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Bill  On The Road

 by: Bill Oetinger  9/1/2004

A day on the bike

This is an account of a ride. Not a grueling, ultramarathon epic. Not a thrilling, adrenalin-charged race. Not a struggle for survival against the elements. Just a ride.

This ride is probably not so much different than ones you do every week. There is no special drama and no stirring climax. There is no moral to the story, except perhaps this: that an average weekend ride with your friends can be as nice a way to spend time as just about anything else you might choose to do.

It might not even make for compelling reading. You will have to be the judge of that. If you find it too self-indulgent or self-absorbed, I’m sure you’ll know when to click that mouse and move on. I simply decided this month that, rather than writing about some Big Topic with a Big Message, I would just describe one day on the bike.

Typically, in our little world--riding with the Santa Rosa Cycling Club in Sonoma County, California--we look at the club ride schedule mid-week and decide which of the listed weekend rides is right for us. A few of us who are regular riding companions will kick this around via e-mail and decide which ride to do, who’s going, whether we can ride to the start, and if so, where to meet up on the way. Or perhaps we’ll carpool, and we’ll have to sort out those logistics.

On this particular weekend in August, we don’t find anything on the schedule that really attracts us, so we decide to just do something of our own. I think about where we haven’t ridden lately and come up with a plan: the Valley of the Moon, the Carneros district, and the hilly ridgeline that separates southern Sonoma and Napa Valleys. I work up a route and a good estimate on miles: 65, plus any little extras we might throw in.

Then it turns out that some members of our regular gang are out of town--normal for mid-summer--and others have other plans. So in the end, just Rich and I agree to meet at his place and drive a few miles to a school where we can park the car and start riding. It isn’t that long a drive--less than half an hour--and on another day, with a bigger agenda and more energy, we probably would have ridden to the “start” and logged over a century. But we’ve done a lot of that this year, and today we’re looking for something a little less ambitious. Anyway, the drive can be fun too, with good sounds on the CD player: George Thorogood on the way to Rich’s house and Derek Trucks on the way to the ride start.

We pass a fortunate guy in a cherry ’57 Corvette, eliciting ooohs and ahhhs from both us...both diehard motorheads, both unfortunately without the resources to really indulge our interests (although Rich does have a lovely old Norton Commando). We both agree the ’57 with fuel injection was the best of the early ’Vettes, although we disagree, cordially, about some of the finer points of its Detroit styling.

At the start, just west of the village of Glen Ellen, there is still a chilly fog blanketing our world...a not uncommon phenomenon in the North Bay in August, but a bit of a surprise if your idea of a California summer is all balmy beaches and palm trees and tan-filled bikinis. I have stupidly left my vest at home, but Rich has a spare in the car that I can borrow until the sun burns through, which it will do before we’ve gone ten miles.

We start off with Henno Road, a very quiet lane through the woods, with a very small climb and then a gentle, meandering descent to Glen Ellen. “Descent” might be too strong a word for this mild little drop, but if you know the road and plan ahead, you can work it a little: put the hammer down right at the top and wring enough speed out of it to make it entertaining. Which, of course, we do.

Through Glen Ellen the back way that nobody knows about: past the tall, white Victorian church, over the old, arched, one-lane brick bridge, and out through the post office parking lot onto Arnold Drive. Glen Ellen’s claim to fame, aside from being moderately quaint and pretty, is being the home of author Jack London. There is a nice out-&-back up to his home right out of the middle of town, but we’ve done that one many times, and have other fish to fry today. (I have always considered London one of the great American writers, and moreover, a liberal, egalitarian Man of the People. So I was disappointed recently to read that he was also a virulent racist, writing really nasty screeds about Jack Johnson when he became the first black man to win the heavyweight title in boxing. Another hero with feet of clay!)

Arnold Drive--a two-lane highway named after WWII General Hap Arnold, who lived nearby--is too busy to be a good cycling road, but it’s what we have to do to get down the valley to where we want to go, and it’s at least better than the alternative: Hwy 12, half a mile east on the other side of the valley. Were it not for the traffic, Arnold would be a fine road. It’s lined with grand old trees fronting meadows and woodlands and scattered, upscale estates. Aside from being the best alternative for getting to Sonoma and the Carneros district, it also passes by another out-&-back I have on today’s dance card. That would be Orchard Road, in the community of Eldridge.

Even most local riders will draw a blank at the name Orchard Road. It’s a very obscure road that most folks don’t know about. I only discovered it when I heard a rumor about it and took the time to study maps and then ferret around until I found it and rode it, just a few weeks ago. And now I want to turn Rich on to it. It lies concealed beyond the “village” of Eldridge in a place you would never expect to find a quality backroad, which is why nobody knows it’s there.

