With the midday harshness on the mountainsides softened by alpenglow, the backcountry reaches out like a promise, serrated silhouettes of ridgeline, like riders on a purple haze.
Sitting astride my mountain bike, I breathe quietly from my perch atop the Sierra Madre mountains, absorbing the moods and the sounds, the delicate interplay of breeze and bird song, just having begun a three-day ride that leads through the heart of this country.
Epic Adventure
Paul Cronshaw and I are on an epic bike adventure that will take us over 80 miles through the heart of the Santa Barbara backcountry. We begin at the foot of Sierra Madre Road, an inauspicious entry point along Highway 166.
We leave a car at Upper Oso at the far end of our journey for the shuttle trip back. What lies ahead of us are four glorious days riding the crest of the Sierra Madre for half the journey and Buckhorn Road over the top of Big Pine and Little Pine Mountains for the other half.
The first 10 miles of the trip take us to Miranda Pine Mountain, climbing a series of reasonably gentle switchbacks to our first night’s campout. We both have trailers attached to our rear axles. Known as BOBs, or “Beasts of Burdens,” they allow us to carry an insane amount of gear, including aluminum beach chairs strapped down with bungee cords.
The switchbacks are numerous, and as we climb, each provides views out over the Cuyama Valley. With the gain in elevation comes a sense of perspective first of the Cuyama Valley, the upper Sierra Madres stretched out in the far distance and to the east the Caliente Mountains. Hidden behind them is the Carrizo Plain and the San Andres Fault.
In the midst of such rough, rugged country there’s a sense of the tectonic forces at play over the millennia that pushed these mountains thousands of feet into the air and rotated them from a north-south to an east-west orientation.
Rhythm of the Road
Paul and I continue to climb, the steady pace of our mountain pedals moving up and down in a circular rhythm that seems as harmonious as footsteps. We don’t talk much; the views are too encompassing, the quiet beauty needing no words.
The Sierra Madre is a range I have visited often, both on foot and on bike. It is early May, a good time to be riding here, and the pastel coloring of spring has blurred the harshness.
Though technically spring begins in December or January with the onset of the rainy season, late March through early May is the period of greatest transformation.
Grassy meadows turn a deep, rich shade of green, wildflowers make the mountains magically colorful, and for at least two months of the year this becomes a promised land, a land easy to fall in love with.
This is a very good time to be visiting the backcountry.
Evening Camp
The evening’s destination is the campground near Miranda Pine Mountain. It is a beautiful camp with views out over the valley, but it is already occupied so we elect to stay on the other side of the road where the views out over the San Rafael Wilderness are equally delicious.
Near the point where a secondary road leads down into La Brea Canyon, there is a small road cut with a water trough near the back end. I’m assuming it’s for the cattle, but it is perfect for our use.
We park our bikes, unstrap our chairs, pump water using our filters and settle in for a drink, a moment’s rest and a last few minutes of evening sun before we make our dinner.
On to Montgomery Potrero
Our next night’s camp is in what is perhaps the most wondrous place in the Santa Barbara backcountry. It is known simply as Montgomery Potrero — along with its nearby neighbors, Lion Canyon and Pine Corral Potrero.
Dick Smith’s ashes were scattered here, the final resting place for one of our area’s most cherished pioneers.
It is 27 miles and a good deal of climbing for the day. We each pump a gallon of water and stash it on our BOBs.
After a strenuous uphill effort getting to the high point near McPherson Peak, the ride across is both easy and soothing, with rolling hills that offer gentle climbs and mellow downhills.
In the distance, the dirt path curves its way around and over a series of knolls. The next half-hour’s ride is through a series of small potreros, the Spanish word for “meadow.”
As the tensions and pressures begin to slip away, it becomes easier and easier to be captured by the moment, by the excitement and the stimulation, and by a sense of calmness that comes from being in harmonious surroundings.
Day 2 is turning out to be just as fulfilling as the first.
Montgomery Potrero
We are not too far from Painted Rock Campground, secluded in the midst of sandstone outcroppings and meadows characteristic of the Sierra Madre.
This area is unique in that it is not capped by chaparral for the most part, but by large open expanses of potrero. Underlain by resistant sandstones, the Sierra Madre has a thin covering of Monterey shale, soft rock that has weathered to form a relatively long, even top with loamy clays that support a variety of grasses and, in the springtime, acres of wildflowers.
The view from the road high above the camp is breathtaking.
The land opens up to several square miles of grassland filled with strange porpoise, dolphin and whale-like sandstone formations. With abundant rain, in April and May there are literally thousands upon thousands of flowers: cream cups, goldfields, poppies, lupine and countless others.
The wind always seems to blow here. Rippling through hundreds of acres of grass, the rhythmic swaying motion makes the land appear to be moving. Softly and gently, the wind strokes the backs of the green-tasseled grasses.
While Paul cruises down into the meadows, I stay for several minutes more, absorbing the magical quality of this place. Below me, Paul swoops back and forth, darting swallow-like down the grassy switchbacks to camp.
Then I, too, head down, back and forth, the feeling of the wind and motion making me feel that I, too, am like grass being blown across the land.
Painted Rock Camp
The camp is picturesque, a single table and fire pit beneath a large canopy-shaped oak tree. There is a horse corral, and even an outhouse. A small cave is situated nearby, 30 feet above the ground.
