The Ride Report
...self-indulgent recollections of recent trips on the bicycle
Saturday, May 1, 1999. A warm Spring morning is the perfect enticement to enjoy a ride through the foothills and canyons near Paradise. I grab a light breakfast, inflate my tires, ratchet down my new Sidi shoes and head down the road. I am leaving my house later than I had planned, so there is some traffic in the town of Paradise before I connect with Neal Road and relish the quiet descent to the Valley. It is a delicious, solitary pleasure to glide down this meandering road through the foothills at this time of year. The grasses are heavy with ripening seed heads but mostly they are still green, untouched by the sun's scorch. A south breeze puts this foothill carpet into motion and the ground seems to pulse with movement as I pedal through the open forest of blue oaks that separate the tall pines of Paradise from the Valley. Splashes of color dot the roadside—blue lupine and the sulfur-yellow Mariposa lily catch my eye even when descending through the tighter turns and rougher stretches of road that compete for my attention. It is a great morning and I feel energized with the warmth of the sun and the coolness of the breeze.
After reaching the flatlands, I head north into Chico with a tailwind catapulting me past the almond and walnut orchards found in this part of the Sacramento Valley. More traffic and road construction greets me with the Chico City limits, so I am happy to turn east at Honey Road Run and begin my ride in Butte Creek Canyon. The traffic thins out and I pedal along Butte Creek with wonderful views of the blue water and gentle rapids. The stream flow is high with the spring runoff and the music of the rushing water and the coolness of the air in the canyon are relaxing and refreshing. I welcome cycling in the shade of the riparian forest as Honey Run Road winds up the canyon. At the Covered Bridge (a local landmark) I stop to refill my water bottles and refuel with a snack. The climb up the canyon wall to Paradise is about five miles on scenic, narrow switchbacks with a variety of grades. Today, it is a fun ascent. I feel stronger than I can remember on this climb-- working out of the saddle for most of the steeper pitches, I fall into a steady pace, breathing hard and pushing my effort. I empty one of my water bottles as I drink on the climb; it is 78 degrees and I am drenched in sweat. It feels great to pedal into Paradise and wander back home before noon. 33 miles. Saturday, January 17, 1998. Rain has been falling in Paradise seemingly constantly since the year began. I have measured over 21 inches at my house. The treadmill at the health club has become a boring substitute for the adventure, the beauty, and the fun of cycling through the forested foothills of Paradise. Today, a weekend break in the deluge was a irresistable enticement to ride. I always enjoy pedaling up Coutelenc Road above Paradise, a rolling climb through yellow pine forest with occasional panoramic views of the Feather River canyon. Today was especially sweet. Temperatures were in the low 50s, the skies were overcast and the rain was on hiatus-- perfect conditions for a good workout on wheels. I climbed up beyond Magalia on Coutelenc Road and passed through a serpentine outcropping (green rock) with serpentine endemic McNabb Cypress on both sides of the road. There was an incredible and powerful smell to the cypress trees, today. The volatile, turpentine-like chemicals in the foliage seemed to permeate the air; it was an invigorating and amazing discovery. I was happy to be on my bicycle where I can smell, see and hear the world around me. In another mile or two into the climb, I passed by an overlook of the canyon of the West Branch of the Feather River. On the opposite slope, fed by recent rains, was a magnificent waterfall, ephemeral but impressive; I could easily hear the roaring water across the wide gap of the canyon. In the summer, I ride Coutelenc Road two or three times a week, but now I was seeing the canyon in new clothes, the garments of winter rain, and I was grateful for my time on the bicycle. I rode on, up into the fog of low-hanging clouds and then returned to Paradise, popping out of the fog on my descent (instantaneous cataract surgery) and retracing my route. 16 miles
Saturday, October 18, 1997. I leave my house before dawn, my strobe taillight flashing, my eyes intent on the possiblity of traffic ahead-- driveways, side roads, I study each one as I approach. I turn down the Skyway, the main road through Paradise, to cruise through the town before the sun is up. There is new pavement on the Skyway and it feels wonderful beneath my tires. I appreciate the little things, the stretch of smooth riding that used to be off-the-saddle bumpy, the lack of automobile traffic in downtown Paradise at 6:50 a.m. on a Saturday morning-- it all adds up to a feeling of being pampered, blessed with the best of conditions for an early morning ride. I have a thermometer on my road bike cyclometer and I like to watch the temperature changes as I climb and descend. At home (2000'), it is 58 degrees to start the day, as I drop to the lower foothills the temperature climbs to 62 degrees, then it begins to fall as I approach the valley floor. The temperature inversion is palpable; it is 51 degrees at the base of Highway 99. As the sun begins to rise a mild breeze mixes the air and as I ascended back to Paradise, the temperature climbs again, but never regains 60 degrees before the end of my ride. As I climb up from the valley, the sun and I are playing tag. A sliver of sunlight catches my eye and then I ride on until a higher ridgeline to the east pulls the sun back behind the foothills, again the pattern repeats and then capituation; I lose my race with the morning and it is bright and wonderful. 300 feet above the valley, a pair of coyotes crosses the road in front on me, traversing the crest of a hill with the new day's light defining their shape in a halo of fur. They move quickly, confidently and are soon gone. It is a special moment, a glimpse at a different world as I press up the hills, burning my thighs and filling my lungs with aerobic effort. I return home the way I came. 26 miles.
