The Unexpected

Again not feeling like getting a ride in, I got one in. With a handful of things still left to do (I had only finished the short list of my to-do list, including voting). Craving Pinehurst, that's where I headed. I dropped down into Canyon, then popped back over Redwoods Road, where the sun was waiting for me on the horizon. Another day of beautiful sunsets over Oakland.

Shepherds Canyon Trail is so photogenic.

At the top of Redwood I had two options, drop down Joaquin Miller Road into East Oakland and just bust through the city home, or take Skyline back to Shepherds Canyon home. I chose the latter, the less time at red lights the better. Apparently, I had never ridden this part of Skyline before, and here I was thinking I'd done it all in Oakland. It was some added climbing, but the Redwoods climb is fairly sober, so the added elevation was fine. Tall redwoods blocked out the sun and shaded the road, reminding me of my first experiences of California in the north of the state. I smiled and waved at the descenders coming down, glad to find a beautiful road.

By the time I looped back to the West, the sun was setting.

Evening shadows.

I whipped past the mountain bikers loading their bikes into their cars at Redwood Regional Park then hooked back into the wide Skyline, Shepherds Canyon, Pinehurst intersection. At first I started heading for Satori, the way I usually go up to Skyline, but thought about it, when descending all roads are good options, you go fast, so traffic is not an issue. I turned around and hooked back down Shepherds Canyon. Shepherds Canyon is a straight down drop, forcing the water from my eyes to the back of my cheeks. My cyclometer clicked 40 MPH here. I think I can add Shepherds Canyon to Old Tunnel Road and Joaquin Miller as my favorite ways down Skyline.

As I pulled up to the intersection of Mountain Boulevard, standing on the curb was a fellow on a Surly Long Haul Trucker, dragging a BOB, and reading a map. Clearly I had come upon a cycle tourist. I introduced myself and he explained his story, going down the coast, maybe as far as Belize. He was inland because the Northwest coast was too rainy this time of year, so he caught a train from Portland to Sacremento, then road west from there. I always enjoy talking to cycle tourists. He exchanged some stories, including some great movie suggestions. He was in search of a place to stay but unfortunately, hosting didn't work out, so I pointed him out to BART and headed home, happy to have met him and hear more great stories.

Tom at the BART, read about his last tour at http://broemelingbicycletour.blogspot.com/

This is just more proof, that if the option comes, choose to ride. The road can lead to surprises, roads you've never seen, or people you've never met. Now Tom had me inspired to tour some more. It's getting closer.

The Time of Day Matters

During my ongoing stretch of minimal employment, I have gotten into a rhythm of going on rides around 11 AM. That seems to be the perfect time for my body to digest breakfast, put that coffee gut away, but not too late that I'll get hungry on the ride. I'm fortunate to get this part of the day as it's a time when most people work and the roads are clear and the sun is out.

Today, I wasn't so fortunate. I had errands to run and things to do. I assumed they'd take all day, because sometimes I'm really bad at time management. At around 4 o'clock I tried to force myself busy by going to the library. With a few pump of the legs I realized that my legs were feeling good and decided a real ride would be much more rewarding than a trip to the library. I turned around, put on my kit and headed for the hills.

Taking my favorite route up, Shepherds Canyon (this is getting a little too regular for me, I should switch it up), the sun cast shadows on the now empty trees that make the path seem like somewhere I've never been before. The sun glowing gold on the autumn leaves and the trees blank shadows at the gaze of the low sun. I snapped some photos and rode on.

Shepherds Canyon trail, unlike before.

The East Ridge.

At the top of Skyline it seemed different again. I headed towards Grizzly Peak with the sun dropping over the Coastal Range, casting a shadow over the East Bay and San Francisco. It was like I sneaked in a few more minutes of day light. Up to Grizzly Peak the sun continued it's descent, now just resting over the peaks. The sky illuminated it's full range, dark blue to violets to pinks to the yellow just peaking over the horizon.

The sun over the East Bay.

Grizzly Peak Boulevard.

