Bolinas Ridge Trail Ride

Riding Bolinas Ridge Trail today. It is listed #28 on Mountain Biking Northern California's Best 100 Trails.



Map and route of Bolinas Ridge Trail. 250 track points laid by the GPS unit.




TOPO!'s elevation profile.




Northern trailhead off Sir Francis Drake Boulevard. Started at 11 AM. Temperature was 46 F (7.7 C), without taking windchill into account. Discovered to my chagrin that I left my vest back at the hostel. Grrr. Thank goodness for my windbreaker.




Wider view. It is a sight to behold when the coastal fog blows in.




Trail sign.




Trail warning. Now I know why some cranky cows on Bull Point Trail refused to yield and tried to headbutt me instead.




Gentle climbs over pastureland. On the right, cows in the distance.




After the 1st brief climb. This spot reminds me of New Zealand's South Island: beautiful, isolated, secretive, and subject to the vagaries and whims of micro-climates.




2nd climb. Though it gets steeper near the top, it isn't as long a climb as it looks. Or maybe it's just that I had a good breakfast and am full of energy...




Elevation approximately 914 feet: a pond at the foot of a knoll on this ridge.

Back in Santa Clara, as I am composing this write up, an old man hobbled on the sidewalk, past my window, trailing his oxygen tank behind him on a dolly. The soundtrack to the film adaptation of Kazuo Ishiguro's The Remains of the Day is playing on my sound system. The sight of the geriatric, the melancholy music, coupled with the approaching twilight, make me think about how little time we have on this earth to appreciate her ineffable beauty and august majesty. We are here for a while, and then we are gone. How little time to stroll, to bike, to hike, to climb, and leap with the impunity of youth, the ignorant audacity of naivete, in forests, mountains, canyons, across streams and rivers, before we are wrack and bent by time, and hobble, half-blind, wheezing and hacking to our graves.

I guess I am selfish in that way — I will not sacrifice my youth, my health, my wealth for someone's so-called greater cause. I will be no one's beast of burden: financial, intellectual, spiritual or otherwise. Look somewhere else for your martyrs (or coolies: cyber or otherwise). This ship has its own captain, and he only follows his own orders. Go rehearse your timeshare sales pitch somewhere else.




Climbed up the knoll by the pond. Looking back where I came from. The ridge I am standing on is Bolinas Ridge. The ridge directly across is Inverness Ridge. Behind it is the Pacific Ocean. The valley between these two ridges is Olema Valley. The active San Andreas Fault / Rift lurks under idyllic Olema Valley.




Leaving pasture land and skirting the edge of the forest. Spotted a herd of Fallow deer in the distance, but they dashed away before I could get close enough with my camera.




Trail flanking the forest.




Trail entering forest.




Wider view.




Looking back.




A popular resting spot.




A wider view.




Entering protected area: Mount Tamalpais Watershed.




Entering Lothlorien. A Bobcat (Felis rufus) ran across the trail in front of me. It looked like a large, spotted kitten with a short, stubby tail.




The rush of the wind through the forest is punctuated by the pitter-patter of water dripping down to the ground below. But it is not rain. The water comes from fog condensing on leaves and Spanish moss, gaining mass, and then dripping off. The process is called fog drip.


In some instances the dripping is as heavy as light rain, as sometimes occurs among the redwood trees along the coast of northern California. During the foggy but almost rainless summers of California, fog drip prevents an excessive aridity in the coastal forests. As much as 0.05 in. of water, equivalent to a moderate shower, has been collected from a California fog in a single night. (Source)




A close up picture of a piece of Spanish moss that has fallen to the ground. It has no roots. It derives water solely from fog and dew. The strips are eucalyptus bark.




Another close up of Spanish moss, this time hanging off a tree.




Inside the forest, the temperature is cooler, ranging from 37 to 39 F (2.7 C to 3.8 C), but there was no wind, so it evens out (unless you are blasting downhill on the return trip).




Words are inadequate in describing the experience of riding through this: I am bathed in light, and white, luminous fog; each full breath — powering every revolution of the wheels over the velvety-soft carpet of leaves — is steeped with the mingling, shifting scents of pine, redwood, douglas fir, and eucalyptus. I am moving, and yet the white, translucent air that I breathe is moving as well. I am utterly alone in this foggy forest, on this windswept ridge, on this misty mountain.


I don't want to get to the end of my life and find that I have just lived the length of it. I want to have lived the width of it as well. (Diane Ackerman)




Going deeper into the forest.




