Sequoia Century

Bill Bushnell — Sunday, June 7, 1992

The Sequoia Century, organized by the Western Wheelers bicycle club, based in Palo Alto, CA, consists this year of four different routes: 50k, 100k, 100mi, and 200k. I wanted to challenge myself. I’d choose either the 100mi or the 200k route. After looking at the route map, I decided on the 200k route. I don’t get down to the Davenport/Bonny Doon area very often, and the 100-mile route, my other choice, covers roads through the Big Basin area that I ride more frequently.

My friend, Frank, has also registered for the ride. So that we get an early start, Frank has spent the night at my place. I’ve set my alarm for 3:40. We plan to arrive at Foothill College by 6:00, and I need at least an hour to let my large breakfast settle before I start riding. Large breakfast? How about 1.5 cups raw oats and 1/4 cup of “brown rice cream” mixed with 3 cups of water, a banana, four slices of toast, 1 large bowl of dry cereal and 1 or 2 bowls of granola.

As we drive into the Foothill parking lot, we see a seemingly incongruous field of brightly colored creatures amidst the sharply glinting edges of finely tuned and no doubt expensive machinery. We aren’t the only early “birds.” After checking in, receiving our numbers, and inspecting our bikes, we start riding, slowly at first. The sky is clear and a little breezy, and the air is damp.

The ride takes us up Elena Drive to Robleda then down under I- 280 and left on Purissima to Arastradero all the way to Alpine Rd. We turn left on Alpine. We ride carefully, aware that the county Sheriff patrols find a lucrative revenue generator in the form of hapless bicyclists who stray to the left of the fog line or fail to come to a complete stop at the T-intersection of Alpine and Portola Roads. We reach the infamous intersection. After determining that the local deputy is not hiding behind a nearby hedge, one of the riders yells, “All clear!”

We ride down Portola Rd., continuing left at Sand Hill Rd. and then keeping right and continuing on CA-84 toward Woodside Town Center. The official route does not take Tripp Rd. but continues to Kings Mountain Rd. a half mile later. Tripp Rd. cuts off about a half a mile. I wonder why the official route doesn’t take it.

When we reach the Old Woodside Store, we take our first stop to stretch and remove some layers of clothing in preparation for the first big climb of the day immediately before us. While we are stopped, some riders pass by, and some riders stop. Before long, there are several riders stopped along the narrow shoulder.

We ride slowly up Kings Mountain Road. The air is warmer and the rays of the sun finally find a path through the low clouds to the east. But, when we pass the Skyline trail crossing, we see thick fingers of fog searching through the trees for ill-prepared cyclists. Expecting cold, damp fog, I brought all my cold-weather clothes. I even brought my bright green wool ski cap that looks ridiculous, but so what. It keeps my head warm.

Frank and I decide to continue all the way up to the top of the hill just north of Skeggs Point and then put on all our cold weather clothing. This is crazy! I don’t remember riding through such wet fog. The roads are soaking wet, and it’s raining under the trees! The redwoods must love this weather. While stopped, I take a picture of us with some other riders in the background riding up the hill through the fog. Frank is tired of waiting for me to put on my cold weather clothing and rides on ahead of me.

The descent down Skyline to Skylonda is fun. There are some good, well-banked turns. But even with all my cold-weather clothing, I’m still cold. The temperature’s not very low, but the dampness cuts through. Fortunately, there isn’t much traffic. Just then two motorcyclists come speeding by, cutting dangerously close to the bicyclists riding down the hill.

About two miles from Skylonda I come upon another slower rider. After looking in my rear view mirror and finding the road clear, I pull to the left and pass. Five seconds or so later, as I’m passing the slower rider, I’m startled by a loud “BEEP!” behind me. It sounds like a motorcycle horn. Since I’m only going a few mph faster than the slower cyclist, it takes me a few seconds to pull past him far enough to pull safely to the right. I don’t like being startled when I’m descending down a hill at 35 mph, so I’m a little bit peeved. The motorcyclist doesn’t pass, but pulls along side and yells something inaudible through his closed full-face helmet. He’s probably mad, but so what. I’m mad, too.

