Thorin.

A couple weeks ago, I finally made it up to Northern California for a ride. Specifically, to Big Basin State Park. I linked together a series of fire and forest roads using the Old Growth Classic bike race as a base for my route. This was easier said than done, as Big Basin—along with its ancient red woods—was severely damaged by fires in 2020, with 98% of the park being on fire at one point or another. But it has bounced back over the years, and while there’s still clearly work to be done (more on that in a second), its regrowth is astounding to see in person.

I started the ride in Boulder Creek, leaving my car parked at a grocery store that was just a short walk away from what I’d already decided was going to be my lunch: a hot dog from some place called River Dogs, which turned out to be a vaguely pirate themed perhaps not totally legal hot dog stand in a dirt parking lot run by a surly Scottish guy who mostly wanted to talk about punk rock. It was exactly what I needed, wanted, and dreamed about for several hours.

But that’s getting ahead of myself. I started the ride with a short trip up Big Basin Highway, before hitting a closed road, then dirt, before entering the park itself. It did not take long before I got into the burned sections.

I assume it’s very different than it used to be, but it still feels like something special. Maybe it’s the sort of awe one feels when thinking about how, in 100 years or so, these little sprouts will be trees. Or how it was once a forest. Or perhaps both of those things hitting at once is what really does it. Looking through photos I took throughout the day, I’m struck by how so much of it blends together into a nearly incomprehensible squiggles of grey.

The route itself was a sort of conjoined figure-eight. A twisted, strange up-and-down-and-up-and-down-and-up route that took me through the park, down to the sea, and back through the park. There were two large sections, one on Chalks Road and another on the Olmo Fire Road where I had to clamor over somewhere around 40-50 trees. I’m not totally certain on that number, but it’s not an exaggeration. The first time was fun, and even the second or third time climbing over a huge red wood, hoisting my bike along, gave me that “ugh this sucks but also this is cool,” feeling. But it turned into a slog as it went on and on. If my calculations are right, which is no guarantee, I’m guessing I walked/climbed around 2 miles of the way. Did I take a picture of a single downed redwood? Of course not! But here are some smaller trees.

It was clear there was plenty of work still to be done on these trails, and the fire’s effects were still lasting. And yet, I have no regrets. Would I do that same route again? Not like that, no, but throughout the day I saw trail workers cleaning things up. With the exception of a couple truly gigantic downed trees, I would not be surprised if this route is 99% rideable by this spring.

I always feel a little strange riding through a post-fire landscape. I find it fascinating to see nature at this point. Where many see it as sad, I find it strangely calming. Or maybe it’s humbling?

But eventually I arrived back in one of those dense areas, and got a good look at what things might have been like elsewhere. It was jaw dropping.

And most importantly, covert hot dogs.

Here’s the route, for anyone who cares.