Arnold Drive runs right through Eldridge, but few cyclists ever stop there, except when they hold their annual Liberty 100-K ride in the summer (and that goes nowhere near Orchard). Eldridge looks like nothing so much as an Ivy League college campus, with stately old brick buildings and sweeping lawns bordered with majestic plane trees. But it is in fact the home of the Sonoma Developmental Center, which is a large facility catering to the needs of the developmentally disabled. Because no services are offered for the general public--no cafes or stores or museums--we never stop there, but just blow on through, headed for other roads or attractions in other places.

If you know where to go though, you can wind up through the pretty campus and then work along an alley between a rather amazing collection of what appear to be 19th century brick warehouses--rather an odd sight in this otherwise rural setting--and finally pop out onto Orchard Road. Even if you were to stumble upon it, beyond those quasi-industrial warehouses, you might not go up it, as it is gated and posted with numerous dire looking signs that seem to say, “No Trespassing!” But a closer reading of the signs, and a conversation with folks on the staff at the facility, reveal that the road is only closed to cars and is open for hikers and bikers, with a narrow pass-through next to the gate. What could be better?

And what a nice road it is: 5 miles round trip, mostly up on the way out--climbing the forested flanks of Mt Sonoma--and down coming back, usually between 4% and 8%, usually with fine pavement, and always with wiggly bends slinking back and forth through oak covered hillsides and meadows, occasionally with views off across the valley below. Midway up the climb, we pass over an earthen dam and take a break at a solitary picnic table on the shore of pretty little Fern Lake. We see a couple of hikers and one mountain biker, who tells us he’s heading for trails that lead off over the ridge at the end of the paved road. While we’re sitting there admiring the view, the sun breaks through the fog. We stow our vests but keep our arm warmers for one more descent.

The climb ends in a cluster of camp buildings. Nothing much to see there, so we turn tail and launch off into the very tasty descent...over two miles of downhill dancing at its best. Rich manages to find one of the few potholes hiding in the dappled shade and just about stacks it with a bit of wild, bucking-bronco capering. But he saves it and we carry on unabated, back to Ivy League Eldridge and back onto Arnold Drive for the least pleasant miles of the loop...down Arnold and across to the town of Sonoma on Verano...and if this section were as bad as your bike rides ever get, you would count yourself lucky.

We dodge the worst of the tacky clutter on the fringe of the city of Sonoma and avoid most of the traffic by hopping onto the very nice bike trail that skirts the city center and passes just in front of the old historic home of General Mariano Vallejo, last of the Mexican gobernadors of California, at the time of the Bear Flag revolt.

If you’re local, and if you’re interested, you will have long ago explored all the historic sites around the fine old town plaza in Sonoma...the mission and the old army barracks. Rich and I have certainly done this, so today we cruise through town on the bike path, past Sebastiani’s big winery, and past several other excellent bike roads that might tempt us on another day...Grove, Norbom, Ghericke... The next item on our agenda is Lovall Valley, essentially an out-&-back up into the hills east of town, but with a couple of extra embellishments to make it more interesting.

One of the reasons I like coming here is that it feels quite a bit different than the coastal hills near my home in the western half of the county...another example of the great variety in this one region. In the west county, there is hardly any exposed rock, but here it is everywhere, not only great outcroppings soaring up as cliffs and palisades, but also jumbled in the fields, and perhaps most notably, gathered artfully into stone walls running their serpentine courses alongside the roads. Some date back centuries, while newer walls are being built all the time...what might be called trophy walls around the newly minted estates of the area’s wealthy elite...keeping, I should think, a small army of skilled masons gainfully employed.

These rocky fields with their stone walls, coupled with the scattered oak trees, occasional olive groves and lavender fields (more trophy projects for the well-to-do), lend the area a feel of Tuscany or perhaps Provence. It has an altogether pleasing aspect, and with well paved yet tiny and peaceful backroads wandering about, it makes for a delightful cycling venue. A round trip on Lovall Valley might add up to 10 miles, with the little side spur of Wood Valley added in, maybe a bit more. It climbs gently on the way out, does a little loop at the end, then returns to town on a downhill that has all the things you would like to have in a descent: good speed, but not so much you have to go to the brakes constantly; lots of corners with varying character; excellent pavement; a few whoopdeedoos...sweeeet!

