I don't know how much time people normally take to get to LA from Santa Cruz via bicycle, but I imagine that it's more than four days. If I were to take my time and do it for as much fun as possible, I'd probably take six or seven days, but Leo and I wanted to do it fast. As a result, the original plan was to do it in three days. That might be a little extreme. It would've involved three consecutive 120-130 mile days. It's possible, but neither of us had ever done it. A few days before leaving, we talked ourselves out of it.
Day One:
We left early on a Sunday morning, and we aimed ourselves toward King City. We had decided to take the Salinas Valley instead of the coast to expedite the trip. The first day was bit longer than it should've been and I have to take responsibility for that. First I turned us east too early - somewhere around Pajaro. I think I was remembering the route from the Surf City AIDS Ride this past year. It made me think that the (unfortunate) left we took would be a good way to get to Salinas, but maybe not. It certainly wasn't the end of the world, but it definitely added a few miles. That combined with me getting us turned around once we hit Salinas rightfully made Leo kind of grumpy. Two things led to us wandering around Salinas for entirely too long. First, Leo is far too kind to suggest to me that I am totally wrong. The second thing was that 99% of the time my sense of direction does me pretty good, therefore it never really occurred to me that I was totally turned around. Thankfully, in the interest of time, Leo risked offending me and became a little more vocal in his assertion that we were going in the wrong direction.
Once out of Salinas, everything was great. The cloud cover cleared up and we found a strong wind at our backs. We covered more ground in less time than I ever have before. We stayed on the 101 as much as we were allowed and maintained about 25 miles per hour with very little effort. It's an amazing thing to go 25 miles per hour and not feel any wind hitting you in the face, but the tail wind kept it that way for miles.
We stopped for water/snack breaks here and there, and even changed a car tire for two ladies coming back from Big Sur who insisted on giving us ten bucks (which paid for our camping a couple days later).
Just outside of King City, we turned onto Jolon Road, and that's when it happened. The tripmeter on my bike turned over to 100 miles for the day. We had both just ridden the most either of us had ever ridden. By the time we snuck up a fire road on a cattle ranch to camp, it had hit 104 miles. Nice.
Day One:
Got lost, got found, helped some people, enjoyed an amazing tailwind, biked over one hundred miles, and camped illegally. Not too bad, but as I drifted off to sleep I worried that I might wake-up in the morning to discover that I was in no physical condition to repeat it. Leo would be so disappointed and I would be incredibly embarrassed.
24 March 2010
01 March 2010
I'd say "ford," but that would imply it was where we should've crossed.
My roommate Leo and I went on a bike ride yesterday. He had been out of town for a race over the summer that a friend of ours put on (the annual Wild Cat), so I took him on the route.
I remember the route that we took being about 30 miles (everyone's route could be different because there are check points and not a route so much). We ditched most of the in town points and headed for the off road ones. We hit the archery range near De La Veaga Golf Course, then we bike directly to the disk golf course (a path that I was unaware of during the race, but Leo and I explored yesterday). We then road down the "Top of the World" single track to Branciforte. After that we road up Glen Canyon, through Scotts Valley, and into Henry Coe State Park. That's when we said goodbye to the road for good and delved into some rough riding for our road bikes (we were on our touring bikes with road slicks).
It was kind of a blast. We road from the car camping site, up to the lookout, snuck past a ranger who couldn't hear us over his electric sander (there were no bikes allowed on the trails we were on), and down a very sandy trail towards the San Lorenzo river. The only reason were able to sort of stay on our bikes in the sand was because there's been a bit of rain lately, and that packed the sand down. We still had to walk some though.
As soon as the path neared the river, the thought occurred to me, "It was summer when we crossed the river during the race and it was three feet deep then." I said something about it to Leo. He considered suggesting that we turn back, but he did say anything at the time. We continued on down the very steep trail. My hands and forearms began to ache from the amount of braking I was doing. It was hard to maneuver between all the loose rocks in the path and continue braking so hard.
Leo stopped halfway down to give his hands a break, so I reached the river alone to look at the situation at hand. It was a raging torrent compared to what we'd cross over the summer. I estimated that it was at least four feet deep, and just above and just below where we were, there were rapids. I went ahead and took off my shoes and helmet as Leo caught up.
There was some discussion of turning back, but I had no interest in doing that. It would've been so much walking to get back up that steep, loose trail.
