Have a Cool Yule.
December 24, 2011
Merry Christmas from the (hilly) streets of San Francisco!
Thanks to everyone who has so kindly helped me on my way, checked in on this blog, left comments or sent me encouraging vibes to keep my legs turning.
Have a great time festivitizing. I hope to resume my journey in the New Year, so please check in for more two-wheeled, dirt-flavoured tales.
All the best,
Cass
Not quite like home: how they do Christmas in California.
Ocean Bound: Idyllwild to San Diego, at last.
December 14, 2011
Our Californian adventures are drawing to a close with a final dirt road leg to San Diego.
From this border city, only a few days lie ahead to Los Angeles: a mellow road ride north through the beach communities of the Pacific coast.
Then? That’s the big question on my mind these days. My hope is still to return to Ecuador and resume my journey south – most likely teleporting my way with a cheap flight sometime after the New Year. In the meantime, I’ll be putting my cycling shoes to one side, hitch hiking up to San Francisco to visit friends for Christmas. Nancy will be making the long train ride east, to the cold climes of Santa Fe to continue her acupuncture studies.
For now, here’s a rundown on our ride to the ocean…
It's late afternoon before we leave the wizard's wand-like manzanitas of Idyllwild. It's been well worth the detour here, even if camping conditions have been icy cold. On our last night, we pitch the tarp behind the town's cute little movie theatre, the ideal place to keep warm watching a late night, $5 film.
We couldn't skip town without one final visit to Honey Bunn and Joe's. This quirky little hangout is home to local artist instillations and delicious pastries - cinnamon rolls being a favourite, and only $2 if you're happy to have them 'day old'.
Needless to say, by the time we succumb to a departing singletrack loop - linking the May Valley dirt road with Bonita Vista - we don't make it far that day. There's plenty of good camping in the National Forest above Lake Hemit.
Tackling tight and turning singletrack is a good test for the Tout Terrain Mule, which takes a few knocks as it catches down the bouldery turns. Despite a few scrapes, the kickstand does its job at protecting my Ortlieb bag.
Then, it's back on pavement for a road stint along 74, the Pines to Palms Highway.
From here, we turn off into Burnt Valley, where amongst all ranch signs, this one catches my eye. It reminds me of the house my family once lived in, Another Old Rectory, so named for all the Rectory's dotted about the Dorset countryside.
Then it's back on dirt, negotiating steep climbs, woven with tyre-grabbing water-snakes, on a trail that meanders amongst giant, discarded boulders.
Away from traffic, music helps keep the legs turning and the mind motivated. The wonders of technology: a thousand songs for just 12.5 grams of weight. As ever, Nancy adds a little colour co-ordination...
We pick up the Californian Hiking and Biking Trail, on the recommendation of Brendan, from the Hub Cyclery in Idyllwild.
Paralleling the long distance Pacific Crest Trail in places - which is closed to mountain biking - it's exactly what we're after.
I always sigh a breathe of relief when we hit dirt. We have the road to ourselves once more. Pavement is a good way to clock up miles, but I feel more at home when there's dust in my tyres.
From what I understand, plans are afoot to link up a corridor of public land across the whole of California. It has all the potential for a fantastic traverse of the state, passing through Joshua Tree National Park. In the US, singletrack is closed to mountain biking in National Parks, but there are hopes Congress will be passing a law to allow limited mountain biking access there.
Like a scene from the Great Divide...
In fact, it's one of the best stretches of track we've ridden in a while. Each climb answered by a fast, swoopy descent.
We spend a happy, hazy, dusty late afternoon riding.
The Hiking and Riding Trail crosses Chihuahua Valley Road, named after a solitude-seeking Mexican herdsman from Chihuahua. From here, the flora takes on a different character, as we enter Indian Flats on the Puerta La Cruz Truck Trail, cut in the '30s.
We camp for the night in a grassy clearing by the trail. It's good to be warm again, now that we've dropped a couple of thousand feet since Idyllwild.