And deeper.




And deeper.




A clearing. I had to pinch myself several times to make sure the sight was real.




Close up.




McCurdy Trail connection. Woodville is another name for Dogtown. The trail drops 1180 ft in 1.8 miles to Dogtown.




3.4 miles to Fairfax - Bolinas Road.




A long 3.4 miles as I found out. Check out the magnified section on the right: 992 feet of climbing with an average grade of 10%. It felt steeper with the ruts, loose rocks and slippery tree roots though.




Exited the forest. Beginning a 250 feet rolling descent down to the southern trailhead of Bolinas Ridge Trailhead at Fairfax - Bolinas Road.




Looking back after having left the forest. Notice the change in vegetation from forest to chaparral.




More rollers and 2 rutted downhills later: the southern end of the Bolinas Ridge Trail, at the sinuous Fairfax - Bolinas Road.




An aerial photograph. To the east, Fairfax - Bolinas Road snakes towards Fairfax in an endless series of hairpin turns. To the west, it drops 1500 ft to Stinson Beach in 5 miles. Bolinas Ridge continues southeastwards along the flanks of Mount Tamalpais and towards the Marin Headlands, with the very pretty West Ridgecrest Boulevard (above) running on top of it. Across the bay, San Francisco and her landmarks (e.g. Transamerica Pyramid) shimmer in the distance. Trivia: West Ridgecrest Boulevard is commonly used for filming automobile commercials.




What the sign says: 11.3 miles (18.08 km) to get back to the Bolinas Ridge Trailhead at Sir Francis Drake Boulevard (where I parked my car).




Back on the chaparral ridge, just before re-entering the forest, looking east: fog totally covering Kent Lake (elevation 500 ft) between Bolinas Ridge and Pine Mountain Ridge (elevation 1762 ft). Pine Mountain looks like an island now.




A closer look. Zoomed in. While nearby Mount Tamalpais (1) is generally recognized as the historic birthplace of the sport of mountain biking: the steeper and looser slopes of Pine Mountain Ridge and Pine Mountain were likely to be more instrumental in driving the evolution of early mountain bikes from single-speed to the multiple gearing systems we encounter today.




Leaving the forest towards open pasture land. Bush rabbits (Sylvilagus bachmani) and the occasional Black-tailed Jack rabbit (Lepus californiacus) hop out of my way as I bombed down the ridge. Trivia: When the Black-tailed Jack rabbit is running at moderate speed, every fourth or fifth hop is higher, allowing for a better view of the surrounding area.




One more cattle gate to cross.




One more climb into the fog. And a rollicking good time bombing down the rest of the ridge back to the car.

The trail is isolated on weekdays. I met no one during the entire ride, save for a trio of ill-prepared novice mountain bikers on the last 2 miles of the ride who asked to borrow my pump.


Epilogue:
Total distance: cyclo-computer 22.8 miles (36.48 km) / GPS 22.43 miles (35.89 km) / TOPO! 22.50 miles (36 km).
Total elevation climbed: Altimeter 3350 ft (1021.3 m) / GPS + TOPO! 3317 ft (1011.28 m).
Temperature range: 37 F to 46 F (2.8 C to 7.8 C).
Fluids consumed: 1 liter.

Bull Point Trail Ride

Lunch, the long drive up from Santa Clara and the visit to the lighthouse, south, north and Drake's beach, left me with precious little time before sunset (4:51 PM), so a short ride will have to do for today. Enter Bull Point Trail, a doubletrack to the heart of Drake's Bay. Of the three routes leading to Drakes Estero, Bull Point Trail is the easiest yet most remote. The trail traces the eastern bluffs of Creamery Bay, wandering through open pasturelands--and grazing cattle--to expansive views of Drakes Estero and Drakes Bay: enormous saltwater and freshwater bays home to a huge variety of shorebirds and waterfowl.



Map of the local area and trail. 193 track points laid by the GPS unit.




TOPO!'s elevation profile.




Trailhead. The body of water is Creamery Bay.




Some info about the trail.




While the trail isn't technical, it could hardly be described as a smooth ride. The entire trail was pockmarked with depressions caused by the passage of countless cows. Yes, it was a bumpy ride. The cow pies are about the most difficult obstacle on this trail.




