Hazy, Hot, and Homey

Twenty years ago, a few cyclists up in The North State thought they might attract some tourists if they hosted a biking event. They were right. The Fall River Century made it onto my radar screen three years ago; this year I was determined to do the ride. One of my ride buddies took the bait: Road trip!

The festivities began on Friday evening, with early check-in and local fare (live music, fresh produce, and barbecue). Some riders choose to camp; these two riders chose the comfort of a local motel. We kept bumping into a retiree who had returned for the event; he was a fount of knowledge about Fall River Mills, being a third-generation (former) resident.

Our plan for the day was to follow the 100-mile route, trimming off a 20-mile segment that was conveniently out-and-back. The total climbing for the day was not a challenge, but we knew the heat would drain us. The longer we were out there, the hotter and less happy we would be.

The Lions Club served up pancakes, eggs, and more for breakfast. Chatting with a couple from Ashland who happened to sit at our table, we were stunned to discover that we had mutual (non-cycling) friends. [We then surprised them by sending a picture of the three of us, in our biking attire.] What are the odds?!

We rolled out at 7:00 a.m., buzzed overhead by a colorful flock of powered paragliders. We would see few other cyclists en route; with a little more than 300 participants spread over four courses, that was not surprising. The longer-distance riders got an earlier start. So did the people who wanted to beat the heat.

At the first rest stop, a SAG driver started chatting with us. “Were you the folks I saw on 299 this morning, riding to the fairgrounds?” [Indeed.] By the time we would have loaded the bikes, driven there, parked, unloaded the bikes, and assembled our gear ... well, we did the math. Just bike it (4.5 miles).

The first 13 miles of the course were ... flat. We made good time, despite some lollygagging to admire the scenery. I had been dreaming of riding around all day with glorious views of a snow-capped Mt. Shasta. Alas, that was not to be. The air was hazy, and sometimes thick, with the smoke of a distant wildfire.

The big climb of the day came early. I watched a fellow rider serpentine up the hill, which presented us with a whopping 3.6% grade for four miles. [No, I didn't forget a digit there.] The descent was splendid! With smooth pavement, clear sight lines, and no traffic I topped out at 42 mph.

Before entering McArthur-Burney Falls Memorial State Park, we followed the shoreline of Lake Britton and crossed the bridge above the Pit 3 Dam. We looped back toward Fall River Mills and were a stone's throw from our motel at mile 61. The temperature had climbed well into the mid-90's. I checked in with my ride buddy: Keep going, or call it a day? She was a trouper. She doused her arm coolers with cold water and we pedaled on.

We nearly bypassed an unexpected water stop until they called out “We have ice!” They told us a climb was ahead, and explained how we could bypass it. We were having none of that.

We crossed from Shasta into Lassen County. The volcanic terrain of Lassen Bench was other-worldly. And exposed. And baking. Climbing up the Bench, the whir of my tires was different. A hot day leads to hot pavement leads to soft rubber leads to ... easy punctures. My front tire was completely flat. Had been flat for some time. No wonder I was crawling up the hill.

Just then, the maroon pickup of our friendly SAG driver came into view. Was it a mirage? “We're less than two miles from the next rest stop, do you mind if we head there and fix the flat where there's some shade?” I scrambled into the air-conditioned comfort of the cab. He offered a lift to my ride buddy, too, but she was having none of that. By the time she arrived at the rest stop, my bike concierge had my bike ready to roll again.

Triumphant, we arrived back at the fairgrounds for the post-ride feast. Our SAG driver was relaxing with his buddies, and I thanked him once again. I told them we'd seen a buck on a rural road near the fairgrounds. He had run through the field, stopped in the middle of the road to eye us, and then leapt away. Everyone laughed. “The tourists are coming, roll the buck!” one of them joked.

One of the volunteers asked if I had enjoyed the ride. “Very much,” I gave him two thumbs up. A few minutes later he delivered a gift—a huge bag of leftover strawberries.

A few minutes later ... I remembered that we had biked to the start. [Sigh.] I looked longingly at those luscious berries.

A bit of begging scored a paper grocery bag, with handles. I looped it over the left side of my handlebar and tested my balance. The lower curve of the bar conveniently kept the bag from swinging into my front wheel. This just might work! My ride buddy fretted that I would crash. “I'll take it slowly.” [As if I would be moving fast in that heat anyway. Ha.]

For me, 86 miles and 3,300 feet of climbing for the day.

The small-town hospitality extended through the weekend, with our retired friend insisting that we join him for breakfast on our last morning in town. He led us on a brief local history tour, giving us a deeper appreciation for this old town that is unknown to anyone who just passes through.

We journeyed to Fall River Mills with no greater expectation than to enjoy a biking adventure in new territory. We got so much more.