Redwood Road reopened in mid-February after more than two years of closure. We went there to check it out.

Redwood Road between Moraga and Castro Valley is like a little brother to Big Sur Highway One: it keeps imitating its bigger brother by also repeatedly collapsing whenever the rain gets heavy. It seems like it was a lifetime ago but it was only 2017 when we had a magnificently wet winter and like clockwork Highway One and Redwood Road both collapsed. It took the county a solid year to get Redwood rebuilt, one long year staring at the K-barriers below the Marciel entrance to Chabot Park.(Actually, I didn’t stare at the road closure at all because I just diverted to the Brandon Trail through Chabot Park, which also went down to the (then) Willows golf course bypassing the closure. Brandon was/is awesome, a jeep road converted into a trail that mountain bikers use as a highway to get into Chabot. That was fun while it lasted and when Redwood Road reopened I stopped using Brandon.)

Fast forward five years to January 1, 2023: torrential rains batter the Bay Area so much so that our annual Resolution Ride couldn’t take place when Mt. Diablo closed. Instead Roger and I decided to do Redwood-Norris and discovered that a huge chunk of Redwood Road had slid into the creek. We tippytoed with our bikes along the edge of the former road, now crater, safely to the other side—admittedly a stupid move—in order to continue our ride. But we knew then that given the extent of the missing road—it was completely gone for about thirty feet—this was going to be a longer closure. And it was: Redwood wasn’t reopened until this mid-February after more than twenty-five and a half months.

Friday Roger and I rode the Three Bears the ‘hard’ way (i.e. Papa Bear first) and to make it even more interesting I did the whole ride using nothing lower than a 39×23 gear. And sat grinding the whole way. Saturday I did a metric century. Sunday I was going to take the day off but Roger wanted to ride Redwood now that it’s open. The day was sunny, so what the hey, we wouldn’t be going that fast (or at least I wouldn’t!) and we hadn’t been to Redwood since New Years 2023. The best laid plans of mice and men…

Redwood is a road beloved by East Bay cyclists. It’s surrounded by open space, either regional park land or EBMUD territory—no houses, no businesses, just trees, wildland, and…lots of sports cars and motos!

About twenty years ago Mens Journal magazine published a squib touting Redwood Road as a great place to race your muscle car. Like, WTF? I was so incensed I wrote them a letter decrying their encouragement of racing on a constantly curving public road with a ton of blind corners. Things haven’t changed since and the word had apparently also gotten out to the motos and rice rocketeers that Redwood was open because despite the relative calm, we witnessed a slew of sports cars and mototastic Speed Racers careening down the road. Some love it so much they race to one end and turn around and race back and forth —we were seeing the same cars and motos over and over.

All was not lost because there were plenty of cyclists as well. So the car crowd clearly were aware they were sharing the road with slower fare and other than the screeching of rubber and roar of motors sending our adrenaline up we were otherwise unharmed.

Maybe you recall that before the Pandemic hit there were a spate of bikejackings along Skyline Blvd. in the Oakland hills. Well, long before that there was a bikejacking on Redwood Road. A cyclist was stopped by dudes with guns. They took his bike and his phone. He ended up having to walk to the Redwood Canyon fire station for help. Ever since then I’ve been very wary about cycling on Redwood alone. There’s nothing like living next to Oakland to make cycling exciting.

Two years may not seem like a long time but in the meantime I had forgotten the contour of Redwood. Considering how often we rode it I was taken aback at how much climbing it has. Maybe I’m just older (“No! Really??”) and everything seems like it has more climbing. Maybe it was because my legs were wasted after two hard days. Peaceful it was but I had tunnel vision trying to stay on Roger’s wheel. So I can’t say I noticed how beautiful it all was. Roger wasn’t exactly having a field day either since he had only recently restarted riding. But he didn’t seem slowed down by the climbs.

Eventually we passed the Marciel entrance to Anthony Chabot and the long descent to the Willows began. For many this is ‘dessert’. But for me this is a terrifying downhill. Why? Because the sightlines are good, the road is wide(r), and the pavement is decent. (Although it has noticeably degenerated since 2018 when it reopened.) For some that’s an invitation to let it all hang out and go to hell in blazes. But for me it’s like a potential disaster waiting to happen. So instead I meekly creep down the hill trying not to visualize too strongly all the possible mishaps that might—nay, shall!—occur. I never was a terror going downhill and now I’m definitely in the ‘live to fight another day’ cohort. Except I never fight another day, I just live.

We approached a section of brand new pavement; but it wasn’t the location of the total collapse. The County delayed reopening Redwood when it realized that there were two sections of the road above the collapse that also needed to be repaired; this must have been one of them. Whatever the problem it wasn’t as severe as the collapse but it apparently commanded all new asphalt.

Further down on a righthand curve we saw the repair: the whole curve had to be redone, i.e. tons of rock and earth had to be dumped to rebuild the earth beneath the road. There is probably a shit ton of pilings under there too. We were rather surprised to see this because when we crossed Redwood in 2023 it looked like there was no way you could rebuild a base since it was probably ten vertical meters of missing earth. We thought for sure they would cut into the curve to create a new road to go around the crater. Maybe that would have involved moving even more earth and a new retaining wall. Whatever the rationale someone decided to rebuild the base and boy, it’s a doozy: there is now a huge retaining wall to keep the roadway upright now. At least until the next big storm. The road collapse happened where a rivulet flows down from the left into a tributary of San Leandro Creek. Perhaps the New Year’s Day storms overwhelmed the culvert (or the culvert hadn’t been maintained, a not uncommon problem) causing the water to erode the road base. It sure looks durable.

