Like all high school kids, especially boys, I seemed to do a few things at times that made my mother nuts. One of those things was that I was secretly planning to do a bike ride to Point Reyes. I know she would not have approved because of the numerous times we had driven the route, that I would take for the ride. When I was younger, we would travel the route seeing numerous bikes being ridden up over narrow switchback roads and steep hills. Since she was in the passenger seat and a non-driver, everything seemed so close to her as we passed the riders. It made her very nervous. Since then, knowing more of how my father drove and since I drive myself, I can understand a bit more why she was nervous. But, as much as my parents talked about those riders being nuts, I was thinking about how I wanted to do that someday. When I decided to try it, I knew I could not just ride out and conquer the two separate hill climbs I would have to make. I had to find a local hill for practice rides.
Remember the hill up behind my house that at one time had a NIKE base? That was one steep hill. I figured if I could get to the top of that, I would have no trouble climbing the hills to get to Point Reyes. After school, at least three days a week, I would attempt to climb as high as I could on this hill. At first, I could hardly get up even a short distance. But, every time I tried, I got a bit higher. Eventually, I could make it up with no problem. Some of my distance training was riding across town to see my girlfriend. Other times I would just ride. One ride for distance was to start out San Pedro Rd from San Rafael, out past China Camp (famous for having parts of the African Queen and other movies filmed there) and ride the loop through Santa Venetia, to Terra Linda, and then back over the hill to San Rafael again. I rode that route a number of times and felt I was ready. Now, all I had to do was decide on a time to do the ride.
I think the ride happened in the early part of summer after my girlfriend had gone off to a summer language training class at UC Santa Cruz. The perfect day for the ride came on a Saturday. There was high fog, a standard part of the summers in the Bay Area. There was very little wind, and very cool temperatures. It was pretty much a spur of the moment thing. I left. I figured I would go as far as I could. If I had to turn back, I would just turn back. I do not think I mentioned to anyone I was going to do this ride. I did not even take any water or snacks. There were no cell phones then, but I doubt I would have had one if they had existed. I was on my own.
I headed west out of town, and before too long I was through San Anselmo, then Fairfax. Just past Fairfax, was White’s Hill. I felt fine. Of course, it had been only a gently sloping rise up to now. I started to climb. And, it was pretty steep. And slow. But, I made it. I could not turn back now, so I rode on to Wood Acre, the little spot barely on the map, where one of my aunts lived earlier. Now would I go directly towards Bolinas, and then Point Reyes, or to do the second climb and end up at Nicasio, and go along the reservoir? I chose the second climb. This had more switchbacks and was pretty steep. This section really made my mother nervous when we encountered bike riders on it. I was lucky. There was not much traffic up here today. I made it to the top. Now it was a mostly flat run through Nicasio, and then along the road around the lake and to the dam, past places we used to stop to fish when I was younger. Then I went on again to Point Reyes Station. I was halfway, and I felt like I could ride forever. I did not even stop to rest. I probably should have, but I felt too good to stop and get off the bike. I just rode around a bit, and then left again.
For the ride home I decided to go on the route that would bring me through Samuel P Taylor Park, and eventually back to the Wood Acre turnoff at San Geronimo. Samuel P Taylor Park had been a picnic spot for my family as long as I could remember. It was fun being out there on a bike, by myself. The trip back was pretty calm, mostly downhill. At the bottom of White’s Hill again, I started the long flat straight run back to San Rafael.
Then, all of a sudden, one of my derailleur cables broke, limiting me to only two gears. I am very lucky that it happened when it did. If I had been climbing, or if I had needed to climb when it happened, I would have been stuck. And no one would have had a clue where I was. When I got back, I stopped at the A & W Root Beer in San Rafael and had a root beer float. It was the best thing I ever tasted.
I had challenged myself to a close to 50-mile ride, with hills- and made it with no stops, and no support, no water. And I could not tell anyone I had done it. I have driven the same route since then. I still see riders around the lake. But now, they ride in groups. They have water bottles I did not even know might exist back then. They have helmets. And they have a ride up the hills to the lake before they get on their bikes. I did not see any bikes along the route I had taken except those that were on a flatbed trailer. It was interesting that it is still a popular destination, but also interesting that no one I saw anyway, made the trip the way I did.
If I had grown up in this current time instead of the ’60s, maybe my life would have become more centered on riding. But, when I was doing this, even though there had been an interest in youth fitness since the days of President Kennedy, bike riding had not taken off yet. At least with the people I knew. I had no role models that thought it was anything exciting. They just used bikes to ride across town until they could drive, and then for the most part the bikes were forgotten. My bike (a close to 10-year-old Raleigh Grand Prix at the time) was way too heavy for any serious riding, even by the standards of that day. Now, it is a classic, but still a heavy classic. I saw one almost exactly like it at an antique show a few years ago. I was almost tempted to buy it just to have one I could use for spare parts.
Memory is the Key 