Then its onwards, along a boulder-strewn path, through hardy chaparrel scrub and shrubland.
Finally, a paved road drops us down through the Lost Valley, depositing us onto Highway 79. We descend upon the gas station at Warner Spring to feed, water and charge up various electronic devices.
It feels like the beginning of a more well-to-do, upscale California. With its terracotta tiles, the adobe Chapel of Saint Francis, dating back to 1830, might have been lifted straight from the Tuscan foothills.
And in contrast, the Hideout Saloon... We're invited in to the burly Harley fold to warm up with hot apple cider.
Climbing up above Lake Henshaw.
From Mesa Grande, we turn off onto the twisting, turning Black Canyon dirt road.
A massive descent leads through a Kumeyaay reservation down to Ramona. This Native American word means 'ledge' - the people who live at the edge of the ocean...
Again, the scenery shifts in tone and colour. A magical tunnel of old growth Red Oaks line our path, letting only the softest of light seep in.
We've now well and truly left the desert, and there's a winteriness in the air. It's late afternoon, so we camp a few miles outside of Ramona in a cosy woodland glade. From here on we'll be hitting the thick of suburban sprawl, and we're expecting wild camping to be more limited. Brendan has told us about the San Diegito River Trail system, so we're hoping to eek out our dirt for 10 more miles towards the coast.
The next morning however, spitting rain soon crescendos to a relentless downpour. It's forecast to rain all day, so we decamp in the Ramona Cafe, drowning our sodden sorrows in one of its magnificent, 1/2 pound cinnamon rolls. There, a kindly waitress puts the word out that we're looking for a floor to sleep on and Chris, one of the diners, comes to our rescue. Except it's even better than we could have hoped for. Wishing us a Merry Christmas, he sets us up with a night in a cabin in the nearby, beautiful Dos Picos County Park. It's veritable luxury: toasty warm and dry!
We try out luck with the Foster Truck Trail. for a more direct route to San Diego. Unfortunately, as good a job as Googlemaps has done to navigate us across the country, it doesn't diferentiate between private roads and those that are open to the public. Time and time again our efforts have been thrwated by gates and padlocks, decorated with threatening signs promising criminal prosecution for trespassers. It's a shame, as the highway alternative heaves with traffic: it's a means of reaching a destination, rather than an enjoyable journey.
Coupled with the unwelcome Californian rain, we end up forgoing our final dirt track detours and making a beeline direct to the city. It's not the most enjoyable ride, but still, there's no taking away from the elation of reaching the Pacific Ocean. Our arrival is celebrated with a fantastic seafood medley by the sea, courtesy of Denbigh and Annika, who invite us into their home for the night. Thanks!
Links:
The Hub Cyclery – thanks Brendan for helping line this ride up for us.
The Hideout Saloon - Harley and bicycle-friendly… Not sure about spandex though.
Trail notes:
We’d planned to use the San Deguito Trail system to lead us towards Solana Beach but headed more directly to San Diego due to heavy rain.
If I was doing this again, I’d peel off from Warner Springs on dirt roads to Julian. From here, there looks to be some fantastic backcountry riding through the Cleveland National Forest, via Lake Morena or Barrett Lake. You could then head west to San Diego, or continue south onto the dirt roads of Baja California…
Hot springs and Humperdinck: dirt roads to Idyllwild, CA
December 9, 2011
The journey west continues to unfold…
Our perfect, Celluloid-blue Californian sky takes a turn for the worse in Joshua Tree. With 80mph gusts of wind to contend with, we find ourselves seeking refuge in a motel whose clientele has included Gram Parsons, Emmylou Harris and John Wayne.
Then, local knowhow discloses information on a dirt road linking Yucca Valley to Desert Hot Springs. This is particularly exciting news for Nancy – less the dirt, more the springs – as she’s been yearning for a proper soak for some time.