There is a curious bit of geography up near the top of this road, where we briefly pass into Napa County and then back into Sonoma County. So we get two county lines in quick succession. I take the first one because Rich forgets about it and I surprise him. To make up for my sneak attack, I magnanimously allow him to win the second one. (Rich can outsprint me any day, as long as he’s not asleep at the switch, so my grand gesture is mostly that: just a gesture which saves me from having to do any more sprinting at this point.)

Wood Valley is shorter and less impressive than Lovall Valley, but it has its quiet little charms as well. In particular, I like the fine old farm house at the end of the road: a stately, three-story pile, all in white, with wrap-around porches on all floors in the classic California vernacular, overlooking a rolling meadow. What a spot! Someone’s little bit of paradise.

But on this day, our attention is beguiled by the scene next to the equally stately old barn near the house. We notice several cars by the barn. First is a new Audi A6. Nice, but not remarkable in this land of yuppie-mobiles. Then a well-preserved ’53 Chevy and a rather tatty Mopar product from the ’70’s that might be some sort of collectable, hemi-head muscle car. Hard to tell without getting closer, but clearly, it needs work. A vintage Toyota Land Cruiser in good, workmanlike shape, and finally--best of all--in the open barn doorway, a cute, pewter-colored bugeye Sprite, all decked out in snappy racing livery, for SCCA H-production events. No one is in evidence, but a few tools are scattered about the car, giving the scene the look of a work in progress, perhaps interrupted by lunch. The picture is the perfect embodiment of the old cliché: “shade tree mechanic.”

I think immediately of Peter Egan, writer for Road & Track, restorer and racer of bugeye Sprites, and eloquent voice of shade tree mechanics everywhere. This might be his barn outside Madison, Wisconsin, although no doubt those humid hills would be a bit greener than this California landscape. Rich and I simply stand over our bikes and soak up the scene. If Norman Rockwell had taken it into his head to paint the picture for a Saturday Evening Post cover, he could not have improved on this composition, except perhaps by moving the new Audi out of frame.

It’s shaping up to be that sort of day: where wonderful images swarm into view around every corner: classic cars nestled up to an old barn; intriguing monumental sculptures in a rich man’s meadow; old-world stone walls and a sleepy creek in a leafy glade. When your eyes are properly open, and when you’re in the mood to notice, the world is full of treats and surprises.

So...down the slippery slope on Lovall Valley. I think I’m descending like a demon--at least I’m having fun--but Rich gaps me by a couple of hundred yards by the bottom. Is he having more fun? I don’t know, but he certainly shows it’s possible to go faster than my “demon” turn of speed.

Now we leave the Sonoma scene behind, via some shady lanes lined with fancy estates, and head out into the vineyards of the Carneros. This is a particular viticultural appellation that drapes itself across the rolling hills north of San Francisco Bay, connecting the bottoms of Sonoma and Napa Counties. At its southern fringe, it dips its toes into the wetlands bordering the bay, with the far off skyline of San Francisco glittering across the water. On the north, it humps up into the last foothills of the Mayacamas Mountains, or at least the high ridges that will eventually become the Mayacamas. Where we’re going, Ramal Road winds its lonely, rural way through the corduroy rows of vineyards, past the occasional winery and a handful of old ranchos, each surrounded by its windbreak grove of trees.

Wind is always a factor out here, with few trees and fewer hills of any size to block its path. You know it will be there. The question is just which way will it be blowing. On this day, we get lucky, with a spanking zephyr of a tailwind to whoosh us along over the rolling road. And later, when we might have to push back home into the wind, we’ll be sheltering in amongst those steep ridgelines. Very rarely, you win one in the headwind-tailwind trade-off. This is one of those days.

We both know we’re going to cross back into Napa County somewhere along this long, west-to-east road, and Rich ratchets up the pace to keep me from getting any ideas about a sneak attack at the county line sign. I know better than to take him on when he’s paying attention, so sure enough, he powers off and takes the line. But, I say to myself: there is one more line when we cross back into Sonoma, later in the ride. Will he be ready for that one?

We take the long way ’round the Carneros, passing more good side trips, like the run down to the curious village of Edgerly Island...all the houses built in rows along the levies at the mouth of the Napa River. We double back toward the city of Napa by way of Los Carneros Road, where we are once again stopped in our tracks by another dose of old car ogling. Under shade trees at an old farmhouse, several ’50’s-era Buicks lie slumbering in the tall grass. A couple of ’55 or ’56 Roadmasters and a ’53 fastback coupe. The pick of the litter though, is another mid-50’s Roadmaster that has been painted to look like a Jackson Pollock abstract...all over the car. (Hard to do, when you consider that Pollock’s technique was working on canvas laid flat on the floor. How does one drizzle-splatter the vertical panels like the doors?) Woven into this cat’s cradle of paint tracery is a written message: “Everyone who is granted a wish has it within their power to make that wish come true. But you may have to work for it.”

