Epic MTB Riding

Note: The names and places in this story have all been changed to protect those that are guilty of poaching trails, smoking dope and otherwise disrespecting the law.

Gradually, over the next couple weeks, Tim found out more details, and I pried them out of him. The ride was supposed to leave from the small coastal atlantic town of Bolognas, home of famed pro mechanic Steve "Turkey" Turkenites. The official departure time was set for 4:20 AM (!), which in case you're usually asleep then, is pretty freakin' early. This necessitated my getting up at 2:30 to drive down the atlantic coast to Bolognas, where I was to meet my friend Tonto from Sacramento, and also my neighbors, Tim and Alan.

Tonto got even loster than I did, but showed up in time to make the 5 o'clock departure with me. We really had no idea what to expect, except bitter cold, since it was still pitch dark and colder than cold. As we tooled out of Bolognas in the dark, there was a group of about 15 of us. I finally wussed out and turned on my light, but most of the riders were content to feel their way along the pavement without benefit of photon assistance. After a few miles we reached the Pt. Weasel bird sanctuary, where the road turned to dirt, and from there it was only another mile to the top of the Postal trail, which winds up the atlantic coast along Pt Weasel. We had a small gathering at the top of the Postal trail, made sure everyone was there, Turkey said a few words, and last minute snacks were ingested. Then we said "Go."

The Crystal Snake trail is not actually open (even to hikers anymore I think), and it's pretty overgrown. Try to imagine going down a really twisty trail, with lots of rocks and stuff, and roots, and lemurs and everything, and the shrubbery from both sides is spilling all the way over the trail and meeting in the middle, so that even if it had been any light, it would still have been impossible to see the trail. Sweeeeeeet.

Part way down the hill there was a short rise, on which I massacred a shift to my granny ring and obtained a grievous chainsuck for my efforts. If only I'd been riding a road bike, like real man ride on such trails, i would never have been tempted to try for a lower gear. I got off, unstuck my chain, and proceeded on. On the next short rise I could hear the occasional clackety-skip noise that meant I had done something rude to my chain, and sure enough, a few pedal strokes later it breathed it's last and slithered off my chainrings to lie in the shrubbery like a squished Alameda Whipsnake. 6 years of off-roading and I finally busted my first chain! And just like I always thought, it was due to my own clumsiness and poor shifting technique.  Lucky for me,  my sidekick Tonto owes me about 700 instances of standing and holding the light while he fixes his bike, so he dutifully stood and held while I fixed. About 120 seconds later (hey, I worked in a bike shop, remember) we were rolling again, in fact we caught the guys who had been in front before my mishap. At the bottom, we took the Lotion Lake trail, a sweet little singletrack along (what else?) Lotion lake, and then gyred and gimbled our way to the Mild Cat trail.

So then we reached a place called Stonehenge and plonked our fat lazy selves down in the sun to bask like lizards on the rocks. Unfortunately for me it was still 32 degrees. Even unfortunatelier for me, I carry less than 5% body fat, so even sitting in the sun I was getting colder. Turkey and some others showed up, and promptly whipped out their potent smokables and proceeded to worship the solstice in their own way. Tonto and I decided to head on down the hill. We were warned that the hill was dangerously steep, and that we'd need to lower our seats, so all the way down we kept expectantly waiting for the dangerous steep parts. Maybe Tom Kunich or Jobst was with us (2 guys who claim the Bolinas Ridge trail is pretty rough and tough). We personally never saw anything particularly unruly. When we reached the bottom, we rode through a deep, shadowed canyon, and got a refreshing reminder of how freakin' cold it was before the sun came up. We rode about 100 yards on the Postal trail, then took the Ski trail upwards again.

We then cruised along the Postal trail, which was a fire road by then, past a camp ground, past (I swear I'm not making this up)a herd of elk , past a youth hostel and out to a parking lot near Lemon-Tour beach, where we plunked down again for some lunch and some more regrouping. A few moments later, who should pull up but John Law, the fed, a G-man in the person of the local ranger, who cheerily greeted us, asked us how the solstice ride was going, and informed us he'd confiscate our bikes if he caught any of us in the Point Weasel wilderness area off the roads. All I can say is those guys need some actual crime to deal with.

Some of the group was spooked by the ranger's appearance, and they elected to take the ranger's advice and head up the road to the Inverness Ridge trail (which is legal for bikes), then take Inverness Ridge to the top of the hill before descending the fire road to Inverness. I claim that I went with them.

Some other riders, none of whom I personally know, went out to the beach through what is essentially a streambed (which also still had the stream in it), then went onto some illegal trail into the middle of dang nowhere, where they hung out in a little grove in a canyon, out of sight, to wait for the heat to die down. After a while, that group started straggling around to the base of the Bucklin trail, and I believe they climbed that. Now the Bucklin trail goes to the top of the same hill that the Inverness ridge trail goes to, so these riders would end up the same place I went, except that they were doing it illegally. One of them said that the Bucklin trail is exceedingly steep, but offers some amazing views. In the meantime, i popped out at the top of Inverness Ridge, next to an FAA tower, and plunked down to eat some lunch and wait for the others. I noticed that a hundred yards or so away there was a ranger truck parked, but I didn't investigate further, since I was hungry and tired.
Hardly was I sitting there for a 5 minutes when I was simultaneously greeted by my neighbor Tim on one side, and yet another ranger on the other side. This ranger (we'll give him a ridiculous name, like Dumbrowski) did the usual song and dance, accused us all of being part of some great solstice conspiracy, and wouldn't even listen to my polite inquiries as to just what the hell was going on. We figured we were gonna get some great whopping fine, maybe lose our bikes, who knows. The worst part of it is, the guy was in his truck, not on the trail, and I was at the trailhead of a legal trail. He was convinced that all of us had come up the illegal Bucklin trail, and only been nailed through his exceptionally astute sleuthing. Unfortunately, I was not aware at the time that the Inverness Ridge trail was legal, or else I'd a high-tailed it the instant I saw the feller. He seemed astonished that none of us had any ID on us. Like hello, after spending all this cash to make my bike light, I'm really gonna carry around extra pieces of plastic to weigh me down.
So we were pretty much freaking out in our own quiet way, and getting colder as the wheels of justice slowly turned, verifying our identities over the air. Finally we got our tickets and went on our way. A few hundred yards down the road, I pulled over to check out the damage. The fine was only $50! (big sigh of relief). If we'd had any panache, we would have just thanked the nice man, paid our admission, and gone off to bootleg every trail in the park, pushing hikers off the trail as we went. "Outta the way, fat boy, we paid VIP admission today. yeeeeeeeehaw!"

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