Declaring Independence

NOTE: This report was previously posted at www.MyBikeSite.com

Declaring independence...from my sanity.

The day started well enough. I waited, awash in the frigid flow of central air, until I was sure any remnants of the cool morning had been carried far away by a faux-Santa Anna breeze. The temps outisde were a bearable mid-80s F. There was even a lottery ticket's chance of a nice afternoon thunderstorm to tempt me outside. But it was a cruel hoax of statistics. I could see huge thunderstorms in the area, if you count the whole region from Santa Barbara to Palm Springs as "The Area."

To spare my car the torture of transporting me to the trailhead on such a blistering day, I decided to ride directly from home and take a nice, easy loop with minimal climbing. And I would have gotten away with it, too, if it hadn't been for those meddling photons!

The flat initial stage of the ride was quite pleasant. As Saharan lizards and Volkswagen beetles well know, air-cooled engines require motion, at decent speed, to keep cool. I lost a bit of time in West Hills trying to avoid slow rolling hills, but at least I was cruising some pretty shady neighborhoods.

Things took a turn for the worse when I decided to take the 'shortcut' up Victory Blvd. to approach the new Ahmanson Ranch trailhead. About a minute after crossing Valley Circle and beginning that awful climb, I noticed I was leaving a trail of melted tire tread. This was certainly not a result of laying down a bunch of horsepower. As I neared the top of the hill the temps rose to around 105 F. Uncomfortable, but not yet deadly. My slightly-underinflated air suspension provided a handy excuse to hide for a few moments in the shade of the trailhead bulletin board.

It took me all of 5 minutes to blast down the canyon to the confluence of the two forks of Las Virgines Creek. Maximizing the speed meant more cooling while it lasted, but less actual time being cooled. The ride up the other fork of Las Virgines was at least shady if not cool. I knew there was a light breeze because I could hear the rattlesnake-rustle of thousands of dead thistle leaves. I was quite glad that the moderate uphill grade didn't slow me much. The temp was now 110 F in the direct sunlight, so if I stopped anywhere not shady I would surely be converted to tuna casserole in no time.

The big sycamores at the Las V-Cheeseboro junction were dropping a nice shadow, and I took advantage, knowing I wouldn't get such a chance for a little while once I started the next climb.

While I was stopped in the shade at the bottom of the grade up to Cheeseboro Ridge the jogger passed me. I wasn't stopped for long, which means he was keeping up a good pace despite the convection oven conditions. This got me to thinking that the few dog-walkers I passed near the Ahmanson trailhead must have been horribly cruel to bring poochie out on a day like this! Then that got me to thinking that maybe I was pretty dang stupid for subjecting myself to such a radiation treatment.

The grunt up to Cheeseboro Ridge was ghastly. All around was yellow, gold, brown, grey, and only the slightest hint of drab green. Above, the cobalt dome of cloudless sky made sure I received the full benefit of the miracle of nuclear fusion. A nice, robust tailwind followed me up the hill, blowing dust and dry thistle blossoms. I felt like the star character in that Van Gogh painting, "Sunflowers," where the entire universe is composed of nothing but blazing sun, dried grass, and sunflowers.

I oozed over the pass and picked up speed dropping into Cheeseboro Canyon. The shade of those big oaks was as soothing as jumping into an alpine lake. The canyon was much cooler than up on the ridge, and I made excellent time up to Sulphur Springs, which, despite it's bone-dry conditions, still stank like an overturned Andy Gump.

The Sulphur Springs Trail alternated between comfortable shade on the climbs and blasting heat on the flats. Most of the trail is in pretty good shape, but a couple sandy sections really tested my mettle. There were no signs of life anywhere. Even the reptiles had sought shelter from the yellow menace in the sky.

Today was not a day for proving myself. I only made cursory attempts at the two technical climbs on Sulphur. Seems like the only seasons those climbs are in shape are spring and fall. Too wet and it's a grease fest. Too dry and it's 4 inches of dust. Today's 100+ temps would make recovery impossible if I really put my heart into it. Besides, nobody was looking so I couldn't show off my superior technical climbing abilities.

I made a right turn at Sheep Corral and did my best cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof impression...didn't stop fer nuttin'!!! I was, however, almost forced to a stop when I tried to wheelie over a rut that was almost as wide as my bike's wheelbase is long. The front end landed a little too soon and almost deflected into the gaping canyon at my right. The rest of the descent went pretty well, with a couple false starts for a few of the lines that have changed.

Break time! I got to a nice shady spot on the Las Virgines road and plunked my arse down to drink... and drink...and drink. I also (prepare the brain bleach!) soaked myself from head to toe to maximize the evaporative cooling on the trip down the canyon.

By the time I got to the market on Las Virgines the temps were mid-90s F and a nice breeze was blowing. I quaffed a big bottle of Gatoraide and dumped a bottle of ice-cold water over my head. The pleasure of that cold shower was short-lived, and soon I was heating up again climbing over Moreau Road back to Calabasas. When I got over the hill and back into the 818, the road was closed for a parade. I had to make an annoying detour up the hill and around the back of the shopping center, then back down to Old Calabasas...5 extra minutes 'well spent.'

I finally made it home and got a brief taste of that wonderful central AC before having to drive over and sit in a hot car and wait for my wife to finish her 'overtime' shift. I just barely had time to grab an ice-cold Hansens cherry soda before reluctantly walking out the door. It's amazing how seventy-five cents worth of flavored water and CO2 can bring such ecstasy.

FIN!

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