This year’s Orinda Pool Party was a rush job. The pool was well over 55 years old and gravity had worked its magic slowly tilting the pool towards the creek to the point that the water level was getting so low on the uphill side that it just was able to flow into the skimmer. We bit the bullet this past winter and decided to have the pool leveled. It was either that or just fill in the pool with dirt and forget about it. Like owning horses, having a swimming pool is just a silly excuse to shovel money into a pit, in this case a literal one. We were assured that it would be done by the end of April. Of course no contractor worth his salt is going to stay on schedule and it was barely done by mid-July. After months of workmen coming and going along with dust, dirt, and loud Mexican music all emanating from the pool area finally over, I was not chomping at the bit to put on another Orinda Pool Party. I’d like to say the pool looked fabulous post-reconstruction but almost the entirety of the remodel is underneath the pool and invisible to the naked eye. The redwood deck is still in need of a good powerwashing and restaining; the concrete decking is still cracked and heaved up. So of course we were going to put on a party: shabby chic never goes out of style!

With just a month Roger and I got a listing up a bit late and managed to sway 15 Spokers over for a fun day in the sun and pool along with a ride to keep it honest. For the first time ever we had more non-riders than riders: just five had the chutzpah to throw their legs over a bike and climb up Pinehurst. The indolent supermajority preferred to sashay over later in the day, park their ample butts on the patio chairs, and gab up a storm while politely waiting for the riders to show up at the manse so we could all chow down together.

The weather was perfect—mid 80s, no wind, plenty of sun. The pool was 90F—practically a hot tub. But when the riders arrived no one went into the pool and instead they all headed straight for the meal line. Roger was again lured into smoking a smokin’ delicious rack of pork ribs. We literally tossed together a vegan brown rice salad—yes, it came from an old ‘hippie’ cookbook—and a pesto pasta salad different from the same old dross we ply most years. And just like at this year’s annual picnic we threw in grilled corn on the cob of which we have become so enamored. Not to be outdone the crowd showed up with some delicious homemade food including several kinds of salads, tomato caprese (is there any other kind?), a rich fruit tart, and brownies and cookies. Lamberto and Joe brought some buffalo chicken wings even though there wasn’t a football game in sight. (After tasting one—I had never eaten one before—I gobbled them down with gusto!)

I thought post-meal torpor would slay the crowd but instead a few finally ventured into the pool to cool off and splash around. It was a really pleasant afternoon filled with feeding frenzy, plentiful persiflage, and of course even some cycling on the side.

After a several weeks of monotonously dreary weather we got a break this past weekend and were greeted by bright sunshine and daytime temperatures north of 68F, finally. Our May Gray had morphed into June Gloom only to vanish and be replaced by real spring weather. Here in the East Bay clouds and fog are a rarity but not this spring.

Unbeknownst to most of you Orinda is host to a myriad of short and steep inclines that make riding here challenging and never boring, and today we were doing the “best hits”: west Papa Bear, Mama Bear, Pig Farm, Reliez Valley, Happy Valley, and east Papa Bear all crammed into a mere 35-mile loop. I had forgotten one climb that is part of this route, shorter than the rest but no less steep: Deer Hill, a depressingly wide open ramp that unfortunately bears too close a resemblance to Hicks Road and Oakville Grade. It’s 14%. But it’s short! So let’s call it six and a half climbs.

Only Jeff P and Roger S joined Roger and me. I hadn’t seen Jeff in ages. Had he been riding? It turns out he had come to the East Bay and rode Morgan Territory last week—that’s a lot more climbing than I’ve been doing recently! Roger S had been getting ready for the Chico Wildflower, training deliberately. With that under his belt at the end of April he promptly ditched the bike and hadn’t set eye on it for over two weeks. Regardless he had more than enough leg power despite his absence from pedaling. Roger and I had recently completed a really enjoyable but unexpectedly challenging bike tour in Japan. Of course returning home after a two-week absence meant cycling had to take a back seat to everything else going on in our lives that had been on hold including our garden that was showing signs of neglect.

All these roads are yawn all-too-familiar to Roger and me since they are our regular hunting grounds. But Jeff was only slightly familiar with them and thus several were brand new experiences for him. Roger S had been on them all but it had been a while so some of them were hazy in recollection.