Scrubbed clean, briefly, Google Maps hooks us up with more dusty backroads to Banning. Our oh-so-clever little guide, the iPhone, does a stellar job at navigating us through a vast ocean of wind turbines, and linking us up with a service road that runs parallel to the Interstate 10 – safe passage through the eighteen wheelers that thunder past en route to San Diego.
Our plans to take a backroad to Hemit aren’t met with as much success – hopes are dashed by a locked gate and conflicting reports of a way through. As consolation, we detour up towards Idyllwild, an evocative-sounding settlement of timeworn wooden houses, hidden between the giant boulders and craggy peaks of the San Jancinto Mountains. From a lowly thousand feet, we’re back amongst the pine needles again…
My parents visited this area in the 1972. Some 40 years later, the Joshua Tree Inn, where they stayed, is still open for business. It's well known amongst country rock aficionados as the motel in which Gram Parsons passed away, and is popular with visiting musicians.
Gram-morabelia.
Gram's room, no 8, available to sleep in - for those don't believe in spirits... It's complete with some of the original furniture from 1973, the year of his death.
Built in the '50s, the Joshua Tree Inn is a quiet, beautifully kept motel. We treat ourselves to a room for a night, after its kind, chilled-out manager Marcu - sporting impressive, waist-length dreadlocks - offers us a mid-week special. In fact, we're even upgraded, ending up in the timewarped John Barrymore suite, so named for its popularity with the 30s actor - grandfather of Drew Barrymore. Even cooler, it's the room in which John Wayne always stayed when he was in the area.
Sadly, the highway must have bloated in size over the ensuing years - there's no shoulder for cyclists and it's thick with traffic. Backroads offer far more enticing riding and camping opportunities. Once the storm has past and the Californian sun is shining once more, we detour up to Pioneer Town.
This characterful place began its life as a Wild West film set, back in the 1940s. Now it's just as known now for Patty and Harriet's bar, a small venue that draws top musicians, who are often recording in nearby studios.
Good to know: wheelmen will find chocolate tablets very beneficial.
Then it's back on the road again, ever searching for ways to avoid the 29 Palms Highway. Little Morongo Canyon Road soon becomes sand, as we enter a valley shared with a last few, lingering Joshua Trees.
Cyclists take note. This whole desert traverse has been something of a goathead medley - a particularly tenacious, vindictive thorn that preys on inner tubes. Tyre sealant is a must - you can see where two puncture wounds have been successfully plugged, keeping us rolling.
The Powerline Road descends for several miles, looping through the steep-sided Morongo Canyon. A lengthy push through sand slows our progress to tortoise-pace, so we opt to camp for the night.
Deep in the canyon, the winds are gusting up again, throwing tumbleweeds in our path. After struggling to get the tarp up, we pillage the canyon for every available rock in the hope of keeping it down, and stop it sailing back off into the desert.
Finally, we're ejected out of our sandy wash into well-to-do suburbia. Tucked away amongst the luxury complexes in Desert Hot Springs, our budget noses sniff out a retro spa, where the rich, swooning voice of Engelbert Humperdinck pipes out of the loudspeaker. $7 gets us the use of a series of hot springs, an icy-cold plunge pool, a massive outdoor swimming pool, as much mineral water as we can drink, and some truly surreal conversation. 'You can live to 130 these days, as long as keep on swapping out body parts,' says one, prune-like old timer we share a soak with.
How many? It's no wonder our campspot was a little windy. This area is well known for its gusty conditions, thanks to cool coastal and hot desert airs mixing. Stork-like wind turbines are everywhere.
Google Maps guides us on a dirt road that wends its way right between the blades of this enormous wind farm.
Finally, we pop us out parallel to the monstrous Interstate 10, linking San Diego with Florida. Pushing on past sunset, we camp out for the night on high ground, mesmerised by the endless stream of headlights that flicker by throughout the night.
Come morning, our alternative route is a little scraggly round the edges, but a whole lot quieter.