At the bottom we stopped at the Willows to rest and take in the sunshine. We parked our butts on the benches in front of the busy driving range and watched the duffers ‘practice’ their shanks and slices. At least that’s what it looked like to me. We weren’t in the mood to get a meal at the restaurant—we’ll save that for a weekday when it’s quieter—so we headed back to Moraga.

No need to ask: of course we were wasted! It was one long slog up all those climbs. The enjoyment of the reopened road on a beautiful spring day was lost on me as I concentrated on willing my legs to spin in feeble circles.

The thing about cycling is that even when you’re tired you get somewhere eventually despite the seemingly interminable suffering. It’s just being patient and doing what you’re doing. We got to the top and no sooner had we started our ‘relaxing’ descent when Mr. Impatient tried to introduce his front bumper to my rear wheel. Yeah, I’m fuckin’ going slow. And no, I’m not going to be a gutter bunny on this narrow, curvy downhill. I’M GOING TO FUCKIN’ TAKE THE LANE AND MAKE YOU SLOW THE FUCK DOWN. Asshole. Eventually he screeched to the left and passed us. No, you don’t need to ask: of course, it was on a blind curve with a double line divider. There is no end of impatient, careless ass craters behind the wheel, which is why there are a lot of dead cyclists and pedestrians.

Back at the manse we were both tuckered out. Yeah, it was wonderful to be reintroduced to Redwood Road after a two-year absence. But maybe I’ll try to constrain my adventures to weekdays when the sport cars and motodudes are working from home. And I’ll do it when I’m fresh rather than already tuckered out. But then again, being old means you’re tuckered out all the time!

There are days when cycling Coastside just rules and last Saturday was one of those days. The lead up had me nervous because the weather forecast turned from just cloudy to possible rain showers. The forecast in the morning was 25% PoP at 10 AM, just as we would be starting to ride. The temperature also plunged; Friday was mid-70s and Saturday morning it was mid-40s and wind. Both Roger and I pivoted back to winter wear in order to forestall a miserable chilling. All that concern turned out to be wasted energy. Yes, it was overcast but there was no precipitation and the roads were completely dry. What it probably did do was keep the crowds away from the beaches making cycling along Highway One a less dangerous and unpleasant experience.

Cycling Coastside exacts a toll for all its goodness. It’s a schlep no matter how you cut it. Getting to Pescadero from SF or Palo Alto involves a drive and if you’re from the East Bay it’s an even longer drive plus a bridge crossing. And you get to do it all over again after the ride with the extra goodness of plenty of traffic. But it’s worth it. Most of our riding is done in the urbanized Bay Area, which means abundant traffic, crowded roads, stoplights, and plenty of development. Coastside on the other hand is deserted country roads, a distinct lack of houses, business parks, stores—in fact, anything involving concrete, steel, and Plexiglas—and instead the heady aroma of green fields, farmland, eucalyptus, and coastal sage. This is the closest that road cyclists get to “green showers”. Given how close it is to the suburbs it’s strangely peaceful out there and thank goodness development has stalled along the San Mateo and Santa Cruz coast. When I was growing up in Palo Alto the Santa Clara Valley was full of farms and orchards that were pleasant to tour and you didn’t have to climb over the Coast Range to enjoy it. In fact big sections of Silicon Valley’s urbanity were still ranches and open space in the early ‘70s. I now live in Contra Costa where Walnut Creek to Pleasanton form a solid band of suburbs not unlike LA’s. In the early ’80s when Different Spokes started riding out here it still was towns separated by ranches, grass land, and open space. But all that is no more: it’s been scraped and turned into mega-burbs, and being stuck doing rides in the ever enlarging suburbs is at times completely soul gutting.

So going to Coastside is well worth the cost in time and gasoline. Apparently a lot of other cyclists agree since we saw plenty of our brethren plying the same roads we were.

There are several variations of the Pescadero loop and Saturday’s was the basic: up Stage Road to the end, down Highway One to Gazos, back on Gazos/Cloverdale, just 31 miles. A few Pescadero loops ago I added in the jaunt up to Loma Mar in order to eat at the the Loma Mar Store, which had just reopened after about a ten year closure for remodeling. That adds another ten miles altogether.

The drive down was nothing special except experiencing relief when we saw there was no rain, fog, or even dampness on the roads. It was just six of us—Stephen, Paul, Chris, Roger, me, and Jeff P., which made it easy to keep track of riders.

In the typology of rides this one is an ‘eat dessert first’—Stage Road is the experiential highlight and you do it right off the bat. No sense in delaying gratification, right? All that nonsense about earning your miles is exactly that: cut to the chase and gimme the good stuff now! The little hamlet of Pescadero was brimming with activity at 10 AM; daytrippers were crowding the local coffee shop and cyclists were already heading into Amigos Taqueria for grub. Once out of town it was back to quietude and solace. We hardly saw a car but there were plenty of cyclists. They all had smiles on their faces. Stage Road was shut down in 2023 due to a road failure and it was sorely missed. Now we’re making up for all that lost time! Stage Road has remained unchanged over the many decades I’ve lived in the Bay Area. How can that be? It’s the same farms, the road is lined by ancient, regal eucalyptus trees, with nary a structure in sight. This is what you get when you curb development: luscious open space, greenery, and calm. The two climbs on Stage go up about 400 feet each and then drop you off at San Gregorio; this time we didn’t stop until we reached the end of Stage, which has another 400-foot ascent up to Highway One.

