To the Lost Coast
Day 5 of trip, Thursday before last.
The decor in the dining room of Curly's, like the rest of the Victorian Inn, was faithful to the origins of the old (for California) building. We sat waiting for our appetizers to arrive. Gus was mulling over the wine list as usual. Deborah was chatting with Roger and Ann at the other end of the table about the latest news on the hurricane. We were all immersed in the sense of accomplishment after a hard day of riding -- Roger especially, since he rode the extra 18 miles into Ferndale with some serious climbing from the Lost Coast.
Suddenly, as if remembering something important, Brandon looked straight at me and asked, "Hey, how'd you like walking across that bridge today?"
"It was fine," I deadpanned. Then, after a moment for comic effect, I blurted, "Okay, who ratted me out!"
Erin only laughed and told Brandon, "Right after you told us about that bridge, I knew he was going to ride across it. There was no doubt in my mind."
The climb to Panther Gap along Mattole Road rises about 2400 feet in 6.5 miles. At the route briefing that morning, we were told that the van would stop at the bottom, as well as at as many turnoffs along the climb as possible, for folks who didn't want to climb the whole way. More importantly, we were warned about the rough surface on the descent, and about the one-lane bridge at the bottom, just as the road reached the town of Honeydew. The flooring of the bridge was wooden, with just enough space between the planks to swallow a road bike tire, we were told. "Walk your bike across the bridge," Brandon had warned.
Later in the evening Jada told a story about a gentleman on a previous trip whom she found sitting by the side of the road just past the bridge. "Yeah, I think there's something wrong with the wheel," he told her. She tried spinning it, but the wheels wouldn't budge because they had taco'ed and were jammed against the frame.
"My god," she said, what happened to to your wheel?"
"Ummm. Altercation with the bridge," was his sanguine reply. She put the bike on the van, and he climbed inside. As they continued the drive toward lunch, Jada looked over and blurted out, "My god, what happened to your arm?"
"Ummm. Altercation with the bridge," he nodded.
Of course, they didn't tell us this story until dinner, after we'd already had the time of our lives riding that day. The downhill from Panther Gap was somewhat technical, but not particularly bad for someone who bikes Bay Area hills. It wasn't any worse than descending Page Mill Road from Skyline, for example, or Wildcat Canyon through Tilden Park. Beside, the fat tires I had on my Romulus completely smoothed out the bumps that I didn't jump over. I wasn't out to break any speed records, but I did pass Bruce on the way down.
When I reached that notorious bridge, I saw Gus walking across and I remembered that I was supposed to do the same. But, honestly, I didn't see any cracks that my tire would fit through, and the planks themselves were at least a foot wide, so I just rode down the middle of one. My bike is silent when I'm pedaling, so Gus was a little startled when he got off the bridge and I was right behind him. Bruce came by a little bit later, but he (like everyone else) walked it, so he might have seen me riding across too.
Honeydew consists of a general store and not much else. None of us dared to go inside the store. Brandon had told us earlier in the trip that "this part of California is so remote -- it's practically lawless." He said one time he was there, and he saw an 11-year-old kid sitting out in front of the store casually smoking a joint. He warned us not to stray from the main road.
I didn't notice much about the place. I should have taken some photos. One of the other riders that evening related a story about a conversation she heard that day as she stopped in the shade. Two locals apparently were sitting outside, and one was complaining that her beer bottle had broken. The other one was trying hard to convince her not to drink the beer with the broken glass shards in it. "You get that inside you, it'll mess you up." And the lady with the broken bottle was reluctant to take that advice.
* * *
It was a great, memorable day of riding. For several people in our group, it was the hardest bike ride they'd ever ridden. For me and Erin, it was good fun. I had studied the terrain in Google Earth a few nights earlier, and I told her that the ride was going to be "epic." With most of the climbing behind us by the time we left lunch, Erin said, "I'm not sure I would call this epic. What did you mean when you say a ride is epic?"
"I mean it's long and hard and you'll remember it for the rest of your life."
"Yeah, that's what I would think it means. I don't think this is epic... yet." We had a few more hills after lunch (short but steep). She conceded that if we had faced a headwind when we reached the coast, it might have become an epic ride. But there was no headwind. It was just a great day of biking out to the Lost Coast.
