How to Make It Home Alive

As with the trip, the third day was our longest and just as it took 10 hours to do the actual biking, it took me a little while to work up the strength to transcribe it here. We heated up real coffee with the last of our stove fuel and made some barely passable oatmeal before packing everything up and leaving town for good. Our route to the east out of town started with a big big hill but then we found ourselves smooth sailing through a valley with the sun shining and the wind at our backs. Some construction, by luck actually, sent us along a concurrent small country road that couldn't have been more idyllic if we had made it ourselves, a hundred years ago in anticipation of riding down it now.


We started out in Sonoma County and it took until after midday to cross over to Napa, right around the time we stumbled upon a taco truck in the middle of a field where we pulled in for lunch. And with burritos longer than my forearm, including fingers, we sat at a picnic table in the side yard of an abandoned storage facility and chowed down. The hunger satisfaction ratio was right around critical, so that just recalling this meal makes my stomach sigh with gratitude. Dreams, it seems, really do come true.



Even so, we dared not devour our entire burritos right there, with 50 miles (optimistically) looming ahead. Rationally, a burrito longer than your forearm, lying in your belly does not an eager cyclist make. So we saddled up, thanked our hosts for the hospitality, and headed down the road.

We hardly made it a hundred feet before a man in a camper pulled over to give us some advice about even more construction on the highway ahead, and conveniently, a bike detour we should look out for. Grateful for the foresight, we hung a right and traversed the countryside full of rolling hills, vineyards and pastures, along roads we had mostly to ourselves. With the exception of a particularly territorial peacock. He left his post at the entrance to his farm only to chase us, aggressively, at the sight of our camera. We hopped back on the bikes and ran away. John was crying a little bit, but we were physically unharmed.



And things continued in a positive direction for much of the afternoon. Karmically, we were due for a mishap, as we'd had pretty solid luck throughout the trip. And sure enough, our route got confusing almost immediately after the lovely detour rejoined the main highway. Ahead, at the very intersection where our directions insisted we merge onto 29, stood a sign that said no bicycles allowed.

Thinking sorts, we tried to recall the maps we'd studied prior to departure but with little success. So we decided to just head south and hope for the best, placing our faith naively in the logic of rural roadways. We turned and began to follow a bicycle trail which we hoped might take us down river to again join up with our cue sheet later on. To no avail, I might add, as this bicycle trail instead looped around through a marsh past a commercial wine-making facility, only to dead end in the middle of a field with private property signs all around.

After making nice with the private property holders and asking directions, we turned entirely around and headed north (and due opposite from where we were ultimately headed) to catch the road that we hoped could carry us home. By this point, we'd added almost fifteen extra miles to the day, which was beginning to close in on 4 o'clock.

Once we were back on track, we realized that our next many miles would be along the shoulder of a very busy four lane highway with a speed limit which would honestly prevent both of our mothers from sleeping soundly through the night. But we took it slowly, paid attention and chugged along. That is until John got himself one flat tire, along a stretch with no easy exits. Which caused us to amble over a landscaped berm in a brand new Marriott parking lot in order to have a safe spot to stand while he swapped out the innertube. Which only took a minute because John is a juggler at fixing bikes.



Meaning he's pretty good at it.

And before you knew it, we were headed through Vallejo and over the Carquinez Bridge. Here we are happily on the other side.


We stopped to gobble up the remaining halves of the burritos (remember those?) and we were awfully glad to have exerted such self control earlier in the day. By 6 we were headed through the towns of the northeast bay: Rodeo, San Pablo, Richmond and lickety split, finally back on the Ohlone Greenway trail. Things got familiar again, like our shadows.


Just as the sun was setting, we pulled up to our house. At last! We were so excited that we danced around for a bit. Gingerly though, as we were still sporting cycling shoes.


I was so tired, I almost couldn't toast my oversized novelty celebration beer in honor of completing 203 innaugural bike tour miles.


I said almost.

How To Keep On Going

Day Two started off well, except that our amazingly seductive compact camp stove turned out to be less efficient than we would have liked and we used up most of our fuel the night before making dinner. And Long Story Short, we couldn't make any coffee. Boo! Camping with no coffee? I was ready to quit right there. But with a little coaxing and some reverse psychology, John was able to convince me that we could probably find some in town. And who knew? We were to pass through town that very Morning. I was hopeful. We took in a quick view of the lake at our campground, John secured a photo for his 2009 Christmas card and we left for our Day Two: Tour de Sonoma.


As you might expect, there were some vineyards involved. Rolling, rolling hills of vines as far as you could see. Naturally we stopped a few times along the way to sample some of the local nectar. We decided that the Chardonnay at DeLoach won for Tastiest Snack of the day. They're located outside of Santa Rosa on a rather fancy estate, but we couldn't stay long as we were headed for Guerneville and the mecca at Korbel.


