Biking The Edge
by Kurt Sunderbrach
Not too long ago, I read a magazine article that was about “riding on the edge.” The article was primarily concerned with downhill racing and riding on the edge of control/disaster. It seems that as mountain biking has become more popular that its place in the pantheon of “extreme” sports has been assured by those who benefit from marketing it as a spectacle. It may be about the edge of disaster, or the edge of culture, or the edge of fashion. All this edginess seems to be a big part of what mountain biking is about — at least in the popular media.
I ride on the edge too. I don’t know if a Mountain Dew commercial will ever feature the kind of riding I do, but it has become the kind of riding I do most often. I ride on the edge of development.
It all started innocently enough. One evening a few years ago I was riding around near my home in a suburb in the Sacramento valley, rolling by all the various construction sites when I noticed it. An old two track winding away from the curb and off into a rolling oak savannah. The fact that it was blocked by two construction barricades was icing on the cake. In the declining light of sunset my bike whispered down the track through the trees, amongst the wildflowers, and down to a singletrack following a creek.
Ground squirrels, redtail hawks, and a blue heron were my companions in the evening light. Less than a mile from my home was a scene to take your breath away; a spectacular, smog assisted California sunset backlight huge, gnarled oaks over a field wildflowers. Many of the things that make the valley unique and beautiful were still intact in this savannah. Even the noise of auto traffic was muted by the great oaks.
Still, in all this peace and beauty one could see the signs of the coming destruction. The surveyors’ stakes were all in place. The trees that had to be saved and those that could be removed had all been marked. A staging area for construction equipment had been bulldozed on the far side of the acreage. The end was in sight.
Over the next year and a half I rode past those barricades as often as I had time. Sometimes while riding my bike to work in the morning I would sidetrack in there to watch the sunrise away from the cars. In the evening I would watch the wildlife come out to take in the dusk. I was also there to witness the change of thc landscape. Not just the bulldozers pushing around the hills, but the trees knocked down, and the slash pushed into the creek. Week by week I watched the habitat, and the wildlife, disappear. It became my mission to stand witness to this destruction. Eventually, the developer put cyclonc fcnce around the perimeter and posted a security guard where the heavy equipment was kept. Even then, when my previous access had been blocked I found that I could ride into the neighborhood which formed one boundary and cut through home lots to get to the creek drainage and into the savannah, and still get into what was left of this little treasure.
Time ran out, as it always does. The savannah’s gone now, replaced by a golf course. There are those who like it better now that it’s green all year ’round, but I’d trade that neatly trimmed, chemically enhanced, green grass for the wildflowers in April, and star thistle in August, and wildlife all the time.
Once I got started on this habit, I couldn’t stop. In the waning days of the savannah / golf course, I was doing some more exploring in the area where new houses were popping up like toadstools (though frequently not as well built or attractive, but just about as toxic) when I can upon a new retirement development being built. As I approached, a security guard started up a car and came out to intercept me and say, with a demeanor that only a uniform and little authority can provide, that I couldn’t ride into the area.
Now, all of us have some sort of weakness or another. Some of us have several weaknesses. But, my biggest weakness is the problem I have with authority figures. Let’s face it, I’ve had this problem for a long time. Oscar Wilde said, “I can resist anything but temptation.” I say, “I can resist anything until a security guard tells me I can’t.” Then it’s all over. I can resist anything but that which is forbidden.
I rode up the street into another development, through a vacant lot, up to a fence which bordered the retirement development. Seeing no guard, I tossed my bike over the fence and clambered after it. I rode the track along the fence north, away from the guard shack and toward the abandoned outbuildings of what had been a ranch. Along the way the trail curled around a couple of hummocks, wound through some great oaks, and crossed a creek before depositing me at the south end of the barn where I disturbed the morning slumber of a barn owl.
I came back to this spot again and again, always of the lookout for the rent-a-cops, and staying out of sight of the heavy equipment operators. Once again, I wanted to witness the landscape, to drink it in, before it was gone, before all that lived and grew there was replaced by cheek to jowl, faux mediterranean stucco boxes and a thoroughly chemicalized golf course. Now that’s gone too.
For the last year and a half I have been riding in a ravine which parallels the interstate near here. The downside is that only in the most remote reaches of the place do you escape the roar of traffic. The upside is that much of it hasn’t been built up — yet. Last summer, ground was broken on a new hospital on the side of the ravine opposite the freeway and access roads have been built and fences have been put up, and the local police have taken a whole new interest in anyone who is not working on the site. At the same time, a development of new homes has begun on top of one ridge at the far end of the ravine.
The encroachment is beginning in earnest. Yet, there are still sections of single track which run along the creek that are as wonderful as any other. There is a section of slick rock only about sixty yards long that is a great challenge to your bike handling. There is an old quarry that has filled with water that offers a wonderful climb along its perimeter and which is home to a family of beavers. My friends and I have seen all sorts of hawks along with deer and coyote.
It isn’t pristine there. You can find garbage, and the odd old appliance that’s been used for target practice. It’s also a good idea to avoid the occasional mud bogging 4×4. But it is close and it is available right now. So until it’s gone, this is the edge I am going to ride. I don’t think I’ll be featured on ESPN, but I will enjoy the ride and enjoy the beauty, and maybe I’ll even be inspired to start attending some land use planning meetings before everywhere we can ride is gone.
