Day 2 of Exhaustion

 

A mere 7 hours after completing the SFR 300k, and on a scant 5 hours of sleep, my alarm jarred me awake. It was time to get another ride in. I donned the garbs, prepped the gear, pushed open my front door into a still lamp lit morning, only to look down to a cellphone SMS telling me that my riding partner would be meeting me in Dublin as opposed to riding out from Oakland. Well, no point in turning back now, so I pushed off into the darkness toward the Oakland hills.

The early hours hurt. There is no denying that going up Redwood Road hurt more than it's ever hurt before. My legs were on fire and my morale was low. Not enough coffee just had me wishing the miles away. A strong headwind even further sunk my efforts across the shallow grade of Castro Valley Boulevard. I was glad to make it to Dublin, but wasn't sure how much I had left in me. I searched for a Starbucks or a Safeway, about the best these far East Bay suburbs have to offer, and reluctantly settled on a Panera Bread. I pulled out my phone and another friend, who was originally to meet out in Dublin had now bailed as well. I had felt like giving up. I checked in with Keli, to see her ETA, she was close. I figured I'd let her make the decision. She had fresh legs, so she wanted to destroy it, and god damn it, I'm glad she pushed me to do those extra miles in those brutal hills. The route was the Pitter Patter Pop (Patterson Road Populaire from San Francisco Randonneurs) and features one of those epic roads that truly must be ridden if you live feasibly close to a BART station.

After a bunch of suburban housing developments the roads opened up to green pastureland with distant hills.

Those distant hills became abruptly close.

I mean, REALLY close. I wish there were a better way to capture how epic the Earth split here.

Climbing is easy, whatever.

I still ponder at this sign. I get bikes, or long trucks, but pedestrians? Strange.

We both agreed not to agree that this next hump was the finish, but secretly I think we both decided it was the end until...

We crested and saw this, damnit!

The top for real.

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.

Morgan Territory Road

I don't remember where I heard of Morgan Territory Road, but it's a straight shot BART to BART ride, meaning that I can go one way seeing all new roads. With the hopes of getting in some mileage I threw my bike on BART and headed toward Concord to ride behind Diablo to the Dublin BART station.

In the East Bay over the Hills anything next to a BART station guarantees some crappy suburban riding. From Concord station this was how the ride started. Luckily it was midday on a Wednesday so there was little traffic plus the occasional bike lane, so it wasn't nearly as bad as some of the suburban riding I had faced in NY (I still get flashbacks to the horrors of suburban Buffalo), but the monotony of these roads does not make for a pleasant ride. I just focused on Diablo in the background, hoping that by the time I got to the foothills these four lane roads would disappear.

Diablo is always watching!

Coming out onto Marsh Creek Road I got my wish and entered into a more rural area. It never ceases to amaze me that these rural communities are so close to San Francisco, it goes against everything I know from the ultra suburbanized turned exurbanized East. The scariest part though was that there was no shoulder on this road, and heavy traffic. I knew that it was about 40 miles from one BART to the next and I was starting to worry that it would be 40 miles of hugging shoulders and praying that the SUV behind me doesn't hit me. This especially worried me once the road started to climb, meaning I'd be going slower, meaning I'd have less control, making passing cars even more terrifying. But I was committed by that point, nothing to do but put my head down and deal with it. If figured if I survived US 20 in Ohio, I could survive nearly anything.

Between the backside of Diablo and Morgan Territory I'd imagine there is some fantastic hiking here too.

I reached the intersection of Morgan Territory Road, the road I came in search of and didn't find much different at first. Just more rural roads with no shoulder and the sun beating down on me. I thought I'd begin to be disappointed, then all of a sudden a sign pointed out "Single Lane Road Ahead." Single lane? I crossed a single lane bridge and the shoulder and opposite lane never reappeared. My first bit of traffic was a group of horseback riders and after that point I saw maybe three more cars on Morgan Territory Road. The road was absolutely stunning. I wondered why anybody put this road here, it doesn't seem necessary on a map, but it sure is beautiful. It started careening around a creek system on the left and the fire trails splitting off into Mount Diablo State Park. The summit was impossible to see over the foothills and the trees that hid the hot hot sun away and made dancing shadows along the roadway.

Another cyclist, who I caught going back up the super steep side of Dublin!

But the sight wasn't the only thing to really marvel about. Realizing the lack of traffic I started to listen and really pay attention. All I could hear was the birds, some frogs, and the buzzing of cicadas. The peace of this road is something I haven't really gotten back to since ending tour. I had heard people recommending this road, but my god, who knew it would be really this good?

Beautiful creeks along the way.

The actual contour of the road coming from Concord is an up and down, that apparently climbs pretty high (2,400 ft of total elevation on the day). It didn't feel like much climbing as every top was easy to get over and then a down would help part of the way on the next up. The road kept bouncing up and down. Looking toward where I guessed the road would go, I couldn't figure out exactly where it was because of a healthy coverage of trees. I really felt out of it. I checked my phone. No service. I had gotten away, even if just for the afternoon.

Lunch at the staging area.

After some more climbing the trees parted way and the Morgan Territory Road staging area opened up to my left. This was the top. I sat had some lunch, chatted with an overly talkative motorcyclist and basked in the shade. It reminded me very much of those afternoons on tour, just stopping and striking up conversation with whomever had something to say. He didn't seem willing to let me leave, but I eventually ducked out and from there it was a rocketed downhill along a beautiful curving single lane road open to the valley, where I could make out the freeway and the communities that hug to it's life. I hit 47 mph on this single lane road I've never been on before, probably not the brightest, but it sure was fun, the fastest I've gone to date.

After some more hot rural riding Dublin popped up out of nowhere. More ugly suburban apartment complexes were going in construction to match the hideous ones that were already there. What an awful place, especially in contrast from the gem that hides on the top of the hill on Morgan Territory Road.