most of the roads have either Spanish or English-sounding names because it was the wealthy who owned the land and named the roads. And one such wealthy rancher was William Downing.

William Fresh Downing

William Fresh Downing, originally from Missouri, came to this area from Elko, Nevada, where he raised cattle. My guess is that he was an established cattle rancher in Missouri and well into his late twenties before he move west with his family – probably the early 1870s. Although the Transcontinental Railroad had been completed in 1869, the Downings who headed west in the 1870s were still likely to have traveled by wagon train. As with those who went thirty years earlier, looking for gold in California, they picked up the Santa Fe Trail in St. Joseph, Missouri. Eventually, they would follow the California Trail (roughly I-80, today). It was an arduous journey taking three months across the great American plains and Rocky Mountains. Oxen were invariably chosen with which to make the journey, and the month of May the time to start. Then the buffalo grass was sufficiently started to support the cattle, which were herded at night in turns by members of the party.

Source: National Geographic

And I’ll also guess that once he established himself in Nevada, that his younger brothers headed west and spent a year or two working William’s ranch in Nevada before continuing on to California. He stayed there until 1881 before moving his family to the Rancho Tularcitos property in Milpitas. He is buried in Irvington Memorial Cemetery in Fremont, CA. If that were the whole story, it wouldn’t be significant to me as an amateur historian or as a cyclist.

Absolom R Downing

William Downing was the second of nine children of Absalom and Susan (Fresh) Downing. The third son, Absolom R. (consistently, I see his name spelled differently than his father’s) and his wife, Jennie (Cook) Downing are buried in Pleasanton Memorial Gardens Cemetery – a.k.a., Pioneer Cemetery just up from Richert’s Lumber on Sunol Boulevard, near my house.

Nathan Downing

I believe the fifth brother, Nathan H., contracted spinal meningitis and lost his hearing at a young age. Because of that he didn’t attend school but nonetheless ran a local newspaper until coming to California in February, 1886, when he briefly took charge of the Livermore Review. At age 40, that would make him the last of the brothers to go west. In 1888 he purchased the Santa Clara Journal and turned it into a thriving paper.

T. B. Downing

I was a bit more intrigued by the sixth, Thomas Benton Downing. In 1879, Thomas moved to California, living for a number of years on a large ranch near Pleasanton (where I live). Three of his children were baptized at the old Presbyterian Church – the one still standing on the corner of Neal and Second Street. In 1894, he came to Palo Alto, building what was then one of the largest and finest homes in the growing town, on the corner of Cowper Street and Forest Avenue. Thomas apparently was influential in something other than agriculture. He served on the School Board from 1893-1898 and again from 1900-1902. When the city charter was adopted he was elected to Palo Alto's first city council, from 1909-1913. Today, his house at 706 Cowper Street is on the National Register of Historic Places. Hmm, do I know someone on Cowper Street in Palo Alto? (Yes.)

You would think with such a lovely house, that it would be a great place for your son’s wedding. Well, one of Thomas’ sons, Claude Standish Downing, fell in love with Alice Spencer, daughter of Dr. John C. Spencer, a prominent San Francisco physician who eventually became a two-term mayor of Palo Alto. Dr. Spencer had worked with Louis Pasteur, if you’ll tolerate my name-dropping. Dr. Spencer’s house was apparently a nicer place for a wedding or perhaps it was just the tradition of the bride’s family having responsibility for the wedding. Nonetheless, Claude and Alice were married in the shingle-style home at 369 Addison Avenue (the address later split with the bottom floor becoming 367 Addison). If that address rings a bell, it is because it was the garage out back that became “the garage” where Hewlett and Packard started their instrument company – and most people would say that is where Silicon Valley started.

Claude and Paul were among the very first students of Leland Stanford Junior University, having only been opened in 1891. They were classmates of future president Herbert Hoover, the man for which they named that big tower on campus.

Lorenzo Downing

The youngest brother, Lorenzo, was barely 18 when he ventured west from Missouri, through Nevada and ultimately to San Jose, CA. Like William, it appears that Lorenzo pursued an agricultural career. Perhaps, like William, he purchased land and rented it to others for farming and ranching. I know very little of his life, but his children left quite a legacy.