I usually don’t engage strangers in heated exchanges, but my adrenaline is flowing a bit. I yell out, “I have just as much right to the road as you!” He starts off, but then slows down, pulling closer. I now have about three feet of roadway. Again he yells something inaudible. Then he lifts his visor revealing a red, wrinkled face with sharp, black, beady eyes. “What did you say?!! WHAT DID YOU SAY!!!!”, he screams. He seems mighty angry. Worried that this guy might try to run me off the road or worse, I try to temper my response. “I was going the speed limit!”, I blurt out defensively, suddenly realizing that I don’t really know the speed limit along that section of roadway, and that what I just said doesn’t really support my “position” anyway. Of course, judging from the way his friends passed us, the motorcyclist probably doesn’t know the speed limit either! In any case, I don’t think I was going unreasonably slow at the time of the alleged offense.

In a huff, without saying another word, he rudely slaps closed his visor and roars off. “It’s just as well,” I think, “I need more room for maneuvering down around these corners.” Thinking back, it seems almost funny. This guy probably comes up here with his buddies to do some riding on Speedway, er, Skyline while the traffic is light the cops are in bed. When he starts riding down Skyline, he finds the road clogged with hundreds of bicyclists! Anyway, my feeble performance didn’t win bicyclists any points, at least in the eyes of that motorcyclist.

I decide not to stop at Skylonda. While negotiating the sharp turn in front of Alice’s Restaurant, hordes of bicyclists are crowded on either side of the road, and some of them are wandering out into the traffic. I slow way down and work my way through the mass. We’ve finally joined the 100k course, the most crowded route on the Sequoia Century. I find myself in a long line of riders hugging the shoulder. I don’t like to ride so close to bicyclists with whom I’ve never ridden. After we pass Old La Honda Rd., most riders continue pedaling down the hill. I fall back, letting gravity do the work.

In a few minutes, I reach Entrada Way. After a couple tenths of a mile, I reach the first official rest stop next to the duck pond, and Frank is waiting. There must be a couple hundred riders at least milling about. I’m chilled from the ride down, and my exchange with the motorcyclist did little to warm me up.

“Well, I see you weren’t too far behind me.”, Frank says.

“No, I could see you up ahead on some of the longer straightaways.”, I replied. Frank has a relatively low frontal surface area to mass ratio, so he descends like a bomb. Years ago, when Frank was in poorer shape, he descended even faster.

I put my cap on and eat a sandwich. There’s lots of food set out for us: muffins, raisin bread with and without cream cheese, and fruit. Since I’ve never done this ride before and didn’t know what to expect, I brought some food in my pack. I say hello to a friend, Jeannine Smith. Jeannine is managing the La Honda rest stop today.

After about 15 minutes of resting, Frank and I continue on. The route sheet indicates a scenic shortcut: Turn left on Laguna, continue up the hill and bear right at Redwood Drive. Redwood Drive is a very narrow one-lane road that passes through a neighborhood nestled within a dense forest on a steep hillside. It ends at Pescadero Rd about a quarter of a mile from CA-84. No other bicyclists seem to be trying this shortcut, probably because the route markers forgot to mark this part of the route.

At Pescadero Rd. we turn left and continue up Haskins Hill. The road is thick with cyclists, and most of them pass us. “Well,” we think, “They’re only riding 100 kilometers. We need to conserve our energy because we’re riding twice as far!” Even though I’m climbing up a significant hill, I’m still chilled from the ride down to La Honda. After reaching the top, we continue down the west side of Haskins Hill.

Frank’s half-sister lives near the bottom of the hill at Camp Loma Mar. We stop in and see if she’s home. Nope. “She’s probably at church.”, Frank says. We ride on.

The ride down Pescadero Rd. continues uneventfully. We stop at Butano Cutoff. The orange route marker arrows we sprayed on last Saturday seem to have worn off a bit, though they’re still discernible. Some of the 200k riders seem to be missing the turn. Fortunately, they can turn left at Cloverdale Rd. a half mile down the road, and most of them seem to be doing just that.

We turn left at Butano Cutoff and then left again at Cloverdale Rd. in front of Pescadero High School. As expected the weather is foggy and cool, but not cold. Unfortunately, there isn’t much of a breeze. Usually there is a strong wind blowing from the northwest giving a nice tailwind push to cyclists riding south along the coast. I guess it’s still early in the day--10:20. The winds usually don’t pick up until the afternoon.

