Santa Barbara Island

Over the weekend I cruised out to, and camped on, Santa Barbara Island. We went out with Island Packers, a charter company which carries campers, hikers, whale watchers and divers out to all the landings in the Channel Islands National Park. Santa Barbara Island is not only remote, it is also the smallest of the Channel Islands -one square mile of cliffs and hillsides rising from the Pacific about 50 miles offshore of Santa Monica. There are few amenities at the campground, but the island itself is quite beautiful, easy to circumnavigate - either on foot or by boat - and a haven for sea life and marine mammals. I spent a great part of every day in the water. The diving was magnificent. Curious sea lions seemed to follow my every move as I swam through forests of kelp and along craggy shoreline reefs. Along the sandy bottom there were squadrons of large bat rays and amongst the rocks I spotted Calico Bass, Sheepshead, Perch and a an abundance of Opal Eye. I also came across some of the largest lobster shells I had ever seen. The lobsters are molting and they are ripe for the picking. I really need to come back to this island during lobster season. This time I was, frustratingly, one week early.

Santa Ana River Trail

I stayed up near Angelus Oaks over Labor Day weekend. This can only mean one thing, another opportunity to ride the Santa Ana River Trail. Since I started in the middle of the day, I decided to peddle up Glass Road and Seven Oaks Road to the trailhead near Hwy 38. From there it's 11 miles of rolling single track down to the elegantly named Middle Control Road. The trail continues another two miles out to Angelus Oaks and descends to Mentone. I'll save those sections for when I have the opportunity to ride with friends (who can provide a shuttle car amongst other things). The 11 miles I did ride was fantastic. This is fast, flowy single track with tight turns,berms and a smattering of stream crossings.. Much of the upper trail cascades along a steep hillside; there are plenty of narrow sections with sufficient drop offs to keep one from day dreaming. Almost the entire trail is completely canopied. A few open sections allow for fantastic views of the valley below.

I can't recommend this trail enough. I rode mid-day and didn't see one other rider...for 11 miles! The only people I passed was a family of hikers. Where was everyone? It was Labor Day weekend, Los Angeles was on fire, the entire SoCal basin was blazing with heat and it was perfect in the mountains. It makes one wonder.

Hot Hot Hotter

We rode the Los Pinos trail Saturday. Actually we survived the Los Pinos trail. Don't be fooled by the smiling faces, it was hot. Unfortunately we planned the ride a couple weeks in advance and didn't account for mega-hot weather. Hitting the trail at 7 am was not early enough. Los Pinos has minimal shade and plenty of warm, reflective rocks. I found myself waiting under the sparse shade of manzanita bushes - hardly an elm tree - trying to ration my water till we made it to the safety of the car.

As you might guess, we had the entire trail to ourselves, all eight miles of ruts, rocks and spiny bushes. It wasn't until we reached the final steps, near the seemingly idyllic church camp, that I saw other people. They were young kids in their church best. They blessed me as a rattled by and I nearly warned them of the demons that lie ahead.

I get thirsty just thinking about this one.

Check out my May 4th posting for additional, and greener, photos of Los Pinos.

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.