Hardy Downing

Lorenzo’s son Harding Kenneth Downing (almost every reference to him is “Hardy”) was born in 1877 and would go on to become a professional cyclist. Remember that we are still in the time of Mark Twain, who had just published “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.” The “bicycle” was not yet a word in our lexicon – the velocipede (affectionately called the boneshaker) had evolved in 1863 from its early invention around 1839. The first actual “race” was held in 1868 in Paris. Any semblance of popularity would wait for the high-wheel bicycle (a.k.a., penny-farthing or ordinary), invented in 1870 – with its metal wheels giving way to solid rubber tires. A dramatic rise in popularity came with the Starley Rover “safety” bicycle (two wheels of equal size) and pneumatic tires (invented by John Dunlop, an Irish veterinarian in 1885). In San Jose, the Garden City Cyclers (Garden City Wheelmen) club was founded in 1884. In the 1890s, Hardy Downing would ride with this club and make a living as a bike racer – a wheelman.

In cycling, this was the right time and the right place.

For context, it is hard to overstate the dramatic rise in popularity of cycling worldwide during the decade of the 1890s. In America, the “Golden Age” of the bicycle was happening. The automobile had only been invented recently, the Benz Patent-Motorwagen was born in 1886 and most people could not afford a car until Ford’s Model T in 1908. So the bicycle offered the freedom, the basic transportation and the speed for this window in history. And speed meant competition. While the bicycle was playing its part in breaking down gender, class and racial barriers, open road racing was evolving mainly in Western Europe. In America, short-distance speed records were more popular and especially on velodromes or board tracks (high-banked, short ovals made of hardwood planks or sometimes concrete). Almost all roads were still dirt for years to come. From about 1890 until World War I almost every major city had its own velodrome. It is hard to imagine today, but in America track racing was the number one spectator sport. Professional cyclists were paid more than any other athlete, including baseball ($30,000 per year compared to $5,000).

Unlike road racing, where spectators couldn’t see the whole competition – and more importantly, they couldn’t charge admission, track racing was a sports promoter’s dream. Events included short time trials, one-on-one duals and endurance races – peaking at the “six-day” format where racers would literally ride around the clock for six days straight. These races, which often attracted up to 100,000 spectators per week, were part races, part shows. Bands would play, betting was rampant and, to keep the intensity up, promoters would offer cash premiums to the leader at various times during the race. This event model was so potentially profitable that promoters would contract riders all over the world in pursuit of racing talent for marketing purposes. Not surprisingly, these same promoters would also handle boxing matches.

But I am slightly ahead of myself. Hardy Downing was at the right place at the right time. San Jose was one of the premier cities in the world for track racing. San Jose built its first velodrome in 1892 and would quickly add two more, had 28 bike shops and nine bicycle clubs before 1900. Competition was fierce, too; Otto Ziegler, aka "the Little Demon from San Jose," won the U.S. national track championship in 1894. Of course, the talent was world-class but regional advantage (flat roads in the valley, good weather year-round) helped. Hardy became one of the most famous racers of the era, traveling to the east coast (Newark, NJ, being the premier city on the east coast for cycling), Europe and Australia.

According to Peter Nye in his book, “Hearts of Lions”:

Hardy traveled wherever cycling took him. He used to say that he settled in Salt Lake City because he was snowed in there once after a race. In 1913 Downing retired from cycling and got into boxing promotion with his brother-in-law, Big Jack Price. In 1915 he opened the boxing gym where Jack Dempsey got his start in professional boxing.
On the first page of photos in Dempsey's autobiography, Dempsey is standing in the boxing ring of Downing's gym. Downing's fights were known for their action. "No fight, no pay" was his motto. After 1930 he sold his boxing interests and managed an apartment house.

Downing was well known in Salt Lake City, newspaper reporters used to write about his fondness for deer hunting, and his belief that left hands won fights and right hands signed checks. When illness overtook him in 1960 at eighty-two, Jack Dempsey went to Salt Lake City to visit him in the hospital before he died.

Lace Downing

Five years younger than Hardy, Lewis Richard Downing (Lace) was born in 1882. Lace was also a successful racer and would win many races but never quite eclipse his older brother’s fame. A nice article in the San Francisco Call, Dec. 1899, introduced him to the cycling world:

San Jose, which has given to the cycle race path such illustrious names as Wilbur T. Edwards, Otto Ziegler, Floyd A. McFarland, Hardy Downing, John A. Alexander and Clarence Davis, has added another to the list of great performers. Lace Downing has developed within a few short weeks and is pronounced the peer of any amateur on the coast. Upon his first appearance, recently, he swept the boards, winning the three races which made up the card. Since then, he has defeated E. F. Russ and George P. Fuller, considered to be the fastest amateur on the coast.
Young Downing has had the opportunity of training on the fast track of the Garden City Cyclers, supplemented by muscle-building work on the road. When his brother and the other crack professionals in the McFarland party arrived here he enjoyed the benefits of their coaching and also the use of their motor-driven pacing machine. This brought out the ability of the young wheelman and placed him at the head of the lists.