From there is a long stretch on Highway One all the way to Gazos Creek, about 14 miles. There are two sets of rollers divided by San Gregorio Creek and then Pomponio Creek. Each has a bridge over the creek where the shoulder disappears and it’s always a challenge to keep your speed up in order to get all the way over the bridges before the SUVs barreling down the coast give you a nice punishment pass at 65+ MPH. Today the traffic was relatively light making Highway One pleasant for a change.

We made the usual pit stop at the Pigeon Point Lighthouse and noticed that all the scaffolding for the restoration has been removed. The upper stage where the light is still looks mighty rusty. You can read about the restoration here. Maybe by this time next year it will be open again! For now we had to stand outside the barricades to admire it.

On Gazos Creek Road things calmed down immediately. In fact for the entire stretch of Gazos and then Cloverdale Road we were passed by a grand total of two cars. One of those cars headed towards the end of Gazos Creek Road rather than Cloverdale perhaps to hike into Big Basin. The paved section of Gazos Creek Road ends a little beyond the turn to Cloverdale. But the road actually continues unpaved all the way into Big Basin State Park. This is a fantastic road to ride, a bit steep, because it parallels the tranquil Gazos Creek and is thoroughly wild. Maybe this year we’ll head back on a dirt ride to check on the regrowth in the Park?

Back at the cars Roger decided to drive up to Loma Mar, Jeff wanted to go to Norm’s for artichoke bread, and the rest of us rode up. Loma Mar Store was empty for a change! No line to order food and it was brought to our table “quickly” (that is, for Loma Mar Store). I was thinking of a burger but as usual I’m stuck in a rut and ordered the breakfast sandwich, which is always a winner. I’m like that six-year old who refuses to try new food and sticks with the tried-and-true. Stephen, on the other hand, his interest was piqued by the burger and was persuaded to try one after the owner professed it was truly excellent. Having noticed the homemade bread being sliced in the kitchen, he ordered a custom job rather taking the standard brioche; Chris got the ‘standard’. Paul got the soup as did I along with my sandwich (what can I say? I’m a pig!), and Roger also got a breakfast sandwich. Sitting on the outside deck conversation devolved upon the logistics of living in Paris—Paul lives part-time in Paris and Stephen was heading there for a long stay–the etymology of ‘quincaillerie’, Parisian parlance, and why Paris is the best city in the world.

How the club has changed! Perhaps it’s due to age. In the early days of the club conversation inevitably turned to gossip about various members (and their members) and who saw who at the bars last night. Then it sadly turned to who was dying and ‘had you heard the news?’ Now we talk about aches-and-pains, our latest health travesties, health and home insurance, and where we like to travel. We are now officially old farts. But what has remained unchanged is that we love to ride together albeit at a less hasty pace than when we were thirty. And the San Mateo coast has remained beautifully ageless and unchanged! Do I wish that were true of us? Perhaps not. Age and beauty are not incompatible!

I’ve written before about this small metric century held in the small ag town of Linden, which is a few miles east of Stockton. You can read about the event here and here. It’s put on by the Community Center for the Blind and Visuallly Impaired in Stockton as a fundraiser for their tiny non-profit that provided needed services to people who are blind or have low vision. By today’s standards it’s also a steal at just $65 for the metric. (There is also a 25-mile route for $50.)

I’ve inadvertently turned into a champion of this ride and I mostly seem to be holding up a lamp in the darkness by myself as almost no one from the club seems to be interested in traveling 90 miles out of the Bay Area to do this beautiful ride. Why do I like this ride? I’ve mentioned before it harkens back to a much, much earlier time before centuries blew up and became mega events. It’s got a much friendlier and “in-group” feel because it’s so small, probably less than 300 riders all told. And this year I’m wondering if they got even that many.

This year was almost as good as last year: sunny and not a hint of rain. Although it was a tad chilly at the start I was shedding my layers by the first rest stop and it stayed warm the rest of the day making for a classic great day on the bike. Even the usual westerly afternoon wind was mild.

When I arrived at the start there was a bit of a crowd. I saw club jerseys mainly from the Stockton Bike Club, Davis, and Sacto Wheelmen, all Valley clubs. No club from the Bay Area was represented but I did see a couple of Marin Century jerseys. In the past there was a diversity of bikes represented—hella expensive to bicycle shaped objects. This year I noticed a lot more carbon and titanium. Are these frame materials getting cheaper? Or is the Pedaling Paths crowd getting more upscale? Being such a flat ride there were tandems and a recumbent or two.

By the time I had checked in and gotten my bike ready the start was almost deserted. Hmm. I did get a later start than usual, after 9 versus 8:30. But…

On the road there seemed to be fewer cyclists than in the past and I assumed it was because I was starting late. This ride comes early in the season and I’ve never done it at a fast pace simply because I’m not riding much in February. By this time though I’ve typically already got one metric under my belt—the Velo Love ride—so it’s not too grueling. Last year I had ridden almost nothing before the ride and I also had taken three weeks completely off the bike doing a car tour in New Zealand. That I survived that ride was a miracle even though I was deliberately going slowly and even using the granny on the short, rolling uphill stretches. This year I was doing better: January was miraculously dry and I got a lot of miles under my belt. But again I had a long break off the bike so approaching this ride I was again apprehensive that I wouldn’t be able to finish it without being shattered.

