Bikers adjust in California hills

Editor’s Note: Dave Stonebraker, chairman of the English department at Hebron Academy, and his 15-year-old son, Austin, are bicycling across America from Seal Rocks Beach, Calif., to Owls Head. Stories of their travels, the shared experience of father and son, will be featured weekly throughout the summer.

BURNEY, CALIF. — Austin and I have been on the road for seven days and have covered 440 miles from San Francisco to Redding, Calif., first along the Pacific Coast Highway, then along the redwood corridor in Humboldt County, and finally across the Shasta-Trinity National Forest. These days have tested us in unexpected ways; we have had adjustments to make.

In spite of all planning and preparations to our vehicles, we have learned to sense the smallest variations and need for adjustments in the bikes. Seats were first. As we conditioned to full days on the road, we lifted the seats, an increment at a time, seeking full extension of our legs through the bottom of the pedal stroke.

Gearing was next. In the uneven terrain of the coast, Austin struggled at first to find his personal patterns for shifting as gliding turned to climbing, and quick shifts to the right ratio could mean the difference between spinning over an incline and stalling in a gear too hard to push.

My shifting cable seemed to stretch, for by the third day the discordant ratcheting accompanying each shift announced that the chain was not falling cleanly on the new cog wheel. Resetting the alignment of the rear derailleur quieted the chain.

In redwood country, Austin lost a screw from the supporting strut of his rear rack, and the rack slipped down onto the tire. Athletic tape proved the quick fix to keep us going until we could search for a replacement at a hardware store.

We have adjusted to the weather and the terrain as well. Our detailed and speculative itinerary immediately proved unrealistic in the face of what Californians described as a “peculiar” spring. We fell short of our distance goals on each of the first three days as hilly terrain and unrelenting winds from the northwest blew cold against the northbound traveler.

We tried to leave earlier each day, rising near dawn, but the winds came early and by afternoon, we are told, they gusted to 35 mph daily. These coast days were memorable not only for the wind, which on occasion slowed our progress to a mere 6 mph on level ground, but also for their fierce beauty. The North Coast has abrupt headlands, bluffs and cliffs falling away to narrow black strands. Offshore frequent jagged outcroppings of rock rise a hundred feet or more above the surf.

We both battled daily frustration of hoping to reach destinations and knowing by 10 a.m. that adjustments in the day would have to be made. We sought to quit the coast early, but there was no feasible alternative. Finally, we hunkered down and pushed for 70 miles on Tuesday last week, along the final coast miles and then climbing steeply over the coast range.

Our reward was a thrilling five-mile descent into the valley of the Eel River and the heart of California’s redwood country. A gorgeous day touring down the “Avenue of the Giants,” through grove after grove of protected coast redwoods in the dim cool under the towering canopy above, became a special reward and emboldened us to try to catch up with the itinerary by crossing the Trinity Forest Wilderness in two 70-mile pieces, broken by a high camp in the heart of the mountains.

The adjustment worked; we reached a first goal and the end of a week together. I have started to call Austin “Le Grampeur” — the goat — after the nickname given to the team riders in the Tour de France, whose role it is to “pull” or lead the elite riders. Les Grampeurs specialize in climbing and excel in the mountain stages of the Tour. Austin may hate the wind, but he has proved these last two days that he can climb!

There are other adjustments less discernible than those of equipment, terrain and planning — adjustments of the body to the task. The legs seem to give a fuller stroke. We occasionally rise from the seat to kick over a small rise, then simply wait for the momentum of the descent to take over. We can keep the rhythm of a climb for longer. We can respond to the warning call of the “truck back” with less of an instinctive jerk to the right and more of a practiced eye to the mirror and the situation to see whether we will be given room or need to take evasive action. And we’re coming to terms with ourselves and with the trip.

I asked Austin two questions as we talked about the first week. I asked him if there was a time along the coast when he wondered if we could do it. “No,” he said, “I just knew it would take a little longer.”

I also asked him if he was thinking about getting to Maine. “I’m thinking one day at a time,” he answered.