Del Puerto Canyon Rd.

Bill Bushnell — Saturday, June 15, 1992

My goal for the day was to explore Del Puerto Canyon Rd. I have now ridden the Mt. Hamilton Loop twice, once in each direction, and each time I rode by The Junction, I always wondered what was down the road that seemed to head east into the middle of nowhere. According to the map, Del Puerto Canyon Rd. heads east from San Antone Junction and ends in the town of Patterson in the San Joaquin Valley. Since I try to avoid “out and back” rides, I planned a loop that would cover this road. A good starting point was the Livermore Public Library. We (Frank and I) would ride out to Tracy on Tesla/Corral Hollow Rd., head south to Patterson via CA-33, up Del Puerto Canyon Rd., then north on Mines Rd. back into Livermore. My estimate was 92 miles with about 4200 feet of climbing.

Frank wanted to do a more familiar ride: Start in Berkeley and ride around Mt. Diablo, a ride we’ve done before and one we’ll do again this summer, I’m sure. But he agreed to try this ride since it covered new territory. Because of the relatively short amount of climbing for a ride of this length, we decided we could afford to sleep in a little longer and start in the late morning.

I always seem to underestimate the distance of a ride when I scope it out on the map, and this time was no exception. I made three mistakes: (1) I underestimated the distance, (2) I missed the turnoff for Linne Rd. near the Tracy Airport that would have saved us 11 miles of riding through the Tracy area, and (3) I assumed the prevailing wind that blew us down to Patterson, saving us time, would be blocked by the mountains on the return trip. One factor in our favor was the temperature. It was between 60F and 80F the whole way.

“You’re 20 minutes late!”, Frank says angrily. I was supposed to pick him up at 9:20, but I had to stop and fill up the gas tank, and I got stuck in a traffic jam of rubberneckers on I-880. The accident was wholly contained in the opposite lanes.

After picking up Frank at the Hayward BART station, we drive on to Livermore and arrive at the public library on South Livermore Ave. at about 10:10a. The morning air is bright and clear with just a slight breeze. The forecast is for wind and cool temperatures inland, perfect for riding in the normally dry, hot east bay mountains.

After reassembling our bikes and loading our packs, we start down South Livermore Ave. and continue on Tesla Rd. Tesla Rd. heads east out of Livermore through rolling hills past vineyards and ranches, gradually rising to the summit of Corral Hollow Rd. at 1600 feet. The grade is gradual until about 1/3-mile from the summit where the road steepens.

We stop at the summit to take some pictures and to eat a snack. There is a nice view looking east down Corral Hollow. We can’t see the San Joaquin Valley from here, but we know it’s all down hill from here to Tracy. For the first few minutes upon arriving at the summit the air is still, but all of a sudden, as if someone had switched on an electric fan, the wind begins blowing continuously. We aren’t far from what some call the most consistently windy place in the state, Altamont Pass and the hills surrounding, a place where electric energy is generated from the wind by hundreds of modern windmills. There are no windmills here, but there’s a good wind blowing.

“You go on ahead. I’ll catch up.”, Frank says.

“O.K. Just be careful on the turns down there. The road is pretty steep.”, I say as I start down the hill. In his book, Roads to Ride, Grant Peterson describes the eastern side of Tesla Rd. as a fun descent. I agree. It’s quite steep and twisty. Both Frank and I reach our maximum speeds here: 44.0 and 43.5, respectively. There are a few sharp turns with gravel and rocks on the road. Unfortunately, the steep descent only lasts about a mile and a half before the road levels off. But by pedaling we can continue almost as fast because of the strong wind at our backs. We manage an average cruising speed of 25-28 mph with only moderate effort.

In a few minutes we pass the Carnegie Recreation Area on the right. There are a few people sitting on the picnic tables in the middle of the dusty, windswept park. The hills to the right rising up from the creekbed are streaked with tracks from off-road vehicles, though no one seems to be riding there now. We continue on.