My strategy was the same as last year: try to go slow, stay zone 2 as much as possible, don’t chase wheels. As I’ve evolved into the Ancient Bicyclist I’ve been smitten increasingly by paralytic leg cramps. When I was younger this rarely happened and when it did it was on very hot days when I was riding really hard. Now it just happens when riding. Consequently I’ve had to up my game and actually pay attention to what I’m drinking, when I’m drinking, and—gasp!—holding back even though my body says go, go, go! Carrying Pickle Power juice has become a necessity. Gone are the days I do rides with just plain water.

All day I religiously plunked electrolyte tablets in my water bottle, drank a vial of pickle juice at each rest stop, drank my electrolyte fluid like a fish and lo and behold, no cramps. That isn’t to say I didn’t get tired. But at least I wasn’t writhing by the side of the road in pain with uncontrollable spasming.

The first miles are spent just due east of Linden, an area populated by large walnut orchards providing a pleasant canopy. I saw hardly anyone. A “young” man (he looked to be in his fifties) passed me as I stood by the side of the road drinking and asked me if I was okay. I ended up chasing him almost all day even though it wasn’t my intention. Before the first rest stop at mile 15 is a long southerly stretch. Again I hardly saw anyone, maybe six cyclists altogether. At the rest stop hardly anyone was there. Also unlike in the past there weren’t any PBJ sandwiches, just fruit, Clif bars, and mercifully, strong coffee! Maybe the registration was down this year?

I happened to leave the rest stop with two other oldsters—who looked younger than I!—who were riding just a smidgen slower than my pace heretofore. This was a godsend as I was getting some slight cramps in my feet and calves and was concerned I had blown it and I was heading towards full thigh cramps. So I tailed them for a while hoping the precramping would abate. At times they were pullling ahead of me. At an intersection I caught up with them and the woman asked me if I wanted to pass. I responded, “Not at all! I’m not sure I’m going to be able to finish this ride!” She said, “Me too!” But she was riding more strongly than I. Eventually they stopped to drink and I continued. Miraculously the foot cramps vanished and I felt much better. Even so I was deliberate about staying zone 2.

The southern end of this loop is cattle country and boy, did it smell like it! Although the fields were green they didn’t seem as lush as they did last year. Then I realized that all the grass had been chewed off to nubs. Oh right, cattle. Grazing fields butt up against huge cherry orchards that were exploding in a light pink. Cherry blossom season in Japan is in March but here the temperatures are so much milder that they bloom earlier. Sakura and cattle poop—can’t have one without the other it seems. The lunch stop was at 40 miles at the Milton cemetery. The ten miles or so beforehand is rolling and I saw no more than five or six other cyclists. Each little hill had me gearing down so I could spin as much as possible to forestall cramps. I took it easy on the short downhills. Even so I somehow managed to pass a few guys.

Lunch was different this year: instead of ham and American cheese on white bread, it was turkey and American cheese on white bread! Food like this hadn’t passed my lips for a year. But I was famished and gobbled it up like slop before a pig. (I hadn’t had any breakfast.) For salt it was Lay’s potato chips. It all hit the spot. More pickle juice just in case.

It was 26 more miles to the end and the next section promised a few more rolling hills. I saw not a single cyclist all the way to the last rest stop. All day traffic had been exceptionally light of both the car and bike kind. Even motorcycles, which love to race these roads, were a rarity. No punishment passes or crazy 80 MPH drivers this year. It was just quiet roads, beautiful and serene. At the northernmost point of the loop I hit another low spot: the hills were still short but even steeper, and the pavement was cruddy. I was getting tired. The longest ride I had done so far was just 43 miles. I just geared down, went slower, and took my time. Then it was back on the flats again for the run to the last rest stop. I finally saw some cyclists there. Had I caught up with the main group? I made a brief pit stop at the Porto-San and took off, just nine more miles to the end and more food.

I could smell the barn now, my legs still weren’t cramping, and I decided to speed up. I passed a guy who was dawdling and shortly thereafter I realized he wasn’t going to let me go and was trying to catch up. No matter. I passed about ten or fifteen riders and made it back to the start. Even though I had eaten lunch just a short time ago I was ready for more grub. As usual it was pesto pasta, focaccia bread, salad, and baked chicken. It was all good. But then I could have eaten shoe leather and thought it was tasty. The dining area was full, about 50 or so riders chowing down and gabbing. So I went next door to De Vinci’s restaurant and ate there alone. A fitting way to end a ride that saw me solo the entire day. And no cramps! Maybe I’m finally learning from all my mistakes.

Assuming it doesn’t rain I’ll be back next year assuming I’m healthy. But I’m wondering if CCBVI will put this event on again. The vibe is very cool and friendly but I know they’re not putting this on for the vibes. If people don’t register and donate cash, it’s just not a winner for them just as it isn’t for the SF AIDS Foundation to keep putting on Lifecycle. They could certainly do better marketing. This event is flying so under the radar that it’s hurting them. I know putting on a century ride is a huge undertaking so it better pay off well. And even if it pays off well there’s only so much volunteerism in your blood before you burn out. Hopefully there are others to whom the baton will be passed to carry on the hard work.