Leaving downtown Orinda the first incline was a few short miles ahead: Papa Bear. Typically we ride this in the other direction, from east to west and it comes at the tail end of the Three Bears loop. There are a couple of good reasons for not riding it in this direction: it’s a taller climb heading east because you start it at a lower elevation and it also happens to be quite a bit steeper, like about 10% in places. Despite being just the first climb (or perhaps because it was just the first of six hard climbs) we stayed together up the hill lamenting its difficulty. However on the other side Roger S blasted the descent and kept the momentum all the way over Mama Bear to the Alhambra Valley Road turn.

Conversely doing Mama Bear in this direction seems easier at least to me. The usual ride up Mama Bear is a long, steady slog up a 9% grade with the summit at the distant horizon, an always depressing sight. The way we rode it Mama Bear is broken up by two short climbs and descents, one of which may be the mysterious Baby Bear that no one seems to know the location of.

Turning onto Alhambra Valley Road it was starting to warm up and the cooling wind gone. The climb up Pig Farm—now called just Alhambra Valley—is another “save the best for last” climb with a ridiculous gradient just below the summit. Everybody used to call this hill Pig Farm because back in the day an infamously noxious pig farm was at the top whose stench was your summit reward. That sty is long gone—I can’t recall exactly when it closed—and replaced by a gentleman’s ranch. Another piece of vanished Bay Area cycling lore.

Roger S took off again on the descent and nearly got beaned by a car suddenly turning out into the road. Despite roaring at over 40 mph he managed to zip by and pass it without a scratch. The rest of us valuing our wellbeing and skin took it more slowly. Alhambra Valley Road has a Jekyl-Hyde personality: at times it’s a quiet and peaceful backcountry road and at other times it’s a cut-through race course for drivers looking escape the mess on Highways 680 and 24. For cyclists that means keeping an eye out for the impatient drivers and today seemed to be the day. When it’s quiet it’s a remarkable ride but today it was a typical road full of fast cars passing on narrow straits.

We turned off into Briones Regional Park to get some water and have a midride snack. The parking lot was full of mountain bikers, some just heading out and a bunch just back from their ride. A couple of bikers were enjoying post-ride cigarettes chatting away, reminding me of another Different Spokes ride in the distant past out of Orinda BART. Luis, Michael R, and former president-for-life Dennis pulled into the BART lot at the end of a hard club ride and went to their respective cars. All whipped out their smokes and lit up. I’ll always remember Luis for smiling while saying, “A cigarette after a hard ride is the best!”

After our break it was back to Alhambra Valley, which turns into Reliez Valley and slowly gets steeper and steeper. Roger S didn’t remember there was a climb up Reliez and was rudely surprised by the grade. By now I wouldn’t say we were baking but it was definitely the warmest weather we’d seen over here in several weeks and we were all sweating from the heat and the effort.

After a short descent we were back in civilization and just a brief reprieve before Deer Hill. This road is another commuter cut-through because it parallels 24, which is always jammed during the rush hour. Today it wasn’t bad traffic-wise but it’s an ungodly 14% and it looks it: a straight-up-the-hill climb. What followed after a brief sprint past the Lafayette BART station was Happy Valley Road, which really should be called Unhappy Valley because it too starts out slow and then gets steeper as you climb. The top is around 12-13%. By now we were all rather tired despite it being less than 30 miles. Near the top I stopped to catch a breath in the shade and Roger S joined me. We chatted away in order to delay continuing the climb. But eventually we did. The descent on the other side is hellish. It’s actually the better way to climb Happy Valley because the road is wretchedly potholed and uneven and that is less an issue when you’re going 5 mph. But descending it’s difficult to discern the incongruities when you can’t see in the shade and we were bounced left and right like pinballs.

What was left was Papa Bear the usual way. There’s nothing that needs to be said about it since you’ve probably done it yourself many times. Over the years Papa Bear has changed subtlely. The road quality is actually better these days than when I rode in the ’80s. Being county road it never gets much love but the pavement quality is pretty damn smooth for chipseal. And there aren’t any potholes! Which is good since you’ve got one of the fastest descents around. I used to hit 45 mph there when I was young and deluded. Roger S probably hit that this time but not I. I’ve never crashed on Papa Bear and want to continue that unblemished record!

