Here is an account of a sequence of events that encompasses exhilaration, solitude, a loss of nerve and a stubborn willingness to survive, which can only be summed up with the witty remark of an old American guy in Colarado who bailed me out on another such day- this is probably not the last time you’re gonna fuck up.
Before coming to Santa Barbara for the weekend, to sort out my housing situation, a lot of my attention was on a particular ride very popular in Santa Barbara County- Romero Canyon. A part of the reason for this excitement was also the upcoming Pedalpalooza- a 30mile mountain bike race on a singletrack course in Mammoth. Soon as I could free myself from the necessary errands of adult life, I drove up Gibraltar road to the ridgeline of the mountain range that dominates the Santa Barbara skyline, if you will. At the top I turned east and followed the road to it’s very end, where begins an off highway vehicle area that goes down into the Santa Ynez valley. Close by also is the start of the Old Romero road, a 6.9 mile descent down steep singletrack to the affluent community of Montecito.
Forewarned by descriptions on the Internet that the passage might be washed out by the rainstorms earlier this year, this was supposed to be a reconaissance trip. Surely that, since coming back uphill that way, or any other way, in this summer heat, would have been foolhardy. And so I biked through thorny bush long enough until I realized that it would be no fun going down this trail. The rains and the summer weather have caused blooms of all kind; these weeds and thorns had taken up most of the trail and it meant I had to turn back around. It was decided to put off the Romero Canyon ride till later.
Next day, Sunday, I planned a route that had been on my mind for a long time. It was a downhill ride into the Santa Ynez valley from the top of the ridgeline, which then goes along the Santa Ynez river till it reaches Gibraltar dam, from where the brutal uphill ride back to the top starts. I’d done the uphill before earlier in Spring, so I was confident I’d make it. Most of the ride is on fire service roads or paved tarmac, nothing very technical. The only bottleneck would be stamina, and the ability to withstand the summer heat.
Lately there have been many reports of heatwaves in the Southwest, and people venturing outdoors have been warned to take extreme precautions. Understandable, in the deserts of Arizona and California, but so close to the coast, I’d assumed it would be manageable. I wanted to start early to avoid the bulk of the heat, but Sunday being Sunday, after a long sleep and a hearty breakfast, the ride began at 1130am. The temperature in the car’s sensor read 93 degrees F, close to 35 degrees C, a figure not unheard of for someone from tropical India.
And immediately we rushed downhill, here we being me and the bike, a reliable Trek Marlin 5, which is a decent hardtail MTB for the amateur enthusiast. It was pleasant, rushing down over the winding fire service road along the mountain, dropping in elevation quickly until pretty soon we were down in the valley, surrounded by hills rising 2000 feet on both sides. A campground I knew came along and I looked about for a water spout but there was none. There was nobody camping in this heat. I pedalled along until I reached the first of many creek crossings. This one was easily traversed as the water was only as high as my shins, and I took my shoes and socks off for the first and last time that day.
This concluded the first part of the ride, and next followed a gentle cruise along the valley floor. Along the way I passed a big group under the shade of an oak tree with a raft in hand, few people bathing in the creek, and a few casual MTBers. I stopped at a creek crossing to wash off a little bit of dirt, and then waded through knee deep water at another crossing where a blue heron was hunting about for lunch. On one of these I refilled one of my two water bottles- the creek looked clear, and I really needed to salve my throat at this point, The paved road ended at Red Rocks, from where began a 3mile uphil ride to Gibraltar dam that lacked shade along most of the way. I took a break and ate one of my two protein bars.
The climb to the dam surprisingly tested me. It wasn’t that steep, but the sun was draining me. I’ve done really long climbs in the recent few years, so I’m pretty confident on the uphill, be it paved or dirt. At this point I prepared myself for heat exhaustion by distinguishing between normal and abnormal fatigue. The former could be handled, but the latter would require separate measures, so I made a mental note to pull myself back from that territory it if I ever entered it.