Five of us, David M., Ginny, Chris, Scott and James, showed up at Peet’s on Market for a quick whirl around the western part of the City. Our warmup through Duboce Triangle and the Haight led some riders to try a quick HIIT interval up Fell street to the entrance of the park. We regrouped and lowered our heart rates for a casual descent through the park to Queen Wilhelmina’s Garden and Windmill. Photo’s were taken. On the way south on the Great Highway (closed to traffic for the weekend), another HIIT broke out, lasting until the regroup at Sloat. Common sense prevailed after that as we made our way anti-clockwise around Lake Merced and up Sloat until 19th Avenue, where apparently the cycling gods became angry and smote the rear tire of Chris’s bicycle. The tube-change-by-committee effort failed. The group decided to divide and conquer with Ginny, Scott and James heading on while David and Chris dropped in on the Stonestown Sports Basement to get the rear tube and tire the healing we couldn’t provide in the field. All tires whole and pressurized, David and Chris proceeded to route, making short work of the climb through St. Francis Wood and the Westwood Highlands before cruising down Monterey to Glen Park and Destination Bakery, where we rested a few minutes before heading on the final lap through the Mission and back to the Castro. Unfortunately the cycling gods were not appeased by the sacrifice of a mere rear tube and $20 at the altar of the bike shop. Near San Jose and 29th Street they smote Chris’s front tire at which point he decided to call it a day and take the bus back downtown. David had an easy roll back to the Castro.
–David Millard

Saturday saw the monthly Jersey Ride and the Short & Sassy Tiburon loop take place amidst sunny but windy conditions. Comments from the participants:
“Thanks everyone who came out for today’s Jersey ride. It was a little windy, but we were rewarded with a sweet tail wind on the bridge on the return. It was so clear and beautiful. A spectacular Bay Area day!”
—Jeff

“We had a beautiful ride – sunny, crisp and windy. High tide and the birds were Loving it.“
—Nancy

“It was actually pretty epic wind and our lunches were flying around on the table, but was a good, crisp January ride! “
—Janet

“Yes, I agree with Nancy. Beautiful weather with wind. A fun group as always!”
—Cathy

And on Sunday we had a ride on the Midpeninsula:

Another Cañada Road Sunday, another Portola Loop. This time we did a short version–about 30 miles–cutting out any extraneous adventures along Arastradero Road and into Los Altos Hills. “Just the facts, ma’am.” As usual it began at the north end of Cañada Road where Bicycle Sunday starts. I didn’t think there’d be much interest in this ride because the last time it was just Roger and I who undertook it. But exhortations highlighting the fabulous dry winter break we are having and a sunny day brought out eight of us including Cathy, Jamie, Roger, Carl, Stephanie, and Jenn. When it rains, it pours I guess. Espying the clear sky in the morning I thought for sure it would heat up higher than predicted so I put on just a vest over my jersey. At the last minute I threw in a very thin windbreaker since I’m such a boy scout. Boy, I was glad I brought that windbreaker because it was sunny but still chilly at the start. We had a beautiful, quiet ride down Cañada Road and along Mountain Home Road in Woodside before doing the Portola loop. A quick descent down Alpine had us stop at Amigos Grill for lunch and then we resumed our descent to Stanford and back to Woodside and Cañada Road. Other than the coolish temperature it couldn’t have been a better day for a ride!

The Marin Pizza Run was, to be honest, a rip-off of last year’s Fall Social. Roger and I had such a great time, the members who showed up were jazzed, and Janet’s backyard was the best. And Janet was all-too-happy to have us back again. This time we thought we’d do it with a slight change in emphasis: cut the ride short and cue up the food ASAP!

It turned out so much better than we had anticipated. The route was less than 30 miles. That was ten less than last year. The route was mostly flat and slightly rolling with just one steep hill towards the end. And that hill was short if challenging. The ride ends with a relaxing flat ride back from Fairfax, a route we all know well. This meant that instead of arriving grumpy and wasted, we were warmed up and in a most excellent mood to chow down on some pizza.

Last year’s Fall Social didn’t have Phil to barbecue a turkey for us, so we ordered pizza from Cafe Verde, which is just across the street. It was awesome. We weren’t going to mess with a proven formula so we did it again. Anyway we know that producing meal quality dishes is, uh, stressful for a lot of Spokers. So people could instead wager their culinary reputations on the most fab items from Safeway or Trader Joe’s without shame. Pizza goes good with anything, and as David Goldsmith says, “Bad pizza is like bad sex—it’s still better than most everything!”

How’d the ride go? We had eight riders including three newer members: James, Troy, and Andrew. In fact Andrew got his new road bike just two months ago. Troy came on Stephen’s Fall Climbing Ride #1 and he must have had a good time because he decided to come back for more of the Different Spokes’s “secret sauce”. (You didn’t know we had a secret sauce?? Speak to me in private about a taste test…) Making everything extra fab was that Ann Dunn and Elia Meza showed up. Ann got hit by a car in SF in April and ended up with a totaled bike and two broken ankles. Recovery was long but she bought a new bike and she’s riding again. Ann’s an old fart who joined in 1990 and if you rode with her you know she was fast and strong. And she’s well on her way to getting strong again. Elia is another long-lost old fart who’s back for more. She raced back in the day and she still sports a corncob in the back, has the most seriously smooth pedal spin, and the posture of a body used to pumping out watts like she’s going for broke. The other attendees were Roger Sayre and a newer member Jamie Ramsay, who used to ride a lot but turned his bike into a clothes horse for twenty years. But he’s back on the bike and was getting ready for a cycling trip to Girona, Spain.

What made the gathering extra special was that Janet, Elia, and Ann were all part of the DSSF/Team SF 1994 Gay Games New York cycling team. Plus Elia and Janet raced for the same team back in the day too. So it was a reunion of sorts for the three ex-teammates.