At the bottom is a very short, steep, and annoying climb back to San Pablo Dam Road—is this Baby Bear? After grunting to the top we headed back to Orinda and got lunch at Petra Cafe. I was famished and ready for a recharge. For such a short ride—just 35 miles—it packed in 3,700 feet of climbing and much of it in double digits. Type 2 fun!

The day before we were going to Mt. Veeder Gordon sent me some pictures of the road. I couldn’t believe it. They showed that Veeder was closed and the asphalt heaved up and crumpled up like arctic ice. Shit. For whatever reason Veeder had been omitted from Napa County’s road closure database hence escaping my notice. Gordon opined that despite the menacing ‘road closed’ signs it was easy to go around the barriers and walk through the mess. A quick message and reply from Stephanie indicated that she was still game. So onward!

The other potential disaster was the Bottlerock festival scheduled in downtown Napa for this weekend. The three-day wine and rock concert draws about 180,000 ravers. Prez David already gave his hard “no” to Veeder thinking that traffic and parking would inevitably be a nightmare. Where the rest of the Spokerati wasn’t clear—fled town for the weekend or also put off by the festival? Dunno.

The cognomen Darth Veeder was bequeathed by David some years ago. Presumably it was because the climb up Veeder is on ‘the dark side’. In any case it’s no walk in the park and like another well-trod ride, Pinehurst, features the delight of an increasing gradient as you ascend from the Redwood Road side. Redwood side? Yes Mt. Veeder Road is actually the north side of this climb and Redwood Road is the southern side but Spokers know it only as “Veeder”.

So it was just Roger, me, and Stephanie. Stephanie hadn’t done Veeder in quite a while so this was on her checklist for the year. Roger and I? Despite the sometimes haphazard road maintenance in Napa we like riding in the Napa Valley but even more in the hills around it.

We were using David’s route that begins at Buttercream Bakery in the north end of Napa. We didn’t allow enough time to go in before the ride and the place closes at 2 PM. So it looked like it was going to be another year without tasting their fares. Darn!

It takes just a little bit of time to get out of the city of Napa and on Redwood Road proper. This morning it was mostly devoid of traffic and the overcast just added to the atmosphere of climbing into the woods. Before long there was the dreaded “road closed” sign, which we of course ignored. Cars heading up of which there were very few had to be mostly residents. The climb gently steepens the further you proceed and parallels the placid and peaceful Redwood Creek right next to the road. I’m sure in winter the creek was a roaring mess but now it was back to its benign best—gurgling, placid, peaceful.

The positive side of road closures is that if a bike can get through one gets to enjoy the experience senza macchine. The closure sign seemed to have cut back on the traffic even though Redwood is hardly on the tourist radar. We climbed and were passed only by the very occasional car. There were several sections of road where the asphalt had completely eroded away leaving only the road base—how does that happen? I wouldn’t have been surprised by gravel and dirt, of which there was plentiful, but how the storms just peeled back the surface is strange. There were a couple of sections where half the roadway had collapsed down the slope forcing all traffic to use just one lane. Just past one we took a break to shed windbreakers and catch our breath. This was hard work! Then it was back to the business at hand, upward.

Finally at the top, where the vineyard with the fancy wrought iron gate sits, we got a real break before the ‘descent’. We still hadn’t run across the road closure and it was obvious now that we were going to confront it on the downhill side. Stephanie cheekily suggested that I take the lead; so I was left to “clear the minefield” since we had no idea of the road condition.

The descent from the top actually has several short uphill sections, some of which you can almost get over by momentum providing you’re going fast enough. The problem was I sure as hell wasn’t going to go hellbent when there might be gravel, washed out asphalt, or worse yet, no road! So each little treat just added to dulling the knife a little more. And then there it was, what we saw in Gordon’s photos: K-barriers and wavy, crumpled asphalt. And no, riding over it was just asking for a helicopter evac, so we dismounted and carefully plonked over the cascade of broken roadway. It wasn’t a difficult crossing but seeing it in person impressed upon me the damage winter storms inflicted on Bay Area roads—Redwood Road near Castro Valley, Old Stage Road, Calaveras, Palomares, Mines, Patterson, and now Veeder.