One other obstacle on this trail (besides cow pies): cows. The regular ones stare at you until the last few seconds before moving off grudgingly. The sneaky ones leave a steaming pile of sh*t for you to run over. Now, the psycho ones. Those are nuts. Not only do they refuse to move, but as you get closer, they try to headbutt you. Now, when you are talking about a 1500+ lb animal, their head can weigh as much as 150 lbs (my weight after a big meal): a headbutt will probably do some serious damage. I don't care how tough you are or you are 50 cent's twin, Moo Moo Cow here and her headbutt will send you flying. Maybe I can wear an Outback Steakhouse or a Black Angus Steakhouse jersey to let them know who they are dealing with:


Just a cyclist?
JUST a cyclist?

I had your sibling for dinner last weekend!
Naw git de hell otta mah way!


Or, maybe I'll just threaten them with a steak knife and a bottle of Worcestershire sauce.




Reaching the end of this very short 1.8 mile (2.88 km) trail.




Getting closer.




Found this unmaintained singletrack. Woohoo!




A wider view. The peak on the left is Mount Vision (1282 ft). It's twin on the right is Mount Wittenberg (1407 ft).




This slab of rock is most interesting. Is it part of a larger plane? Or just an odd slab that's more resistant to weathering than its neighbors?

The rafts floating in the bay are oyster racks. From these racks dangle wires, which oysters latch on and grow for 18 months before being harvested and schucked for the market.




Wider view. A trail on top of the cliffs across the bay runs to Sunset Beach. Much like their more majestic inland cousin, Half Dome, these cliffs blaze a brilliant orange when the sun goes down.




Singletrack skirting the edge of a crumbly cliff. Simon says, "If you must fall, fall to your left." On the left is the opening to Schooner Bay and Johnson's Oyster Company.

All too soon, the enjoyable jaunt came to a close as this unmarked trail deadended at a fence with the sign, "Private Property. No Trespassing." Time to double back.




Back at the official trail, the remainder of Bull Point Trail leads to this pocket beach.




The cliffs of Sunset Beach on the left. The inlets of Creamery Bay and Barries Bay on the right. The opening to the Pacific Ocean in the center.




Moi.

Despite its brevity and proximity to the main road (Sir Francis Drake Boulevard), Bull Point Trail is remote. All I could see were hills, dales, ridges, bays, wildlife and cattle. Not once did I rest eyes on another person during the ride.


Epilogue:
Total distance: cyclo-computer 4.3 miles (6.88 km) / GPS 4.44 miles (7.1 km) / TOPO! 4.40 miles (7 km).
Total elevation climbed: Altimeter 329 ft (100.3 m) / GPS + TOPO! 225 ft (68.6 m).
Temperature range: 50 F to 56 F (10 C to 13.3 C).
Fluids consumed: 0 liters.

Pain

The days are getting shorter now (7:12 AM sunrise, 4:51 PM sunset) and colder too (though nowhere as cold as the Northeast and Midwest). All these make it harder and harder to engage in epic rides. Easy rides just don't cut it. Though they have their pluses: more time to explore, more time to relax over meals, not being so pressed for time, etc., easy rides lack a certain something.

Epic rides are a favorite of mine. To be out there on a long unsupported ride is a curious experience: there is an immense freedom in the endeavor, and yet, a certain apprehensiveness as it means that one has to take whatever comes. Once, for some strange reason, on a really isolated stretch of road, I developed a crippling pain in my tailbone. As a result, I had to stand and pedal for the next 31 miles (49.6 km). Now, while it was a nightmare and I was cussing the entire time, it is a memorable experience now.

"What do I encounter most often in epic rides? And what do I like about it?", a friend asked. I thought long and hard about it, and my answer to both is, "Pain." All sorts of pain, from nagging chaffs that turn from red to broken blisters 70 miles on, to muscle aches that throb with every pedal stroke, to fiery streaks of pain that shoot through complaining knees, requiring painkillers every 2 to 3 hours. Pain.

Why? Because it cleanses. Now, while I am no believer in the merits of self-flagellation, there is indeed something cleansing about cycling and pain. One has to produce — and continue producing — forward momentum despite the pain. The determination needed necessarily requires one to mentally and emotionally push aside — wipe out — all thoughts and emotions that are not required for the present task. One begins to talk to one's bike. One begins to verbally coax one's feet / calves / thighs: "Come on, baby, don't cramp. Yes, push, you got it. OK, that's one revolution. You can do plenty more. One more. Yes, that's it. Another. And another..." One begins to seek out the smoothest lines to ease one's sore butt. In this private world, nothing else matters. And one's cycling partner becomes Pain. Coaxing, taunting, egging, letting off, then coming back full force again. Repeat. Repeat. In this world, troubles and worries do not exist.