I've always been a fan of sunsets. Some of my favorite photos are of sunsets, the Bolivian sunset on the Salt Flats of Uyuni, the sun sinking behind the Great Lakes in Fredonia, a predecessor to the Pacific sunsets, and here, today, watching the sun drop over the Peninsula's mountains. I'm not sure what it is about sunsets. Maybe it's the fact that watching a sunset is the only way besides sleep to truly put a finishing point to a period of time. We set the clocks back an hour, but the sun stays on schedule, dividing night and day, specifically as the last of the yellow is lost to the horizon. Days not spent watching the sunset, being too busy with chores, errands, jobs, tasks, hobbies what be it, the day just seems to fade into night, but watching the sunset, feels like you can really mark the day as finished.

Casting shadows. 

Watching the sun near it's sunset, I took my least favorite descent home, down Claremont, a breakneck drop with hairpin turns that come out of nowhere. Eventually I'll melt by breaks or pop my tube on this dangerous descent, but the sun was escaping and I needed to get home. Zipping by traffic on the slight descent home, I made it before I had to turn on my lights. My clock said one hour ride time, but it was now near 6, just proving how much time I spent to watch the sun make it's slow arc to the sea.

East Ridge Trail - Redwoods Regional Park

As a child, for whatever reason, I loved mountain biking. I'm not sure if it was the extreme sports side of me (I grew up on Tony Hawk, skateboards, Van sneakers, and punk rock) or if it was the wilder side of me, the side that would eventually fall in love with nature hiking and the outdoors (which is part of why I became a cycle). Getting back into cycling as a twenty something, I was mostly a city rider, where my destinations were just as important as the riding, sometimes more so as a commuter. Eventually this thrill of finding new places led me to become a touring cyclist. But the one thing these all shared in common was pavement.

Recently, for equally mysterious reasons, I've gotten back into off-roading. Maybe my introduction to bikepacking led me back to the off roads, or it was the national forests and the dirt roads that just disappeared into the forests, or perhaps it's my current location being just south of where it arguably started, Marin County. Either way, there are a plethora of trails in the greater San Francisco Bay Area. The combination of these factors led me to use my cross bike for what it was intended, cross-riding, or at least the combination of on-road and off-road.

In my previous rides I've always admired the mountain bikers who spin their granny gear to get up to Tilden, Redwoods, or Joaquin Miller Regional Parks to trailheads, the people who drove their SUVs there, not so much. With the advantage of a lighter frame, I blasted up the hillside on familiar roads, reaching Redwoods Regional Park, just on top of the Oakland Hills. Crossing the barrier of the old fire road, it began.

The sun shining over the West Ridge. 

Fire roads.

Every bench had a beautiful view.

It didn't take long for me to get completely out of it. Just a quick drop, curve, bend, rise, and it felt worlds away. I chose the Eastern Ridge, the ridge opposite the city side, with panoramas over the East Bay burbs to the Diablo Range. On the other side was the West Ridge, rising taller than the East Ridge it blocked away the noise and sights of the city and instead intimately laid trees in the perfect proximity, almost close enough to study, but far enough to take in as a scene.

The trees would cover in the path, giving quick rides in the dark.

The West Ridge.

I wish I knew trees better, but this one was beautiful.

I bumped along the trail, kindly calling out my passes for the hikers, mountain bikers will always be guests to hikers (the slower ride always gets the right of way, if only cars could embrace this on the roadway). It seemed at the top of every rise there sat a bench, quietly facing out onto the trees. One stood out in particular though. Oddly hugging a strange bend in the ridge, this bench sat facing north, where sitting down you could place the foreground of the East Ridge to the backdrop of the Diablo range, while still looking on to the road to your left that dips quickly into a tree covered trail, shrouded in mystery.

Looking north with the Ridge to the right and the Diablo range to the left.

Better view of the path swooping back East, with Diablo in the background.

The dark and mysterious path. It almost looks like single track here.

Dropping this trail, it didn't take long for me to pop back out on the other side, back to Pinehurst Ave, a road I've ridden many a time before, except this time I had to stop to clear the mud off my fender (note to self, get better fenders/remove fenders). My first foray into the off road realm since being a kid, and I'm already eager to get back out there. Not to say getting back on the roads was not fun, I took my favorite descent home, listening to the knobs as they buzzed along on the descent.