I won’t dwell too long on the ride itself, which was incidental to the food anyway. But highlights included super chill MUPs (multi-use paths) including the Cal Park Tunnel, which I always enjoy; a beautifully sunny and calm traffic-wise ride through China Camp; finding a restroom just in time at the Marin Civic Center; a chill ride through suburban Novato; going up Manuel Freitas Parkway to the very end; and then a whopping descent to Fairfax with a smooth, easy ride back to Janet’s. I certainly was in a good mood by then! The one hill was the climb up Manuel Freitas Parkway to a not-exactly-deadend. At the top where the road ends is a “secret” MUP, Mission Pass, over the ridge after which we dropped steeply into Fairfax. This allowed us to skip a boring, very urban run through San Rafael and instead take the standard route back from Fairfax. But afterwards Roger Sayre said, “The climb up Manuel Freitas kicked my ass!” and going up he recorded the highest heart rate he’s ever had.

We were back at Janet’s before 12:30—time for lunch! I walked over to Cafe Verde and ordered pizzas and they were ready in 20 minutes. Janet and I hauled them back to her backyard to add to all the food that people brought. Janet has turned half of her backyard into an outdoor living/dining room replete with comfortable couches, plenty of chairs, rugs (!), and dining tables (!!). It turns out she’s not a paper plate kind of gal either: we ate on real dinnerware with real silverware. It was way too classy for a Different Spokes meal! We had plenty of food, so much food that I kept exhorting everybody to keep eating, “NO ONE GETS TO LEAVE UNTIL ALL THE FOOD IS GONE!” Don’t you know it’s impolite to leave food on your plate?? KEEP EATING! It was all delicious. I ate way more pizza than I normally eat. Cafe Verde makes a heavenly fig. goat cheese, & arugula pie; and their meat pies are damn good too. Then Janet brought out her pies, both freshly baked. She had an apple pie and a peach/apple pie, both made from apples from her backyard tree, of course served a la mode.

Judging by the time we spent at the dining table people had a great time gabbing and eating. Ann, Elia, and Janet made ample use of the time to catch up with each other. We didn’t leave until after 3 PM because it was so peaceful and relaxing in her backyard–a real garden party! And she had a most excellent Pandora playlist in the background—the French ambient/techno and disco was fascinating!

There’s something delicious about being able to do the meat of a ride without having to chew through the gristle. Stephen’s second Fall Climbing series ride is a great 34-mile loop: easy, flat, and pleasant suburban roads up to Fairfax to tackle White Hill and then exiting the suburbs into rural west Marin to climb up Nicasio Road and then Lucas Valley before a mostly flat return. It’s been a couple of decades since I had gone up White Hill and the hill at the beginning of Nicasio Road. When I lived in San Francisco I’d ride those roads only when I was out for a long day because I was starting from the City. Out and back to Fairfax was 45 miles for me; going out to Nicasio (or usually while on the way to Pt. Reyes Station) was significantly longer. Stephen’s ride started in Marin, not SF, specifically next to Marin General Hospital, which is practically in Ross. That cuts out the Golden Gate Bridge crossing, getting through crowded Sausalito and busy Larkspur—both ways! That means we’d whet our appetite with a short and flat warmup to Fairfax and be ready for the main course—climbs—rather than filling up on all the junk miles to get there and then be sated without being satisfied.

Stephen’s strategy reminded me of David Goldsmith’s take on Stage Road: cut the fat out by driving to Pescadero instead of slogging all the way down from SF. That way you get to enjoy the best part of coastside without feeling wasted and without killing an entire day. David’s move made the scales fall of my eyes and I now wholeheartedly endorse the heretical idea of driving to a ride start even if nearby. Aren’t bikes going to save us from climate disaster? Not when you drive a gas guzzler to get in your ride. Do I care? About as much as I care when I drive to go to the market, doctor, or haul junk to the county dump. I’m no Church Lady when it comes to getting to a sweet ride. Maybe it’s because I’m old and diminished and long rides are now only in my rear view mirror. But the revelation is: it’s alright to do the best part of a route rather than having to “earn” the privilege of experiencing it by working your ass off to get there. Yes, I’m now one of those tourists who wants to be driven to the top of the peak to see the views! Well, not entirely but almost. I’m definitely turning into a ‘eat dessert first’ kind of guy. Or maybe that should be ‘just eat dessert” kind of guy.

[Digression: Speaking of which, in 2006 we were on a hard-ass cycling tour in the Alps and we ran into a Trek Travel tour group. Our group and the Trek group just happened to be staying at the same hotel in Talloires on Lac d’Annecy. If you recall, that year Floyd Landis won the Tour de France. After losing a heap of time on Stage 16, the next day he attacked on a set of cols. Those cols were just outside of Annecy. So everybody was going to head up to the passes to watch the Tour go by and see what Floyd was going to do. Our group rode up to one of the passes, which was the hard-ass way to enjoy the Tour de France whereas the Trek Travel group got in their vans and got ferried up to the pass. We rolled our eyes and scoffed at their indolence. Yeah, I’m now one of those cyclists.]