In his autobiography, seven-time Tour de France champion, Lance Armstrong wrote:

Cycling is so hard, the suffering is so intense, that it's absolutely cleansing. The pain is so deep and strong that a curtain descends over your brain. . . . Once, someone asked me what pleasure I took in riding for so long. "Pleasure?" I said. "I don't understand the question." I didn't do it for pleasure. I did it for pain.

         (Source)


In the words of Scott Martin,

To be a cyclist is to be a student of pain... [A]t cycling's core lies pain, hard and bitter as the pit inside a juicy peach. It doesn't matter if you're sprinting for an Olympic medal, a town sign, a trailhead, or the rest stop with the homemade brownies. If you never confront pain, you're missing the essence of the sport. Without pain, there's no adversity. Without adversity, no challenge. Without challenge, no improvement. No improvement, no sense of accomplishment and no deep-down joy. Might as well be playing Tiddly-Winks.

Though more related to ultramarathon running than ultramarathon cycling, the sentiments expressed in the following quote struck a chord with me:

Dr. JoAnn Dahlkoetter, a Stanford sports psychologist and author of Your Performing Edge, says those attracted to ultras are often loners who don't accept other people's views on the limits of human endurance. "They see body aches and pains — adversity — as a way to explore their inner potential," she says. "It can almost be like a Zen kind of thing or a trance — being out there doing something repetitive for long periods of time."

There is something paradoxical about the entire experience of pedaling alone for 12 to 14 hours, or more, at a go. One begins to truly live: every nuance in the road is felt, every bump instinctively avoided, every change in the incline detected, however subtle. The scenary, temperature, the crunch of gravel or the rustle of leaves under one's wheels, the scent of the eucalyptus leaves, or trail of a skunk (or ripe roadkill), the punishing headwind, or friendly tailwind, all become part of some larger panorama of experience. At the same time, the cares and worries of regular life fade away, receding further and further away with each passing mile.


         Pedal
         Spin
         Breathe

         Live


It is indeed like Zen, with the mantra simply being life.

What's that line again?


         When I ride, my problems can't keep up.




As the saying goes, "Pain is only weakness leaving the body."

And so I go... to climb another mountain; to ride atop another ridge; to descend into another valley; to climb through cool redwood forests; to blast down sun-baked canyons, and cross icy-cold streams. To experience pain. To live.

Today is your day! Your mountain is waiting.
So. . . get on your way.

         (Dr. Seuss)


Comments found at original posting.

Lexington Reservoir Ride

As part of the preparations for a longer ride in the future, I went on a reconnaissance ride around Lexington Reservoir on Dec 5, 2005.


Map of the ride. 1499 track points laid down by the GPS unit.




TOPO!'s elevation profile.




Saratoga Avenue leads straight to the city of Saratoga and Highway 9.




Highway 9 runs between the town of Los Gatos and the city of Santa Cruz (passing the city of Saratoga along the way). This portion of Highway 9 leads to the town of Los Gatos. Trivia: Steven Spielberg attended high school in Saratoga.




Missed the right turn into Los Gatos Creek Trail at East Main Street and Maple Place (immediately after crossing over HW 17), and took a right at College Avenue instead. Then, I missed the right turn to Jones Road and climbed to the top of College Ave, where I chanced upon the gates of Sacred Heart Jesuit Center, a home for 64 retired priests and brothers. Readers with long memories might remember my August 7th post about the suicide of Father James Chevedden and the allegations of sexual abuse surrounding the incident. This is not the first time the Jesuit retirement community in Los Gatos has been rocked by scandal, in 2002, the Jesuits paid $7.5 million to two retarded dishwashers to settle their allegations of sex abuse.



The free wine tasting and tour (10 AM to 5 PM, everyday ) at Testarossa Vineyards was tempting, but finding the way to Lexington Reservoir was more important. So back down I went.




Found Jones Road this time :) Jones Road eventually becomes Jones Trail. As Jones Trail climbs the flanks of St. Joseph's Hill (1250 ft) en route to Lexington Reservoir, it climbs an additional 200+ feet compared to Los Gatos Creek Trail.


