I left on Thursday afternoon, about 2 PM, enjoying the seascapes on a leisurely drive along a fogless Highway 1 from Santa Cruz to Tomales. Catching my first glimpse of Stinson Beach and that quaint farmhouse on a hill overlooking the Bay just south of Dogtown, I meandered to the far end of Bodega Bay before heading inland to Tomales, Freestone, and Occidental, arriving about 6 PM to find Margaret Barnes and Richard Brunner camped next to Mylo and Pat Stenstom. Ray Rodriguez and his daughter Sarah and a few others were wandering around too, but pretty much, I had the choice of a bountiful selection of prime campsites.
Friday, the remainder of about 80 people trickled in over most of the day, with a few like Sally Salmon, who came up from Monterey, finding us just before the last rays of sunlight struggled to peek through the trees before that great golden orb, now turned brilliant red and fading rapidly, slowly sank below the distant horizon.
For those of you who don't already know, after many years of constantly sought perfection, ACTC has assembled route instructions, maps and notes for a variety of capabilities and desires encompassing an area of about 1200 square miles centered on the town of Duncan Mills. And we participants are endowed with a generous subsidy from the club - How nice!
Throughout, the only fog we had was along the coast with Highway 1 bathed in an ethereal transition between fading mist and emerging sunshine. Like opening the freezer door on a hot humid afternoon, the effect was invigorating as we had the simultaneous warmth of sunlight competing with the cool frosty freshness of the fog wafting up and over the cliffs.
Friday, 13 of us cycled up to Occidental for Belgian Waffles (with fresh strawberries and whipped cream) and then Rockin' Ray, Johnathan, Shelley and I split off to pedal up the Coleman Valley Road to the coast. Crossing 3 ridges, the first two at 1100 feet and the third, a bluff overlooking the ocean and not a half mile from it, but at about 1400 feet, one is treated to a sparsely populated landscape leaving an eclectic mixture of redwood groves and golden fields, punctuated by spires of granite outcroppings covered with the characteristic pale verdant glow so reminiscent of lichen and mosses. The descent was steep and rapid, and quite cold as the evaporating fog left the air in a chilled state. The view was exhilarating. And the ride covered 43 miles in about 5 hours, not counting the 90 minutes spent enjoying breakfast.
Saturday, a gaggle of us (with me as the late sweeper) cycled from Duncan Mills up to Cazadero, about 9 miles, stopped for coffee, peanut butter and bread for sandwiches and pictures, of course, then headed out Fort Ross Road towards Fort Ross at the coast. The first 200 feet of Fort Ross is a steep killer, which is deceptive, possibly deflecting one to opt for the righthand road instead. Doing that of course eventually haunts the skeptics as they are forced to endure the muscle crunching hills of Tin Barn Road et al. The later was my intended course, but I hadn't paid much attention to the route directions nor the map and like a lamb, fatefully followed the flock up the steep ascent to begin Fort Ross Road.
Fort Ross Road climbs steadily to 1100 feet, mostly through live oak, some redwood and douglas fir with shear ridges to the North and East forming a bowl that the road winds around as it wends steadily upwards. Halfway up, I overtook Muriel with whom I thereafter enjoyed most of the day and ride. Being alee of the rim, it is hot and dry so that the generous supply of water that we started with rapidly diminished. At the top, Merilee, whose last name shall forever be contained within these pursed lips, showed clear signs of overheating. Mylo, the boy scout that he is, quickly unsheathed his orange weany and soaked her down with a generous supply of quenching spray, and after rehydrating, she made the brave decision to continue with us to descend 500 feet and climb back up to the top at the confluence of Meyers Grade and Fort Ross Road.
Here, riders were confronted with a decision to either take the left fork and enjoy the long downhill of Meyers Grade with its spectacular seascape views to Hwy 1 (at 650 Feet above the ocean), or opt for the high road to the right and Fort Ross, enjoying the hill top pastures before an 1100 foot drop through a redwood forest to the coast.
Before that however, we stopped for pictures and a feast on the blackberries hedging the road. In fact, all along the roads this time of the year, the blackberries were abundant and welcome.