Burton Downing

The youngest of the cycling brothers, Burton Cecil Downing, was born in 1885. Burton was almost born too late for the first bicycle boom in America. He was at his peak between 1901 and 1905, but remained an amateur which gave him access to national and international amateur competitions at the expense of the types of contracts Hardy enjoyed. Burton held many records over his career including the motor-paced 5-mile record of 8:48 in 1901 (34mph!).

History remembers him for something that went relatively unnoticed – both in the following decades and even during the event itself. Burton Downing won six medals in the 1904 Olympics: two gold, three silver and one bronze. For this, he was inducted into the Cycling Hall of Fame in 1998. He was the most decorated Olympic cyclist until 2008 when Bradley Wiggins eclipsed that number. Why was this not a big deal back then?

The 1904 Olympics were held in St. Louis, Missouri – the Games of the III Olympiad. However, the early Olympics were not the marquee event that they are today. In fact, it was a bit of a side-show added to the St. Louis World’s Fair that summer. The racing was held on a cinder track of what is now Francis Field at Washington University. 18 cyclists representing just one nation (United States) participated. From newspaper accounts, the spectator count was probably lower than the participant count. Nonetheless, the races were conducted under the auspices of the National Cycling Association and Burton Downing became the U.S. Amateur National Champion in the 25-mile and 2-mile distances. As a footnote, that was the only year that Olympic events were recorded in non-metric units. Technically, the races were open to contestants from other countries. There were also events held for professionals.

The trip to St. Louis was part of a longer one which took Downing to the Newark, N.J., area where he settled. He joined a construction firm, the Spearin Co., and soon became the president of it. He was later president of the New York Contracting Dock Builders Association. Burton died at the young age of 43 in Red Bank, N.J., about an hour south of Newark. Newark, New Jersey.

St. Louis is 176 miles from another Newark – Newark, Missouri – where his grandfather was buried and his uncle was still living at the time of the 1904 Olympics. I can’t help but wonder if Burton even knew. As I write this on my laptop and store it in the cloud, it is difficult to comprehend the time of my grandfather in the early part of the previous century. And I suppose it was the same for Burton Downing.

The Previous Century

Take yourself back to the childhood setting of Mark Twain. The lazy river, sweltering summer heat, bare feet, no cars, no bicycles, no electricity, no indoor plumbing, Indians, schoolmarms and a vast unsettled frontier. Samuel Clemens was born in Hannibal, Missouri, two weeks after Halley’s Comet arrived in 1835. Just up the Mississippi River from Hannibal is a little tributary called the South Fabius River and if you follow that about 50 miles upstream you’ll find a tiny village called Newark. And that is where our story began. Newark, Missouri (sidebar).

James Fresh was probably the first permanent settler in Knox County. In 1833, he came here from Maryland with his wife and children and three slaves, brothers Abe, Dan and Dave. He selected a site for a home and without acquiring title to the land (i.e., they were squatters), built a cabin with his slaves. In the spring of 1834 Fresh built a saw mill and grist mill a mile west of where the village of Newark now stands.

Missouri had only become a state in 1821, after being part of the Louisiana Purchase. So-called “Indian Territory” was west of the state line, but apparently there were no skirmishes in the early days of Newark. Kansas City was still the Wild West as gold had not yet been discovered in California.

Absalom Downing of Newark

In 1834, James Fresh’s fourth child, Susan, became a widow at the ripe old age of 17 with two babies to care for. In 1836, she got re-married to a man named Absalom Downing. Absalom’s great grandfather was one of three brothers who came to America in Colonial times and settled in Virginia. The grandfather, William, was born and raised in Virginia then became one of the first settlers in Garrard County, Kentucky. The father, John, was eight years old when they left Virginia, and he too left to settle near Hannibal with his wife and ten children. Whether or not he floated on the Mississippi on a raft, history did not record.

The Downing family was from England but of Irish descent. Apparently, Protestant Downings in Ireland are scarce. If you are interested, I believe the majority of the Irish who came to America in the 1700s were protestant and from the North of Ireland, also known as Ulster. My research suggests that our Downings are from either County Antrim or Derry (Londonderry). This line of Downings are not related to Sir Charles, for which Downing Street in London is named.

The Downing ancestors in America created a legacy of pioneering and so it was for Absalom’s sons. Which brings us back to William Fresh Downing settling on former Ohlone land with a view of San Francisco Bay. I doubt that his nephews ever rode their bikes on that dirt road to his house, but it would be poetic. Where two centuries later I was at the right place at the right time to avoid a family of turkeys.

