The World is Flat Pedaled

When it comes to building a touring bike there are so many things that are taken as fact; steel frame, high range of gears, quick wicking clothing, but some gear parts are debated. It seems that clipless pedals are one of these things that falls on both sides. I have seen a good deal of "ways to improve riding" or "how to prepare for a bike tour" promote clipless pedals, but I'm going to go ahead and say that these are less than ideal for bike touring.

Casual SPDs were becoming the rage when I first began riding, with Chrome exploding everywhere and other companies finally following in their wake (Teva, Five-Ten, and Vans now all have their own casual clipless pedals). I started with rat cages, but after destroying many metal cages I have taken the plunge into full on flat pedals and could not be happier.

Surly Cross Check rocking Wellgo MG-1s

The tides seem to be turning away from clipless toward flat pedals on touring cyclists, with the rise of casual touring promoted by Rivendell and hike and bike bikepacking as promoted by Cass Gilbert. And here is the real reason why flats are more superior than clipless pedals, they are multifunctional. For anyone who has ever packed for an extended bike tour knows that having multi use items is extremely useful as it saves space and weight, yet people still believe in clipless pedals and off the bike shoes/sandals, when one pair of sneakers functions for both. For me, bike touring is about exploration, and exploring off the bike is half the fun, from incredible day hikes, to museum walks, to unplanned games of soccer, not skating everywhere is fantastic.

Another tenant that the flat pedal fulfills is the keep it simple stupid attitude, an attitude I shortly picked up from Surly upon purchase of my Cross-Check. As an example, I remember being a few days north of San Francisco last summer when I met a couple traveling the coast and it was about this point that one of their touring pedal cleats was so torn up from being walked on over rocks, curbs, pavement, what have you, that they could no longer clip in and needed to limp by on a small platform to get to San Francisco to replace their cleats. Another example comes from an old article from Urban Velo magazine that I found, in which these avid cycle tourists cited the tool or piece that they'd never leave without again and it was consistently pedal bolts. When you go flat, that's one less tool and one less headache.

Another shot with the white MTB pedals.

"But what about the power increases!" well, that's mostly a myth. There may be small gains, but nothing extremely major. People are bound to believe that being clipped in allows you to pull up on the upstroke, which is actually wrong. The only benefit may be that you are less fatigued because you don't have to worry as much with foot position but with grippy shoes and grippy pedals this is not an issue whatsoever.

One of the greatest gains that have come from the switch to platform pedals over rat cages is learning better bike ability. I had never known how to bunny hop and was completely dumbfounded by the process, I kept trying to pull up the rear wheel with my feet, which is dead wrong. Flat pedals have taught me better weight balance on the bike and now I'm having a blast throwing my rear wheel wherever I want it, be it mountain biking, hopping curbs, or bike poloing. For performance, flats reign king in my bike.

What do you ride? Flats, clipless, cages? Why? What are the benefits and disadvantages?

Further reading: Riv Bike on clipless v. flats.

Ebbetts Pass Scenic Highway

The day between the Sierras and the East Bay was not a pleasant one; 88 miles, not enough water, not enough food, not enough stretching led to cramping which led to a terrible camp spot right outside of Copperopolis.

This is how I felt after 88 miles in the hot hot valley.

In the morning I grabbed some coffee in Copperopolis which helped regain my energy. That on Highway 4 was not much to write home about either. It was some highway riding up to Angels Camp then a back road up to Murphys. Murphys was a quaint little boutiquey town with a handful of high cuisine. I was tempted, but decided to hold on to my cash and ride on. Using my GPS I found a work around the highway up Sheep Ranch Road. Sheep Ranch Road goes straight up and I mean straight up. I was in my smallest gearing 28 in the front 32 in the rear and I was still pressing hard on the pedals. By the time I had gotten about halfway there I was torn apart and sweating like crazy. I found a quick place to pitch camp and had another rough night on my body. Luckily this time I took the time to cook which would be the major plus for the next day.