Because I have never been to Fort Ross, I joined Mylo and Pat, Muriel Rose, Anthony and his daughter Clarisa. The descent through the coastal redwoods, packing the swales, was mostly on a one lane path that was steep, so we took it easy. After a tour of Fort Ross, we headed north one mile to intercept a deli for lunch along the ocean. Every seat had a good view, and we saw many of our fellow ACTC riders descending after their long ride up Tin Barn Road. Every few minutes, Pat would frantically run out of the restaurant and hopelessly try to catch their attention as they whizzed by.
With the wind at our backs, a full tummy, and cheer in our hearts, we sailed along the coast between sea level and the bluff tops, rising to 650 feet where Hwy 1 meets Meyers Grade. From that point, Hwy 1 descended to the ocean through a canyon with spectacular views, along a long and winding series of switch backs before undulating skyward again to skirt the ocean, then kissing it once more. Mylo and Pat, astride their tandem, like concerned California quails, kept watch over their trailing flock along the entire route. But none of us got lost and we had no mechanical problems. But thank you anyway Pat & Mylo.
Heading inland at CA route 116, a gentle 3 mile uphill along the banks of the Russian River was enjoyed, but with a 30 knot wind at our backs, we flew up this road at an average run of 21 miles per hour. I got back at 5 PM, started the Coleman Stove and cooked my Yukon Gold potatoes just in time for the 6 PM potluck. I utilized the cook time by basking in a welcome hot shower.
On Sunday, following coffee and bagels, Dale, Margie, Muriel, Sally and I headed to the coast, then south to Bodega Bay, where the latter three of us stopped at the Tide Water Restaurant for breakfast. We shagged a window seat and had a slow breakfast as I enjoyed the view from my catbird seat between two delightful companions. Following that, we resumed our southern trek to the Bodega Highway and then headed inland to Freestone where the scent of baking bread and organic gardens caught the attention of Muriel and Sally, who with smiles and a flutter of eyelashes that could melt the heart of the meanest ogre, easily talked me into a left turn into the Freestone Bakery. Then just as easily, with little arm twisting, each stuffed 2 loaves of freshly baked nut breads into my rack trunk. With these, my whole bike weighed about 50 pounds, but by then I thought what the hell, this is good training for my upcoming Polish adventure.
3 miles further up the Bohemian Highway, we stopped at Occidental for ice cream, then descended 6 miles to the Russian River, where we were greeted by Dale and Margie as they headed home via Occidental. By now, a stiff wind was in our faces, and without the cool dankness of the redwood canopy, it would have been a difficult last three miles.
Breaking camp about 4, Muriel and I came down along Highway 1 through Stinson Beach hoping to enjoy a liesurely dinner, but the Shakespeare Festival was in town. Crowded streets left nowhere to park, so we instead headed for Pacifica. Emerging from the Waldo Tunnel, San Francisco, bathed in golden shafts of near horizontal sun beams, glowed against a horizon backdrop in a mixture of pinks and blues. The towers of the Golden Gate, rising majestically above the whitecap laced channel, formed a framework of bright orange fire to capture the Transamerica building, Coit Tower and Beacon Hill. I wished that I were not in traffic, but afoot with my camera loaded and ready to shoot.
Traffic was light until about 3.5 miles from the bridge, then bumper to bumper. Crossing about 7:30, we climbed the hills on 19th street through Golden Gate Park. The lights were in perfect synch and the traffic was light, until we crested the top, then boom, bumper to bumper again. We fought that to Stern Grove, whereupon we turned right and headed to Skyline Blvd; a wise move, for there was scant traffic. Within 10 minutes, we descended Highway 1 south of Daly City and headed to Pacifica. At 8:11, the sun danced on the edge of the choppy sea for the last time, and all that was left was its afterglow when we stopped for dinner north of Half Moon Bay at the Charthouse Restaurant.
Dinner at an ocean side table with a new found friend, overlooking swelling seas bathed in an eerie aura of moonbeams sparkling across the cresting waves created an ambiance that could close a delightful weekend like no other way in any venue.
So thank you Rockin Ray and Jonathan for organizing this event, for getting up at 0600 to start the coffee when the rest of us were either still snoring or frantically trying to kill the snooze alarm that was not there, for handling the barbecue and for giving up cycling days in a terrific location to shop at the local Safeway for the necessities of life, like bagels, cream cheese, fresh orange juice and yogurt for breakfast . And thanks to all the rest of you who willingly invited the remainder of us to share your dinners, and breakfasts and roasting marshmallows.
See you next year, of course!!
Michael Hudick