Green Grows the Grass.

I was doddering about what to do for a ride but late-night call from Chris sealed the deal and saved me from wandering around aimlessly on yet another solo ride in the local environs. The next day we headed down to Danville and hit Dan Cook as herds of roadies rolled by heading up South Gate road. The day couldn’t have been any finer – temps were in the upper 60’s already and the air was clear. The lower trails were dry and fast and my ischial tuberosities were singing a happy song being as how I had put a vintage WTB SST saddle on my bike, replacing the stocker which was a bonafide torture rack.

We climbed up past the junction and dropped down on the road to the first of the two Diablo Ranch singletrack trails that traverse the western face of Mt. Diablo. We were instantly engulfed by tall waving grasses in a sea of green as all the rain we’ve had has made for an absolutely stunning landscape, but as can be expected, the pollen count is off the charts. I was as giddy as a schoolgirl as we threaded our way down the improbably lush vegetation – intuition and local knowledge paid dividends as the trail was visible just a few feet ahead. We splashed through several creek crossings and stopped a couple of times to ogle the beauty all around. But as is always the case, downhill rides never last long enough and we found ourselves down in the canyon. Faced with an easy pavement slog back to the South Gate entrance, or the painful climb back up Wall Point so we could ride down Dan Cook, we stepped up and opted for the latter.

At the top of Wall Point the temp was 80, which explained the massive amount of sweat pouring from my noggin. We took a last look around at the swaying grass and the shiny new leaves bursting from the trees—as well as the massive explosion of poison oak that is absolutely everywhere this year—and flew back down, dodging the stick people tromping up the hill and through death clouds of tiny gnats that always get stuck to my shiny pate. We loaded up and headed back home, where cold Sierra Nevada beer beckoned. Ahhhh!

Ride on ~

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