The next day would be the most exciting and toughest. I woke up feeling the best I had yet, climbed some more, hopped down the Santo Domingo Trail, which was ill maintained and cost me a front tube at one point (and my pump was busted, oh great). Pumping through over grown thickets I finally popped back out to 4 and climbed up to Avery, where Sheep Ranch Road would have dropped me off, probably not the best cut off, but at least now I know. From Avery, I went back up Sheep Ranch Road to the Arnold Rim Trail. I was following the reverse of the signposts and I think it was noticeable. At first the ride was pleasant, rolling through single track in lush shrubbery, then dropped down to the creek bed, where I cooled my toes for a second. Then from there it was up and up and up. Most of it too steep and rocky to ride, so I ended up pushing and carrying my bike a lot. But the views were well worth the push and when I did get to point my wheels downhill it was exhilirating.

Beginning of the ART.

X-Check ready for dirt.

Idyllic single track.

Panroma at Top of the Rock

Thankfully, no bear sightings for me!

The ART let out right in White Pines Lake, where I'd set up camp for the night. The following day would be a forest road cutoff up to Camp Connell, which from Camp Connell it was all Highway 4, with little traffic. I slowly climbed enjoyably, embracing the stunning views off to the south, looking toward Yosemite valley. I settled in til Alpine Lake, where at the Alpine Lake Lodge I grabbed a snack before setting up camp in the National Forest, another quiet serene campsite.

Coffee on White Pines Lake.

Fast gravelly descent on NF roads.

Looking South over the valley.

Alpine Lake Lodge snack, much needed.

Alpine Lake.

Then the final day was hitting the pass. The climbing was once again anything but tedious, setting into the right gearing and pressing on. The beginning of the day had me building up to Pacific Grade Pass and Mosquito Lake. Over Pacific Grade Pass was a fast flying descent on a single lane highway which dropped out to steep cliffs, it was definitely a death defying road where I hit 46 MPH! Luckily I kept the wheels on the road and made it back into the final climb to Ebbetts Pass. The climbing all day was peaceful and enjoyable and by the time I reached the pass I had the energy to hike up to the summit.

Smaller, but much more peaceful Mosquito Lake up from Alpine Lake.

A cabin on Mosquito Lake, so pretty. Maybe some day I'll have a cabin on a  lake or in the woods or on a mountain.

The road was narrow and beautiful and dropped off to nowhere.

View from the summit.

Highway 4 was a last minute decision but when I saw that there was no commercial traffic and mostly recreation traffic I decided to take it, and I am glad I did. The ART was fun, but probably would have been better going the other way and all the alpine lakes were stunning. It's understandable now how the Sierras have changed so many peoples lives, the beauty and serenity are unmatched. I would highly recommend doing Highway 4, I took my time and still feel like there was more to see.

Black Diamonds Mines Regional Preserve

Everything felt like it was holding me back from tour. The night before I was originally supposed to leave, I got called into work. Then I spent all day waiting for my camp stove to arrive from Camp Mendocino, which would never arrive. As 5 o'clock rolled around and I got the official word that my stove did not come back, I mustered up my energy to get going. My month turned into a mere 2.5 weeks, but a short tour is better than no tour.

Jim's Place, maybe a cozy place to live. Probably not.

The sun going down over the Oakland/Berkeley Hills.

Ridges lit up by the setting sun.

After the Delta, I realized that there was more to see at Black Diamonds Mines Regional Preserve and that it would be worth while to head back, plus they had a backpacker campsite, so that's where I pointed my wheels. The six miles through Concord and Clayton was about as enjoyable as it usually is (harrowing traffic and lots of road rage), but once I was back on the dirt, the sun was arching it's way downward and my mind relaxed. The stress of camp stoves, work, rent, money, everything just melted away. I powered up the hills, and rocketed right back down them. I hit up the sweet scenes in the park and made it to the Backpacker site just as the sun settled in for the night. A tasty meal and a comfortable camp and I rested real easy on my first night out, looking at the black sky, listening to the coyotes yip and the owls hoot.