A little while later we pass “Site 300” of the Lawrence Livermore Lab on the left. Shortly afterward the road turns to the north and our nice strong tailwind becomes a formidable headwind. Our pace slows to 15 mph as we pedal down the slight downgrade. A few minutes later we pass over I-580. We stop and take some pictures as there is now a good view of the Valley before us. We can even see the foothills of the Sierra on the other side.

“Frank, keep your eyes open for Linne Rd. on the right. That’s where we want to turn”, I say.

We continue across I-580 and then head due north toward Tracy. The turn should be within two miles of the freeway, but we’ve gone four miles already! We must’ve passed it! I check the map again when we reach Eleventh Street or 205-Business Route in Tracy.

“Darn! That dinky road near the Tracy Airport was our turn. But it wasn’t called ‘Linne Rd.’! Shit! The map is wrong!”, I say despairingly. “Now we’ll have another 10 miles of riding to do.”

Well, maybe it’s just as well. Since we’re in Tracy, we might as well stop and get a bite to eat and refill our water bottles. Frank wants to find a store to buy some food, so we head over to a nearby shopping mall and relax on one of the benches.

After we finish eating, I say, “O.K., Frank, let’s get going. We have many of miles to cover before sunset.”

“I want to let my food digest. I don’t like being rushed along like this.”

Frank likes to take long rests on rides, and I like to keep my breaks short enough for me to stretch, eat, and recover a little. The longer I rest, the harder it is for me to start up again afterward. So after resting for a few more minutes we start off again. I decide to stick to the main roads for now so we don’t miss any important turns. We head east on 205-Business. The road is bumpy with raised, tar-filled cracks every ten to fifteen feet. Trucks seem to go this way as there are several greasy-spoon truck stops at the eastern edge of town. After crossing a rail yard over a high overpass (which did register on my Avocet 50,) we continue east for another two and a half miles until we reach CA-33 (Ahern Rd.). We turn right and head south.

The wind seems to be blowing a constant 25-30 mph from the west, so it’s nearly a pure side-wind for us. Frank and I are accustomed to drafting each other, and while drafting Frank, I discover that pedaling is easier for both of us if I ride alongside and slightly behind Frank with my front wheel just ahead of his rear wheel.

Three miles later we reach Bird Rd. We would have picked up CA-33 here if we had made the turn just past the Tracy Airport. Oh well. CA-33 veers left, heading southeast. Now the wind is nearly a tailwind with a very slight right-side component, and now we’re flying. I just hope Del Puerto Canyon Rd. isn’t closed or something, or it’ll be a long, hard ride back!

We stop only once before reaching Patterson to take some pictures along the way. We manage to cruise from 20-30 mph, and we reach Patterson in about an hour. We cruise by the little intersections of Vernalis, Solyo, and Westley. CA-33 is smooth and flat as a pancake, but there is often no shoulder, and while the traffic isn’t heavy, it passes by at 65-70 mph. Fortunately, the only semi to pass us passes at one of the railroad crossings, so it wasn’t going too fast. We both speculate that it might be fun to pedal south up the Valley with the wind at our backs as far as we can go, and then get picked up and driven home afterward.

By the time we reach Patterson, Frank is hungry again, and I’m thirsty. Even though we had the wind helping us, it is still a lot of work to pedal 20 miles at that speed without relaxing. I can feel lactic acid buildup in my legs. I need to eat and rehydrate myself. There’s something enervating about riding in the wind, even if it’s blowing in the direction of travel. Maybe it’s the noise or the turbulence. We stop at a little market near the north end of town and rest.

After a lengthy rest I ask the woman behind the counter at the market, “Can you tell me how to get to Del Puerto Canyon Road?”

“You’re going up Del Puerto Canyon Rd.?”, she says, her eyes widening, “There’s lots of people killed on that road. That road is dangerous!”

“Well, we’ll ride carefully.”, I say reassuringly, “Which street do I turn on to reach Del Puerto Canyon Rd.?”