In fact, sometimes it feels like real backcountry riding - even though we're just a few hundred feet from such a seething mass of cars and trucks.
We stop for a snack under a diplodocus - it's not often you can say that. In fact, this dinosaur-themed cafe was one of the locations for 'Pee-wee's Big Adventure', a zany film that recounts Pee-wee Herman's search for his stolen bicycle.
We make our way through Banning to Hemit, a low lying valley that's bountiful with produce. Sold by the roadside, buckwheat honey, dates, sweet potatoes and persimmons - sweet fruit masquerading as rotting tomatoes - all take our fancy.
The grapefruits here are particularly tasty and remind me of my time riding through the Copper Canyon, North Mexico. That night we stay with Sue and Keith, our Warm Showers hosts, two teachers who battle daily against the car-centric tide on their bicycles.
A few miles out of town we turn off onto the Old Control Road. It snakes its way up into the San Jancinto Mountains, climbing steeply for 10 miles to Idyllwild, almost 4000 feet above Hemet.
There, we arrive in a world of giant boulders, mangrove-like manzanitas and towering sugar pines - known to grow to a couple of hundred feet - and their babyhead-sized cones.
It's a beautiful, often overlooked swathe of forest home to the Pacific Crest Trail - one of the US' long distance hiking routes - that abounds in folksy wooden cottages and cabins, tucked away amongst the pines. In fact, our first night is spent with Karen, a PCT hiker herself, who puts us up, feeds us, and sends us packing with all manner of tasty, lightweight hiking food.
Idyllwild: the place where the pine needles gather.
Most known for its climbing, Idyllwild also boasts great mountain biking trails. We head over to the local framebuilder, Siren Cycles, to check out his wares. Amongst a collection of racey aluminium softtails, this steel, long-distance 29er catches my eye.
It features an elegant, curved top tube and internal framerouting.
Brendan, Siren's framebuilder and ownver of the Hub Cyclery - a goodies-packed bike shop with a roaring log fire - recommends enough local singletrack to keep us busy for a couple of afternoons.
The trails around May Valley Road weave their way between pines and manzanitas, squeezing between boulders, twisting and turning every which way.
There's no finer manner to round off a ride in Idyllwild than a trip to the arty, eclectic Honey Bunns and Joe cafe. Should you be passing by, we can heartily recommend the toasty-warm, generously-proportioned cinnamon roles...
Quick links:
Joshua Tree Inn – beautiful, timewarped motel rich in musical and movie history.
Patty and Harriets, Pioneer Town – small venue with big names.
The Pacific Crest Trail - a 4 month, cross country hiking route.
Siren Cycles - purveyors of fine, aluminium soft tails mountain bikes.
The Hub Cyclery, Idyllwild – bikepacking gear and a roaring log fire. What more could you want?
Engelbert Humperdinck – let yourself be serenaded by one of the best swooners around…
Faithful steeds
December 9, 2011
Nancy I have both been riding Surly Trolls, hardy little bikes I’d have no hesitation in recommending for unbeaten path travel.
I’m planning a rundown on kit and setup at some point. In the meantime, California has provided some colourful backdrops to show off our faithful steeds.
My Troll includes a well used Rohloff hub, a 2004 Marzocchi Mx Comp air/coil fork and Avid BB7 brakes. I have a Porcelain Rocket framebag, an Ortlieb bar bag, and I'm towing a Tout Terrain Mule suspended trailer - giving me plenty of capacity for food and kit.
Nancy's bike has derailleur gears, a Rock Shox Recon coil-sprung fork, Jeff Jones aluminium H-loop bars and Avid BB7 brakes. Her gear is carried courtesy of a full Porcelain Rocket bikepacking setup.
Some links:
Surly Troll – versatile steel frames ideal for unbeaten path travel
Porcelain Rocket - finely crafted, made-to-measure framebags for all your bikepacking needs
Tout Terrain Mule - high end, suspended trailer with a nifty built in kickstand
Rohloff Speedhub- luxury uber hub for big mile riding
If Trees Could Talk: Joshua Tree National Park, CA.