When the uphill began feeling endless, I took a tiny break in the shade of a tree, but turned out the dam was a quick descent away as I mounted the bike again. At the bottom was a nice bit of still water that invited a quick dip in this heat. I waded out about knee deep and paused to look around- not a single soul in sight, sheer forest on all sides. This is one of the luxuries of such primitive experiences, when one can abandon themself in the wild and break away from the often mechanical motions of our urban lives.
That would be the last recreational stop of the day. I gathered all my strength and began the uphill climb to the ridgeline, the final part of this ride. It was close to 7 miles and a gain of 2000 feet, an easy ride on a cool day with plenty of gas in the tank. But this was a fucking hot day, I was drained, and to my horror big fat flies hovered around and sucked my blood at any chance they got. Nevertheless, I climbed up and up, getting off and walking the bike in steeper sections. After a while I crossed through a familiar stretch with big granite boulders, and took another break to eat half of the second protein bar. I had half a bottle of water left, and the mountains seemed to loom really high up above me. The watch read 3pm, it was 3.5hrs since I’d begun the ride, and I felt hungry, thirsty, frustrated. I did what I have done plenty of times before, laid back under the shade and waited for the body to recover. I made jokes, “Life gives you some problems, but some you gotta give to yourself.” Emboldened by my humor, I resumed riding. But also, stopping meant that the flies got more time to suck me up, so at that point I couldn’t stop for long either.
The next chance I got to make a stop, I realized that the proverbial water was up to my nose now. I swatted the flies away with my kerchief and my cap, sustaining a waving motion alternately with my left and right hand. I finished the remaining of the last protein bar. There was clearly only one thing left to do, which was to leave the bike in this spot and hike all the way up. I locked the bike to a tree trunk, marked the spot on the Ride with GPS app, and started the long walk up. Initially I felt exhilirated, quite certain that I’d made the right judgement call, and that this ordeal would be over soon. It would be a comfortable stroll uphill, that’s all.
Well, for the most part it was, except that my mind was begging to be free of my body the whole time. My chronic back pain, combined with the lactic acid buildup in my body and the heat to make me lose my nerve. My leg muscles were sore from all the long rides in the recent few weeks, my fingers were paining from the braking and gear switching, butt paining from sitting and toes hurting from walking. I resolved to not think, and just do what I had to do, suffer through it all.
To my luck I found a water source, a very tiny stream of water flowing through the bushes. I stooped, washed myself, filled up my bottle and drank big gulps. Immediately I realized that I’d acted too quickly, as a wave of dizziness overcame me. My body couldn’t withstand the sudden outburst of energy, and could only sustain the slow and dull walking rhythm I’d been maintaining. I cleared my head and resolved not to make the same mistake again, and resumed the hike up.
After half an hour of walking, I knew I’d make it. I had enough water, felt sufficiently recovered and the remaining hike could not be more than half an hour. The road climbed up and up, and I dreamed of reaching the top and finding a ranger with a pickup truck, who I’d convince to accompany me down and retrieve the bike, and who’d perhaps share a sandwich or two with me. I wondered if the hike was supposed to be this long, and constantly revised my estimate of when I’d reach the top. It occured to me to check the GPS, and I knew it was only a few bends away. As I rounded the final corner, I shrieked in delight like a man free from prison.
There was no ranger at the top to welcome me, but pretty soon I heard the hum of a motorbike engine approaching. I hailed the gentleman on the bike and explained how I’d fucked up and needed a ride to my car that was parked ten minutes in the other direction. For a moment it was good just to talk to another human being. He was on a big cruiser bike with saddlebags in the back, it wasn’t really right for two people. After some initial indecisiveness, he made up his mind and said he’d give me a ride. It was a sweet ride back to the car, and I realized I hadn’t ridden a motorcycle in so many years. We exchanged numbers and fistbumped each other as he dropped me off by my car.
Today morning I woke up early and drove to the top of the fire service road at 6am. I walked all the way down and found the bike right where I’d left it yesterday. Unfortunately the rear tire had a flat, so I had to walk it all the way up. I wore long sleeves, gloves and a face scarf to protect myself from the flies. Today I didn’t ask myself when I’d reach the top, and it came quite a bit sooner than I’d expected. I played music on my phone and watched the orange sunlight move up the hills in the wee hours of the morning. All is well that ends well, as they say.