The sky was brilliant colors in the park.

The campsite. I had a weird dream about someone shining a bright flashlight on me at 3AM, but all was good otherwise.

The morning, I was up early. Behind camp was an overlook, so I left my gear and climbed up before the sun was hardly peaking over the hills. This park is so photogenic I couldn't help but keep snapping photos of long stretches of brown rolling hills. A quick enlivening decent and I loaded back up to hit the dirt roads once more. The fire roads stretched out to backroads stretched out to closed roads, and then eventually I was back in with traffic.

The sun was hot even early.

Diablo always makes it's presence known.

The valley out to the burbs out to the Bay.

I down know if this stuff was more fun going up or down. Ouch.

Prospector's Tunnel, you could walk about 200' into the tunnel.

I was amazed as this flower was reaching out onto the road how no cars destroyed it.

Then I realized the road was closed to vehicular traffic.

If only every day of tour could be like these first two. It would have been the ultimate overnighter trip, but my directions were onward from there and the rest of the day would not shape up as well (details to come later). Black Diamonds Mines Regional Preserve is definitely going to become a regular spot for me now, for day rides, overnighters, what have you. This park is a serene setting to photograph, mountain bike, hike, or just get away.

And the Rains They Came

Free camping in town means getting up at first sign of sunlight. Good thing I set my alarm, because sunlight wouldn't come for the whole day. Mendocino before rise was even nicer than it's usually happening main drag. I sat at the cafe for a long while hoping the damp cool air would leave; I'd wait two whole days for that.

Highway 1 was way more pleasant the last two times when the overcast clouds held no percip, now it was grueling. In Point Arena I turned the corner into town to see a fully loaded Vaya. The owner of this Vaya was Donald, a 3 year off and on again cycle tourist on his "final ride" (I find it hard to believe that anyone can have a final ride). He too was waiting out the rain. We shared the cover of rain at the cafe at the foods store for a bit and talked of touring, rain, weather, the beautiful places and what it all means. His company helped me realize that the rains would pass and that comfort and discomfort is only passing.

I pressed on to Gualala where I searched for a dry haven once more and when it never ceased I called my Gualala Point Regional Park my resting place for the night. After a wet night covering everything in mud, I did the same I did the last time I was there, and escaped back into Gualala in the morning. The weather report said clear skies that day, let's hope.

Turns out this would be the day of the total washout. After Fort Ross Highway One becomes really scenic and beautiful road. The road climbs up to over 500' dropping straight to the crashing waves over the rocks. It's gorgeous, but the rain made all the beauty shit. My legs were starting to give out under the added weight of wet and mud. I'd been changing in and out of wet clothes constantly to the point where I feared I'd have nothing left by the time I hit Bodega Bay. The climb was not the worst of it though. Once over the top the rain pelted my face on the fast descents, my brakes were squishy and the cliffs were still steep; I was staring my mortality in the face. I took it carefully, as much as I was dying to get to Jenner. Despite the death defying feats, when I got to Jenner I took solace in the little cafe in town with some great espresso, vegan sandwhiches, and vegan cake (for only 2 bucks a slice! killer!), just what I needed as I squished on the floor. I felt bad for being a mess, but I just couldn't stand it anymore. At about 5 30, I took off once again in the rain to finish up the final 12 miles to Bodega Bay, a flat romp that actually did go by quickly, passing by the many beaches, surfers, and photographers out on this crap day.

Setting up camp in Bodega Bay was not ideal, as the rain was still falling and now I had sand to contend with. By the time I was in my sleeping bag nothing was dry. I was miserable and felt defeated. I met my match, water from the sky. Lesson learned I need to get better wet gear and smarter with dealing with it.