December 3, 2011
I’ve long harboured a desire to visit Joshua Tree National Park, most likely inspired by my father’s trip in the early 70s and the beautiful slides he brought home.
It’s easy to give personas to these gangly yuccas, with their long arms and unusual body contortions. There’s a sense of friendliness to them. It even extends to their name which, as the story goes, was given to them by 19th century Mormon pioneers. As they journeyed across the Mojave desert, they were reminded of the biblical Joshua, waving them on towards the promised land.
With a little imagination, each takes on its own character. Certainly, no two are quite alike. Some seem to have gregariously gathered in groups, others have struck off alone. There’s all kinds and shapes out there: tall, confident and upbeat, or solitary, timid and wistful…
Welcome to the mystical land of the Joshua Trees.
We spent our first night camped behind a boulder field outside the park. Peace and quiet was broken only by an intrepid desert mouse, who sniffed about our belongings in the hope of a midnight snack, before being trapped and unceremoniously ejected from the tent.
We're in. $5 a bike gets you a week in the park.
In my mind's eye, the trees seemed to gather around us, as if forming a welcoming party, ushering us into their land.
We wound our way amongst them, making our introductions...
Straddling both the Mojave and the Colorado deserts, the park is filled with all manner of wondrously shaped creations. And I don't mean Nancy...
Most have ingenious, prickly ways of protecting themselves.
Some are squat and portly.
Others more pointy.
A few have found homes in improbable places.
I'd love to return in the spring, when the whole desert begins to flower.
The blossoms of the Joshua Trees are creamy white. Some trees tower 40ft in height, and might have come straight from the pages of a Dr Seuss book.
Over a 200 year life span, each develops its own character. This one seems both playful on the one side, and downcast on the other.
A main paved loop runs through the park...
... with a few dirt road detours.
We spent two, crisp cold nights there. I'd liked to have stayed longer.
Although the park is named after its trees, the rock formations there are just as remarkable.
Hidden Valley is littered with huge boulders, as if tossed aside by a passing giant.
And just like the trees, each rock has a persona too.
Infested with cracks and slabs, they're popular with climbers, who cling to the rough granite, ant-sized in the distance. Fall and Spring are good times to climb and bike, as summer temperatures can reach 120F...
Even without climbing gear, it's fun to scrabble about.
Leaping from boulder to boulder, in the aptly named Wonderland of Rocks.
A truly enchanting place.
So long Joshua Trees, until the next time...
Welcome to the Land of the Ganglies
December 2, 2011
We’ve been in Joshua Tree, and it’s a very cool place…
Here’s some iPhone/Instagram snaps. More soon…
Nancy and a baby J-Tree.
Gangly Cass and a monster gangleon.
Crazy rock shadows inspire crazy rock shadow dances...
And crazy tooth-brushing techniques.
Biking with our bendy pals.
Heading west, the sun in our eyes: further desert escapades in AZ.
December 1, 2011
I’m beginning to appreciate the merits of carrying a GPS in the vast, parched dry expanse of Arizona. Enticing tracks peel off every direction, but to where we have no clue. What we do know is that we’re headed west, the sun in our eyes…
A giant, jester of a saguaro looks down on us as we delve into the desert once more along Signal Road.
Our plan: to skirt north of Alamo Lake towards Parker, on the Californian border, following desert dirt tracks. To Nancy's iPhone and Googlemaps we add photos taken of a detailed area map, sourced in a friendly ranch.
Here, the landscape feels broader, more open. As ever, there's no shortage of characterful cacti to keep us company, like this cholla, with its prickly, pudgy little fingers.
A taster for what lies ahead: the mystical Joshua Tree. We join the party and camp amongst them.