Surly Blue with Mother Earth Brown, a sweet sweet combination.

Remember that Road Bike I had...

Well, it's now a mountain bike. Okay, in all seriousness it was always a cyclo-cross bike (the REAL hybrid bike), except now I have 40 mm tires that are ready to bomb the off road (expect a real review of these tires later next week after riding on em a bit more). If you too have recently purchased some wide knobby tires for your cyclo-cross bike here are some ways to enjoy them:

STEP 1: Choose the right route.

Choose both on-road and off-road, don't fear the hills!

Just because you have thicker tires doesn't mean you have to stick to only trails now. You're not really only a mountain biker! The bike is still light and has drop bars, so keep it on the road too before the trails! Show up those wimpy "weekend warriors" who drive their cars to ride their bikes, ride to the trailhead then ride it some more!

STEP 2: Choose the dirt.

Veer right, that pavement looks suspiciously easy.

Even though pavement is quicker, and you still can fly on it, take that single track! You'll get much more skill out of choosing the dirt, plus you'll have more mud to wash off your bike/yourself as you roll back into town.

STEP 3: Ride hard.

Little known fact, the larger the tire, the more dirt it likes.

Cyclo-cross is equivalent to hard tail. Just because you don't have those fancy shocks or absorbers or sponges or whatever you want to call them, doesn't give you an excuse to go over things slowly. Hit it hard! Take the downhills with vigor and attack those climbs like you never have before!

STEP 4: Remove that fender.

Hi, I'm mud, I'm here to make your day suck, or rule, but mostly suck.

Mud gets caught places. If you're riding a 40 mm tire on a cyclo-cross bike, chances are the clearance ain't much and mud likes to hide. It will hide in that nasty spot between the tire and fender and seize your whole rear gig, and it's not like you can just push it out with pedal strokes! You'll have to take off the wheel and scoop that hard muck out, no fun!

Hope you enjoy some wider tires soon on your trails! Tomorrow I'll give a full recap of this ride.

Why I Won't Be Moving Back East Soon

When I started to plan this December tour back East, it might have become a retreat. Between the struggles of being in a new city and facing debt head on, I was beginning to get worn down. The opportunity to work back in Buffalo seemed like a sign, maybe New York is where I belong? Maybe I should take some time off, pull the good ole 20-something move and move back into my parents house and not pay rent.

Flowers and the Hills

But that isn't the case. I was fortunate to get back into the staging industry here (where I wanted to get out of) which pays fairly well out here, so my struggles of money began to dissolve. But money only solves some happiness. The loneliness started to creep in in my new settings, especially once the seasonal work dried up.

Oddly enough being in a city had turned out to be immensely lonelier than being alone on the road. Why? Is it that hope of a destination that staves loneliness? Do greater populations mean greater introversion? Whatever the case may be, I had to find a way to stop stressing. So I did what I did all summer, I rode.

I want to go down that Fire Road.

It began with conquering some of the local hills around here and then I worked my way into climbing Diablo and Tam, but I'm not done yet, and that's the point. Here the new rides just seem endless. Even weekend camping trips or week long tours seem much better than back in NY. I remember struggling to think of where to go on day rides in Buffalo, it seemed every direction had already been taken. And when the roads start to look the same, it's time to move on. Here, it's different. I just keep piling these "have-to" rides and these desired tours starting from my doorstep into a long list of musts. North to Vancouver? Sounds great. South to LA? Beach sounds nice. West to Reno? I didn't like having money much anyway. Being beyond the Rockies or beyond the Plains line, or however you define the West, all I can think of is how great the riding is and there is no desire to go back East. Occasionally I read blogs from Mid-West riders, or some riders back East and see their photos (exceptions made for Appalachia and parts of Western and Northern New England) and want to grab them and tell them, "You'll love it out here!". Because since being here, I'm pretty sure I do.

It almost seems there is no city there, just mountains before the ocean.