Womb-like, this cave is shaped like the interior of a large eggshell, 8 feet deep and across, perhaps 6 feet in height. On the walls near the back are small paintings done in reds and charcoal blacks, on the ceiling a 2-foot-diameter sun, its rays radiating outward in all directions. There is just enough room inside to sit back quietly against the curved walls and absorb the mood.
This is a place of calm, a power spot, a centering place. The rock is cool, and though the evening wind has picked up and is blowing misty clouds of fog up the mountainside, our sanctuary is seemingly unaffected by the world outside. I spend as many moments as I can in wind-sculpted caves such as this, contemplating the rock art, making friends with the evening wind, feeling the rhythm of nature’s circular patterns.
We spend hours exploring the rock formations and checking for water at one of the area’s many springs before a dinner of flour tortillas, cheese, beans and salsa.
It’s been a long day, and sleep comes easily.
A Spectacular Ride
In the morning, warm sunlight filters through the oak branches. For breakfast, there is plenty of cowboy coffee and granola, and ample time for a hike. Afterward, we review the day’s activities.
There are fresh bear tracks at the bottom of the short road leading up to the camp. We’ve had visitors.
Filling water bottles and making a second check to see that we have left the camp in better condition than we found it, we are on our way.
From our present elevation of 4,500 feet, we will continue gradually uphill along the Sierra Madre for 10 miles, then begin to climb more steeply up and over a 6,500-foot saddle near Big Pine Mountain.
The total mileage won’t be great, not more than 20 miles, but because of the ups and downs the actual elevation gain will be close to 4,000 feet. Nor will water be available until near the day’s end at Chokecherry Springs, forcing us to depend on what we take with us from camp.
A mile beyond Montgomery Potrero is a second meadow named Pine Corral Potrero. In between is an immense canyon composed almost entirely of sandstone called Lion Canyon. We spend two hours exploring its depths. At one point, we find ourselves following black bear tracks into the arroyo.
A few miles ahead we pass Salisbury Potrero, another huge set of meadows. The hillsides are in full blossom as are a number of other flower-filled potreros leading to Santa Barbara Canyon.
Poetry in Motion
Once past the turn down into Santa Barbara Canyon, the road begins to ascend into the San Rafael Mountains.
The overwhelming feeling is that of motion, of moving with and being part of the land. On the uphills, I develop an easy pedaling rhythm — what I call my “all-day pace.” On the downhills, I coast, a carefree submission to the effects of gravity, softly tempered by a light tapping of my brakes.
Gradually, the vegetation begins to change as we leave the grasses behind and encounter scattered pinyon pines and juniper, then small stands of big cone spruce, a close relative of the Douglas fir, on the shaded north slopes.
As the road steepens, there are increasing numbers of conifers, and a new smell, that of the pine forest. It is hot, but at this altitude the breeze takes the edge off it, and just before a particularly steep section we come to a small water source called Chokecherry Springs — thankfully, because we are near the end of our water.
We arrive several hours later at Big Pine Campground, surrounded by thick forests of ponderosa and sugar pines, incense cedar, and spruce.
Riding for the last five miles has been a revelation.
Evening Camp
We make Big Pine in late afternoon. Because the camp is actually several hundred yards inside the San Rafael Wilderness, we leave our bikes hidden along the road and pack in our gear. There is a spring nearby, a picnic table and tall fires for dinner companionship.
Before dinner we hike to the top of Big Pine. At 6,762-feet in elevation, it is the highest point in the county. The chaparral is stunted at this elevation, and the understory is open and littered with thick beds of pine needles, making movement easy.
After the day’s effort, we sit back against large ponderosa pines and enjoy what might be the finest views available from anywhere in the county: the snow-covered Sierras on the northern horizon; Santa Cruz Island, the largest of the Channel Islands, to the south; and mountainous ranges and deep canyons in all other directions.
Have we really only been gone since yesterday?
We have another relaxing evening by the fire, listening to the crackle of flames and other night sounds, sharing and resharing moments accumulated during the day’s activities. In the dark star-filled sky, the tall silhouettes of trees sway in the night breeze, which makes a soft sound as it rustles through the pine needles.
Other than that, there is total silence — no birds, no planes, no stream, nothing save the crackle of flame. The need for sleep catches up with us finally, and after a few minutes of feeble resistance, Paul and I turn in.
Morning Light
In the morning, we rise lazily, not wanting to be on our way, nor wanting the day or the trip to end.
The air warms slowly in the shadows of the forest, and we extend the morning fire until near leaving time before quenching it completely.
From here, it is 27 miles back down to the Santa Ynez Valley. Most of it is downhill, so we do not need to rush.
During those last few hours, I try to define exactly what has been so precious about this trip, as well as the mountain bike riding I love so much.
Nothing tangible, I think. Just a sense of goodness — a wellness that pervades my body and that carries me down the mountain.
[Author’s Note: This story is pieced together from several trips I made with Paul over the course of the years. While much of the area has not changed much, the Big Pine area was hit particularly hard by the Zaca Fire and is still in the process of recovering even these many years later.]
— Noozhawk outdoor writer Ray Ford can be reached at rford@noozhawk.com. Click here for his website, SBoutdoors.com. Follow him on Twitter: @riveray. Connect with Noozhawk on Facebook.