SIDEBAR: Newark

• Newark, NJ, is probably the most famous “Newark”. It was founded in 1666 by Puritans and named "New Ark" for "New Ark of the Covenant."
• Newark, OH, was named after Newark, NJ.
• Newark, IL, is located 60 miles southwest of Chicago along State Route 71. I’m not sure why it was named Newark.
• Newark, IN, was founded in the 1850s by settlers from Newark, Ohio, hence the name.
• Several Newarks were located in Des Moines. One was in Bertram Township, another was sometimes known as Wortport and sometimes Newark. It was named after the New Jersey community. There was also a Newark in Marion County and one in Summit County. The Newark established in Webster County was founded in 1873 by John Teters who had come from Newark, Ohio, again named for Ohio.
• Newark, KS, was named for Newark, Ohio, and formed out of Neodesha Township in April 1871. (Seriously, Ohio again?)
• Newark, MD, is located along the old colonial stagecoach route between Cape Charles, VA, and Philadelphia. Some think it was probably named by a homesick Englishman, but there is also the theory that it came from the shape of an ancient country house shaped like an "ark," thus Newark.
• Newark, MO, is reportedly named after Newark, NJ. In 1836, the year that Newark, NJ, was incorporated, the streets of Newark, MO, were laid out, and in 1872, the town was incorporated.
• Newark, NY, is located along the Erie Canal, 29 miles southeast of Rochester and a short 15-mile drive from Lake Ontario. Was it named for Ohio? Just kidding; I don’t actually know.
  

NOTES

Ancestry.com and familysearch.com – sources for much of the family history

“Hearts of Lions”, Peter Nye

http://www.l-ags.org/Ple_Presby/PP_bapt.html

http://genealogytrails.com/mo/knox/history-county.html

http://www.genealogytrails.com/ill//schuyler/Downing,FinisEbio.html

http://www8.hp.com/us/en/hp-information/about-hp/history/hp-garage/a-trek-through-time.html

http://www.nj.com/newark/index.ssf/2008/08/cycling_flourished_in_newark.html

http://www.wheelsofthepast.org/History-of-the-Bicycle.html

Pen Pictures From The Garden of the World or Santa Clara County, California, Illustrated. - Edited by H. S. Foote.- Chicago: The Lewis Publishing Company, 1888. Pg. 280-281 Transcribed by Kathy Sedler Proofread by Betty Vickroy

http://paloaltoonline.com/weekly/morgue/spectrum/1999_Sep_1.HISTORY1.html

Steve Staiger of the Palo Alto Historical Association

http://www.cyclingrevealed.com/Mar07/Mar2_feature07.htm

Wikipedia

Calaveras, The Wall

https://www.strava.com/segments/619070

In cycling terms, when you are climbing a big hill and it suddenly gets very steep at the top, that’s often called “the wall.” I believe there are a few segments called “the wall” in the Bay Area. For me, “the wall” is the final section on Calaveras Road going east from Milpitas. It’s difficult and made more so by the effort reaching it from Piedmont. Someone had spray-painted “the wall” on the pavement near the start. It’s about all you see since you mostly look down at that point; it’s not the type of hill where you casually look around.

The Wall takes all of your focus.

But what if you did look around? What would you see? What would you have missed, even if you tried to take it all in? Well, let’s start at the bottom of the hill. Let’s start way back when all there was was the hill …just a gap between valleys.

How do we know it's us without our past? – John Steinbeck

We shall approach the hill from a distance – the long view, if you will. How did the road get there? Who put it there? Why is it called what it’s called, as well as the side streets and nearby points of interest? Like any good road, this one probably started out as an animal trail along a creek and then became a trail for the Native Americans living there.

Ohlone

Before European explorers, the area around Milpitas was inhabited by the Tamyen Ohlone tribe. There is evidence of their camps and burial grounds under the Calvary Assembly of God Church on Piedmont, just to the south of the intersection of Calaveras Blvd and Evans (dating back 3,000 years). I’m sure there is just a little irony there. There’s more under what is now Elmwood Correctional Facility on Abel Street (sidebar #1). You’ll also find Ohlone grinding holes in the rocks near the golf course off Downing (sidebar #2), where they would grind up acorns and other food. The Ohlone covered a vast territory, much further than just from Ohlone Community College in Fremont to Sunol-Ohlone Regional Park in Sunol. There are more grinding holes in Mount Diablo State Park. Certainly, they were the first ones to climb “the wall” – just not on a bike.

The Ohlone were hunter-gatherer types. They were not farmers. But once the Europeans arrived, they were converted – in more ways than one.