Sunday, April 27, 1997. The Chico Wildflower Century. This is the capstone of Chico Velo's annual offering of century rides in Northern California. High temperatures for the day of the ride were predicted to be well into the 80's and I was determined to start early and avoid the mid-day heat before the climb up Table Mountain at the 50 mile mark . So it happened that my day in the saddle began before sunrise. A bright, three-quarter moon and a Cateye strobe taillight guided me up Humbolt Road out of Chico and into the foothills. Within minutes, I was surrounded by blue oaks and brown, ripe grasses. It was a time of solitude sandwiched into a ride that attracts more than 2,500 cyclists-- during the 30 minute pre-dawn climb, I passed no one and no one passed me. After a quick descent back to Chico, I rode on to Butte Creek Canyon and began the climb to Paradise. As in past years, the switchbacks on Honey Run Road seemed to be less painfull with the collective energy of many riders helping to pull the group up the hill. The first rest stop in Paradise was a welcome chance to refuel with juices, fruit, cookies and plenty of energy drink. After a long and fast descent on Pentz Road, we rode on to Oroville on the backroads of Butte County that skirt the edge of the Valley. This was a very pleasant section of gentle rollers with little or no auto traffic. Once we arrived in Oroville, another food stop was positioned to recharge your batteries before the next big hill. The third substantial climb of the day, Cherokee Road to Table Mountain, seemed to be tougher than my memory had allowed. I searched for a few low gears as the grade steepened toward the end of this climb. Mine was a plodding ascent-- passed by younger, thinner cyclists, I was comforted to hear their heavy breathing and see glistening sweat dripping from their faces. Finally, the mountain top arrived, but this year it came without the usually pallete of color that rewards your eyes as you pedal up and over the rim of Table Mountain. We were too late. Most of the wildflowers had peaked in their bloom many weeks earlier and without continuing Spring rains, the thin soil had parched and the grasses and forbs looked to be more brown than green. Despite this disappointment, a feeling of satisfaction began to build as I regained my wind pedalling on the flat plateau. I had finished all of the major climbing for the day and I began to realize that the view from atop Table Mountain was pretty spectacular even without the waves of color provided by the Spring wildflower show. I stopped, looked around and allowed the beauty of the place to soak in. I grabbed the disposable camera I had been packing in my jersey pocket and took a few photos of other riders passing by. As I rode on, I began to look forward to lunch. ...and I was not disappointed. Chico Velo has always managed to host a wonderful lunch as part of this ride-- sandwiches of all variety, melon, grapes, orange slices, bananas, cookies, rice cakes with organic peanut butter, and my favorite, fresh strawberries. The temptation was to eat too much and rest too long. When I climbed back into the saddle, I was overfed and my back and leg muscles had tightened up. It took a few miles to work out the kinks. The last forty miles of the route is on flat roads that bisect the almond orchards of Durham and traverse the rice fields west of Chico. It was easy to fall into a paceline with other riders and rotate through, each taking a pull at the front. This shared work made the final leg of the century a pleasure. I plan to be back next year. 100 miles.