This swathe of desert is known for the mock airforce dogfights, and the evening air is patterned and streaked with vapour trails. Later, shrouded by the darkness of night, two jets thunder low overhead, hugging the contours of the land.
It's never easy figuring out which route is best to take. We were advised to detour off the wide, bladed dirt road that turns south to Lake Alamo, following instead the easily navigated powerline that runs due west from Baker Well. Our last experience with powerline shortcuts involved improbably steep descents, answered with impossibly steep climbs. Would this be a repeat scenario?
Yep... Though thankfully only a few humpbacks to deal with this time.
Then the track calms down a little, as it guides us through corridors of saguaros.
Around us, the craggy Rawhide and the Buckskin mountains poke up into the hazy sky.
The trail dipped ever upwards and downwards, pin-balling us along a ridge into the open desert.
For the most part, there was little sand to contend with. Only Mojave Wash provided a challenge, culminating in a sandy push onto the otherwordly, Planet Ranch Road.
How many locks does it take to close a gate?
Taking a break amongst the cottonwoods.
Later, the Tout Terrain Mule falls foul of a dastardly goat head spine. Luckily 20in tyres are quick and easy to repair - I should really have filled it with latex sealant like the rest of our tyres.
Finally, desert trails peter out and become a strip of oh-so-smooth pavement once more, for the last few miles into Parker...
...which, at first glance, didn't seem so appealing.
Old dinosaurs line the road in, like this square-jawed Cadillac.
With its strip of big box stores, gas stations, gun shops, desert buggies and goliath RVs, I can't say Parker really won us over...
Nor, being November 25th, were we expecting much in the way of Thanksgiving lunches. But glinting like a culinary jewel amongst the Pizza Huts and McDonalds of its dusty main strip, we chanced upon Cyber d'Lites, purveyors of both tasty cakes and fast wifi - a fine combination indeed. Thanks to the wonders of online banking, Nancy's mum treated us to a slap-up Thankgiving meal, rounded off with a piece of a Pumpkin Pie. Our bellies suitably ballooned, Tracey and Darlene sent us off with enough leftovers for a hearty dinner too, throwing in a giant muffin to tip us over the edge.
But the cyclist's appetite can never truly be quenched... By the next morning, we were ready for more sustenance. The Early Bird Cafe provided the perfect backdrop.
Trinkets cluttered every shelf, and framed posters of Elvis, John Wayne and Betty Boop adorned the walls. 80s hairstyles and waitress banter (What will it be, baby?) provided the final touches.
We go for a classic: pancakes, maple syrup, scrambled eggs, hash brown and crispy bacon... The All American Diner Experience.
Feeling in need of a shower, we bargain ourselves a room in the local Motel 6, a few doors down from Stan, who zips around in his electric wheelchair, trapping us to recount stories of his lap-dancing girlfriend. $40 gets us some classy digs with a view of the Pepsi machine, to the sound of Mexican ballads blasting out from the neighbour's truck.
Then, it's time to hit California! 'London Bridge' takes us over the Colorado River, the border between the two states.
We roll through the blink-and-you-miss-it settlement of Earp, named after Wyatt, the lawman/gunman/gambler famed for his part in the gunfight at the OK Coral. His only local legacy seems to be the talking puppet at the gas station - which, just like the one in 'Big', doesn't even seem to be plugged in. I listen to it try and goad me to 'empty ma pockets' into the slot and be regaled by Wyatt's 'wild west adventures.'
Then it's back out into the scrub, heading towards the aquaduct trail that runs west, parallel to the highway, at the foot of the mountains.
More sentinel powerlines keep us on track.
This being the thanksgiving festivities, it's also a chance to experience some good, wholesome American fun. Like a scene from a Mad Max movie, dune buggies and goggle-clad scrambler riders come screeching out of the hills, offering a cheery wave as they coat us in dust.
Who ever said the desert was flat?
Finally, we emerge at the forlorn Vidal Junction, camping in a scruff of land by the highway. Next stop, Joshua Tree...
