PLAN & PEDAL
Written and photographed by Nick Hormuth and Lindy Patterson
W
e’re passionate about cooking and eating well on a bike camping adventure—real, seasonal, flavorful food, homemade to be shared outdoors with friends. This takes some planning. Plan One of our recent plans sounded something like this: Brunch with four friends in Oakland, then set off together for a 15-mile ride up and along Skyline Drive to a new-to-us camping destination. We would arrive midday and make camp overlooking Lake Chabot. Do a little fishing. Send an envoy to the nearest market just a few miles away to pick up fresh food, fuel for our stoves, some beer to go with our planned dinner menu: a roasted sweet potato soup with spicy peppers and black beans. If fortune allowed, fish tacos. And to finish, some chili-cinnamon hot chocolate with a splash of whiskey. We packed our gear, including a pantry of spices and oils from home and set off. Pedal Here’s what think of as a perfect execution of this plan: The day began with a stop at the Chinese market just below our friends’ place in Oakland, where we joined a ruthless melee for ripe strawberries, competing with fasthanded old women with uncompromising intentions. Upstairs, we lingered, enjoying our spoils with eggs and toast, plenty of coffee, and good conversation. After, we took our time in the sunshine on the city sidewalk to study maps and chat. And then we were rolling, talking, climbing, catching up on each other’s love stories and life happenings. The sun shining on the spring growth above and around us, bringing out the dry, olivey smell of the California hillside. We were sky high, riding long waves of rollers, when an off-road trail caught someone’s eye. We took it. For an hour or more, we pedaled dusty ups and downs through a scrub-oak forest. The trees would open up now and then to unexpected vistas—the sparkling Bay and City to the west, greening hillsides and sleepy lakes to the east. We sidled past a four-foot-long snake sunning itself unperturbed on the trail, winking a lazy threat. We were alone together in the quiet noise of the countryside. Breezes licking past and sighing toward the Pacific as we
breathed up and down the trail. When we finally emerged again, we found ourselves several miles back from where we’d started. No one cared. The sun was still high enough in the sky and only a few miles lay between us and our destination. We split up, two of us taking a trail to camp, off to set up tents and get the fire going for dinner. The others on the longer road to the market. I’m not sure how far we’d gone when we discovered we were on a hiker-only trail. Felled trees crisscrossed our path between swampy switchbacks, giving way to rocky inclines and heady drop-offs on the edge of a foot-wide trail. It took us two hours to go three miles with our loaded bikes. Meanwhile, the others found the nearest market already closed for the day. They rode on and down and down and down and down to find an open market, seemingly at sea level. In a car, the distance and the elevation would have felt like nothing. Only a cyclist could know the bittersweet elation of that downhill flight. The sun had set by the time our camp-makers had the tents up and fire going. The conversation turned reflective—as conversations do by firelight—wondering at how impenetrable the wilderness could become just steps from the daily flow of life, and how when you encounter that wild place at the edge of things it reminds you of what it is to be human—fragile, strong, hungry, physical, clever, clueless, all of it at once. Earthbound but capable of taking flight, when the earth and two wheels allow. Eventually, our intrepid shoppers emerged panting from the darkness, panniers bulging. We tossed the slow food plan, munching on chips and salsa instead, and recounting our separate adventures while sausages and peppers sizzled over the fire. We did drop the sweet potatoes and peppers over the hot coals, and we more or less forgot them until the fire and the conversation dwindled toward sleep. Twelve miles became thirty, breakfast became dinner, dinner became breakfast, and everyone returned home rested, restored, and well-fed. Perfect. Bunyan Velo 141