Since I’ve led down Pescadero Rd., I let Frank pull me along for a while. Frank doesn’t much like to ride in front, so as soon as a slightly faster rider passes, Frank jumps behind him. The other rider doesn’t seem to know we’re following. As a matter of courtesy and safety, maybe it’s a good idea to ask if it’s O.K. to draft someone in situations such as this.

Just as we get to Canyon Rd. I hear a “FISSSSsssssSSSSSsssSSSSsssSSS!”. It looks like Frank’s rear tire has engaged a nasty piece of glass. It’s cut right through the Mr. Tuffy liner, too! We stop at the pull-out. Darn! This’ll delay us about 25 minutes.

“Do you have all your tools and a replacement tube?”, I ask

“Yeah, I have everything.”, Frank says, “I’ll use your Zefal pump, though, if you don’t mind.” Frank has a hard time getting enough pressure in his tires with his Silca frame pump.

Several groups of riders pass us. Some of them shout, “Are you O.K.?” “Yeah, we’re alright—just a flat!”, we shout back.

Before long we’re rolling again. Just as Cloverdale Rd. narrows, we pass a brilliantly dressed cyclist on a shiny Kestrel struggling up the hill.

“Do you want to draft us?”, I offer.

“No thanks. I’ve just got some cramps in my legs,” he replies.

“...hope you feel better!”

“Thanks.”

Once we reach the top of the hill, we zip down the other side bearing right at Gazos Creek Rd. Before reaching CA-1, once or twice we pass what smells like an open sewer. Pheew! I wonder if someone’s dumping raw sewage into the Creek! [I learned much later that this awful smell comes from a mushroom farm near Gazos Creek Rd. and CA-1. The smell is worst during times of mild on-shore breezes.]

Shortly we reach Highway 1 and the Pacific Ocean. We turn left and begin our long trek down the coast.

At first we climb a gradual hill and then the highway levels off as we pass Point Año Nuevo on the right. The traffic is heavy as expected, but we make good time with a weak tailwind helping us just a bit. After a couple downs and ups near Waddell Creek and Big Creek Lumber we finally reach the Greyhound Rock rest stop. It’s a little warmer now as the fog has finally cleared.

There are many riders milling about. Some are lying on the ground, others are just relaxing, and yet others are queueing for the outhouse. Frank and I stop and eat some food. The volunteers have spread out some fruit and peanut butter, jelly, and bread. We refill our water bottles and relax for a few minutes.

Back on the road, we stop once for a picture along the cliffs just south of Greyhound Rock. Frank takes the lead. He must have a second wind. I’m feeling tired. I think I was permanently chilled by the cold weather on Kings Mountain earlier in the day. My throat is feeling scratchy, too. Frank manages to catch up to a line of quickly moving riders. I don’t feel like catching up. With the benefit of the draft, Frank and the faster group pull away. I’m not moving slowly, 23 mph, but they’re moving faster. Near Davenport, there’s a nice long downhill. I reach 39.0 mph, Frank tells me he got up to 42.5. At the bottom there’s a narrow bridge, and on the other side the sand dunes are arrayed with hang gliders.

I finally catch up to Frank and the faster group when they slow way down to cross the railroad tracks in front of the Davenport cement plant. We continue through Davenport without stopping and a few minutes later we reach our turnoff: Bonny Doon Rd. It seems we did mark the route adequately as all the riders manage the dangerous left turn amidst traffic traveling 60+ mph in both directions.

Once off the coast highway, the air has become still and hot. Bonny Doon Rd. doesn’t have a shoulder until it gets about 2/3 of the way up the steep grade into Bonny Doon. The traffic is unexpectedly heavy, and cars must cross into the opposing lane of traffic to safely pass. At about a half mile from the coast, Bonny Doon Rd. begins an unbroken ascent into Bonny Doon at 1300 feet. The grade must be around 10% over much of this section. I’m in my lowest gear (27 inch), and I’m managing at about 4.0 mph. I’ve got to save some energy for Zayante Rd.

At last, I’m warming up. But Frank is overheating. He insists on stopping along a steep, shoulderless section.

“Come on Frank, there’s no room to safely rest here. Let’s keep going until we get to an adequate turnout.”

“No. I have to stop now! My heart is already getting up to 170, over my aerobic limit!”

So we pull off into a ditch only 2 feet from the up-bound lane. In a few minutes, Frank manages to get back on his bike and pedal again.

