Free Ride

I thought I'd post this photo of my friend Bryan Botts hitting a nice jump on a free ride course (Thanks to Carl Hyndman). I thought it was a nice photo and, for the record, I would never do this jump. Actually I don't have any problem with the jumping part...It's just the landing. I am quite vulnerable to "compression sickness". It's no fun. The symptoms are broken bones and contusions. Bryan seems fairly immune to this malady. Good for him.

El Morro

Our little community by the sea has been demolished and mostly forgotten. However those of our who spent our formative years there still think of it as home. - like the mothership we always come back to. It's a bond we all share. When I venture back to the sand and to the water (that's all that's really left) I'm always hoping to run into, by chance, some of my old neighbors. When the surf gets large those chances grow greater.

Friday was a classic day for the surf at El Morro. It was also bit of a homecoming for a small group of us. I went out bodysurfing in the evening - over matched and delightfully terrified - and I'm still trying to drain the water out of my ear. Unfortunately my "bar of soap" camera couldn't quite capture the size and strength of the swell. The above photo is of one of the moderate size sets. Not bad and certainly big for any other day.

On Saturday morning I witnessed the other side of the "big swell" equation. I went surfing at Doheny and paddled into a floating mass of humanity. A flotilla of foam and fiberglass. There were perhaps 150 people in the water - one-third of them surfing, two-thirds of them just floating bobbing around like an aquatic obstacle course. Oh to live in Southern California.

BONK!

It's summertime and the temps are rising. Last week in Laguna was pretty warm and humid. Okay, maybe not by Midwest or Gulf Coast standards - Sunday's weather was probably equivalent to a Spring day in Houston - but it's still enough to zap one's energy.

Sunday morning I did a typical ride from my house, climbing up Dartmoor (Boat Road) to the top of Bommer Ridge. I was all sweat and suffering. Of course this happens from time to time, we all have good days and bad days. So I continued on - my normal loop - and I have to say I was nearly dead on my pedals. I wobbled and weaved my way back to Emerald Canyon and then descended the drop like a groggy drunk...happy not to crash. But I made it.

By afternoon - after a dose of liquids and protein - I felt much better and made it to the beach. I told my friend Andy about my experience. He told me he nearly bonked on his own ride and that a mutual friend of ours (a strong rider) had to be helped home after bonking on a Sunday morning group ride. So it's not just me.

I've formulated a few rules for riding in the heat.

1. Liquids. Liquids. Liquids. (duh)
2. Go early or go late.
3. Don't worry about how fast.
4. Stop when there is shade
5. No riding when hungover.

It all seems so obvious. Sometimes though we ignore the obvious, take rules lightly, believe we can do what we shouldn't etc. On my next ride I plan to feel better.

Summer Expedition

I just drove 2,100 miles. My destination was Gold Beach, Oregon. My purpose (okay, purpose may be a bit far reaching) was to windsurf the Oregon coast at Pistol River. If you don't windsurf you probably have never heard of Pistol River, but it is an amazing spot - remote, scenic, and when it is on, intensely windy. Unfortunately, I arrived in Gold Beach/Pistol River to the unwelcome chorus of "You should have been here yesterday." Prior to my arrival the Oregon Coast had witnessed two perfect weeks of wind and, intermittent, large surf. My time there consisted of four life-sucking days in the cold fog. I surfed mushy waves in super cold water, played a commanding game of tennis and beat the socks off a couple wily young teens at basketball. I also watched an odd, and slightly unsettling, fireworks show. The local civic leaders set off their display above the foggy skies of the Gold Beach marina. Each report was followed by an eerie, otherworldly glow in the cloudy sky. Think 1950's scifi effects. The crowd - essentially everyone in town - bundled against the cold, seeming more phlegmatic than patriotic. No one over twelve exhibited any sign holiday exuberance. Happy Birthday America, your tired, cold and blanket-covered masses would rather be in bed.

The upside of my trip to Gold Beach was seeing some old friends and acquaintances. Windsurfing the Southern Oregon Coast is a lifestyle choice for the hearty bunch of misfits who somehow survive there summer after summer. I'm amazed at comforted that this group still exists. Windsurfing a single day at Pistol River would be an over-the-top bucket list experience for just about anyone on the planet - think 40 naught winds and 15-20 foot surf - but this crew manages to do it day in day out year after year - unheralded, unknown and practically unseen. It was a letdown that I missed out on the Pistol River experience but...

After driving down from Oregon I arrived in Santa Cruz to find -trumpets please - wind and waves. Santa Cruz had been dead to windsurfing for two weeks, but this week the wind gods cooperated. I hit Waddell Creek for three consecutive days, with solid white caps and a healthy south swell. I sailed till I was sore, took a few waves on the head and, unfortunately, broke some equipment. Good times. The photos below where taken with my bar of soap-sized point and click, not the greatest but you get the idea. As for Pistol River...there's always next year.

