There is majesty in Life. Life is defined by vitality – governed by a sacred set of metabolic processes that shapes us, Life gives a sense of being and invites us to interact with the marvels of the world. Painfully, there is also majesty in Death. Death is defined by decay – ripping the organic tissue away cell by cell, Death brings us closer to our soul and truly makes us ask what we are and what we want from life. Its presence is uncanny, even frightening at times.
Death and I have not spoken much, so I’m not too familiar. Some would argue it requires a lifetime to truly understand death, to truly understand the soul. I, unfortunately, cannot move through time so quickly. Instead, I would invite you to experience Death through space, like I did, by hopping from one mountain range to another.
My journey started in China Camp State Park, a lovingly equidistant place from SF and East Bay. It is possible to go straight from San Francisco in the morning, but I wanted to have a more relaxed morning. After a short ride to San Rafael and stopping at a coffee shop, I caught the SMART train all the way out to Sonoma County Airport.
From here, I’d recommend you not do what I did and plan a bit more. For me, there was ~70 miles and 5800ft of climbing to get where I was going to sleep. Bikepacking is fun, isn’t it? I started by riding through good ol’ Sonoma county. But this isn’t the Sonoma wine country you might be used to (the one on the Russian River, to the West). The vineyards I passed were massive operations, with nothing but a sign at the end of a long driveway cautioning me to enter. Riding by these faceless operations made me clutch a bit, no grape stealing yet.
As I made my way through wine country, I noticed a sniffle of what was to come.
Do you see it? Just beyond the pre-fermentation sacks at the top of the hill? The trees are burnt.
After snaking my way through wine country for an hour or so, I was greeted with the devilish smile of Mt Saint Helena. On any other day the climbing should have started right after making it to Kellogg – there was a dirt road that takes you up called Ida Clayton. I say was because it is no longer dirt. Ida Clayton is now paved, and I was lucky enough to get to there the day PG&E was paving it, so I was not allowed up. After arguing with the construction worker at the bottom of the climb, begging them to let me go up and trying to tell them I’d die going on Highway 29 instead, we decided it was best that I went on Highway 29.
Highway 29 through Calistoga was the only other connection on this Eastern route. If you’re smarter than me, you might have realized that trying to get up a highway at 2PM on a Friday might not be the best idea and camped at Bothe-Napa State Park instead. But lucky for you, I am not the smartest tool in the shed and continued up. I bypassed some of 29 by taking Old Lawley Toll Road up. The road was quiet, but the landscape felt barren for some reason. It was like I was seeing gray, but I couldn’t find it because the landscape was still green. I had to look closer, past the new brush that was filling in to see it. More than half the trees still standing were burnt.
Prior to this trip, I don’t think I had ever gone close to a burnt forest before. You see it driving to Tahoe, but to be in the forest itself? After realizing it was all burnt, standing there with just my bike, I felt terrified. Not realizing you are completely surrounded by Death, and then realizing it all at once, is terrifying. I took a deep breath and looked past the tree carcasses. Birds were active, insects were everywhere, and deer wandered on the hillside. Still, it was hard to look at these carcasses of trees up close, then pan out to the entire landscape and not feel like Death’s essence was around you at all times.
Old Lawley Toll took me up about 1200’ of the 1900’ climb, but then dumped me out on the worst part of Highway 29. It was harrowing just jumping onto the highway. Rather than describe this road to you, I’m just going to show you what it looks like on the map:
It’s this super steep switchback highway that has a 55MPH speed limit. Luckily a homie – Isaac – lives at the second curve of this highway, saw me struggling and immediately offered to give me a lift. Isaac is actually from Mill Valley but left because it got too expensive to live. “Mill Valley is the shit but living there is just outrageous” he told me. He moved in after the Valley Fire and was in the process of rebuilding a home that was ripped to shreds by the fire.
He and I loaded the bike in the back of his truck and set off to Middletown, 12 miles away. On the way we stopped at a freshwater spring where someone was filling up jugs of water. They told me this was the best water for miles. It was some of the nastiest water I have ever had – it tasted like agricultural runoff. I swallowed it with pain and said that it is so much better than the water we get in the city. While I drank, Isaac remembered a spring south of Stinson Beach, near Mt. Tam in Mill Valley. He described how he used to mountain bike around the spring and keep filling up all day.