Rancho Milpitas

The European influx came with Spanish explorers of the De Anza expedition (Juan Bautista de Anza). My understanding is that the De Anza expedition was partly to defend the territory against the Russians. To the best of my knowledge, the Russian fur trappers did not venture this far south – just San Francisco – it’s too hot down here. The Spanish claimed this area for centuries, the local base being Mission San José de Guadalupe in what is now Fremont a few miles north. The land grants for what is now Milpitas were Rancho Rincon de Los Esteros (Spanish for "corner of the wetlands") granted to Ygnacio Alviso (the area near Alviso, now); Rancho Milpitas (Spanish for "place where maize grows," "little cornfields/gardens" or possibly "land of a thousand flowers") granted to José María Alviso which comprised most of the flatland portion of today’s city; Rancho Los Tularcitos (Spanish for "little tule marshes") granted to José Higuera, adjacent to Rancho Milpitas on the north side including our favorite hill; and also Rancho Agua Calient to Fulgencio Higuera (the Warm Springs area of Fremont). José Maria Alviso was a child with the De Anza Expedition. They were likely to have climbed “the wall” too. I’ll just guess that the Ohlone held the KOM; I suspect they were in better shape than the Spanish.

I've ridden up “the wall” over 100 times, mostly commuting home from my job in Milpitas. We usually approach it straight up from Calaveras Boulevard. Calaveras Blvd seems to line up with “Calaveras Road” on most old maps and establishes the boundary between Rancho Milpitas to the south side and Rancho Los Tularcitos to the north.

I love this particular map, below, because of the aerial perspective. However, it is frustrating because of the cursive hand-writing and general ambiguity. Nonetheless, you can make out three squares in the upper left. These are the adobes of the land grants associated with Milpitas today. The large building in the center is the pueblo of San Jose on the Guadalupe River.

For a zoomable version of this map, click (zoomable image)

Inset showing three adobes

The leftmost adobe is “casa de José Higuera”, in the middle is “casa de José M. Alviso” if you use your imagination, on the right is “casa de Nicolay Berrellesa”. (Berrellesa descended from the Basque region of Spain – interesting spelling on this map – his name translates to Nicolás Tolantino Antonio Berreyesa and he also claimed rights to Rancho Milpitas, but lost the dispute with Alviso. Berreyessa went insane and died in 1863.) On the hills above, you can make out Tularcitos. The arroyo running up the hill just left of casa Alviso would be Arroyo de los Coches, or Los Coches Creek. That is the creek that runs along Calaveras Road up to “the wall” today.

I believe the creek to the left of casa Berrellesa is Berryessa Creek which begins in the Los Buellis Hills near Felter Road but it might be Piedmond Creek. The area above it says “plan de las Calaberas” (plain, not valley?). To the right of casa Berrellesa (the Berryessa area today) is Arroyo de aguaje (or Aguage or Aguague, meaning spring or watering place) which is Upper Penitencia Creek today and you’ll recognize the name for the road which would lead you towards Mount Hamilton Road today. Penitencia was the name of an adobe house of worship, i.e., a place to give penance. It was something of a half-way house between Mission San Jose and Mission Santa Clara.

The city was almost named Penitencia, in fact. But it was feared that it might be misinterpreted as Penitentiary and so Milpitas was selected instead. There wasn't a vote or any debate as far as I could tell. The Assistant Postmaster, Joseph Weller, simply wrote the name onto the form in 1856. We will notice Weller Road later as we tour up to “the wall.”

Before the town of Milpitas was established, it was a misaligned intersection. I’m grateful for the habit of naming roads based on their endpoints. Alviso-Milpitas Road is now the section of 237 west of I-880 from Alviso to Milpitas – obviously – but has more recently been realigned to avoid Alviso (!). It intersected with Milpitas Road heading south (Main Street, today) which became Oakland Road heading north. A block north of that intersection, Calaveras Road headed east over the hills to Calaveras Valley (where the reservoir is today, formed by Calaveras Creek). Milpitas and Berryessa Road is now Capital Expressway, and goes to Berryessa – obviously.

The Guided Tour

Now that Milpitas exists, let’s start the tour.

The road is called Calaveras in the directional sense – it goes to Calaveras Valley. Calaveras Valley is named after the creek that now feeds Calaveras Reservoir. Not to be confused with Calaveras County, which is believed to have been named for the skeletons found along the river by the Spanish – calavera for “skull”. I am confident that the gold country county predates the naming of this creek, so it’s unclear to me if the creek is named after the county or not. The Milpitas Historical Society suggests that there were native skulls along the creek – perhaps to scare off competing tribes. Nonetheless, we call it Calaveras. Its formal beginning resulted from a February, 1855, petition presented to the Santa Clara County supervisors asking for a county road out of the hills and across the valley to Alviso, noting “more than 60 families” living in Calaveras Valley. Prior to the railroads, Alviso was the most important port in the South Bay but that’s another story.

