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Riding in
the Hills of
China Camp
by francine schwartz
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[published in Cycle California, April 2008]
Last night was the last of this year's Wednesday night rides at China
Camp State Park, home to a wondrous network of single track and fire
roads which wind through the wooded landscape. The various trails are a
perfect mix of technical, downhill and uphill, as well as just smooth
sailing. Sometimes so deep in the forest you forget where you are,
sometimes breezing through rolling hills of green and brush and
marshland overlooking San Pablo Bay. Small lizards scurry across the
path. And here and there you encounter a stag or doe grazing alongside
the trails. China Camp is named as such because a Chinese
shrimp-fishing village of about 500 people thrived there in the 1880s.
In its heyday, China Camp had three general stores, a marine supply
store and a barber shop. Today there is a small general store/'coffee
shop' that is sometimes open (no schedule of any kind), a museum, and a
few picnic tables on a very pebbled beach.
It was cold and windy last night. The kind of wind that knocks over
potted plants and breaks off branches from the trees. I had spent the
day, cozied up at home--drinking tea, working from home. Perfect. So
the idea of switching to mountain bike mode was not particularly
appealing. But I hadn't seen Lorna in a while and I missed her. Plus I
love to ride. And of course it's good for me, which gets me to do a lot
of things. So after coming dangerously close to cancelling, I decided
to go.
The slate colored sky with areas of soft orange/rose clouds harbored
hints of the rain that finally came this morning. Although I was always
the last one in the row of six mountain bike gals, it was a great ride.
Towards the end, as we were cutting through a shortcut trail that was
steady downhill, I realized that the last time I had been on this dirt
was with my daughter several months ago. The dramatic downhill, ruts,
rocks, and dust had been enough to shake my self-confidence all to hell
back then. So in spite of my daughter's encouragement and assurance
that it really wasn't such a big deal, I was mostly off -bike, trying
not to loose my footing as I held onto the handlebars and maneuvered
(cautiously) my bike and myself downhill.
But this time--it was different. I stayed on the bike, survived a few
iffy spots and felt like I had really accomplished something at the
end. And that was when I realized I had a flat tire. First one I've had
in more than a year of mountain biking. That says something. Not sure
exactly what. But on the last Wednesday ride of the season, I somehow
like the symbolism.
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