“You go down to the car dealer on the right and you turn on Sperry. The street sort of goes to the right, like this.” She makes a carving motion with her hand.

“Is the road paved all the way to the top?”, I ask. Frank would never forgive me if it turned out that we had to risk any distance on an unpaved road in the middle of nowhere. Besides, Frank doesn’t like riding on dirt anyway, and I really wouldn’t want to ride any significant distance on dirt, given that we’ll be racing the sun from here on.

“Yeah. They paved it a few years ago. I think it’s paved all the way to the top.” Her tone wasn’t very reassuring.

“Thank you.”, I say.

“O.K. Frank, let’s get going. Are we all rested up now?”

“Yeah.”, Frank replies.

We continue riding down CA-33 until we reach a Ford dealer on the right. I look in vain for “Sperry”, but the streets are all going every which way. Since the woman at the store was vague about whether Sperry made a shallow or a sharp angle with respect to CA-33, we decide to veer right. Moments later we find ourselves in a roundabout with streets entering and exiting all over the place, but Sperry is nowhere. This is ridiculous! How could we possibly get lost in a small town like Patterson!

“Frank, let’s go over to the town plaza and get a picture while we’re here, at least.”

After taking pictures, we continue south down Del Puerto Street past some older houses. I wonder what houses cost here? Finally we reach Sperry. We turn right and head west out of town.

In exchange for our trip south on the wind, we must fight it now. The wind is blowing strongly from the northwest, and we must climb a shallow grade. As with the tailwind, we find it easier to ride abreast with a headwind coming from 2 o’clock. After what seems an eternity, we reach the I-5 undercrossing.

On the other side of I-5, the grass-covered hills are perfectly smooth and brown like dunes of sand. There’s not a tree in sight. Del Puerto Canyon Rd. heads northwest paralleling I-5 directly into the wind. We pass a faded, wooden sign that says, “Private Property on both sides of road for next 17 miles.” There’s a county park, Frank Raines Park, about two-thirds of the way up the road. If we’re fortunate, they’ll have water there, but I’m not too hopeful. It’s probably just a few picnic tables scattered in a dusty pit.

The wind is fierce, and our progress is slow. The altimeter reads 450 feet. After a few miles it feels as if we’ve been climbing alot, but the altimeter reads only 470 feet. A few cars pass going up and a few more pass going down. We see a couple bicyclists heading down the road. We wave, but they’re going too fast and the wind is too noisy for us to exchange any words.

Soon the road heads west again and we begin the long, slow climb up Del Puerto Canyon. The lower part of the Canyon is a wide flat plain walled on both sides by steep, grass-covered hillsides. The smooth road is nearly flat, gaining barely 800 feet in 16 miles as it passes occasional ranches. The road has no shoulder, and barbed-wire fences have been constructed right up against the road, leaving no room for pulling off and resting. I suppose the ranchers want to maximize the amount of land their cattle can tramp, chomp, and despoil. For several long stretches, the grass on both sides of the road has been eaten to the ground, allowing the dusty topsoil to blow away. Curiously, every house or ranch along this road displays a real estate “For Sale” sign.

During the brief moments when we aren’t battling a headwind we can hear the happy squeals of young squirrels and see them running back and forth across the road. Sadly, we also see the remains of quite a few who played the dangerous game of tag with the steel cages that hurtle by. On the road ahead a large turkey vulture cruelly tears at the bloody entrails from the remains of one unlucky squirrel. We see one particularly daring young squirrel run out and nearly touch the front tire of car coming down the road toward us. The driver slows and cranes his neck to see out his rear-view mirror hoping or dreading to see a grey and red blotch on the road. The squirrel is lucky. But not two seconds pass when the same squirrel runs out in front of us not more than a foot from our front wheels. Again he (or she) is lucky. These squirrels are like the high-schoolers who race around the crossing gates in hopes of beating the express train through the intersection.