Often, I am joined by fellow commuters who get there from other roads. This is not them, on the right. I have no idea if anyone ever rode a standard (penny-farthing) bike up to the wall but it wouldn't surprise me.

Courtesy California Historical Society.
“San Francisco Bicycle Club on San Leandro Road between San Leandro and Milpitas; H.A. Greene, Captain.” Undated.

If the increase continues, the time is not very distant when not to own and ride a bicycle will be a confession that one is not able-bodied, is exceptionally awkward, or is hopelessly belated. – “The Bicycle Festival,” July 13, 1895 New York Times

Evans/Piedmont

The dividing line between the valley and the hills is Evans/Piedmont. Evans Road is named for Josiah Evans, who owned a ranch that bordered the road before it was named for him. Evans came to Milpitas in 1853 from Ohio after a few years mining for gold, during which time he founded the Butte County city of Evansville which no longer exists. He bought 800 acres of Rancho Tularcitos land in 1853. Generations of his family also stayed in Milpitas.

Piedmont means “foot of the mountain” in Italian. I’m guessing that the name was already common in the area; specifically, the city of Piedmont near Oakland which I believe was named by James Gamble, the president of Western Union Telegraph in 1877. Once you cross this intersection, the climb begins immediately.

Today, there are a few houses at the base of the climb on your right. As you pass the last one, you can see the side of the Alviso Adobe (sidebar #3). Although buried underground today, the valley section of Calaveras Road used to run alongside Arroyo de los Coches, or Los Coches Creek – it means “creek of the wild pigs.” Once you commence climbing, it is visible on your right. For half the year, the creek is pretty much dried up. You can see the little canyon as you climb up the first part of Calaveras road to “the wall.” I’m generally more focused on the curb and staying close to it since traffic flies by rather closely up that part. There’s a remnant of pavement redirection and a chain-link fence across from the gravel pit section. I’m generally focused downward during this climb. On the flatter sections that follow, I have more willingness to look around. I've never seen any wild pigs or boar.

Downing Road/Laguna Valley

Once you get up and over the first steep section, “the first wall” on Strava, the road flattens slightly. It may not feel that way the first few times you ride, but it does. You are now approaching Laguna Valley. Laguna translates roughly to small lake. Laguna is marked on many old maps. Way off to your left, out of sight, is the Spring Valley Golf Course. There are two lakes back there and many natural springs. Spring Valley is an adequate translation of Laguna Valley. At one time, there was a plan to build a reservoir up there, but it was defeated. The marshes were tamed and the golf course was built. There is a sign for the golf course at Downing Road (sidebar #2, again) which goes north from Calaveras in a tight bend in the road. Traffic can be a little tricky there, especially when you are descending. The road gets a bit steeper in that corner. There’s not much shoulder and there are a couple little breaks in the pavement that make you want to ride further into the street.

To your left, before you see the porta-potties, is a flagpole. You really need to look backwards to see it. A century ago, that was the site of Airpoint School (sidebar #4). That school burned down and a new one was built in the 1960s about half a mile up the road, on your left. Today, Airpoint School is used by the Milpitas School District for special education.

Ed Levin Park

As you straighten out after the bend, you come along Ed Levin Park. Traffic has a better sight-line, so passing is easier and the road is mercifully flatter – you can shift up a gear or two. The water fountain in the park entrance is questionable. In 1964, more than 500-acres of the so-called Airpoint reservoir property were purchased by Santa Clara County. The Airpoint Park was renamed Ed R. Levin County Park in honor of the deceased county supervisor who canvassed door to door to make the purchase happen and it was dedicated in 1969. Ed was a boxer at one time in his youth, so I imagine the door-to-door canvassing was effective. Levin himself raised hack ponies and the house just beyond the main park entrance Ranger Station was once his home. Most of the park is to the north, extending all the way to Monument Peak and the hang-gliding area. The area alongside Calaveras is just the southern end of the park. Further to the south is more of Laguna Valley and a gated community where my old boss lives.

The road starts to get steep for a little while as you round the corner after the park entrance and the newer Airpoint School. There’s a washboard affect to the pavement where I generally shift back down or get out of the saddle. In the mid-1910s, construction began on the Calaveras Dam. To get the steam shovel into Calaveras Valley, they actually laid railroad tracks on Calaveras Road up this very hill. The road was still dirt at the time; in fact, it was about this time that Oakland Road (Main Street in Milptas) was paved from San Jose to the county line. As late as the 1930s, ranchers were still driving herds of cattle down this road to the depot on Main Street.

