October 26, 2009

• October in Southern California is spectacularly hot and dry.  Today was typical with air so clear the mountains seemed to crowd the valley.  I heard Mike, on the phone, make plans to ride with Rory.  I inferred that Rory was going to drive over here to ride the wash singletracks so I asked Mike if he would mind if I tagged along. 

  Rory showed up mid morning and the thermometer already read over eighty degrees, but since my limit is ninety, I added some ice to my hydration pack and got ready to go.  Somehow it was suggested that we ride out at Hulda Crooks Park and both Mike and Rory agreed that was what they wanted to do. 

  There is a reason why you have never read about Hulda Crooks Park in my previous blogs.  The trails there are absolutely miserable.  Where they are not steep, they're sandy; where they are steep, they're hot and dusty; and where they are wickedly steep, they are treacherous, hot, rutted and unrideable for anyone with any sense of self preservation.  Knowing this, I still went along.

  We set off up the first hot, dusty, dirt road with me valiantly determined to hang with the boys.  The road prudently skirts an empty flood control water retention basin but the boys immediately plunged over the edge onto a narrow trail that plummets to the bottom of the basin, then scales the opposite side just as steeply.  If I stayed on the road, I'd be a hundred yards behind before we even get warmed up so I quickly assessed the penalty for failing to attain sufficient momentum to make it up the other side.  I determined that I stood a good chance of making it and if I had to abort, I would have at least a fraction of a second to make other plans.  Without further debate, I pointed the Intense down the chute and held on for dear life.  Just feet from the top of the opposite bank I realized my rate of ascent was diminishing faster than the top was approaching.  I leaned out over the bars and pedaled with everything I had and barely cleared the rim.  Mike, who had been watching with some trepidation, commented dryly, "For a minute there I didn't think you were going to make it". 

  We continued up the sandy road (did I mention it was hot and dusty too?) until the boys pointed out a narrow side canyon on the left with a skinny trail penetrating its opening.  It looked punishingly steep but it wasn't sandy AND it was shady.  With firm resolve I shifted down to my lowest gear and tried to keep from wobbling from side to side.  Not more than 200 yards up the canyon the trail left the shady cleft and began an ascent that had me pushing the bike.  Between switchbacks I managed to ride a bit which gave my hiking muscles a chance to recover but didn't do much for my gasping lungs.

  By the time we reached the summit I was red faced and ready to throw up on Mike's shoes.  He wisely kept his distance while he described the downhill payoff for my suffering.  "After you drop off this precipice, you will come to a place where you have to walk", he started to tell me.  But after that section it was totally rideable he insisted. 

  I had the camera so I rode down with Rory to the spot where I had to get off and stopped to film Mike riding the unrideable.  Unrideable?!  Heck, it was so steep and loose that I couldn't have walked it without my bike to maintain my balance!

  The trail below this section would indeed be fun on subsequent rides but for me, the first time down was just okay.  To enjoy this trail you need to be comfortable with a lot of speed because the thrill is in ricocheting up the sides of the narrow canyon and swooping down to the bottom where there are whoop dee does, where with enough speed, you can catch some serious air.

  I parted company with the boys when we reached the main side canyon, sending them to scale another hike-a-bike hill, while I headed back to the park and shade.  Later I mused aloud, "I was just trying to remember if I had any fun today...nope."  Mike laughed, he thought I was joking.

  • 3:15 am
  • 13 Comments