Photo by Derek Bolland, Brendon Potts, Nicholas Haig-Arack, Rie Sawada, Toyoshige Ikeyama / Text by Nicholas Haig-Arack
It’s easy to find “adventure” these days, much harder to find the real thing.
It seems to have been heatmapped and hashtagged to the point of abstraction; a conceptual cliche.
So how does one create an adventure?
Like a jazz composer, you have to leave room for improvisation.
It’s easy to find “adventure” these days, much harder to find the real thing.
The word seems to have been hashtagged and categorized in such vague ways that it has undoubtedly become a cliché.
So how can you create a real adventure?
Like a jazz composer, we need to break away from where we are to make room for improvisation.
As soon as I knew that NAHBS was happening in Sacramento, I started making plans to ride there from my hometown of Santa Rosa. Twice in the past I’ve biked the hundred miles to Sac by taking country highways, but this time I wanted to find a better way – I’m always hungry for dirt roads and remote scenery.
When I learned that NAHBS was being held in Sacramento, I immediately started planning a ride to the event from my hometown of Santa Rosa. I had ridden the hundreds of miles to Sacramento along state highways twice before, but this time I wanted to thoroughly search for a better route. After all, I’ve always had a weakness for remote places and rough roads.
Creating a route was fairly straightforward – I used RideWithGPS and AllTrails to explore the area by satellite and looked for the brown ribbons of trail to connect the dots between where we would be and where we wanted to end up.
I invited some good friends from Oregon, Montana, and Nagoya. As my list of riding companions grew, I started to feel the weight of responsibility. That’s when I started to really stress out.
Creating a route wasn’t difficult. I used RideWithGPS and AllTrails to search for trails marked with brown ribbons, connecting the dots to map out where we would start and end.
I invited friends from Oregon, Montana, and Nagoya, but as the group of riding companions grew, so did my sense of responsibility. That may have been when I started to feel stressed.
What would happen if we got lost, or busted for trespassing, ran out of water, or worse?
This was unknown territory to me, and anything could happen.
I spent quite a few nights awake, reviewing the plan over and over again. I was worried about my lack of control. Before too long, the day of our departure had arrived.
What if we got lost? What if someone shot us for trespassing on private property? What if we ran out of water? All sorts of worries began to come to mind.
Because it was uncharted territory, anything could happen.
I stayed up for several nights scrutinizing my plan to make sure it was truly sound. I was worried about whether I had everything under control. Then, before I knew it, the day of our departure had arrived.
The first day went according to plan – our route was dialed, the timing was perfect, and we hit every note just right. We managed to find an ideal campsite right on the waterfront, our only neighbors the waterfowl whose honks carried across the glassy expanse of Lake Berryessa.
The first day went according to plan. We followed the route and made perfect timing at every turn. We managed to set up camp right on the waterfront, where our only neighbors were the waterfowl honking across the glassy expanse of Lake Berryessa.
The second day was Thelonious Monk. I knew where we needed to go, but I wasn’t entirely sure how we’d get there.
Luckily, our cooperative of riders worked together to find our way. We hopped multiple gates, crossed over miles of pockmarked cow pastures, and eventually found our way to the summit – Berryessa Peak, 3060 feet in the sky.
Then it was all downhill to the fertile Capay Valley and a long, arduous grind through the orchard-lined highways of Yolo County until, at long last, we arrived in Sacramento just after sunset.
The second day was Thelonious Monk. I knew where we needed to go, but how we would get there was entirely up to improvisation.
Fortunately, the companions riding with me worked together to find our way. We hopped through several gates, crossed miles of rutted cow pastures, and finally saw the summit. Berryessa Peak, 3,060 feet (932 m) high, towered before us.
From there, we descended all the way to the fertile Capay Valley, then endured a long, monotonous slog along the orchard-lined highways through Yolo County until we finally arrived in Sacramento just after sunset.
I’m so glad that our journey together was a success. I’m already looking forward to the next one. I hope you feel inspired to go find your own route, and don’t be afraid to improvise – that’s where the adventure really begins!
I was so happy that our journey was a success. It’s also true that I was already eager to plan the next ride. I hope this makes you want to go find your own route. And don’t be afraid to improvise. After all, that’s where a real adventure truly begins.
Continue to Road to NAHBS: The World Shige Saw →
NEW NAHBS FEATURE SERIES
California Dreamers #1 ｜ Text by Shinya Tanaka
California Dreamers #2 ｜ Text by Rie Sawada
California Dreamers #3 ｜ Text by Nicholas Haig-Arack
California Dreamers #4 ｜ Text by Toyoshige Ikeyama