San Fransisco Peninsula Traverse

August 2023

Unexpected storms in the Sierra forced me to to conjure up a local trip instead of heading to the mountains. And so I found myself biking north, straight out of my front yard, with a vague notion of reaching San Francisco. Fortunately for me, the Bay Area Ridge Trail and the California Coastal Trail offer hundreds of miles of single track and dirt fire roads that snake their way through the San Fransisco peninsula.

After about thirty minutes of planning and an hour of packing, I set out towards the Lexington Reservoir. The reservoir can be reached by pedaling along various backroads from our house, all of which see very little traffic. I was struck by the remoteness I felt while climbing along these circuitous roads, marveling at houses perched on improbably steep hillsides. All of this was less than an hour’s pedal from our yard. Santa Cruz’s charm and quirkiness can be felt even in its deep valleys and isolated ridge lines.

Eventually, I made it to the reservoir. I took a wrong turn at some point and ended up on it’s east side which forced me to circumnavigate the whole thing in order to regain my route. This was a pleasant detour on a lonely one lane road. Despite the sun’s heat incessantly thrusting itself down upon me, I did not fill up my water and decided to crack on. The next section of the ride involved gaining Skyline ridge—a couple thousand feet above the reservoir. A large portion of the route would snake its way along this ridge, mostly through preserves and parks that somehow have maintained a feeling of wildness despite being so close to civilization.

I used to drive up the road that I now found myself suffering along fairly often to go climb after work. I remember it being pleasantly shaded for the entirety of the ascent. This was generally the case, but small gaps in the tree cover made for several-minute-long stretches of exposure to the hot afternoon sun. These stretches, so trivial in the car as to have escaped my memory, depleted both my energy and my supply of water. They became painfully nontrivial on the bike. Nevertheless, I eventually made it to the John Nicholas Trail which meandered pleasantly for several miles at a gentle grade. I filled up water at a stream just north of the Lake Ranch Reservoir and finished my ascent. It was nearly nightfall by the time I gained the ridge. I found a nice flat spot along the Skyline Trail and broke camp. After some stretching, reading, and talking with Lexi on the phone, I made an attempt at sleep. A swarm of mosquitoes were insistent on my staying awake, and they buzzed and bit away at me for some time before they too turned in for the night. One mosquito insisted on staying awake for the whole night and reminded me of its presence every thirty minutes or so with a buzz in the ear and a bite on the neck.

After a poor night of sleep, I rose early, packed up, and set off for the day. Smooth single track made for extremely pleasant and efficient travel for the majority of the morning. The route paralleled Skyline Drive (CA 35) for much of this section of the ride. I took a breakfast break at Turtle Rock where I was greeted by spectacular views. Golden hills and ridges poked out from a dense marine layer, looking like lonely islands in the sky. No fellow hikers or bikers were out. The birds were silent. It was a spectacular sight to behold. Eventually, I decided that I should be going, and rode along.

I came upon the Spring Ridge Trail, which according to my research was a worthy descent. So I dropped 1,500 feet in about seven minutes, and made it down to Portola Valley. Along the descent I saw a ranger dutifully enforcing the 15 mile-per-hour bike speed limit, which I seemed to be obeying at my time of passing. Portola Valley is an odd, affluent, and sterile pocket of the Bay. It felt as groomed and manicured as Disneyland, some much so that my mere presence—legs caked with dirt, unkept hair, a bit smelly—felt like an affront to the entire community. I wasted no time in pedaling out of there, and after a painful hour or so, I regained the ridge line and continued northward.

At the CA 84 and CA 35 junction, I took the opportunity to buy snacks from the market there. Some gruff but kindly construction workers guarded my bike as I gawked at all the delicious and overpriced food inside. I settled on some Hawaiian rolls, salami, and potato chips. I chatted with the guys out front for a bit and then continued on. The route meandered along the road for sometime before finally turning west into the woods. I spent the next hour or so exploring a stupendous preserve that housed, among many other notable attractions, an old growth redwood tree. Great single track eventually led me to a narrow country road which soon turned to dirt. I descended into the Purisma Valley along its eponymous creek, which ultimately spat me out on to the Pacific Coast Highway. I went from redwoods, to tan oaks, to chaparral, to the ocean all in one morning!

The sun reminded me of its power when I left the forested canopy for the treeless coastline—a coastline I would follow for the next two hours. Fortunately, there exists a network of coastal trails that hug the water allowing for bikers and hikers to travel for miles without needing to deal with the automotive chaos of Highway 1.

As afternoon turned to evening, I made my way up into the mountains once again, this time in the Golden Gate National Recreation Area. I gained a stupendous ridge line, and broke camp as I watched the marine layer rapidly materialize out of thin air. I watched the fog as it lifted up the west side of the mountains and shot past me to the east. It was a sight I could not tire of and I sat watching it for some time before realizing this fog was thoroughly soaking me and my gear. I fashioned a sort of shelter by tying one end my tarp to my bike and staking the other end to the ground. It worked well enough to keep me warm overnight and to keep my gear from becoming totally saturated with moisture.

A cold, wet morning greeted me at sunrise. I packed quickly, hoping that my rapid movement would warm me up. It did not. But eventually the marine layer burned off and the sun penetrated my bones. I decided to see if I could link up with the Pacifica mountain bike trails from the ridge I was currently on. After jumping a few fences and riding in a few places I probably was not supposed to ride, I succeeded in the linkup. I found a really cool cave that offered a shady spot to read and eat and lounge for the morning. Eventually, my legs grew restless and I descended into the trail network. I rode Crack, Mile and Boyscout (three trails that were very exciting to ride on my hardtail loaded with gear) and cruised into Pacifica.

I had planned on riding to Ocean Beach and hitching a ride south with my buddy, Ben, but Lexi offered to come pick me up in Pacifica which was, after all, the official end of my mapped route. I told her to pack a surfboard and come on by. While I waited for her, I rode some of the Sea Bowl trails just north of town which was a nice way to cap off the ride. We linked up, surfed, and drove back home. And thus ended a great trip. I am always struck by the sheer volume of adventure that exists right out of our front yards.