Continental Grand Prix Tire

Okay, so this tire is not new for me. I've had it for a while, but have finally reached the breaking point. But before I get too hard into trashing this tire, I'd like to talk about Continental and their reputation first. Before I even really got into cycling "Gatorskin" was the word I had always heard when it came to "bulletproof" tires (which I hate that word, every tire flats). Not only because of their supposed durability, but their smoothness too. This reputation made me alright with replacing my Schwalbe Marathon with a Continental Grand Prix on tour. I would have preferred a Marathon at the time, but would have had to wait for it (hindsight being 20/20 I wish I spent more time places anyway and Boise seemed surprisingly awesome).

It wasn't long for the Continental Grand Prix to prove itself trouble. In Eastern Oregon, on the day labeled "The Day Everything Broke" (pedal, chain, headphones, rack, fender, everything), my Grand Prix was flat after emerging from a diner where I had went to cool my head. It was an added frustration I didn't need. The culprit? Not some huge nail, or giant piece of glass, but rather a tine shard of metal, so small I could barely see it. Well, so much for bulletproof (the next day in the same desert, I got a second similar flat).

This is common when riding the Grand Prix. 

Over time the flats just kept coming, especially once I got into the city and started bombing curbs and hitting potholes (I'm not going to be gentle, it's a touring/cross frame, it's meant to be beaten). The pinch flats were constant. I realized that the Conti tires need to be filled before every ride; that's frankly inconvenient. Once I figured this out the pinch flats started to slow down a little.

Once again though, as soon as I thought, maybe they'll last the tire wears through. Now every time I brake heavy on a descent, the tube gives way thanks to a nice soft spot the tire decided to reveal, this happened both today and yesterday. Sure I put some miles on this, but my Marathon on the rear right now came from Chicago, and it is still going much stronger than the Conti.

Tire is bust.

The one plus side is that the grip never let go on me. Not once did I lose my front tire hitting a bend, so there's that. But then add the fact that Continental customer service is none to be found, (I emailed them, to no return) I would avoid these tires at all cost. Never again. If I am going to find a lighter tire than the Marathons in the future, I'd probably try some Vittorias, but not Continentals. Luckily, Weds I get my Marathon Mondials, so expect a post of those in the coming future. All this means is tomorrow and Weds will be forced rest days, how sad.

Tam

Tam

The last day of tour my route took me to the Golden Gate bridge through Marin County, following through Sausalito, Mill Valley, and other quaint little bayside towns just north of San Francisco. But sadly, since then I haven't made it back, until today. With Diablo under my belt I had to find the next challenge, that challenge is Mount Tamalpais, or Tam, as it is amicably referred to by local cyclists. A 2,571 triple summit mountain resting in it's own reserved State Park in Marin County.

But before the ride, some whining. The biggest reason so far why I haven't made it to Tam, or Marin for that matter, is the fact that I cannot ride to San Francisco, to cross the bridge into Marin. Hell, I can't even take the Richmond San Rafeal brdige to the north to get from the East Bay to Marin. It's a problem that thankfully people are working on (the new Bay Bridge to Treasure Island will have a dedicated cycle/ped lane and there was a recent resolution passed to use toll funds to build a way to connect the gap, but not soon enough, they can't just close one lane of traffic to let immense cycle traffic?), but nevertheless it makes getting to SF a rarity for me (this was my first time there since my last day of work over a week ago). So I took the two mile ride down to West Oakland and hopped on BART.

Waiting for BART with Oakland in the background.

I had to hit the library first, so I couldn't take Embarcadero to the Bridge, instead I had to cut through the busy Frisco streets. This is another reason why I'm glad to be an East Bay resident, less urban, less stoplights, less hassle. I stopped and go'd and stopped and go'd, and finally made it to the Golden Gate Bridge. The last time I saw this bridge this close was a foggy late August day, finishing my cross-country tour, but today, I go the other way first.

SF skyline from the Presidio.

The bridge.