Above The Clouds

A group of us - okay, five burly guys and one wiry Italian - rode up Saddleback last Saturday. We started in Silverado Canyon, spun up Maple Springs to Main Divide Road, hiked over the saddle, descended the Upper and Lower Holy Jim trails and finally rode out Trabuco Canyon Road. If you know this ride, then you know just how great it is. For the uninitiated, well, read on. The ride up Maple Springs is probably the easiest route to Main Divide, but it's still a seven mile grind...albeit a scenic seven mile grind. We began Saturday in the dense clouds which blanketed all of SoCal. I was hoping for sunshine at higher elevations, but I was somewhat skeptical until we neared Main Divide and spotted patches of blue sky. About this time a couple riders blew by our group. Our egos deflation subsided when Tom recognized one of the speedsters as Thomas Frischknecht. Frischi (got that one from Wikipedia) is a Swiss pro rider with a long storied career. I'm pretty sure he's retired now, but he was still pushing a big gear up Maple Springs on Saturday.

When we reached Main Divide, we followed the gravelly dirt road around Modjeska Peak (the lesser of the twin peaks). We had lunch near the radio towers and took in the incredible views. Check out the photos above. In person the clouds below us resembled enormous pillows, lazily stretching to the horizon. Above us was only blue sky and mountain peaks. The top photo shows a not too distance Santiago and in the bottom photo, San Gorgonio is in the hazy distance. Unfortunately, I forgot my camera, so I believe these are all from Ron's iPhone. Not bad though.

After a short, somewhat stickery, hike-a-bike over the divide, we began our descent. Upper Holy Jim is a hoot: steep, scenic, switchbacky and lightly traveled. This is definitely the more technical of the Holy Jims. Upper Holy Jim is a bit reminiscent of the San Juan Trail. It's cut into a hillside of decomposed granite; small rock gardens are interspersed between tight switchbacks. In comparison, Lower Holy Jim runs smooth and fast. Not too fast though, since there are plenty of hikers heading up the trail on an early summer Saturday morning. It's hard not to have a smile on this trail. The scenery is, again, magnificent. Every time we popped out of the canopy of manzanita we were greeted with blue skies above and views of lush Trabuco Canyon below. After the generous downhill we arrived at the Holy Jim fire station. Crowds of hikers and Jeepsters filled up the parking lot. This is definitely one of the nicest places in Orange County. The only downside is that the long drive in on the dirt road is a drag - all bumps and dust. On a bike though the ride out is fairly easy, we pass the cars, hold our breath through the dust and glide across the stream crossings. It's all good...can't wait to do it again.

Anticipation

My new bike is coming - in a box, in a truck, in a plane, in a train (not sure) - making its way to Laguna Beach. I can't wait. Hopefully, if all goes well, and the gods of shipping and bike mechanics cooperate, I will be riding this beast next week. Certainly this will provide material for many more blog posts. Keep your ears open gentle readers (or rough riding trail lovers as the case may be). My gang of riders - be they fat, old and mangy - has a few big rides in the pipeline. I'll be sure to provide pictures. Yes, the others will be lagging behind. No way they'll be able to keep up with me on my new bike. Not a chance.

Until then...

Jalama

I camped at Jalama last week in north Santa Barbara county. The campground abuts a vast wide-open beachfront just north of Point Conception. It's a beautiful spot that often fills up, except in the springtime when the northwest wind sweeps through the campground like the devil turned sirocco. Which is exactly why I was there.

Jalama beach is a classic California wavesailing spot. For twenty-plus years it has been on the radar of most central and southern California windsurfers. The spot is not for the meek. Not by any stretch of the imagination - the surf can be large, unrelenting and powerful, and the wind can range from fluky to extreme. (I was once told that Jalama means changing winds in some native language. I can't verify it though.) Last week the surf was fairly small, but the wind was fierce, gusting to nearly 50 mph in the late afternoon. Getting out on the water early was the best choice, by 4 p.m our whole group of windsurfers was mostly blown off the water.

The same sundowner winds which created havoc in the Santa Barbara fire of late hit Jalama with full intensity. For four consecutive days last week the wind came up in the early afternoon and just kept building. The northerly cant of the wind made for great side-off wave sailing, but the gusts were unrelenting. At 230 lbs there aren't too many days when I can't hold on to my smallest sail (a 4.2m) - but there I was, having the sail ripped out of my hands, then fin walking across the water and doing everything possible not to catapult out of the footstraps. Whew. What a rush. Before the total chaos there was also some fun sailing sessions - nicely powered and on waist to chest high surf. And the wind was warm!

The top photo was taken at 8 a.m. last Thursday. Already a couple of kiters are out riding small surf drained out by the super low tide. The next two photos are, obviously, from late in the day. I'm not sure if the middle photo captures just how windy it was. There was so much sand blowing that the lens on my digital camera repeatedly seized up...Can't wait to go back.