Jones Trail follows the historic alignment of Jones Road, which was used in the last century by stage coaches and pack teams. This was an important route, bringing people, supplies, and equipment over the precipitous St. Joseph's Hill and then down into Los Gatos. From the mid-1800s until 1925, this narrow and steep road was the main connection between Los Gatos and the small towns of Lexington and Alma. When Lexington Reservoir was built in 1952, the towns were abandoned and inundated by the water. (Source: www.openspace.org flyer)




Top of Jones Trail looking north. Lexington Reservoir and Alma Bridge Road on the left. Westbound Highway 17 (towards Santa Cruz) straight ahead. A small portion of the Los Gatos Creek Trail can be spotted below.




There is a more painful way to reach Lexington Reservoir. (Click on the road names for illustrated 3D pictures). By taking Bohlman Road (3D view) in Saratoga to Montevina Road (3D view) in Los Gatos via the 1/4 mile dirt path, El Sereno Trail (3D view) (elevation 2570 ft) , one clocks an additional 1500 feet of climbing. The houses on top of Montevina Road can be seen in this picture (red arrow).




After a relatively steep descent, dropping 155 feet, I find this comforting sign at the Jones Road trailhead at Alma Bridge Road. Always nice to know you are not on top of the food chain. Keeps one humble, IMHO.




After a leisurely lunch of an expired Cliff Bar by the waters of Lethé Lexington Reservoir, where I poured over a map, I decided to go with my hunch that there exists a trail linking Alma Bridge Road with Old Santa Cruz Highway on the north side. Alternate views: (1), (2).




When I reached there, there was indeed a trail, but it wasn't a fire road. It was a mildly rutted, muddy singletrack. And I was on slicks. Specialized Fat Boys, 100 PSI, no tire knobs or even threads, smooth as a baby's butt cheek. Oh well, what the heck, right? Here we go... slipping and sliding all over the place.




Half-way through the trail, a panorama of Lexington Reservoir from the north bank. Beneath the water lie the towns of Alma and Lexington.




Town of Lexington circa 1910, looking north. Southern Pacific train to Santa Cruz.






Upon emerging from the singletrack paralleling HW 17, I mistook Old Santa Cruz Highway for HW 17 and plunged back into another trail. Missed a turn because I was momentarily distracted by some deer and ended up following fishing trails, backtracking and trailblazing for 45 minutes before dead-ending into a very steep wall of mud. If I went up carrying my bike, there was no way I could safely descend. Remembering that one should never get into a position where one cannot backtrack, I conceded defeat to the wall of mud and returned to my previous known point: the last trailhead. Maybe it was a different frame of mind (I was actually looking for Old Santa Cruz Highway now, and not a supposed continuation of a trail), or a different perspective (looking east instead of west), but I realized I was on Old Santa Cruz Highway. Back on track again :)

Climbed Old Santa Cruz Highway west for a few miles before turning left and descending south along Aldercroft Heights Road to link up with southbound Alma Bridge Road.




Alma Bridge Road follows the south and east banks of Lexington Reservoir.




A wider view. This section is known as Soda Springs Canyon. Soda Springs (3D view), a road which climbs 2250 feet in 5.3 miles begins here.




Generally referred to as "Miller's Point," this picturesque picnic area was named after a fallen police officer.




Under the shady oak trees at Miller's Point. Map of the reservoir.




A wider view.




Plaque on the boulder in the previous picture.




Back on the west (dam) side, facing the Santa Cruz mountain range. One word to describe circumventing Lexington Reservoir (via unnamed singletrack, Old Santa Cruz Highway, Aldercroft Heights Road and Alma Bridge Road): rollers. There were no extensive climbs, just a significant number of rollers.




Los Gatos Creek trail leading down and eastwards to the town of Los Gatos.


Sugoi's technical wear comes through again . The Sugoi Convector jersey is excellent. With the aid of the Sugoi Blur vest, the combination kept me warm even at 48 F (9 C) on flats and downhills. I was surprised that I did not feel the need to break out the windbreaker. Typical Sugoi gear--worth every penny.


Epilogue:
Total distance: cyclo-computer 35.1 miles (56.16 km) / GPS 34.79 miles (55.66 km) / TOPO! 34.95 miles (55.84 km).
Total elevation climbed: Altimeter 2780 ft (847.56 m) / GPS + TOPO! 2677 ft (816.16 m).
Temperature range: 45 F to 53 F (7.2 C to 11.6 C).
Fluids consumed: 1.2 liters.