Bonny Doon Rd. levels off for a few hundred yards as is crosses over a gravel conveyor belt, part of the Davenport cement plant, I assume. The road becomes wider now, and the shoulder is a comfortable 7 feet wide. The road turns a corner only to reveal a long straight uphill that goes on as far as one can see. It reminds me of the long hill on Bear Creek Rd. near Orinda, only this one is steeper. I remember now that this is the final push before the intersection of Smith Grade Rd. and our arrival in Bonny Doon. Within sight of Smith Grade Rd., I stop and wait for Frank, who has only just rounded the corner at the bottom of the long hill.

“I can’t go on any more. I don’t have any energy!”, Frank says as he gets off his bike and flops to the ground.

“Why don’t you eat a couple of fig bars and relax for a few minutes.”

Poor Frank. I’m afraid he has bonked.

“You were running on afterburners down on the coast trying to keep up with the faster group. You should’ve ridden more conservatively.”, I chide.

“Yeah, but I was feeling good then. I’m very hot and I just can’t pedal anymore. I usually don’t like the colder air, but today I’m having trouble in the heat, and I wish we had cool air here.”

We stop and rest in the shade of the trees. A few minutes later, seeing us stopped by the road, a sag vehicle drives up and offers assistance.

“How are you guys doing?”, the driver asks.

“Oh, we’re O.K. Just a little tired.”, Frank says, “I think I need to eat some simple sugars to get me going.”

“You guys need any water? I’ve got some water here.”

“Thanks, I’ll top off my water bottle.”, I reply.

“I’ve got some Oreo cookies here, too,” the driver says.

“Oh, I’ve got enough water, thanks.”, says Frank, apparently misunderstanding.

“Frank, Oreo cookies!”, I repeat.

“Cookies?”, Franks face lights up like a Christmas tree, “I could use some of those!”

Frank eats about 10 cookies in 30 seconds.

“Are you guys going to be all right?”, the driver asks.

“Yes, I think we’ll make it. We’ll go slowly but steadily. Thanks for your help.”, Frank says.

Slowly, we begin riding. We pass Smith Grade, then the Bonny Doon Winery tasting room, then the turnoff for Martin Rd. We’re on Pine Flat Rd. now heading gradually up toward Ice Cream Grade. I get ahead of Frank again. At the bus stop in front of the Bonny Doon School, another rider wearing a Walkman on a clean-looking Klein has stopped to catch a breath or two. He passed us very slowly back on Bonny Doon Rd. I pull up and stop to wait for Frank.

“How far to Empire Grade?”, he asks.

“Oh, we’ve got another 100 feet or so of climbing up to Ice Cream Grade, and then we have about 150 feet of downhill followed by about 350 feet of uphill. Then it’s all downhill into Felton.”, I reply.

“That’s good. I think I can make that.”

He gets back on his bike and continues slowly up the hill. Frank arrives and we continue riding slowly up Pine Flat Rd. In a minute we reach the sharp turnoff for Ice Cream Grade. Ice Cream Grade continues up for a short distance then begins a brief, bumpy descent down to the bottom of a gully before ascending again to Empire Grade.

Where did Ice Cream Grade get its name? Maybe because it’s cool and shady in the canyon?

I overestimated the ascent. It’s only 300 feet of climbing up to Empire Grade, and before long we’re whizzing down the steep, twisty, sometimes roughly surfaced Felton-Empire Grade. This is a good road for practicing descending skills. The upper part of Felton-Empire Grade is smooth and steep, but the middle and lower sections are rougher. Some of the corners are blind and steep. Frank and I pass two other slower, and perhaps wiser, riders. I’ve ridden down Felton-Empire Grade before and have found it preferable to the steeper, bumpier and longer Alba Rd. to the north.

Just before the traffic light at CA- 9, Felton-Empire Grade makes one final dip, as if to test the roadworthiness of our brakes. We cross CA- 9 and continue on busy Graham Hill Rd. Graham Hill Rd. with its narrow shoulder is never fun for bicyclists as it’s one of the two main arteries between Santa Cruz and Felton. It’s especially busy this year because CA- 9 has been closed between Felton and Santa Cruz because of mudslides last winter. However, one can ride the closed section on a bike on the weekend. It’s beautiful. The road rises and then descends through the magnificent redwoods of Henry Cowell Redwoods State Park, and there are no motor vehicles, so it’s quiet. There is a sign at either end of the closed section prohibiting bicycles, but the few workers working on the weekend don’t seem to mind the bicyclists riding through. I wouldn’t want to push through on a weekday, though, when the road-crew is fully staffed. Unfortunately, the Sequoia Century doesn’t pass through that section of road.

