Turkey Ride

November, 2021

The Sierra Azul mountains begin about a mile or so from the house. Named for the blueish tint they show, the range is covered with chapperal and the occasional oak woodland. The Midpennsula Open Space District had the good sense to buy a good chunk of the range to form the Sierra Azul Open Space Preserve.

One of the main trailheads starts at the top of Kennedy Road in Los Gatos. The entrance comes with all the trimmings: parking for two cars, maps, mountain lion warnings, and, most important, a porta potty. Best of all, the Preserve welcomes mountain biking. Mountain bikers simply call the route Kennedy. Which leads us to this post and the South Bay mountain biking version of the Bay to Breakers held each Thanksgiving morning.

The trail, which is probably an old ranch road, is a mother you know what of a climb. The grade starts easy, with one little pitch, proceeds down to a drainage crossing, then goes relentlessly steep until it reaches an oak tree, which is a traditional rest stop before the final and brutal grind to the first trail junction. This usually took me a good hour from the trailhead. From there you can stay on the dirt road to more climbing then miles of cruising to the exit at the top of Hicks Road. Alternatively, you can drop down to Lexington reservoir. More on that route later.

Starting around 8:00 Thanksgiving morning, hundreds of crazed mountain bikers ascend on the trailhead to make the climb to the first trail junction. The first time I did this ride I there was no rangers or other adult supervision. A few years later, there was at least one ranger and, I think, a sheriff’s deputy, to deal with mishaps from bikers on the downhill leg. There are also two riders jerry rigged to a cart containing, I’m not kidding you, a full, snout to tail, roast pig. As the pig rolls up the trail, I think what could possibly go wrong.

I start the grunt up the hill, surrounded by fellow lunatics who weren’t smart enough to sleep in. On this trip I started out with St. Laurel’s distant cousin Rosa who dropped me even before the trailhead.

I keep climbing. About a quarter mile from the oak tree I start hearing Pink Floyd. I chalked it up to endorphin fog, but it kept getting louder. Just when I was wondering if it couldn’t get any louder, or at least turn into ELP, along comes a bike with severely fat tires with an attached boom box blasting “Wish You Were Here.”

I get to the oak tree for a water and fuel break. Ahead of me is a human dressed in a giant turkey suit. You just can’t make this up. There is no sign of the roast pig.

After a short downhill and some merciful flat, the road carves a hairpin to one of the most relentless and steep grades of the route. There are glimpses of the Lexington watershed down below, but mostly it is a wall of brush that surrounds me.

After an eternity of this (OK, I am whining) I reach the saddle before the final pitch. A little downhill, a hard right which robs of your momentum, and you come to the wall. Staring you in the face is thirty yards of steep covered in loose gavel. Just what you want after you’ve climbed over a thousand vertical feet. I pick a line through the gravel and a slot through the multitudes. The best laid plans go arwy as I steer into the rough, losing any semblance of traction. Damn. I hoof until I can remount.

At the top there are literally hundreds of bikers. I approach one clump of riders and there it is, in all its golden glory. Yes, dear reader, I had been beaten to the top by a roasted pig. Or at least what was left of it. Come to find out that the jerry rigged double tow failed and the pig had been brought up by a single rider. I saw the guy and he looked like he played rugby for breakfast.

Humans were feasting, and those devouring the pig weren’t the only ones. There is another crowd that has a full Thanksgiving feast going. Nearby sits a pony keg, doubtless already drained. I find my friend Rosa who is nursing a glass of pinot noir. Santa Claus walks by and someone hands me an unopened can of Coors which I dutifully chug. Is this the good life or what?

I see some riders head down the trail toward Lexington. Insanity. The one thing worse than the uphill is that downhill. It is steeper than the final wall and is composed of deep sand. Braking is futile. In this crowd, one wipe out and it’s pile up time, which, no surprise, has happened in prior years. This undoubtedly accounts for the heavy ranger presence.

I scream a greeting at the owner of my favorite mountain bike shop as I head back to my mechanical steed. As I start down, up the road comes a guy on a unicycle. A frigging unicycle. A better man than I. I enjoy the fruits of my labors during the cruise back down to Kennedy Road. Before my final turn out of the mountains I come across the turkey suited biker. I compliment him on his fortitude as I speed off to ready myself for the family feast.

Happy Thanksgiving!

See you next time.