The decor in the dining room of Curly's, like the rest of the Victorian Inn, was faithful to the origins of the old (for California) building. We sat waiting for our appetizers to arrive. Gus was mulling over the wine list as usual. Deborah was chatting with Roger and Ann at the other end of the table about the latest news on the hurricane. We were all immersed in the sense of accomplishment after a hard day of riding -- Roger especially, since he rode the extra 18 miles into Ferndale with some serious climbing from the Lost Coast.
Suddenly, as if remembering something important, Brandon looked straight at me and asked, "Hey, how'd you like walking across that bridge today?"
"It was fine," I deadpanned. Then, after a moment for comic effect, I blurted, "Okay, who ratted me out!"
Erin only laughed and told Brandon, "Right after you told us about that bridge, I knew he was going to ride across it. There was no doubt in my mind."
The climb to Panther Gap along Mattole Road rises about 2400 feet in 6.5 miles. At the route briefing that morning, we were told that the van would stop at the bottom, as well as at as many turnoffs along the climb as possible, for folks who didn't want to climb the whole way. More importantly, we were warned about the rough surface on the descent, and about the one-lane bridge at the bottom, just as the road reached the town of Honeydew. The flooring of the bridge was wooden, with just enough space between the planks to swallow a road bike tire, we were told. "Walk your bike across the bridge," Brandon had warned.
Later in the evening Jada told a story about a gentleman on a previous trip whom she found sitting by the side of the road just past the bridge. "Yeah, I think there's something wrong with the wheel," he told her. She tried spinning it, but the wheels wouldn't budge because they had taco'ed and were jammed against the frame.
"My god," she said, what happened to to your wheel?"
"Ummm. Altercation with the bridge," was his sanguine reply. She put the bike on the van, and he climbed inside. As they continued the drive toward lunch, Jada looked over and blurted out, "My god, what happened to your arm?"
"Ummm. Altercation with the bridge," he nodded.
Of course, they didn't tell us this story until dinner, after we'd already had the time of our lives riding that day. The downhill from Panther Gap was somewhat technical, but not particularly bad for someone who bikes Bay Area hills. It wasn't any worse than descending Page Mill Road from Skyline, for example, or Wildcat Canyon through Tilden Park. Beside, the fat tires I had on my Romulus completely smoothed out the bumps that I didn't jump over. I wasn't out to break any speed records, but I did pass Bruce on the way down.
When I reached that notorious bridge, I saw Gus walking across and I remembered that I was supposed to do the same. But, honestly, I didn't see any cracks that my tire would fit through, and the planks themselves were at least a foot wide, so I just rode down the middle of one. My bike is silent when I'm pedaling, so Gus was a little startled when he got off the bridge and I was right behind him. Bruce came by a little bit later, but he (like everyone else) walked it, so he might have seen me riding across too.
Honeydew consists of a general store and not much else. None of us dared to go inside the store. Brandon had told us earlier in the trip that "this part of California is so remote -- it's practically lawless." He said one time he was there, and he saw an 11-year-old kid sitting out in front of the store casually smoking a joint. He warned us not to stray from the main road.
I didn't notice much about the place. I should have taken some photos. One of the other riders that evening related a story about a conversation she heard that day as she stopped in the shade. Two locals apparently were sitting outside, and one was complaining that her beer bottle had broken. The other one was trying hard to convince her not to drink the beer with the broken glass shards in it. "You get that inside you, it'll mess you up." And the lady with the broken bottle was reluctant to take that advice.
* * *
It was a great, memorable day of riding. For several people in our group, it was the hardest bike ride they'd ever ridden. For me and Erin, it was good fun. I had studied the terrain in Google Earth a few nights earlier, and I told her that the ride was going to be "epic." With most of the climbing behind us by the time we left lunch, Erin said, "I'm not sure I would call this epic. What did you mean when you say a ride is epic?"
"I mean it's long and hard and you'll remember it for the rest of your life."
"Yeah, that's what I would think it means. I don't think this is epic... yet." We had a few more hills after lunch (short but steep). She conceded that if we had faced a headwind when we reached the coast, it might have become an epic ride. But there was no headwind. It was just a great day of biking out to the Lost Coast.
posted by juarezj at 8:01 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home