I got lucky meeting Isaac but try to avoid 29 if you can and take the dirt/paved road up. Once I made it to Middletown, the dirt could finally start for me. I was officially in Lake County now, which is surprisingly full of these dirt roads. No one seems to bike, or drive, much on these. To continue from Middletown, I took Big Canyon road. This is probably what you all came to see:
This dirt road connects into Howard Springs and Clear Lake. It was quiet and lonely – a grand total of three cars passed me for the two or so hours I rode down this dirt road. This section was also the area most affected by the Valley Fire. Entire mountains were covered in carcasses of burnt trees, with the only life being found at the bottom near the road.
Riding several hours through a dead forest is a sobering experience. Several times I imagined the terror that must have existed in 2015 when the entire mountain was on fire. I passed mailboxes with numbers still on them – these must have been houses burnt in the fire. The silence was deafening, and the sun was cruel. The uncomfortable conditions made me want to move quickly through the landscape. Still, it was breathtaking. Below is my favorite photo of the trip, I call it “The Last Tree Standing.”
After I cleared this road, I was in the home stretch. There are a few more highways here and there, but about 20 miles later I reached Clear Lake. It is a wonderful state park with a hike or bike site and showers for only a dollar – what a deal! I took some time to explore the lake and understand some of the people. There were a few characters here and there, but for the most part Lakeport is quiet. Farms, pizza joints, the occasional hillbilly yelling at you to get off the road – basically what you’d expect from a town 100 miles north of San Francisco.
My favorite photo from Clear Lake was taken at a local taqueria where I got lunch the next day. When I entered asking if I could bring my bike inside, they yelled “Nah bro, we’re the best security on the Lake. No one’s gonna fuck with it with us here.” As soon as I sat down two others entered the shop and a collective “Oh shit” was yelled. After some shoving, yelling and cursing they sat down and proceeded to arm wrestle each other in teams of two. Here is the scene, if you can believe it.
I putzed around the lake for the rest of Saturday and was excited to head home on the following day. The way home was again 70 miles but with 1500 more feet of descending than ascending – Clear Lake sits at an elevation of 1500ft. There was still 3000ft of climbing because of the mountains that surround the lake, but this was going to be a significantly easier day. I decided to take a different route through the west this time.
I started the day doing what anyone else would do in car dependent Lake County – I got drivethru coffee.
Initially I didn’t know what to expect from this western route. It again was mostly through dirt roads, but I figured it would mostly be burnt again. Once I got to the good stuff though, I saw that the way home would be different.
The dirt road is alive and well, with green trees and significant shade on the road. At the closest point, the route home is only 14 miles away from the route I took into Clear Lake, but the landscape was significantly different. This time I was riding through the side of the mountain that was spared – what Middletown was prior to the fire.
It was exciting having life on the way home. This road – Highland Springs Road, connecting to Old Toll – was yet another glorious dirt road with little to no activity. I found myself biking alone for hours again, reflecting on how fragile our ecosystems have become and the hands of climate change and excited to Google fire dynamics when I got home. Several sections of these roads felt other-worldly, and I loved every second of it.
After taking my time in the wilderness, I raced to catch a train some 40 miles away. This western route is generally not as good as the eastern route. To connect back to Sonoma County Airport you have to bike on the 101 for about an hour… which is fun?
I could barely read this sign when I biked directly past it – it’s intended for cars zipping by at 5 gazillion miles per hour. Share the road, motherfuckers.
The rest of Sonoma county is fine. This time I was closer to the Russian River, and the vineyards are a lot smaller and approachable. The ride is beautiful and scenic, and the people I met were overwhelmingly white and generally boring. I raced through it because I had enough of the plucky grape farmer’s plight for this trip, though I stopped at a few vineyards when I ran out of water (and to steal many, many grapes). You could make a whole day out of stopping at these vineyards if you wanted to. This one, Dry Peach Farms, was selling the most amazing cured vegetables; I’d go back there if I’m ever lost in Sonoma again.
And there you have it! A couple of glips and glams later and I found myself back at Sonoma Country Airport taking the train. I just barely caught the 3:30PM train, which connects to the Larkspur ferry back into SF.
I hope you try this journey out, the Death to Life Tour, and I hope it shows you as much as it showed me.
xoxo
SimShrady
Yelling at the Clouds 
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