I knew that if the road was accessible it would eventually come out, at its lower end, on Mountain Avenue near the forestry fire station, so I turned around and headed back to that point. Upon arrival at the assumed junction I did indeed find insignificant evidence of the location of the old road. This area will always have innumerable cars parked along the new road on the weekends, but I have never given it much notice, always assuming they belonged to fisherfolk since San Antonio Creek is always fully flowing here. What I found was a sign identifying the Joatngna Trail. My many years of anthropological work convinced me that this was likely an indigenous Tongva word by the "gna" at the end of it and, after a few attempts, gave up trying to pronounce it. The trailhead was literally that, and not a roadhead, but hoping that a segment of paved road was just beyond sight I hitched my bike up onto my shoulders and hobbled (road shoes with speedplay cleats are worse than useless in these conditions) along a path of loose river rock, up a little riser, and voila, there it was - asphalt. Woohoo!
Beginning of the "old road"
first section of asphalt on the "old road"Unfortunately, my enthusiasm was as short-lived as the pavement was long. That is pretty short. There are three distinct sections of roadway linked by smooth dirt path, all very rideable, even on my road bike. But, ultimately I came to an old bridge with a five foot drop-off on its far side and no roadway anywhere in sight beyond. Maybe I was blinded by the thicket of berries growing at the bottom of the drop that had me salivating, or maybe I wanted to believe that the asphalt picked up again just beyond my field of vision. I let myself down the ledge (not convinced I would be able to pull myself back up since road cleats don't provide much climbing traction) hauled my bike down behind me, and continued to follow a faint trail through a nice stand of alder. Did a little log crossing, and rock hopping, using my bike for balance. Before long, though I convinced myself that no good could come of pressing my luck, that sooner rather than later, I would slip and break an ankle or worse, and turned around. Disappointed.
you have got to jump off this bridge, but no, not into the water
beautiful, yes. if not for the spray paint.
honestly, why do people feel the need to desecrate the forest
beautiful and fragile at the end of its life.
it could not lift up more than a couple inches off the ground