Why I thought going through Sausalito/Golden Gate on a Sunday was a good idea, I don't know. The tourists on rental bikes clogged the pathways and bridges. I'm glad that these people are renting bikes and getting into it (and I hope they ride bikes at home, a digression I will pass on for now), but man, trying to get a serious ride in while dodging people who hardly know how to ride (or bike path manners!) is tough. I managed the traffic and cut off the bike paths to the climbs.

I somehow found myself turning down this narrow one way street, a horse carriage street, that because of the hill could never be widened. It felt like a bike path, except for the fact that it climbed. Sometimes getting lost can be the best thing possible, I was originally going to take 1, but I am sure glad I found this hidden gem to peacefully climb.

I believe it's called Jane Road? Whatever it's called it rules. 

Eventually, this narrow one lane road opened up to a moderately busy two way, where cars poked passed going to only one of three places, Tam, Muir Woods, or Stinson Beach. My guess is not many were going to Tam, because there were not many cars there on the way up. Which speaking of the way up, Tam is a deceptive one. Before actually entering into the park, Tam has a gentle climb that I pounded a nice 18+ MPH up,  all I could think of was, 'man I'll be up this in no time', and 'why is this so classic it's so gentle?' and 'Diablo is so much tougher'.

Beautiful pines. Hard to imagine I was spitting distance from the city.

Panorama of the road and looking West.

The ocean! I've been meaning to reacquaint myself with you.

Then Tam played her trick, the road veered up, and up I went. I pushed through it. I kept my cadence, stopped for many a pictures at the incredible views and before I knew it, it was West Peak. I didn't actually make it to the West Peak, but the road winds around West Peak, and drops before rising to Central peak, before dropping then rising one last, and tough time, to the East Peak, the highest peak. I'm not a fan of these drop and gain climbs (the Big Horns were infamous for this, making 8,000+ feel like 10,000+), but I got some good velocity into those series of climbs and eventually made it to the "summit".

A downhill? But I'm climbing!

I quote it like that because unfortunately, the road doesn't go all the way up. The firetower looms down over the visitor center, picnic area, and parking lot at a .3 mile hike up. I of course didn't bring my lock and fearing that Chicago moment (where I got my bike stolen), I decided this was good enough. Looked out, saw San Francisco, Oakland, Sausalito, the pine forests that cover the hills between, and tried to squint to see way off to San Jose, which is apparently visible on extremely clear days.

Surly on the summit, always looks good.

My bike matches the ocean, sorta.

And East, it's amazing how ugly East looks, so much brown!

At the summit some mountain bikes were kicking around. That's a tough way up, but got to be a fun way down. On my way down I peaked over to the fire road that carries those fat tires up, where a lycra'd out mountain biker was descending hard (and since when do mountain bikers where tight lycra?). Soon enough that will be me. If you're not familiar with Marin County, it, along with Boulder, CO, is the co-founder of mountain biking, and apparently harbors some of the best single track, so I'll have to get back out here.

On the descent it wasn't long before my Continental tire popped, again, there's another reason to get excited for those 40mm Schwalbes. I changed it quickly then bombed the descent. The descent was a good one, but not a great one. The beginning I found myself slamming the breaks a great deal, which isn't ideal on the downhill, it did eventually shallow out for some fun bends, but once those came I was nearly done. I passed cars on the left (something I'm hesitant about always, but hell, they always pass me when they shouldn't!) and took Highway 1 back out to Sausalito.

Back in San Francisco County.
Looking out beyond the bridge at the Golden Gate.

My buddies Sean and Christy on tour took beautiful photos from on top of that hill.
I need to get there sometime. 

I popped back over into SF, after hazardously avoiding tourists on the bridge, then had to climb more. By this point I was into my 60th mile and was shot, luckily I crossed quickly into the Mission, got my clips I needed to pick up and some Four Barrel Coffee, feeling yet another accomplished ride done. Now I need to find what the next "have to" ride is. Maybe Diablo without pavement? Maybe Mount Hamilton? Maybe an Oakland, San Francisco loop? Who knows!

Four Barrel Love.

Tam, you were tough, but I won.

For higher quality photos, plus some extras not posted go to my Flickr.