I noticed it the other day as I drove by. I usually drive by it once or twice a week, but this time I looked, took notice, perceived. And I did not like what I saw. I did not like what they had done to it. It used to be a place of beauty and sanctuary. Now it's just...just...it's...well, I should probably back up a little and give some background.
At the end of a range of hills there was a place that the locals called Bedrock. This Bedrock was so called because of the underlying...bedrock. It was a place of solitude in the midst of suburbia, an escape to the peace and quiet of nature. Once you got up to the top area, no one down below could see what you were doing. It was a place suitable for many outdoor activities - paintball, hiking, meditating, riding, praying, comet watching - but I will focus on MTB'ing at Bedrock.
It was at bedrock that I got my first taste of "real" moutain biking. I remember that as a teenager and young adult we (me, my younger bro, and our neighbor, Jack) would ride about 7 miles from home just to get to Bedrock, then we'd ride up in the hills for a while, then 7 more miles home. When I re-connected with a longtime friend, it was at Bedrock that we rode. At Bedrock I learned to do a boulder-fall, also called a drop. At Bedrock I learned the art of gracefully flying over the handlebars while braking too hard going downhill.
At Bedrock I witnessed the proper technique of using the feet as brakes on long downhills. My friend Eric, yes that Eric, had lost his brakes one day, so he put his feet down to control his speed. It worked - he survived - but his shoes' soles were worn flat - I can picture it still. On another date, on the same slope I think, this same Eric executed the most perfect splash through a mud puddle that I have ever had the pleasure of witnessing. I remember it clearly: Eric was a little ahead of me, to my left, and he positioned himself and aimed his splash perfectly. I don't think it would have been possible to give me a more thorough soaking in that situation. It was a beautiful moment.
I was never sure if we were trespassing, or if the land was officially open to the public, but there were no ranger, no cops, and a lot of people went up there.
I remember the last time I rode at Bedrock. It was after the land had been sold to private owners and fences were put up. My friend, Paul, and I decided to have one last ride up at Bedrock. I don't remember how we got inside the fences, but we went on up and had our last visit.
And now it's gone: no more old-growth Oaks, no more turkeys, no more Miwok Indian caves, no more bike paths, no more boulders to fall over, no more poison oak. Now, it's just green, artificially maintained grass and sand - a golf course. A golf course. Prime MTB land was sold and turned into a golf course, but we will never forget what once was.
Farewell, Bedrock - gone, but not forgotten.
bIsh
**If I am ever rich enough to buy the land, I think I'll tear out the golf course and let the land return to its natural state. Then I'll build a MTB course for me and my friends.**
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