Leo went upstream about twenty feet, so if the current pushed him, he would still land on the sandy beach on the other side and not in the rapids downstream. He striped naked, strapped his clothes to his rack, threw his bike on his shoulder, and waded in. I watched from the bank, my clothes in hand, as the water level quickly went up past his shoulders. For a moment, the water caught him and he looked in trouble. There was a few people on the far bank, and the young guy in the group jumped to his feet and ran down to the shallow water. I threw my clothes back toward the shore from the wet rocks I stood on, and prepared to jump in to help. But then, he quickly recovered and made it to the beach on his own.
I had a different set of problems ahead of me. I wanted to keep my cloths dry. I hadn't noticed yet that when I tossed them back toward the shore they'd not made it and were a little wet. I also had my leather Brooks saddle on my bike. Letting that get submerged was not an option. On top of that, I had my mobile phone and bike computer. I put the bike computer and phone in my seat bag, but I had no way to strap my clothes to my rack. I decided to make two trips - one with the cloths, swim back, and another with the bike.
Now naked, I gathered my clothes. I was about to make my way up the bank to cross and my phone rang. It was a text message from my former partner.
"Where did we get our clean canteens for a good price? I can't remember the place."
I responded, "Camp world. I'm about to do the gnarliest river crossing ever. If I die, I love you."
I stuck the phone back into the seat bag, and took the plunge.
The water was freezing. The stream was flowing from my right, so I held my cloths on my shoulder with my left hand and paddled from my right across my body horizontally. I quickly found the spot where Leo had trouble. The rocks dropped away from my feet and I couldn't touch at all. I got a mouth full of water, but I didn't float down stream much because of how forcefully I was paddling with my right hand. Two-thirds of the way across, there was a shallower spot. The water flowed more rapidly over the rocks that were only a few feet below the surface. When I hit that spot, I shot down stream. I kept moving toward the bank, and made it before I was past the beach. I got up and threw my cloths onto the sand. Leo stood there, still completely naked. He was skipping stones to warm himself up. As I covered up my genitals, partially because they were cold and partially because there was an audience of hikers, I glanced back toward my beloved touring bike and said, "you know, I never really liked that bike anyway."
If I could've left it, I would've, but that wasn't an option. I walked up the bank. I cupped my hands over my crotch as I walked past all the hikers seated on the bank and said, "hey, sorry about all the penis." They laughed and said they didn't mind, and I waded back in. This time I had nothing in my hands and I shot across like a dart. With the current and my starting upstream, I landed right next to the bike. I carried it, barefoot over the rocks, back to the launching spot.
I started with it completely over my head because Leo had said that the wheels in the water made it much more difficult for him. I only went about five feet like that. I needed to do those hard horizontal paddles with my right hand or I couldn't imagine making it across. I lowered the bike onto my left shoulder and took a few more steps. The only part of the bike out of the water was the seat, the seat bag, and the top of the bike rack. I managed to avoid the deep hole the second time, but a wave caught me right in the face. I made that face that babies make when they unexpectedly get water in the face but tried to keep moving. This time my feet stayed on the river bottom the entire time, so I leaned against the current and walked at a forty-five degree angle - fighting the pull of my bike the entire time. When the more rapid spot caught me, I took off a bit. I saw Leo grab a long stick and get ready to fish me out, but then my fingertips caught a rock. Thank god for ll the rock climbing I've done in the past because that's all I needed to stop myself. Getting up was a different story. I was in only two feet of water, but I couldn't hold myself still and stand-up with the bike. Leo rock-hopped over, still naked, and grabbed it from me. I made my way to the bank and started drying off with my already half-wet t-shirt.
Leo had cut open his toe, so he suggested we not do the remaining ten miles of the ride. I quickly agreed. We got dressed and climbing out to Highway 9 and rode home.
It was a pretty good bike ride, and once home, we were both pretty tired.
I remember the route that we took being about 30 miles (everyone's route could be different because there are check points and not a route so much). We ditched most of the in town points and headed for the off road ones. We hit the archery range near De La Veaga Golf Course, then we bike directly to the disk golf course (a path that I was unaware of during the race, but Leo and I explored yesterday). We then road down the "Top of the World" single track to Branciforte. After that we road up Glen Canyon, through Scotts Valley, and into Henry Coe State Park. That's when we said goodbye to the road for good and delved into some rough riding for our road bikes (we were on our touring bikes with road slicks).
It was kind of a blast. We road from the car camping site, up to the lookout, snuck past a ranger who couldn't hear us over his electric sander (there were no bikes allowed on the trails we were on), and down a very sandy trail towards the San Lorenzo river. The only reason were able to sort of stay on our bikes in the sand was because there's been a bit of rain lately, and that packed the sand down. We still had to walk some though.