As we continue, Del Puerto Canyon narrows, looking very much like Niles Canyon near Fremont. Steep slopes descend sharply to the narrow, green tree-covered creekbed below. Soon we reach the “Day use Area” for Frank Raines park. There isn’t much here except for the occasional dusty turnout and some trash barrels. The campground is three miles beyond.

Finally we reach the campground area and another “Day Use Area.” We discover what looks like a city park: a big green tree-covered lawn with picnic tables, a playground for children, running water, and restrooms with running water—not what we expected at all. The campground on the other side of the driveway is what we expected, a dusty, dry, desolate patch with a handful of campsites at the foot of the hillside. We decide to eat the rest of our lunch and to relax on the lawn for a half-hour.

After realizing that we’ll be riding for an hour, maybe, in the dark, we reluctantly leave the oasis of the park and continue our trek. The road continues lazily up the canyon, but about three miles from the park, the grade steepens considerably. In about 1.4 miles, the road ascends almost 800 feet, making nearly an 11% grade. This rivals the backside of Mt. Hamilton, which is about 3 times as long. Fortunately, the road hugs the hillside, and the wind is very light.

I get ahead of Frank on this steep section. At about a half mile from the summit, I stop and wait. It’s getting cold up here, and the sun is setting behind the hillside. I see Frank way back walking his bike up the hill! Now he’s riding again, but in zigzags across the road. At last he reaches me.

“I can’t go on any more. I’m bonked! I don’t understand it, but just can’t seem to get any energy. How far is it to the Junction?”, Frank gasps.

“I think it’s just a little further to the top of this and then it’s pretty much all downhill to the Junction.”, I reply. I’m not sure if it’s all downhill from the summit to the Junction, but it sounds more encouraging to Frank if I say it is.

Frank manages somehow to continue. He couldn’t be truly bonked as he had just eaten several fig bars back at the park. I reach the summit before Frank. It’s cold now. I didn’t bring my longs, but I have a sweatshirt and wind breaker. Finally, Frank arrives at the top, Beauregard Summit. The road down to the Junction starts steeply, but soon it levels off as it passes an old ranch along Beauregard Creek. There are a few uphill sections. Frank won’t be happy about this!

Finally we reach the Junction Cafe. Frank goes directly inside and buys some candy and eskimo pies. I make a call home to let everyone know we’re going to be a bit late.

As I step into the warm Cafe, I’m greeted by a hard stare from the graying, portly man behind the counter. This isn’t the same guy I saw last time. Now what’s he thinking? I feel like the stranger who just walked through the swinging saloon doors of a wild west bar. I know I must look like a mess, but anyone who just rode 80 miles is going to look a bit of a mess. I pause, looking around the dimly-lit room. A program on roping cattle is showing through the snowy picture on the little TV perched up in the corner of the room. Someone has prominently displayed several little signs behind the counter that certainly do not convey sympathy for the feminist movement. No, this might not be the best place to be wearing a pro-environment, pro-feminism, pro-gun control, etc. T-shirt.

“May I get you something?”, the proprietor asks.

“Yeah,” I reply, looking in vain for something besides candy. “Let me get my wallet” that I left outside in my bike pack.

I come back in. I notice that it’s really cold outside. I’m sick of fig bars, so I order a pack of M&M’s.

“That’ll be sixty cents.” He rings up the charge.

There is another couple sitting at the counter, and the proprietor continues talking with them. Frank is sitting at the counter enthusiastically biting chunks out of an eskimo pie.

“Do you mind if I take a picture in here?”, I ask the proprietor. Now he must think I’m really nuts. I want to get a picture of the little signs posted behind the counter.

“Sure. Go ahead.”, he replies. Frank knows why I want to take a picture, and he gamely poses for the camera, making sure the signs are visible. I almost wanted to get a picture of the proprietor, too, but that might have been pushing things too far.

“Frank, we should leave here by 19:00, O.K.?”

