Biking to Paradise

There are many beloved cycling events in the region, and one that I'd never explored was the Chico Wildflower. [Until now.] When my cycling buddy agreed to join me, the adventure was on.

We chose the metric (100km) route, though it turned out this was not the optimal route for seeing wildflowers.

The route included a bike path early on (the Steve Harrsion Memorial Bike Path), and I was charmed by the “sprocket arch” as we rolled onto the trail. After capturing a photo of my cycling buddy passing under the arch at the far end, a bystander offered to get a picture for me in a re-enactment. He was serious about his picture-taking—lingering at that very spot for the ideal shot (lighting, shadows).

We're in Butte County ... and there you have it: a butte.

I remembered hearing that a historic covered bridge was lost when the Camp Fire rampaged through this area in late 2018. I never imagined that I would visit the site. As I cycled up Honey Run Road almost four and a half years later, I was surprised at the extent to which the landscape is recovering. But it is not as it was; exploring with Google Streetview, for example, you can compare footage from 2012 and 2021 in some places. A home tucked in the woods (2012); a bare slab in a field in 2021. I expected that we would pass through the burn zone on the way to Paradise; it was sobering to experience this twisty, narrow backroad—so ill-suited for a quick escape. Lives were lost on this road.

My photo of the creek was taken from the modern bridge that that was built years ago to carry traffic over Butte Creek, just north of where the historic bridge stood.

A passing cyclist helpfully called out “Lake Oroville” when I stopped to admire the lake (a reservoir with its own recent drama).

Spinning along at a comfortable pace, another passing cyclist said “nice cadence!” [Words said to me ... never. Until now.]

Heading back through the agricultural fields of the Central Valley, there were snow-capped peaks in the distance and puddles of yellow wildflowers nearby. There were also piles of trees that had been felled; scuttled, perhaps, due to our extended period of drought.

There was a towering plume of smoke to the south; assuredly a controlled burn, perhaps reducing some of those trees to ash?

On a happier note, there was a party at the finish. Of course, I'd chosen to wear a jersey featuring a wildflower (a giant California poppy), and enlisted a fellow cyclist to help me commemorate my ride: 63 miles, with more than 2,400 feet of climbing.