Laguna Cemetery

Since the turn is rather tight, traffic is sometimes surprised by struggling cyclists in this section. When you’re not looking out for cars, glance off to your right while you are still in the shade of the trees. Set back from the road is a wrought iron gate and fence, obviously fairly modern. The little cemetery on the hillside is Laguna Cemetery, a little two-acre plot shaded by oaks and laurels and a row of poplars planted many years ago. The first burials were in the 1860s. The last burial was in 1914 and for many years afterwards Weller Curtner paid the taxes on the little graveyard to preserve the last resting places of friends and neighbors of his grandparents.

A faded map of the cemetery, laid out in alleys and avenues running between grave plots, indicates most of the plots had been sold by 1867. Names on the map included Josiah Evans, J. H. Miller, C. Valpey, David Campbell, J. Weller, Felter and Pomeroy. The headstones, now gone (some disappeared, the rest stored for safe-keeping), told the sad story of death in childbirth, infants who succumbed to illnesses, and of men and women not yet old in years.

Weller Road

Soon on your left is Weller Road, an interesting side road which goes up behind the east side of Mount Allison, the highest of the three peaks (Mission, Allison, and Monument). Consider it a private road with people who value their privacy. The road is on most of the older maps I've found and serves mostly farmland which in ancient times belonged to Tamyen Ohlone tribe, and it eventually turns to dirt. If you ride up the hill you may notice stone walls around the ridges which you’ll also see if you hike up from Sandy Wool Lake. I’m told some of these walls were built by Chinese who came here after working on the transcontinental railroad, some were built by Amish, and others are very ancient.

Weller Curtner (descendant of J.R. Weller and Henry Curtner) recalled, “At the corner of Weller Road and Calaveras Road there was an Amish family by the name of Mathews and he had a blacksmith shop in there. He did the blacksmith work for the local men up there and his wife helped him. He’d beat a tattoo on the anvil and his wife would come out and strike it for him. Swing a 14 pound sledge like a man.”

For me, Weller Road marks the last relaxation point in the climb. It’s the last time to shift up again or spin easily before making the left turn at Felter Road and attacking “the wall.”

Laguna School

As you check behind and then look up Felter for traffic, you slowly make the left turn and see the writing on the road: “the wall.” But on the corner is a little old barn. Over the door it says “Laguna Ranch” but it used to be a one-room schoolhouse (Sidebar #5) – the last one-room schoolhouse in the county. The school was closed during World War II and is owned by Mr. Hare who lives in the adjacent home and plans to restore the school. Bill Hare is a music producer with two Grammy Awards. Didn't see that coming, did ya!

The Wall

By now you are tired. Both from reading this, and from the vicarious climb to this point. The road curves deliberately left and right and slightly left again to follow the easiest grade up to the top of the hill without much man-made change to the contour. What little has been done only serves to guide the rain to the sides - nothing that benefits a cyclist. Other than pavement.

Like a bucket of water dumped on the ground, you start out with plenty of power, pushing over obstacles with ease, then relax into a nice easy flow until you start to avoid small pebbles and seek out the path of least inclination until there's no power left but that of your own will.

I've seen many people walk their bikes up the wall. The Tour of California race brings professional cyclists up this hill. There are rattlesnakes and jackrabbits. People with really long telephoto lenses come up here to watch eagles. Cars scream by on weeknights on a white-knuckle, E-ticket commute home from Silicon Valley, unsympathetic to a 4mph cyclist's need to wander back and forth to keep his bike upright. Sweat blurs your glasses and your Garmin's display, which would mock you anyway. Tongues hang out. Heart rate monitors go off. Not much is said, or can be. Then you crest the hill, pull over into the shade by the driveway on your left as cows stare at you.

If you are good, you look back and wait for the bobbing helmet of your buddy to rise over the horizon. His face is down. He may angle his head a bit sideways to see you, unable to lift his head entirely up. Or else it's you, finishing the climb as others wait - now fully rested as if it were no big deal. Some don't even stop, just pedal onward, but it is still an accomplishment. Even after 100 times, it's still "the wall."

Sidebar #1: Elmwood

I've lived in Pleasanton and worked in Milpitas since 1995. I remember driving 237 when it still had intersections with stoplights, and I remember when there were no apartments next to Elmwood Correctional Facility or across the street.

Driving down Abel, there used to be two rows of Siberian Elm trees between Main Street and Abel that lead to the gates of the jail. Originally, John O’Toole planted them along his driveway to his 20-room Victorian mansion. It was sold to James Boyd in 1883, who then sold it to the county in 1884 for use as an almshouse – a home for the poor and sick. Eventually, the city housed a few low-risk prisoners there. And in 1962, the last eight elderly men were evicted, the mansion was demolished and it became a permanent prison.