Thankfully, the next day was much better. The weather cleared by 11 AM and once I had hit Valley Ford the sun was shining beautifully on the cow pastures of Sonoma. After a brief afternoon in sunny Petaluma, I dropped into Larkspur, calling this wet and rainy 3 day tour over. I grabbed myself some Marin Brewing Co. for dinner as I waited for the ferry. Just before I grabbed the ferry the sun baked me dry. I had made it. Camp was over, the rain was over, and I had a shower and more beer that night. Only a few days in town, time to plan, then get back out there. There is plenty of summer left to go.

Hippie Tour Magic

In Fort Bragg the nimbostrati clouds were settling in. Anticipating the rain I was hesitant to set off, but I never got anywhere by staying put, so I left Fort Bragg. I tracked the 8 mile gap between Fort Bragg and Mendocino for the third time in three years, this time heading back towards SF again. It wasn't long before the rain started up again. I put my head down and counted down the seconds to Mendocino, where I new at least I could grab some dinner food for the night.

In Mendocino, I aimlessly stared at the fluorescently lit stacked shelves of neatly lined food products at the Harvest Market grocery store. I was at a loss. My mind was fried from the stress of quitting that morning and the ceaseless rain. I stood at the end of an aisle looking lost and desperate. "Is that your Surly outside?", I slowly turned to see a man, maybe about my age, maybe a few years older in a loose fitting cloth poncho and loose fitting yoga pants. "Yeah, it is," he stammered and responded, "that's awesome! I want one just like it." Even with a fried brain I am always in for these conversations, and this would turn out to be one worth having. After a brief discussion of biking and my plans, he invited me to a local abalone cookout in town. Needing the pick me up of some tour magic I agreed.

We picked up ingredients and went off to his place, where a Highway One hiker, a heavyset surfer local, and a clean looking hipster were all joined to help in making the salad. It was here I realized what I was getting into when we stood in a circle, joined our hands and the hipster looking dude began saying an ultra hippyish grace for the food, yikes, but hey, I was there for the adventure.

Things got even weirder, as I went from the hippy crowd to the older artist crowd at the actual cookout at a local inn. Elderly women in fine attire were drinking wine, that seemed too fine for me, while I was in wet muddy clothes, thankfully I had an excuse and my hippy friends were sharing my attire. We had arrived late and so we only listened to one song of the Latin band playing before food was served. It was abalone, now here is where I'm going to talk a little politics. I originally went vegan for environmental reasons, then followed by ethical reasons, but abalone is weird. Abalone is not commercially fished, therefore it is not very environmentally impactful and then how sentient are shellfish really? Being in the moment, I decided to go for it and had some abalone tacos; glad I did, they were incredible.

The conversations spun and wove, people asked, people were confused, people looked down on my traveling lifestyle (let 'em, whatever), then someone was impressed and wanted to help. His name was Oasis, a 73 year old hippie, who looked hardly a day over 60. He worked at the massage parlor next door, which also had a hot tub. He invited me into the hot tub and recommended I sleep on the porch of the massage parlor. I nabbed my things and did exactly that. Somehow in that rough long day of quitting, then riding in the mud, feeling utter defeat, I somehow found solace in a hot tub and a dry place to sleep. And as the rain fell that night I could feel the stress slowly drip away. I was touched by tour magic and glad to be out of that awful camp that I had found myself in.

Rolling Away

Still no camera, wordy post. It is what it is.

And there I was again: My boss escorted me to the property bounds of Camp Mendocino. As we walked over the bridge, she was solemn and silent. She didn't want to see me go and was trying to be stern about it. I hardly wanted to see myself go, but there comes a time when you have to realize it just isn't working. So I started this ride  the same way I start every other ride, I pulled my right leg over my Brooks saddle and pressed down the first pedal stroke and I was off into the Jackson State Forest.