“Well there you go,” says Rich. “The philosophical Buick!”

Still ruminating over this bit of folksy wisdom (and its peculiar medium), we spend a few minutes noodling around in a bright new resort complex that has sprung up like multi-colored mushrooms alongside busy Hwy 121. I have been speeding past this place for months on the fast highway, but it took a bike to get me down to a tempo where I could stop and explore. Interesting architecture and overall site map: dozens and dozens of little bungalows, all in classic-trendy tin roof, board-and-batten farmhouse style, all out on the bald hillside, with not a tree in sight. Big, speculative money at work in the hills. Will it prosper? Hard to tell, but someone is clearly banking on it.

Off then to the fringe of Napa, via Dealy and Henry and Buhman: nice, up and down roads through the peaceful vineyards. A little pond here, a zippy descent there...and next to no traffic, until you finally fly down from the Buhman summit and actually, briefly enter the suburban tracts along the western edge of town. These older subdivisions have been around long enough to now support mature trees and not look too raw, and this little foray back into civilization affords us an opportunity to refill our now nearly empty water bottles. Once you leave Sonoma, this is the only easy water source until almost the end of the ride.

We pass another epic out-&-back as we leave town: Partrick Road. But adding this monster climb to our loop today would take it to a whole other level. Partirck has to be treated with great respect. It’s quite a beast. We will save that one for another ride on another day. Today, we head for Redwood-Mt Veeder, a pair of country roads that wrap back around those 1000’ ridgelines and start us on our way back to Sonoma County. This begins the biggest challenge of the day: the big climb on Veeder and the bigger, steeper one on Dry Creek, right on its tail. I suppose you could call these magnificent roads the marquee attractions of the loop, were it not for the fact that so much of what we’ve done already--Orchard and Lovall Valley and the Carneros--is just as good.

Redwood climbs gently, gently, mile after mile, through the filtered shade of broadleaf forest alongside Redwood Creek, which even in August still has water in it. (Without constant rain or a substantial supply of snowmelt, most of our coastal California creeks are just dry arroyos by mid-summer. But this one has enough water in it to last the year out.) Most of this easy climbing is big-ring work at a brisk pace, but that will change when Redwood Road and Redwood Creek veer off to the left--yet another nice out-&-back--and we continue up Mt Veeder Road along the canyon of little Pickle Creek. Now things get steeper, and for three or four miles, we’re working hard on a grade of between 5% and 10%. By now, the cool fog is a distant memory, and we’re basting nicely in our own juices.

Over the summit, we don’t immediately go downhill. Or rather we do, briefly, but then commence to bumping up and down along the forested ridgeline...now well above the vineyards and oak meadows, deep into stands of redwood and bay, with rare but spectacular vistas down into the valley. Eventually, Veeder does begin descending in earnest: several miles of high speed, moderately technical twisties through the woods. If you know this road, you can work it over pretty vigorously, carrying a lot of speed through the corners. A friend of mine from the Eagle Cycling Club in Napa crashed badly on this descent a couple of weeks ago...a fractured skull and an airlift taking all the fun out of his day. I thought about Jeremy as I screamed down the hill. But he crashed because of a front-wheel blowout, not because of any dangers inherent in the hill. Thoughts of rogue events like front-wheel blowouts do keep me from pushing the envelope as far as it might be pushed, but you can’t let those potentialities take all the fun out of life.

So we slice and dice our way down the hill, nose to tail, first one in front and then the other, pushing it as much as our middle-aged, amateur abilities will permit. It’s a ripper of a rush, and then it’s over--so much more quickly than the climb!--and we spill out, dizzy and dopey, onto Dry Creek Road, ready for the biggest challenge of the day.

I’m always afraid that when we mention this Dry Creek Road, people will think we’re talking about the better known Dry Creek and West Dry Creek Roads over in Dry Creek Valley, by Healdsburg. So almost always, when this road is mentioned, we refer to it as “the backside of Trinity.” There is only one Trinity Grade, so no confusion. The Terrible Two Double Century climbs Trinity and descends this road. So too did the old Coors Classic Stage Race. It makes for an epic descent, with snaky turns and excellent pavement, but it’s also a graveyard of cyclists, having taken out dozens over the years.