About 1/3 mile past CA- 9, we turn left at Zayante Rd. Zayante Rd. is a another beautiful Rd. in the Santa Cruz Mountains, maybe not quite as charming as Mountain Charlie Rd., but still pretty. Unfortunately, one must ride past the little community of Zayante to reach the prettier sections of this road as the lower section is surprisingly crowded, and the road has little or no shoulder.

Two miles from Graham Hill Rd. we turn left on Quail Hollow Rd. and proceed up the hill to Quail Hollow Ranch, where the Sequoia Century workers have set up a marvelous lunch spread.

Frank is getting tired again. “Are you sure we’re supposed to climb up this hill to get to lunch?”

“Yes. I remember from the route map that we have to detour up Quail Hollow Road to get to the lunch stop”, I reply.

We pass one half of a tandem crew, and I ask her, “Is the lunch stop in this direction.”

“Yes, it’s just around the corner ahead.”

Make that two or three corners, but in a few minutes we reach the entrance to the ranch and ride down the long driveway to the picnic area.

We’ve arrived at the official closing time, but there’s still plenty of food left.

“Are you going to be open for a few minutes longer?”, I ask.

“Sure. We’ll probably be here for another half-hour at least. If you want seconds, though, you might want to take two portions now.”

The lunch consists of whole wheat rolls, three kinds of salads: pasta and peas, wild rice and garbanzo beans, and black beans and corn, and chocolate-walnut cookies and muffins for dessert. Except for being maybe slightly heavy on the protein from the beans, the lunch really tastes good. I was half expecting the horror of a fatty barbeque lunch, but this is great. I grab a few extra cookies for the road. I notice that Frank takes some rolls and cookies but avoids the salads.

Frank wants to rest a while and then decide whether or not to continue. I take the opportunity to snap a few pictures, do a few stretches and relax. We’ve joined the 100-mile route, and we exchange horror stories about how hard our climbs were. Some of the other riders talk about other organized rides they’ve conquered such as the Markleeville Death Ride.

Frank has decided to go for it. Our goal is to arrive back at Foothill before sunset.

With full stomachs, we’re glad that we have a nice gradual descent down Quail Hollow Rd. We turn left at the stop sign and begin the long ride up Zayante Rd. Frank insists on stopping at the Zayante store for a Diet Coke fix. A few minutes later he comes out with a Diet Coke and an ice cream sandwich. I’d like to get a picture of us in front of the cute little store, but just then a high-rise pickup truck on huge knobby tires rolls in, taking up two spaces and completely blocking the front of the store. We are both surprised when a young woman in naught but a bikini jumps down from the driver’s seat and runs into the store. While we’re stopped at the store, several other riders race by.

We continue up Zayante Rd. (more properly East Zayante Rd.). The road rises and falls along Zayante Creek; some sections seem nearly level. But suddenly the road rises very steeply, and for about a mile, we pump up the hill in low gear. A sag vehicle passes us. “Are you O.K.?”, the driver asks. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just taking my time.”, I respond. At the top of the steep grade, East Zayante becomes Upper Zayante Rd. I stop and wait for Frank. When Frank arrives another sag vehicle comes up the road. The driver stops and offers us some water. The water stop at Summit Road has apparently been closed down.

“I’ve been instructed to encourage all riders on this part of the course to accept a sag ride to Saratoga Gap.”, he tells us.

I look at the clock. It’s only about 16:45. We have about 3.5 hours until sunset, more than enough time to finish. “No. We’d really rather continue. We’ll be O.K.; we’re just slow.”

“O.K. But there may not be another sag vehicle coming by for a while.”, he warns.

We continue on Upper Zayante Rd. The road descends about 100 feet before rising abruptly at a very steep hairpin turn. From here, Zayante Rd. climbs up to Summit Rd. on long switchbacks. The road is narrow but not as steep as before as it climbs up the forested slope. Near Summit Rd. we pass some houses, and when we reach the top, a sag vehicle is waiting. He has about a half-gallon of water, enough for the two of us to fill up our bottles. We now hold the dubious honor of being the last riders on the course. Maybe they should give us special jerseys to wear.