Broke, homeless, alone, unemployed once more. The third time in a year now. All I could think about was the failures that have encroached on me in the "normal people" world. I turned onto Road 1000 (the East West road sometimes called Three Chop Road that connects Fort Bragg all the way to Wilits) when the rain started. It was a gentle drizzle at first that gently floated past the giant redwood trees. The thought of the job I just left was ringing in the back of my head as the rain picked up and I continued further down the logging roads, painting my Cross-Check muddy brown. I hopped over some barricades of closed roads, where active logging was taking place; being Sunday all that was left was barren stretches of downed trees. It was looking over these wet expanses of fallen timber that I stopped watching the road and BANG, my fully loaded rear wheel slammed into a divet. It was pretty obvious that it was a flat. This was not what I needed. I begrudgingly changed the muddy tire and got back on the bike.

My GPS miles clicked down as I approached Fort Bragg. The road was now on a continual roll downwards. I feared losing traction and faceplanting in the mud so I pulled the brakes gently around bends. The mud let out to hardpack then to concrete at a logging maintenance plant. I turned the corner, slammed into another pothole and looked down. Flat number two. This was it. This was the end. The rain was now steady. I was still 8 miles from civilization. Highway 20 was not even recognizable on my radar. I was lost and gone. I tried patching my first tube, to no avail. The rain wouldn't let me win. Everything I owned was soaked now. I laid in the mud and looked at the rain fall down through the skinny redwood pine leaves. What was left for me? How much more could I take? I stared at the sky for a long while. I didn't know what to do, where to go. Would I really be defeated by a busted tube and rain?

No. I got up and put in the extra effort and patched my tube. And I was off once more. It wasn't much longer and I was back on the Noyo River, bending around Camp One. Civilization was near. Once again the road switched to hardpack then back to concrete once more. This was the private logging road I took in to Camp One two weeks earlier and I was back in the other direction. Once in Fort Bragg, it was a phone call to my parents and a check of my email. I wasn't sure where I was going, but I was going, and I suppose that's all that counted at that point. Feeling inspired to go in the right direction I headed south down toward Mendocino with more daylight left.

(to be continued)

Sweaty Days in CA

The dust and sweat from Mt. St. Helena clung to me as I rocketed back down toward Middletown; I knew I'd need a shower that night, so I set myself on the Hiker Biker Site at Clear Lake SP. Once I descended on the backside of Lake County Highway the thermostat went way up, topping out at 101; woof. I could taste the heat emenating of the pavement on my way to the lake. I was hoping that there would be some relief near the lake; there wasn't. The landscape around the lake was some brutal climbing on monster grades and after a summit, my thighs felt like razor blades. Despite a beautiful sunset over the lake, the air was still hot and motionless. I managed to muster up the last of my energy to drop into Clear Lake, where right before the entrance was a liquor store, where I could buy a cold beer, exactly what I needed. I paid my fee and set up my tent to an empty campground, thankfully so, as I slept near naked with an open tent.

Real Lens Flare

I stupidly slept in the next day, letting the cool morning air go to waste. When I did get moving, I found 175 heading toward Ukiah, my next goal. A scenic climb in more heat, accompanied by many motorcyclists (it was the Redwood Run last weekend). Once I dropped over I found a backroad to parallel the 101 and the Russian River, in this valley it was really screaming hot. I hate to endorse a soulless corporate place like Starbucks, but air conditioning, ice cold drinks and wifi were exactly what I needed when I reached Ukiah. From S-Bucks I journeyed to the Ukiah Brewing Co. where I had vegan diner (!) and a microbrew, once again hoping to let the midday heat subside, to no avail.

So many beautiful logging roads on this trip.

From Ukiah, I took a tip from my friend who had just been up this way and found my way onto a paved logging road, accessible only by a whole in the fence, meaning, no cars. It was another silent ride up into the mountains (and actually lower than the highway would take me). After a bit of riding I noticed I had gotten a tad lost and tried to reroute. My best option was a rarely used logging road going up into the hills. Nothing to do but try it. It proved to be a lot of hike and bike over the top of the mountain. The trees would sometimes give way to expansive meadows dropping over stunning views of the mountains. With the sun creeping downward every slope had a different shade and the haze gave the air a tranquil tangibility; it looked as if from a postcard, why I passed on the photo and the camping spot is beyond me. After a while of pushing and coasting on empty logging roads I reached a gate. I tossed the bike over, and on the other side were homes, which made me feel less lost. I found a neat place to camp for the night, and besides some coyotes interrtupting me, I slept well.