Starting in Marin felt weird. I’m so used to riding to Fairfax by the well-trodden route from the Castro across the Golden Gate Bridge and Sausalito. We turned out to be only three or four miles from Fairfax. I was hardly warmed up to go up White Hill. Time plays tricks with one’s memory and I remember White Hill as being a short grunt but not particularly steep. Now that I’m in my 70s, every hill seems steep. Stephen obviously is paying a great deal of attention to each and every climb on his rides either out of a great deal of concern for riders or perhaps because he’s had a lot of time to think about each climb (perhaps while climbing them!) He mentioned that the climb up Nicasio was “three climbs I call alpha, beta, and gamma”. Huh? I thought there was just a climb up Nicasio Road to the intersection with Lucas Valley—what was he talking about?? It turned out he was correct. I had completely forgotten that there are two short breaks in the overall ascent. And it sure seemed a lot longer than I remember it. And did I mention it’s become remarkably steeper? In my younger days I didn’t have a rear cog any smaller than a 23 so every climb I did in the Bay Area was done in a 39×23. That seems insane nowadays. But I’m old, rigid and set in my ways, and refuse to acknowledge that time has slapped me across the face more than once. So I grunted up Nicasio in a 23. I earned valuable butch points by doing so and they’re redeemable for exactly nothing except more delusion and denial.

We had a break at Nicasio where unfortunately the store was closed. We had a long wait. Unbeknownst Jamie had missed the turn to Nicasio and Stephen had to round him up. In the meantime three of the ALC guys eventually left because they had another engagement while the rest of us chatted and passed the time. Stephen had apparently texted me as to what he was doing but the lack of cell service meant we had no idea what was going on. Eventually Stephen and Jamie arrived and we all headed up Lucas Valley.

Lucas Valley can be both heavenly and hellish. The western side is beautiful and its allure is enhanced by a large section cloaked in redwoods rendering it cool and pleasant all the time. There is almost no visible development along the road. It’s just two lanes with not much shoulder. It’s lovely to cycle up and even better to cycle down. However on weekends it’s a major route for cars heading out to and back from the coast. Riding it early in the day can be fine but by afternoon it gets busy. Today it wasn’t too bad but a temporary traffic control light in the middle meant that pulses of cars were being released to sweep by us. Perhaps that’s better than having solo cars pass us at 50 MPH and today they were well behaved. But the Corvettes, Ferraris, and Lambos out for a Saturday vroomfest are tiresome. I suppose they feel the same way about us sluggish cyclists harshing their speed vibe.

We stopped to regroup and for a photo op at Big Rock and then plummeted down to Novato. The descent is less sketchy than it was a decade ago because the county has widened the curves at the top. Plus the pavement is still fairly new. But a tightening radius turn that’s quite steep is still there that no widening can mitigate. A long, easy roll down to Novato meant the end of the good stuff. What was left was eking our way through Novato suburban streets back to San Rafael and the start. The last section was MUPs up to the Cal Park Tunnel and by Corte Madera Creek to Marin General. Before the Cal Park Tunnel and Pathway were built and reopened in 2010, we would get through San Rafael via Wolfe Grade, which is direct but very steep. Cal Park is a fantastic improvement and makes getting through San Rafael much easier and safer. Plus it’s hella cool in the tunnel and reminds me of cycling in Japan where they tunnel through everything.

Back at the start we kind of dissipated since everyone had parked in different locations. Nonetheless as with Stage Road I am fully embracing the idea of driving to Marin to ride rather than having to cycle there first. Thanks Stephen!

Part 2: The Cooked

In complete contrast of Saturday’s chilly and uppity ride, Sunday’s ride turned out unexpectedly to be extra, extra hot even if flat as a pancake. The Iron Horse Trail is a well-used rails-to-trails route spanning the San Ramon Valley from Concord—almost the Delta!—all the way to Dublin, about 20 miles. At one point it was a club fave probably precisely because it was flat and thus a good introduction for newer cyclists. It doesn’t hurt that there are a host of amenities on or just off the trail including restrooms, water fountains, and plenty of places to get yummy food. We’ve led this ride ourselves multiple times and with different food stops. If we’re gonna ride the Iron Horse, we’re gonna take the opportunity to eat something special!

Riding north to south or south or north it doesn’t matter because it’s all pretty flat and the headwind, which you expect to be northwesterly, is less of a factor because of the protection of the trees. This time we decided to start at Walnut Creek BART and head south to Dublin; if folks wanted more mileage, they could turn around with us and ride back; otherwise catching BART in Dublin makes it a pleasant 21-mile ride.

The heat wave last week didn’t give us pause because it was forecast to end by Friday. But it didn’t. And then it was very hot on Saturday, which didn’t register because we were on Stephen’s ride in the chilly City. I was pretty confident that it would ‘just’ be in the mid-80s at worst on Sunday and also that would be by the mid-afternoon when we were already heading back to Walnut Creek. So no worries.

There were eight of us at Walnut Creek BART. That’s a good turnout for ride in Contra Costa that doesn’t involve going up Diablo or Morgan Territory. Coincidentally everyone had attended the Pool Party, so perhaps our cheerleading there convinced the naive that this would be a fabulous ride. It was a real spectrum of Spokers. Janet came from Marin, Peter from San Jose, Roger from SF, Jeffrey from Berkeley; and then Lamberto, Joe, Roger, and I were the “locals”.