But those 20 miles or so between the two were very hard work. Really, just stren-u-ous. We were parched by the time we reached the Champagne tasting room. We obliged and stayed for a few sips of Champagne in their cozy tasting room, before taking to the patio with a small bottle of Brut for sandwiches of summer snausage (Field Roast) and Gouda on sourdough baguette. Something about those flavors, overlooking the Russian River, accompanied by a small glass of Champagne made for such a perfect lunch.



We passed through Guerneville long enough to note its quaint small town feel and motley crew of townies, before beginning our homeward loop. This amusement park sums up Guerneville oddly well. While trying to get a better photograph of it, we were hollered at by a neighbor who declared the road leading up to it to be Private Property. It's a bit of an adjustment in rural places to remember that regular looking streets are often not public roadways. Getting lost can be tantamount to trespassing, if you're not careful. In any case, we found this private property declaration a bit offputting and so we scooted.


And on that note, we headed back toward Santa Rosa, but on the other side of the river. The road, a small winding country route with very little car traffic was so pretty we forgot to document it. So you'll just have take our word. So breathtaking and quiet that we forgot to take another picture until we hit the Santa Rosa city limit, thirty miles later.


And just then, I happened to notice the trip odometer, thus far.


Our whole plan for day two culminated at Russian River Brewery at happy hour where we got to have a couple of Tasty Tasty craft beers: Pliny the Elder, Consecration and Perdition. Three of the finest beers I've tasted in quite a while, though the sense of entitlement may have something to do with it.


After that we made dinner by campfire, squared away the food so we wouldn't be devoured by bears and fell fast asleep. Our two day total: 110 miles.


Stay tuned for the third chapter: How to Make it Home Alive

How To Set Out

I'm presenting the account of Our Very First Bicycle Tour (please, hold your applause) in three parts. Mostly so as not to overwhelm you with awe, but also so that you can focus more intently on the details which carried our trip from the just so-so level of fun up to the more elevated, grand level. We definitely achieved the highest level of fun.

First so we're on the same page about what exactly it was that we did, let me say that our trip was a bicycle tour, with camping. Not bike camping, but a short trip with camping accommodations and cycling every single day. Bicycle touring generally refers to traveling by bicycle over some distance, with the emphasis on the journey, while bike camping is just biking to your camping destination in order to camp. In both cases, the rider carries all belongings atop the bicycle, though on a tour, one may opt to sleep in hotels, houses, hostels in addition to camping. In my mind, the inclusion of the word Tourism helps to emphasize the leisurely pace of travel, the emphasis on sightseeing and the ambitious nature of such plans.

We left mid-morning on Sunday with our sights set on a small campground outside of Santa Rosa which would be our home for the two nights of our three day excursion. Mostly so we could leave some of our weight behind the second day and tackle more countryside. In addition to regular bike clothing, extra socks and a toothbrush, we also carried with us a full outfit of camping equipment: one tent, 2 sleeping bags, 2 sleeping pads, 2 aluminum plates, a 2 qt. pot and a small stove.

All of this was carried by way of a handlebar bag for each of us, and a set of panniers for each of us; in fact, my set had been whipped up in a frenzy only 12 short hours prior to our departure. Like magic!


John gets full credit for devising our route, which was concocted from a combination of Google maps, Mapmyride and the various county bike maps available in pdf on the internet. That way we were able to investigate the route accurately and with an eye for safety, in order to make it ultimately the most enjoyable. Because it's much more fun to obviate potential arguments over traffic situations, it was worth it to spend plenty of time perfecting the cue sheet and double checking the size of a road's shoulder.


Our route began with a short 9 mile warmup ride up to the El Cerrito del Norte BART station, where we caught a bus across the Richmond Bridge and into San Rafael, CA.


And really we were off to a good start. We met John's ghost of cycling future in San Rafael, who rode with us a good three miles or so. A man of 60 or so who shared John's facial bone structure, cycle enthusiasm and hometown of Charlottesville, Virginia. The coincidence was eerie. In spite of all the interesting similarities, we failed to snap a picture of the man and so he lives on as a mere figment of our imaginations. Instead, we got a shot of how the man might remember us:


From there we took a scenic route to Santa Rosa, via Petaluma. This leg involved a great valley, a big hill and a small redwood forest.




John wasn't always way out in front of me, but he was some of the time. Especially when we were headed uphill. We did manage to arrive at our destination together. We made camp quickly before the sunset and were so tired we didn't even have a campfire. This exhaustion turned quickly to lunacy; somewhere between setting up the tent and sleeping inside it, we all but lost it, as evidenced by that wink. I couldn't stop winking! The wilderness works in mysterious ways.



62 miles down. Stay tuned for How to Keep On Going, the next installment of Our Very First Bicycle Tour.