Saturday, March 8, 1997. It is Spring in Northern California (perhaps not by the calendar, but that has no importance). I have just finished a terrific mountain bike ride in the foothills near Oroville on some excellent single track trails. It was fabulous! The foothill oaks are beginning to push new leaves and the winter grasses have painted the hills green. A few wildflowers are blooming and the air is warm and scented with the nectar of "Ceanothus cuneatus", buckbrush, a foothill shrub. My riding buddy and I stopped for a moment along the trail at a patch of inviting grass and munched on a Powerbar and kicked back to watch the day. An Acorn Woodpecker was calling from a nearby snag and off a short distance toward the forebay of Lake Oroville, a Bald Eagle was soaring in the gentle updrafts. What a wonderful morning! This was the kind of morning when you felt especially alive-- the exhilaration of the ride, the sights and smells or the day, everything was in place to affirm the promise of Spring. 22 miles
Sunday, February 16, 1997. Chico Velo's Rice Valley Tandem Rally. This is an annual event for Chico Velo and the weather this year was the best it's been for several years. There were quite a few tandems, but also many single riders such as myself. The Sutter Buttes were carpeted with winter grasses and sheep and cattle were grazing along the roads-- only a few looked up each time I made an attempt to communicate as I rode by. The Pass Road out of Sutter is the only climb on the route and even that is very gentle. Almond orchards were in full bloom and the perfume from those blossoms scented the air throughout much of the ride. It was a super day for cycling. 61 miles.
Sunday, January 19, 1997. I wait for the day to warm up a bit and start out at 11 a.m. I point myself down through Paradise and onto Neal Road for a quick descent to Highway 99 and then the steady climb home. I am on my road bike for the first time in weeks-- the smooth quick ride is a real kick! For many reasons, I rode a mountain bike almost exclusively this winter and now I am rediscovering the joys of riding on skinny tires. When I reach Neal Road, I get down on the drops and hammer down the hill, enjoying the effortless speed and cool air rushing up to my face. A pure pleasure. Even though I am not yet in good riding shape, the climb home seems so much easier with the low friction of road tires. I settle in to a steady pace and revel in the ascent. 26 miles.
Saturday, September 7, 1996. A trip to Durham and the French Gourmet Bakery. I am on the road at 6:30 and it is barely light. I pick up a friend in lower Paradise and we ride down Neal as the sun comes up. It is an envigorating morning-- the air is cool and clear. The Sutter Buttes are capturing the first light of day and shinnig like large jewels across the valley. This is the kind of morning that reminds me that I am blessed to live in a terrific place. At the bakery we sit outdoors chatting and enjoying our French roast and a pastry. It is a good way to spend Saturday morning. We return to Paradise the way we came, attacking the same hills we flew down a short time ago. 39 miles.
Saturday, June 15, 1996. The Mile High Hundred. This ride is sponsored by the Almanor Wheelpeople out of Chester. With sunny skies and temperatures in the low 60's at 8:00 a.m., the route begins with a short out and back through the Warner Valley on the road to Drakesbad. This is a quiet stretch of pavement with gentle rollers, a perfect warm-up to the day. I get a glimpse of a few deer and several Golden Mantled Ground Squirrels (they look like chipmonks) dart back and forth across the road. In fact, one unfortunate fellow ran under my rear wheel- my first cycling road kill. After returning to Chester, the route begins a clockwise loop around Lake Almanor with terrific views of the water most of the way. At the Southeast corner of Almanor, near Canyon Dam, the century route drops down to the Indian Valley and the towns of Greenville and Taylorsville. This is a broad, flat valley and the route skirts the edge of Indian Valley, slicing into the foothills occasionally to allow for a few shifts. Lunch is at Taylorsville, 65 miles into the ride. The return to the lake, takes you along Highway 89 with some traffic to contend with. A short, steep climb past Crescent Mills is a workout and I am happy to see the top of the hill for a quick descent into Greenville. Past Greenville, more than 80 miles into the ride, the steady climb back to the lake begins. The road rises 1,000 feet and the pitch steepens near the end of the climb. It seems relentless, my feet are numb and I stop a minute to loosen the laces on my shoes. Finally, the climb is done and after a welcome rest stop we roll over the dam and turn off the main Highway to Prattville along the western lakeshore. At the Plumas Pines resort, I stop to visit with friends and sip a cold beer before pressing on to Chester. 109 miles.
You can reach me by e-mail at: jerry@armourfamily.com
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