As soon as the path neared the river, the thought occurred to me, "It was summer when we crossed the river during the race and it was three feet deep then." I said something about it to Leo. He considered suggesting that we turn back, but he did say anything at the time. We continued on down the very steep trail. My hands and forearms began to ache from the amount of braking I was doing. It was hard to maneuver between all the loose rocks in the path and continue braking so hard.
Leo stopped halfway down to give his hands a break, so I reached the river alone to look at the situation at hand. It was a raging torrent compared to what we'd cross over the summer. I estimated that it was at least four feet deep, and just above and just below where we were, there were rapids. I went ahead and took off my shoes and helmet as Leo caught up.
There was some discussion of turning back, but I had no interest in doing that. It would've been so much walking to get back up that steep, loose trail.
Leo went upstream about twenty feet, so if the current pushed him, he would still land on the sandy beach on the other side and not in the rapids downstream. He striped naked, strapped his clothes to his rack, threw his bike on his shoulder, and waded in. I watched from the bank, my clothes in hand, as the water level quickly went up past his shoulders. For a moment, the water caught him and he looked in trouble. There was a few people on the far bank, and the young guy in the group jumped to his feet and ran down to the shallow water. I threw my clothes back toward the shore from the wet rocks I stood on, and prepared to jump in to help. But then, he quickly recovered and made it to the beach on his own.
I had a different set of problems ahead of me. I wanted to keep my cloths dry. I hadn't noticed yet that when I tossed them back toward the shore they'd not made it and were a little wet. I also had my leather Brooks saddle on my bike. Letting that get submerged was not an option. On top of that, I had my mobile phone and bike computer. I put the bike computer and phone in my seat bag, but I had no way to strap my clothes to my rack. I decided to make two trips - one with the cloths, swim back, and another with the bike.
Now naked, I gathered my clothes. I was about to make my way up the bank to cross and my phone rang. It was a text message from my former partner.
"Where did we get our clean canteens for a good price? I can't remember the place."
I responded, "Camp world. I'm about to do the gnarliest river crossing ever. If I die, I love you."
I stuck the phone back into the seat bag, and took the plunge.
The water was freezing. The stream was flowing from my right, so I held my cloths on my shoulder with my left hand and paddled from my right across my body horizontally. I quickly found the spot where Leo had trouble. The rocks dropped away from my feet and I couldn't touch at all. I got a mouth full of water, but I didn't float down stream much because of how forcefully I was paddling with my right hand. Two-thirds of the way across, there was a shallower spot. The water flowed more rapidly over the rocks that were only a few feet below the surface. When I hit that spot, I shot down stream. I kept moving toward the bank, and made it before I was past the beach. I got up and threw my cloths onto the sand. Leo stood there, still completely naked. He was skipping stones to warm himself up. As I covered up my genitals, partially because they were cold and partially because there was an audience of hikers, I glanced back toward my beloved touring bike and said, "you know, I never really liked that bike anyway."
If I could've left it, I would've, but that wasn't an option. I walked up the bank. I cupped my hands over my crotch as I walked past all the hikers seated on the bank and said, "hey, sorry about all the penis." They laughed and said they didn't mind, and I waded back in. This time I had nothing in my hands and I shot across like a dart. With the current and my starting upstream, I landed right next to the bike. I carried it, barefoot over the rocks, back to the launching spot.
I started with it completely over my head because Leo had said that the wheels in the water made it much more difficult for him. I only went about five feet like that. I needed to do those hard horizontal paddles with my right hand or I couldn't imagine making it across. I lowered the bike onto my left shoulder and took a few more steps. The only part of the bike out of the water was the seat, the seat bag, and the top of the bike rack. I managed to avoid the deep hole the second time, but a wave caught me right in the face. I made that face that babies make when they unexpectedly get water in the face but tried to keep moving. This time my feet stayed on the river bottom the entire time, so I leaned against the current and walked at a forty-five degree angle - fighting the pull of my bike the entire time. When the more rapid spot caught me, I took off a bit. I saw Leo grab a long stick and get ready to fish me out, but then my fingertips caught a rock. Thank god for ll the rock climbing I've done in the past because that's all I needed to stop myself. Getting up was a different story. I was in only two feet of water, but I couldn't hold myself still and stand-up with the bike. Leo rock-hopped over, still naked, and grabbed it from me. I made my way to the bank and started drying off with my already half-wet t-shirt.
Leo had cut open his toe, so he suggested we not do the remaining ten miles of the ride. I quickly agreed. We got dressed and climbing out to Highway 9 and rode home.
It was a pretty good bike ride, and once home, we were both pretty tired.
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