Redwood Regional Park
25.9 mi, 2730 ft
A lovely little uppy-downy jaunt in the East Bay. This ride commenced in Oakland, with one other rider. We set off in the Sunday morning humidity, up into the steaming Redwood forest.
Through many short ascents and descents we slowly hurtled. The earlier descents were wide enough to permit minimal braking, which was fortunate as there is certainly something wrong with the brakes on my bike, and I have been too slovenly to get this fixed. After a somewhat gruesome ascent, a high point was attained on Skyline with marvellous vistas across the Bay. How remarkable to have arrived up there, propelled of one's own volition.
On the steep descent back to urbania, it became actively apparent that my brakes really were not terribly functional. Squeezing with full hand strength, and clawing the tarmac with a cleat, I managed to roll to a brisk stop. A perusal of the bike kit revealed no appropriate allen key to remedy the situation, so the barrel adjuster was tightened full bore, yielding an additional milli-Newton of braking power. Fortunately, the road flattened just enough before the stop sign to arrest the final teeth-clenching plummet.
As with any civilised Sunday, we of course stopped at the French bakery for some of the finest croissants America has to offer. This may sound like faint praise, but the croissant was in fact delectable. Though perhaps my perception was skewed by dint of being ravening at this time.
A lovely little uppy-downy jaunt in the East Bay. This ride commenced in Oakland, with one other rider. We set off in the Sunday morning humidity, up into the steaming Redwood forest.
Through many short ascents and descents we slowly hurtled. The earlier descents were wide enough to permit minimal braking, which was fortunate as there is certainly something wrong with the brakes on my bike, and I have been too slovenly to get this fixed. After a somewhat gruesome ascent, a high point was attained on Skyline with marvellous vistas across the Bay. How remarkable to have arrived up there, propelled of one's own volition.
On the steep descent back to urbania, it became actively apparent that my brakes really were not terribly functional. Squeezing with full hand strength, and clawing the tarmac with a cleat, I managed to roll to a brisk stop. A perusal of the bike kit revealed no appropriate allen key to remedy the situation, so the barrel adjuster was tightened full bore, yielding an additional milli-Newton of braking power. Fortunately, the road flattened just enough before the stop sign to arrest the final teeth-clenching plummet.
As with any civilised Sunday, we of course stopped at the French bakery for some of the finest croissants America has to offer. This may sound like faint praise, but the croissant was in fact delectable. Though perhaps my perception was skewed by dint of being ravening at this time.
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