Behind the eight-ball again! When Frank and I rode the Mt. Hamilton Challenge last April, we were virtually the last riders back at the starting point. It’s nice to know that we’re being looked after, but it’s also a little bit frustrating to be swept along. I know we can make it back before sunset, but apparently, the organizers of the ride expect people to finish by 18:00 or so.

We head north on Summit Rd. Summit Rd. ends at Bear Creek Rd. We turn left and continue up shoulderless and busy Bear Creek Rd. In a few minutes we reach Skyline Blvd. and turn right. The southern end of Skyline is a narrow, twisty, single-lane road that travels up and down over the small peaks along the ridge, passing by a picturesque Christmas tree farm or two.

I manage to get a ahead of Frank, partly in hopes of speeding him along. It always seems that the sag vehicles pass while we’re resting by the side of the road looking bonked. Of course, they always stop and try to get us to accept a ride, but we politely decline. At the top of one particularly steep hill not far from Black Rd., the last sag van comes by. Frank is sitting on the ground in a heap eating a cookie.

“O.K. You can continue, but we’ve got to get your numbers, because if you don’t show up at Saratoga Gap in a reasonable amount of time, someone’s going to come looking for you. O.K.?”, says the driver.

“O.K.”, I reply.

A few minutes later we continue on. At Black Rd. Skyline broadens and becomes a highway capable of carrying traffic at speeds greater than 20 mph. We manage a decent pace up the gradual ascent to the Mt. Bielawski summit. Again, I get ahead of Frank. Oh well, I’ll just wait for him at the top.

I stop at the big boulders by the side of the road, eat my last sandwich and enjoy the view. Five minutes later Frank pedals slowly up the hill. He stops at the first boulder. He’s about to bonk again.

“Come on up here where there’s a view. I want to get a picture of us at the top of the ride.”

“Can’t you see I’m tired?!”, Frank says crabbily.

So I balance my camera on my saddle and take a timed exposure of myself.

“Do you want a bread roll?”, I offer.

“You have a roll? Sure, I’ll eat it.”, Frank says.

After about seven or eight minutes we start up the final quarter mile to the top and then down to Saratoga Gap eight minutes later.

“Hurray! You guys are the last riders!”, one of the volunteers shouts. “We’ve still got some goodies here!”

He offers us some bran muffins, fruit, and other quick snacks.

“I’m glad you guys didn’t go home at five o’clock.”, I say.

“Naw. We won’t leave until everyone clears the course.”

They clearly want to head home, so we quickly eat our snacks, refill our water bottles, and put on some more clothes for the fast descent down CA- 9 into Saratoga.

The descent goes smoothly as the road is unusually clean. I’ve often seen rocks on the road, especially around some of the turns. It looks as if someone came by and swept it clean. There are some other riders not associated with the Sequoia Century riding up CA- 9.

When we reach Saratoga-Sunnyvale Road at the bottom, the support trucks from the rest stop pass by. The driver and passengers wave encouragingly.

The remainder of the ride passes uneventfully. We manage to keep our cruising speed between 15 and 20 mph as we zigzag our way on Cupertino streets back to Foothill Blvd. We manage to cruise at 20 mph on the trip up Foothill Expressway to El Monte Rd. Usually I can manage more speed, but I don’t want to push anymore.

We roll in to the check-in area just after 20:00.

“Here. Take all you want.”, one volunteer offers as she shows us a huge box of chocolate chip cookies and a large pallet of bananas. I take two greedy handfuls and stuff them into my bike bag. I won’t eat them now, but I’ll enjoy them over the next week, I figure.

We both feel good about finishing the ride as we head back to the car, load the bikes up and drive home. This has been the longest and most difficult ride for either of us. But next year, maybe we’ll try the 100-mile route.

Ride stats:

distance: 121.3 miles

climbing: 9870 feet

total time: 13:48

riding time: 9:24

average speed (mph): 12.9

maximum speed (mph): 39.0

index: 160.8

An article on indexing can be found here.

©2004, Bill Bushnell

Please do not publish or distribute for profit without permission.