Anyway, it’s a substantial ascent going our way today: four miles and 1000’ of gain, some of it on gradients in the high teens. It’s always tough, but today I have a plan to make it a little easier to manage. We’re going to do a lovely little out-&-back that spurs off about halfway up the hill. This is Wall Road, which climbs and descends in little, intermingled bits for about two miles, maybe three. It’s more up than down, which means more down than up on the way back. Overall, it makes a nice break from the unrelenting climb on Dry Creek. Best of all though, it is absolutely gorgeous. Out near the far end, the vistas open up over a huge, wooded valley that is as pretty as anything you’ll find in a national park.

At the very end of the road is an impressive pair of sculpted gates leading to a home out of sight further up the hill. This is the crib of comedian Robin Williams. Nice! This is where he hangs when he’s not chasing Lance Armstrong around the TdF, and if he rides his bike up and down Wall and Dry Creek, I bet he’s in reasonably good shape. One of my friends was leaning on his top tube here one day, munching a banana, when Whoopi Goldberg drove through the gate. All Rich and I see are a couple of workmen in a pickup. But they have their own remote for the gate, so they must be on staff. The gates stay open for a long while after they go through, and for a minute we think about riding on in. Surely Robin, a fellow cyclist, would not mind...? But no...we’re not quite that bold.

We instead content ourselves with the feisty little downhill back to the Dry Creek junction, and then set about our last, steepest climb of the day. And this is where that last county line sign comes up: just at the top of the steepest, nastiest set of hairpins. One hairpin below the line, I very quietly take a different line through the 16% corner and put a small gap into Rich. He doesn’t immediately respond. He’s either maxxed out or not paying attention. I work it a little and open up a gap of 50 feet. Soon I have the line in sight, 100 yards ahead. I have it covered. But just then I’m distracted by a car coming up the hill...slowly, painfully chugging up the steep pitch. Finally, it passes me, and I smile to see a mint-condition Citroen 2CV, in all its Gallic quirkiness. Then I look in my mirror, and--uh oh!--Rich’s body language says he’s making a move. While I’ve been admiring the deux chevaux, he has mounted a charge. Fortunately--thank goodness for rear-view mirrors--I have seen him in time, and I get out of the saddle and muster one last burst to take the sign. Two county lines for him; two for me.

We crest the hill together, marveling once again at the panoramic views that open up off the far side of the hill, now looking down into the Valley of the Moon, where our journey began. But wait! There’s more: we’re not quite at the end of the ride yet. This loop ends with a bang. (I planned it that way...duh!) We still have to drop down the wild, corkscrew free fall that is Trinity Grade...three-plus miles of non-stop thrills. Sometimes only a few percent of grade, sometimes double-digit steep, it is always entertaining and thoroughly hairball. We do it often and we know it well. We have enough local knowledge to squeeze just about as much fun out of the hill as it has to offer. I most recently did it a couple of weeks ago. I had hooked up with another guy on the way to the summit (on another road we’re not doing today...Cavedale). He looked like a serious racer, in full race team kit. I figured he’d drop me like a nasty habit on the descent, being a hot young racer and all. But in fact, after letting him have the first couple of corners, I passed him and dropped him so thoroughly, I never even saw him again at the bottom. I figure, after the fact, that he couldn’t be a real racer. No one could descend that slowly and survive on the race circuit.

Today, reality is restored, as Rich drops me after about three corners. I keep him in sight most of the way, but I can’t catch him and certainly can’t pass him. No way, even working it as hard as my courage and skills will allow. But that’s okay. It’s still a rollicking good drop down the rabbit’s hole. It never gets old...a massive, grin-inducing rush.

Finally, at the bottom, we have a mile along pretty Dunbar Road to decompress, and then we’re back at the car...smartly parked under a shade tree by wise old Rich. We end up with 70 miles of just about perfect riding. We are satisfied...tired but not trashed.

As we drive home, we see several more Citroen 2CV’s scuttling along the local roads like ancient, mechanized horseshoe crabs. There must be a rally somewhere nearby. We get a lot of that here. The car folks like our dinky, meandering backroads every bit as much as we do.

So there you have it. Just a ride. Not much different than any other ride we might do on any other weekend. I’m not sure why I suddenly felt the urge to write about this one. I realize that writing about a ride is not as good as riding a ride, and reading about a ride is probably even less entertaining. But maybe this struck a chord for you. I hope so. If you got this far, perhaps it did. Thanks for hanging in there.

Bill can be reached at srccride@sonic.net



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