Incidentally, when Milpitas wanted to incorporate as a city, they needed a population of 500 but only had 400 residents. The soon-to-be city asked if the Elmwood population could be counted as part of their population. The county said yes, and in 1954, Milpitas officially became a city. Oh, and it was no coincidence that Ford Motor Company had just committed to build an assembly plant there – San Jose was not happy.

In 1993, an ancient Ohlone cemetery was unearthed in an excavation at Elmwood. More than 60 graves were discovered, along with abundant beads, mortars and pestles. Apparently, that mound that made it a great location for a mansion was man-made.

Sidebar #2: Downing Road

In 1881, William F. Downing came to Milpitas from Nevada with his family. They bought land next to Evans’ ranch from Henry Curtner who also has a road named after him. This land was originally part of Rancho Tularcitos and Rancho Agua Caliente. Joseph Silva was one of the first to rent land from Downing and his descendents still live in the hills above Milpitas.
William F. Downing’s son, George Lucas Downing (no apparent relation to George Lucas of Star Wars fame), continued the tradition of tenant farming. He rented much of the land to an influx of Portuguese farmers from the Azores Islands. I’m still trying to figure out if the 1900s-era professional cyclist from San Jose, Hardy K. Downing, is related. Hardy K. Downing became a well-known boxing promoter with fighters such as Jack Dempsey.

Sidebar #3: Alviso Adobe

Each of these land grant holders built at least one large adobe home. At the base of the climb, at the intersection of Calaveras Blvd and Piedmont Ave. – adjacent to the Church – is a little cul de sac called Alviso Adobe Court. There is a city park built around the Alviso Adobe building. Until it was acquired by the city in 1995, it was the oldest continuously occupied adobe house in California. Even if you don’t visit it from the court, you can see it off to the right as you begin the climb up “the first wall” segment of Calaveras Road. That is, if you lift your head and look around instead of navigating the narrow space between the inexplicable curb and the racing traffic.

Sidebar #4: Airpoint School

In 1903, Airpoint School was built at the corner of Downing Road and Calaveras Road, so that children of the Downing and other nearby ranches would have a school within reasonable walking distance of their homes. George Lucas Downing was a long-time trustee of Airpoint School. So far, I have no idea why it was named Airpoint – it sounds so out of place. The local historian believes it was in response to the nation’s fascination with the Wright Brothers and the first flight which was also in 1903.

Sidebar #5: Laguna School

Laguna School was built in 1865. It served the children who lived in the farms further up Felter on Los Buellis Hills (Spanish for bulls or cattle, basically grazing land). Reportedly, the school was built for $600. That seems like a lot for those days and an 1866 San Jose Mercury report on financial condition showed Laguna School $3.89 in the red. Laguna was only in session six month as year. I’ll spare you the list of teachers over the years but the trustees included Alfred Felter (of Felter Road) and Michael Hughes, who had built the first wood frame house along Penitencia Creek in the area that became downtown Milpitas. The school rests on a foundation of large stones containing shell fossils, reminding you that this area was under the ocean at one time. In 1943, enrollment fell below the five pupil requirement and the school was closed. The school building was auctioned off to Mildred Bean for $575 in 1949.
(video of former student, John Covo's tour of the old Laguna Schoolhouse, 37 minutes)

NOTES

Details on the Alviso Adobe, http://www.milpitashistory.org/alviso/alviso.html

“Milpitas: A look back” http://www.mercurynews.com/wherewelive/ci_5171658Posted 2/13/2007 (originally published on Aug. 27, 2006), Mercury News archives; "Sunshine, Fruit & Flowers," a Mercury News publication; "Milpitas: Five Dynamic Decades," by Mort Levine, Tom Gilsenan and Rob Devincenzi, Milpitas Historical Society; and "Images of America: Milpitas," by Robert Burrill, Milpitas Historical Society

“Milpitas’ Top Stories over a 60 Year Span” By Milpitas Post Staff, http://www.mercurynews.com/milpitas/ci_27814500/milpitas-top-stories-over-60-year-span - compiled by Mort Levine, Robert J. Devincenzi, Ian Bauer, Aliyah Mohammed and Julian J. Ramos

http://web.stanford.edu/group/cycling/routes/
“Santa Clara County – Early History” http://www.nps.gov/nr/travel/santaclara/history.htm
http://www.sccgov.org/SCC/docs%2FParks%20and%20Recreation,%20Department%20of%20(DEP)%2Fattachments%2F644507Levin%20Brochure.pdf
"Images of America: Milpitas," by Robert Burrill, Milpitas Historical Society

“Milpitas : the century of "little cornfields," 1852-1952” by Patricia Loomis, California History Center, 1986