Once past the blockade we started swooping down through the trees before reaching the last stretch of the startlingly steep decline. We passed cyclists crawling up Veeder barely making any progress and one cyclist parked by the side of the road gasping. We had actually come up the “easy” way! The descent continued once we turned onto Dry Creek, the sort of traditional way to do this ride; the other option is to instead continue straight ahead and descend the 15% Oakville Grade. Dry Creek is much less formidable but today we had a headwind reeling from the south making progress effortful. It didn’t help that the county seems to have largely ignored doing any recent repaving on Dry Creek as it was pockmarked beyond despair with potholes and crevices of various sizes and gruesomely lumpy old asphalt that looked like it had been unceremoniously dumped on the road and then left to be flattened by whatever vehicle had the misfortune to smack into it. Of course the worst was left for last with a pothole obstacle course just before we turned into the valley proper.

David’s route heads north again to Yountville. You can either take Solano Street or the Vine Trail MUP; we learned that the road is, like everything else in the area, lumpy and cracked, whereas the trail is divinely smooth.

In Yountville we stopped at the budget lunch spot, Velo Deli aka Ranch Market for a sandwich and pasta salad. Yountville is littered with chic high-end dining spots including Bistro Jeanty next door, which always seems to be doing great business. We were so ahead of schedule that we got there well before lunch time and got the prime outdoor table under the gazebo. The sandwich counter was devoid of customers and it was a breeze to get our food and get out. Lunchtime chatter revolved around our recent cycling trip to Japan, the upcoming club picnic and pool party, and various goings-on in the club.

I was pretty tired at this point and the lunch break only slightly alleviated my fatigue. Post lunch we had two southern legs, Silverado Trail and then Big Ranch. I could tell as we left that my legs were only one or two notches away from cramps and I needed to be careful to avoid ending up by the side of the road in convulsive spasms; that’s what happens when you don’t drink enough. We now had a constant headwind out of the south and I steadily went slower and slower. Roger eventually took the lead and let us draft him all the way back to Buttercream. Roger on his e-bike has no problem roasting at over 20 mph into a headwind.

Speaking of Buttercream, we finished our ride at 1:30, way earlier than last year, and the bakery was still open! We dashed in to peruse the sweets. Buttercream seems to be a popular place, probably helped by having a diner inside as well as the bakery counter. It was redolent of sugar wafting out of the bakery. There were too many kinds of cookies, donuts, and cupcakes to recount; we settled on carrot cake cupcakes to tide us over until we got home. Gawd, they were good and the perfect way to end an unexpected adventure over Veeder. Next time we do this ride I am definitely going to make it back to Buttercream again before it closes at 2 PM!

And the traffic? Easy peasy both ways. As we breezed south on 12 we couldn’t help noticing that the northbound lanes were packed to the gills and not going anywhere fast. Perfect timing!

You can’t overlook the lack, Jack
Of any other highway to ride
It’s got no signs or dividing lines
And very few rules to guide

—Robert Hunter

David asked me why this ride is called New Speedway Boogie and not “Patterson & Altamont Passes”, which is surely a more accurate and less cryptic name. Those familiar with my posts through the years may have noticed that they’re populated with idiosyncratic references to late Twentieth Century US culture. In this case it’s a tilt toward that infamous “hey, we wanna get some of that cool Woodstocky vibe too” Rolling Stones concert that took place in December 1969 at Altamont Speedway, which happens to be just off the route of this bike ride.

Unless you’re an old Bay Area hippie like me or you recall the 1970 documentary film Gimme Shelter, which was about this concert, you probably have no idea what I’m talking about. The Rolling Stones, whose image at that time was distinctly not countercultural flower power (despite His Satanic Majesties Request, one of their early abysmally poor albums) but more self-indulgent, excessive, lower chakra— oh wait, that is countercultural after all!—thought they could replicate Woodstock here on the West Coast when the “San Francisco sound”—Jefferson Airplane, the Grateful Dead, Quicksilver Messenger Service, etc.—was climbing the charts and the Haight Ashbury was attracting youth from all over the country. They put on a free concert and 300,000 of their favorite strung out dealers, groupies, and fans showed up. They got more than they bargained for because the event was violent—multiple deaths including a stabbing by a Hells Angels who was doing stage security. It was ugly, like a very bad acid trip (and it probably was a bad trip for about half the participants). So endeth the illusions of a Woodstock nation. Ironically it got so violent that the Grateful Dead didn’t even get to play; or rather refused to play after Marty Balin of the Jefferson Airplane got KOed by a Hells Angel, and so they left the event. But the GD’s songwriter Robert Hunter and Jerry Garcia bequeathed a gem of a song, New Speedway Boogie, which was about the disastrous event. The Altamont Speedway is still there although it’s been closed since 2008 and the meme that was Altamont has faded into insignificance.