It was sunny, bright, and warming at 10 AM, hardly ominous. Rolling down the Iron Horse, which is just blocks from Walnut Creek BART, we took it easy, strolling along. The abundant shade along the trail probably disguised what was to come. As expected the trail was busy on a sunny Sunday morning with joggers, tons of walkers, doggers, and other cyclists. It’s not exactly crowded but it is clear that residents love the Iron Horse and use it prolifically. The trail was conceived in the mid-1980s after Southern Pacific gave up its right of way. But it took some convincing for residents to finally see the benefit of having a multi-use trail through their neighborhood. Initially there was a lot of opposition—who wanted riffraff getting access to their backyards? In a way it was prescient because BART was also interested in extending a line south through the San Ramon Valley perhaps to connect to Dublin BART. Locals were even more opposed to that than a MUP. So they relented and accepted the lesser of the two evils and now we have the Iron Horse. Little did they know that they had dodged a serious bullet. The trail is now beloved. If a BART line had gone in, Alamo, Danville, San Ramon would have faced even greater pressure to grow and we’d have a continous phalanx of midrise condos lining the route. Every city with a BART station is being browbeaten to build, build, build or else. But I digress…

The ride wasn’t rushed at all—we cruised along at 12-14 MPH for most of the way. After the obligatory restroom stop at the Danville caboose we headed south and had our first surprise. The sections of trail after downtown Danville have for years been overrun with asphalt heaves due to tree roots and long cracks caused by earth movement and slumping. If you didn’t pay attention, you’d hit a bump and be bucked off your bike. Roger and I through the years were wondering when it would get bad enough that East Bay Regional Parks District would have to do something about it. Well, that “when” apparently had arrived: it was almost all gone. EBPRD, which controls the Iron Horse, finally repaved the trail and it was like buttah! There was another notorious section near Crow Canyon. Now it too was all flat and smooth!

Further south another major trail improvement is in progress at Bollinger Canyon Road by the new San Ramon City Hall: an overpass for trail users is midway in construction. When it opens we’ll be able to glide over Bollinger, which is a heavily used multi-lane arterial controlled by a very slow stoplight. In the meantime we had to divert off the trail to get around the construction. Our inconvenience now is going to pay dividends later when the overpass is finally ready for business.

In Dublin we left the trail for our lunch stop, Paris Baguette. It was noon and heating up. Even I was feeling it although perhaps less than those who don’t live over here. Since I ride in this weather all the time, it doesn’t faze me even if I don’t prefer it. But both Janet and Jeffrey, who live bayside, were wilting under the heat.

Paris Baguette belies its name. It’s actually from Korea. Croissants, pastries, and bread don’t have much of a history in Korea but somehow PB has gotten it down. Apparently it has it down enough to export their stores to California and do good business. Do we need more French bakeries in the Bay Area? This isn’t exactly a desert for baked goods but like bikes the correct number of bakeries to have is N+1. Besides being a lovely bakery serving classic viennoserie they also bake bread—Japanese milk bread!—and serve sandwiches. You wander among the stands with your tray and select your pastries before going to the cashier. Roger and I were modest and selected just one pastry each; others were…less restrained. I would have had an espresso to go with the pastry but it was so friggin’ hot that I opted for a cold drink. The AC in PB was heavenly!

While we dined and gabbed the mercury continued to climb. Like crabs slowly being boiled soon it was too late to climb out of the pot. (Well, actually we could have just spent the rest of the day inside Paris Baguette munching away.) Janet and Jeffrey threw in the towel and decided to cut it short and take BART back. Lamberto and Joe, who just moved back from Sacramento and would have considered this a cooler summer day, weren’t even sweating.

Dublin BART is just a couple of miles away so we all escorted Janet and Jeff there. Then we saw the newest improvement to the Iron Horse: a beautiful, new, white metallic overpass above Dublin Boulevard. Unfortunately it wasn’t open yet and making things worse the Iron Horse was blocked off without an obvious detour sign. So what did we do? We dove into the construction zone following the old trail and did a little cyclocross through the sand and gravel. Roger, Lamberto, and Joe had more sense and said, “We’ll wait for you here in the shade!” On the other side of Dublin Boulevard the trail was still closed off so we ended up getting to BART by Braille. After sending Janet and Jeff off in air conditioned comfort, Peter, Roger and I retraced our path through the construction zone to meet the others.

At this point it was well over 90F and nary a cloud in sight. Peter is made of stern stuff: he was dressed in knickers and a long sleeve jersey and didn’t complain at all about the heat. Roger Sayre had the right idea: he had a sleeveless jersey and merrily opined that he came over from SF because he wanted to experience a real summer day rather than the foggy shit they get on the other side of the Bay. Keeping moving was the secret to staying cool(er) or at least staving off heat exhaustion. So we rolled steadily at a faster pace back than we did heading out.

At the caboose in Danville we all doused ourselves with water from the outdoor tap and drank water like fish. A wet jersey does wonders on a hot day. We decided to get off the Iron Horse and onto Danville Boulevard because it was faster. Roger said it was 97F in Danville. It was only eight miles to BART and although I’d normally bolt like a horse for the barn, I was literally steaming in my own juices and decided that going steadily I’d at least make it back alive rather than speeding and then melting into a blob.

In Walnut Creek Lamberto and Joe peeled off back onto the Iron Horse to get home while the four of us went through downtown. Of course that meant stoplights and each one allowed us to stop and wither some more under the blistering sun. At BART we were alive and in pretty good spirits despite the Saharan heat. That people showed up at all to ride despite the forecast is amazing; that most of us rode the whole damn thing even more so. Even though I know that weather forecasts are only slightly better than guessing, getting the forecast this wrong makes me wonder if it’s a science at all. The predicted high was for about 86-89F in Dublin by 2 PM. It was already that hot at noon; Danville should have been cooler yet it was ten degrees warmer. What a contrast with Saturday’s ride.