Surly in Mendocino.

New cap from North Coast Brewery, no longer will people ask if I'm from Brooklyn!

The following morning I hit Orr Hot Springs first thing -- at capacity. I didn't even realize it was Saturday and that it would be full. There goes my off day; 7 miles downhill now turned into 30 into Mendocino. Not expecting this ride I was dragging along Orr Springs Road until Comptche where a Pepsi was thankfully enough to get me back in the game. One final hill from Comptche and the cool ocean breeze led me into Mendocino with the rest of the day to kill. One camp in Russian Gulch State Park one great camp in Jackson State Forest, one day in Mendocino, two in Fort Bragg (with vegan food!), then a rough ride up Sherwood Fort Bragg road and I find myself at Camp, where I'll be living for the next 55 days.

(Note: Being that I'll have limited internet, time, and riding, I'm going to be going to bi weekly for the rest of June and July and return at full strength in August.)

Dirty Way to the Top: Mt. St. Helena

After Santa Rosa I dropped into Calistoga, one of the jumping off points for the Napa Valley vineyards. The population is small, but the main street was crowded with little shops; a town for tourists and transients (a much different transient population than Santa Rosa's young travelers waiting for the bus). But I wasn't here for the wine, I was here for the mountain that lay next to this quiet town -- Mt. St. Helena. At 4,300 ft, only Mt. Hamilton stands taller in the surrounding Bay Area. The big difference though is that the only road to the summit is a gravel service road for the tower.

The vineyards before I got too high.

At about 11 AM with the sun harshly beating down I set off for the summit, carrying as much water as I could, as there would be no water on the way up. The entrance to Robert Louis Stevenson park was up on Lake County Highway, which heads to, you guessed it, Lake County. The highway climb was nice and quiet thanks to one lane construction that bottlenecked traffic, which I would avoid by letting it pass, then ride the open road. After what at the time seemed like a long climb, I saw the first sign for Robert Louis Stevenson State Park (named after the Bay Area author, who spent his honeymoon on this mountain, the remnants of his cabin are still on the hiking trail, but I was on a bike). At the apex of the climb, I swung left on to the dirt. It was time to start cranking.

The trail dissecting the mountain.

The climb was pretty straightforward, just hammering away at the gravel. The shade helped at first, but was short lived. The sun was now baking me at the hottest part of the day. I pushed into the granny gear and made sure to keep my butt in the seat as to not over exert myself. I grabbed what little shade there was along the way and stopped frequently. I was amazed to see hikers coming down with little to no water and wondered how they did it. After about an hour, the park (which was more an open space lacking rangers, water, or any sign of life) was  desolate. I could look up and see the radio tower coming closer. It was about here that the 'road' ramped up and I was glad to have the On-One Midge Bars, sitting in the saddle and pulling away at the ends was super powerful and kept my weight back to keep my rear wheel planted -- could not be happier. Unfortunately, I could only get so much power and the last section was super tough where I pulled and pushed until I could no more and walked the final section.

The view stretches for a while.

The top was so worth it. Apparently on a clear day SF is visible (probably need binoculars though), unfortunately the haze kept it hidden. Instead I looked East to the Sierras over the lakes. Then I looked down at the dot that was Calistoga. The summit was just the radio tower and some maintanence, there was no one there but me and my bike and a 360 panaramoic view. It was a grueling but worthwhile struggle.

The totals of the climb was bottom to top: 4,241 ft, 6.1 percent average grade, over 12 miles. The off road bit was 2,204 ft at 7.6%, over 5.1 miles (my new Garmin eTrex makes mapping and detailing my ride so much more fun).