Fifty-four years later here we are doing a bike ride. Whatever remnants of that era have long gone into the aether and almost everything surprisingly is as it was: a verdant, green set of rolling hills that turn dusky brown after the rains cease. Oh yeah, and the wind turbines and plentiful cows. Springtime is the best time to ride Altamont Pass, Patterson Pass, and Corral Hollow Roads because of the explosion of green grass. We lucked out with a most sunny and clear day. Roger and I were joined by Prez David and Stephanie. Jen also graced us with her presence at the start but she wasn’t up to going up Patterson and was doing a shorter ride. David and Stephanie were intent upon doing the Chico Wildflower and were in search of some training undone by our wet winter.

We headed out Tesla and turned on Cross Road to get to Patterson Pass. Hardly a car in sight but plenty of greenery to bless our eyes. Riding out Cross/Patterson is like a time warp: there was a time in the Bay Area when you could find pastoral roads this deserted much more easily; many of those areas are now dense suburbs. (I remember cycling through Cupertino when it was mainly orchards.) Cross Road is really quite gentle and eventually drops down Patterson Pass where the climbing gets more earnest. But even there it’s reasonable until the last kick to the pass, which is quite unreasonable! Stephanie as usual was intent on keeping a steady, brisk pace. We chatted and seemingly lollygagged until it got steeper (and quieter) and Stephanie just slowly moved ahead. At the pass we realized why we were having such an easy time: we had a west tailwind that was howling over the pass.

That tailwind also blew up down from the pass on one of the best descents in the Bay Area. With hardly any cars, great sightlines and only one blind corner it’s a delight. Oh, and it’s long so you get to enjoy it for quite a time. The only uglification along the descent was the PG&E substation, which sticks out like the eyesore it is in the middle of all that countryside.

We stopped at the outskirts of Tracy just across the California Aqueduct at the Valero station. Here the big trucks for Safeway, Costco, and Amazon roam the area due to their respective warehouses and logistics centers. The Valero is well stocked. I was originally going to get the fried chicken but got a sandwich instead so that I could share it with Roger. David had brought along some of his homemade dill pickles to share. There we stood next to the trash bin eating our early lunch. A steady stream of men were heading into the Jalos Taqueria next door. Hmm, we’ll have to check it out next time.

Then it was a slight backtrack onto the Aqueduct parkway, which is just a very wide frontage/service road adjacent to it. Other than a few fishermen and walkers the parkway is largely empty and a great escape from the trucks on the local roads. Unfortunately we were now heading north with that delightful tailwind now transformed into a gruesome sidewind forcing us to lean to the left to stay upright. Midway through you pass the old Altamont Speedway in the hills to the west of the Aqueduct but you can’t see it from there. After three and a half miles we were at Grant Line Road and returned to a brief automotive fray. Grant Line is one scary road with intense traffic that makes crossing over to the westbound lane feel like you’re in a real-life version of Frogger. Waiting for that short break to zip across rewards you with continued life and the joy of being passed by cars blitzing onto 580. That brief hell lasts less than a half-mile and we were on Altamont Pass Road, which is also deserted although less so than Patterson. Here Stephanie took off again along with Roger while David and I took it more slowly.

Altamont Pass Road is surrounded by grassland but interrupted by a couple of automotive repair businesses in the middle of nowhere and what look to be ranch houses that had seen better days. Oh yeah, and of course we now had a distinctly unfriendly headwind. But we all made it over the pass and left Altamont for Flynn Road and crossed over 580. It’s a short, easy ascent from there and a nice, long drop back to Livermore, suburbanity awaiting. Another fantastic ride in the Altamont hills done. Alas, by now those hills are probably shorn of green and turned to golden brown. We shall return next year!