“Alright.”

“Do you think you can make it? We still have about a thousand feet of climbing to do.”

“Yeah, I just need to eat some more food. I think I’ll make it.”

“So how far’r you guys ridin’ today?”, the proprietor asks.

“Oh, we’ll be riding about 110 miles.”, Frank answers.

“Bicyclists! Ack! I can’t imagine ridin’ one of those damn things more than 20 miles! Ha!”

“Well, we’re heading back into Livermore this evening.”, Frank says.

“That’s just a hop, skip, and a jump. Better’n goin’ to San Jose. Ha!” That gets laughs all around. San Jose is 38 miles from the Junction and in between are steep (9%+) climbs totaling over 2800 feet as the road goes up and over the top of Mt. Hamilton.

“Well, we’d better get going.”, I say to Frank. “Good evening.”, I say to the proprietor.

“G’bye.”, he replies.

It’s seven o’clock, and it’s getting quite chilly. Since we still have some significant climbing to do before we top out on Eylar Ridge, I put on my sweatshirt, but save the cap and windbreaker for the ride down Arroyo Mocho.

An advantage to being late is that we won’t have to fight a strong afternoon wind. The wind is a light breeze from the northwest as we leave the little parking lot, pass the fire station and head north on Mines Rd., thirty-one miles yet from Livermore.

The last two times I passed through this area was during the middle of the day. This evening, everything is quiet and peaceful. The squirrels have tucked themselves in their holes, and the birds have fallen silent. There are no cars moving on the road.

Again I get ahead of Frank, but I wait up for him at the top of Eylar Ridge. While waiting, I notice the silence. It’s a deafening silence as my ears turn up their “AF-gain” straining to hear the slightest sound, I hear nothing but the hissy ringing of auditory noise. A few minutes later Frank comes up the road. I’ve used up all my film, but Frank snaps a picture of the summit in the fading light with his camera.

It feels cold, probably colder than 60F, more like 55F. I put on my windbreaker and wool cap for the first part of the descent.

“Let’s try to get as far as possible before we need the lights.”, I say to Frank. “I’ve got some energy left, so I’ll ride in front and you can draft me.”

Fortunately, the moon is full or nearly so, so we’ll be able to find our way by moonlight if all else fails. We speed down the first part of the descent. As the road levels off, we find ourselves moving more slowly. An occasional cold gust of wind blows in our faces. In 15 minutes, we pass the Arroyo Mocho turnout where the Mt. Hamilton Challenge had their rest stop.

Mines Rd. seems to go on forever even though it’s all mostly downhill. When we start to descend more steeply into Livermore we can see huge clouds of fog blowing in from the west. We stop to turn on our Vistalites and I turn on my Cateye HL-500, useless as a headlight, but at least it makes us visible to the few oncoming auto drivers.

By the time we reach the bottom of the hill and the intersection with Del Valle Rd., it’s dark. Luckily, there are few cars on the road, and those that pass seem to be giving us plenty of room. We speed on into Livermore and reach the Public Library, closed now of course, just after 21:00.

After pedaling most of the way down Mines Rd., we’re both hungry and somewhat irritable, but the nearby possibilities at the “Hick’ry Pit” across the street don’t seem quite the ticket. It was a hard ride. Even though there wasn’t nearly the climbing of last week’s ride, we must have climbed at least 3000 feet of wind on our trip from Patterson.

It might be interesting to ride from San Jose to Patterson and back. It would be a long, hard, and remote ride, about 132 miles with 11,360 feet of climbing, not a ride to do on a hot day, and probably not a ride to do without taking a pack or having support.

Ride stats:

distance: 110.8 miles

climbing: 4660 feet

total time: 10:37

riding time: 7:14

average speed (mph): 15.3

maximum speed (mph): 43.5

difficulty index: 129.4

An article on indexing can be found here.

©2004, Bill Bushnell

Please do not publish or distribute for profit without permission.