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.

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).

On the Up and Up

I left my empty apartment around 9AM to meet Brittany at Fremont BART to return back down to Santa Cruz. The beginning of the ride felt like every ride from a BART station, endless suburbs and it was expected to be the hottest day of the summer. We didn't exactly get out early that by the time we were entering towards out climb the heat was wearing on us, so we decided to take a dip in the reservoir to escape the heat. It was the kind of stop that makes bike touring worth it. After the swim we attacked the climb. It was great having a buddy to work the climb with, rides always feel shorter when there is someone along for the ride. After the summit, it was all downhill to Santa Cruz to Brittany's parents beach house. It seems silly how I spent the first day to Santa Cruz, then spent a rest day, but it was my first time really checking out Santa Cruz and it was well worth the added trip south, especially with the added company.

Loaded up at BART

Brittany leading the way up. 

Mid day swimming hole.

On Monday, I departed once again heading back towards the direction I came, but this time I was riding solo. I headed straight for the Santa Cruz mountains to head north towards San Francisco. The first climb of the day was a beautiful one up a shaded road in the fog; a picturesque scene straight out of a glossy cycling magazine advert. An arduous climb from sea to summit, gaining nearly 3,000 feet, but once on top, it was a thrilling descent zipping back and forth through the redwood trees. But what goes down, comes back up, once again. I took China Grade Road through Big Basin State Park, which was empty of cars, but another straight up. Only to find myself on CA-9 after, which you guessed it, went up. I was also running out of water at this point, and could only just put my head down and ride and so I did. The sun beat on me as I climbed the west side of the slopes. There were occasional viewpoints devoid of water. Great spots for photos, good thing my camera was broken (more to follow). I finally reached the top at Skyline Blvd, where a fire station was empty, but thankfully had a spicket. I filled up on food and water, then headed north towards the city. Skyline had some downs, but for every down was an up. It's a roller coaster road with occasional escapes into the peninsula. I wanted to push on to BART at San Bruno, but as the hills kept coming, I eventually popped down to Redwood City, where I took the Caltrain north to the city to meet up with Dave for another night indoors.

Empty bike paths on a Monday Morning.

Speeding away.

Living in the Bay Area, I didn't afford myself time to be a tourist (I'll have plenty of time for that in the future), but having a broken camera, I decided to try and get it fixed in the morning. I headed to North Beach where a friendly camera shop hooked me up with a new camera as opposed to fixing mine, well it's a fix at least. So on I went snapping some nice photos of the bridge and the city on my way out. My goal was Mt. Tam. Too bad my GPS decided that I had had enough climbing, or maybe not enough, as the GPS pointed me toward dead end roads and demanded I take a right up the stairs...uh, no. It was getting late, and I felt if I had gone nowhere, so I pointed north towards Samuel P. Taylor park and Petaluma, my hopeful goal for the day. I stopped for lunch in the park, which was beautiful again taking great photos. Then I found a nice hill to push my bike up for a great shot hopefully of the area. When I finally crested I reached for my camera and realized it was missing. Oh great. I backtracked and retracked to no avail. It was lost and so was my time. With the day closing and my stress levels high I decided to call it a night at the park's hiker biker site.

Sleeping on the stress helped. In the morning I took the short ride to Petaluma where I had a great lunch and relaxed some. I called the credit card company and Best Buy to find that my old camera was replaceable and my new camera was covered - brilliant. With new sails in me it was a rapid ride to Santa Rosa where I hit up a coffee shop I really enjoyed last time I was here. Now to stock up and hopefully find a quiet place to camp for the night. As doomed as everything seemed yesterday, today has been brilliant and it reminds me of why I like being on the road as I can feel like I've gotten away from the true stress of real life by just mashing those pedals towards a new destination.