Transported to the Delta

Several months ago I tried to go on a trip down to Lake Del Valle with a fellow bike camper Peter. Unfortunately, last minute I had to cancel because of work. With my summer still in the air I checked the East Bay Bike Camping Group and saw that Peter had posted another ride, this time to the Sacramento River Delta, I knew nothing of this area, but never turn down a bike camping opportunity.

Originally, Peter planned a straightforward twenty mile ride from Pittsburg/Bay Point BART to the Brannan Island State Park, I suggested a brief detour through Black Diamonds Regional Preserve, which he agreed to. It meant a little dirt, but that's what I'm looking for. The preserve looked similar to most of the East Bay, rolling dry grass pastures, and under the near 100 degree heat, it felt like I was over the hills for sure. Despite the heat, the park was worth it holding some sweet little spots, like this strange giant rock formation and a sweet old cemetery for the previous mining communities. There was apparently some other spots we unfortunately missed, until next time I suppose.

Typical East Bay pastures.

Peter is that dot climbing up at us.

Shade was so vital, even for a bike.

You can just make out the San Pablo Bay in the distance.

This giant granite rock popped out of nowhere, so we propped the bikes and explored.

The Rose Hill Cemetery, where they buried some of the original white settlers who worked the coal mines of the regional.

After a brief Chipotle and air condition stop in Pittsbrugh we headed over the Antioch Bridge to the Delta. There was some question of what the bridge would look like, but it was totally bikeable and not a problem. Once on the other side the suburbs of Antioch and Pittsburgh opened up to flat endless farm and green pastures. Crossing the bridge would come to be a portal to another world from the Bay Area.

Out first stop was Brannan Island State Park, our campsite, but also our first swim spot. After the 100 degree heat, it was just what we needed, despite the heavy Saturday crowds. It was when Eleanor, Peter's roommate, showed up in her Subaru that the real party started. We made some quick plans to drive off and explore. First stop was Sherman Island State Park, an area of a new kind of adventurer, the kite surfing comminity. These people post up their vans and RVs here and unload their kites and live at the free BLM campland there. Then our insider, Eleanor led us to our own tiny private beach, where we snacked and watched the sun begin it's long descent behind the windmills.

Sherman Island Sunset.

These toweres were so massive, you can make out the towering Antioch Bridge in the background too.

Our next adventure would prove to be the best part. We drove past some of the small communities that dot the turn of the 19th c. levees. Our destination was At the Wop's a bar in Locke, CA. Locke, CA itself is a piece of American history ill-told. Originally a home for Chinese immigrant laborers, this small community once housed somewhere between 1,000 to 1,500 people, which standing on the tiny Main St was incredible to think of. Over the years Locke has turned into a near ghost town, facing near closure many a times because of it's decrepit (but historical) buildings. Locke was a trip, but the real trip was the bar.

At the Wop's is apparently the place to go here, and the drink, apparently Bloody Mary's. I don't think I'd ever had a late night Bloody Mary, but the cool spicy beverage was tasty and helped clear the sweat from my brow (it was still 90+ once the sun had gone down). The bartender was a real riot, the kind of bartender that should exist in these small town bars; the perfect blend of surly, interesting, and comical. His stories were never ending, some quite literally as he'd open up the story then walk away without finishing the story. His name was John and he'd eventually give us a solid history lesson of Locke, and even worse the scary coming future (LA is looking to destroy more communities in the name of H20). After many a drink and many a sillyness, we headed back to the campground where I slept with an open tent to the sky, trying to keep the heat at bay.

At the Wop's, the place to go on the Delta.

Bloody Mary's a great way to end the night.

This was the apparent bar snack, peanut butter and wax peppers, don't knock it til you try it.

I tried to guess the morning shade at night and did okay-ish. Peter did not so well with guessing the shade.

Could be the death of the Delta (but so could an earthquake apparently, since the levees are built of silt).

The next morning's heat woke us up and we agreed that a swimming hole was needed, so once more we loaded up Eleanor's car and drove along the levee roads, only stopping for iced coffee and snacks until we found the place to jump in. The muddy waters were exactly what was needed. We lazed there most of the afternoon and by the time we were ready to go Peter and I decided against riding and hitched back with Eleanor.

Floating on the river.

The Delta seems like a hidden little spot about a forty minute drive and easily accessible by BART and bike, yet no one had ever mentioned it and it never became a thought. This marshy land feels more Louisiana than California and even the people feel years away from the tech booming Bay. Even John the bartender's motto is "twenty miles away, twenty years back" (Locke's about twenty miles from the capital). It was an unexpected journey with unexpected places and now I feel a little spot in my heart for this little place nestled on the meeting of the Sierra rivers before they dump into San Pablo Bay.