“Let’s just meet at Santa Rosalia at 9am.” “Yeah, that sounds good.” “It’s just you and Dan?” “Yep. It’s just you and Ariel and Doss? Did Aaron ever call?” “Yep and no.” A break in torrential downpours called for a ride that would make up for the rides lost to either rain or lackluster motivation. Or simply make up for sloppy rides during these rainy times. The trails had had a few days to dry out, and after a few night rides during the week, we were all ready for a well-lit adventure. The 9AM meeting time seemed almost to be a bit too late. We had no idea how long the ride would take. Or where it would really even take us. Dan and I headed out in the muggy morning air, enjoying the crystalline views beneath a cloud-shaded sky. The mountains above Big Sur, many miles to the southwest, were visible with a light frosting of snow. Views of Monterey Bay made the calm expanse appear like something an amateur black and white photography hobbyist might discover when exposing an image for a few minutes too long, then trying to bring it back with photographic black magic of sorts. It was eerie. |
8 AM, my driveway, with an over-exposed and hazy Santa Cruz in the distance. Not the mysterious Dan hiding in front of the ocean.
Captain Mysterious, oh-so-close to singletrack!
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Captain Mysterious on said singletrack.
Dan and I pose for the paparazi.
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The re-scheduled rendezvous with the Aptosonian, the Soquelian, and the Santa Cruzans.
The inadvertently re-scheduled rendezvous for 9:20AM was precisely on time. We began our descending with nervous enthusiasm. We knew this was going to be the best descent of the ride, with legs fresh and brake pads tacky, and spruced with a lack of trail traffic. Yet with the planned ride looming overhead, going too fast and sprinting too hard would simply make the inevitable pain arrive a bit sooner.
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| Popping out alongside the fern-lined creek, high fives flew and Clif were devoured. For some of the crew, this was going to be the second time up the mountain. Climbing and grunting, salamanders and banana slugs questioned our sanity. While we beat the slimy forest creatures up the trail, we enjoyed their company. | |
Heading up the road, I bumped into Steve Seagrave, a long time friend. Steve took me for my first mountain bike ride in the summer of 1996. And now almost 13 years later, here we are again on the same trails. A lot of things have changed, but we all still ride bikes. And he had an extra water bottle for us!
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Back at Santa Rosalia, for the second time, spirits were still high. Hey, that climb didn’t hurt that bad! We had already ridden much farther that day than just about anyone else out at the trails. And it was time to get our shred on down one of my favorite local trails, Braille trail. By the time we were arriving at the turn off for Braille, all of us were well aware of the famed climb to come. This descent had to count. And if it counted for a call to CDF to come out and scrape our crashed bodies off the trail, it also meant we wouldn’t have to hump it up that looming climb ourselves. We blasted the descent, hoping for only the best. |
Scott carves into a fast left. There was a sweet bunnyhop manuever after this turn, but Valleys tore it out since not everyone can be bothered to learn the skill of the bunnyhop.
Doss hangs it out by hanging off the saddle.
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Steve Seagrave. The man, the legend.
Doss, feeling wonderful.
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Passing through the over-crowded parking lot, we reveled in the fact that all these Bay Area residents had to drive to these wonderful trails. All five of us had ridden from home that morning. And one trail commuter was nice enough to share some water with our bonking selves. |
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Ariel, ready for some sweet gravity action.
The bottom of Braille.
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Bay Area residents share water, food. Thanks!
Blurry eyes at Santa Rosalia. This is our 3rd visit to the peak.
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| Returning to Santa Rosalia for the 3rd time, there wasn’t much revelry, mostly due to the growing signs of exhaustion. Dan and I knew that every inch we descended would be ten-fold harder to re-gain on our return trip. But that also made it so much sweeter. Following Scott into the deep berms and through the bar-width trees was quite a hoot. After over an hour of climbing, it was time to let gravity assist, rather than impede, our forwards progress. But still, the mild return to Sand Point was a blurry struggle. | |
Scott poses with his bike.
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Relieved to be here for the last time... Well, for today, at least.
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| A long, leisurely lunch at 2:00PM at Sand Point concluded with a nice trail-goer passing along his trail mix to us. Scott, Doss, and Ariel headed homewards down the mountain and towards the ocean. Dan and I churned uphill and also towards home, knowing far too well that it takes about 2 hours on a good day to make it home from that spot. As we reached Santa Rosalia for the 4th time, we weren’t even sure we could make it through the Forest, and the oh-so-mellow fire road was calling our names. But after pedaling a few strokes towards the easy route home, our true senses awoke, tired and battered, and sent us scrambling to turn around and head down Ridge trail for the 3rd time that day. Settling for a Corral descent, we posted blazing times down the mix of mellow singletrack and flowing fire road. | |
Scott poses with Dan.
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Ariel gets some on the return homewards.
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Ariel held a sick wheelie down this hill and past my camera, but my silly point and shoot missed the photo. Scott poses in a corner.
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Rolling onto Highland, we didn’t pause at the parking lot and ask for food nor water. We simply couldn’t. It was time to put our pedals where our minds where, and do the work to get home to some delicious grilled cheese sandwiches. And potatoes. And bread. And beer. Lots of beer. We crested the driveway home at 4:50. That’s 8 hours and 40 minutes of mountain biking. All in a day’s work. |
Home at last! How did we ever make it?
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**Bonus Feature** Rainy Recovery Ride Knowing full well that stagnant muscles lead to both a stationary mind and legs, we suited up for a quick ride in the light rain around campus. With tube-fenders (“tenders”) in place and covered in proper rain-gear, we were ready to get soaked in the warm 58° afternoon slop.
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| Taking the winding and leisurely way to the summit, we quickly got on the singletrack. Soak and all, we made it out to the top of the mountain, down the backside towards a very well-known highway, then returned to the summit, only to do it again, then to return to the summit again, and to descend back to our car. And a short ride it was- only about three and a half hours! | |
