Our history of exploring roads on a bicycle is a short one. In the scheme of time, it's odd to think that merely 15 years ago, just a handful of people had ever sent for Fish Rock Road. But it's 100% true of this place that's often shrouded in mystery and myth.
The story of Ride Fish Rock began with a copy of the DeLorme Atlas & Gazetteer for the state of California that still sits on a coffee table at Bike Monkey Headquarters. Pen ink is left all over its pages, tracing roads we intended to ride before digital heat maps and community datasets made it easier to explore.
On page 87, we found a road that piqued our interest, and we asked around. Word on the street was mostly a shrug. But a small handful of people we knew to be adventurers had either heard of, contemplated, and even ridden it for themselves. It was spoken of as a fairly well-graded road that pretty much any road bike was capable of climbing, but not for the faint of heart. It featured pitches in excess of 15% for extended periods of time, and no known public water source along its entirety. Also, it was made of dirt.
The road gets its name from a former unincorporated community in Mendocino County near the coast just north of Gualala that was named "Fish Rock" in the late 1800s, but it was closed down and abandoned within 50 years. The road is a ghost of its past and offers a haunting contemplation for all who endure it
Dan Harting, pioneer of Voloroco coffee which is opening at Bike Monkey Headquarters in just a few short weeks was recently telling the story of how he, and a couple of friends found themselves out on a day many years ago which culminated in one of them taking a hypothermic nap in a ditch, and the draining of their hot water tank at home after they finally returned to safety from a torrential winter day in this very place.
Fish Rock's remnants are a temptress, and draw people in like the Angler Fish's lure, hence the reference, and mascot. It eventually consumes you. This is especially true of those who set out to do it alone, almost assuredly underprepared. As it winds through pine and oak forests, offering sweeping views, the steep, loose, and in some places rocky terrain makes it a true test of skill and endurance. Reports and personal accounts aptly describe it as both punishing and rewarding, with countless stories of extreme weather, mechanical challenges, and group ride mutiny in the face of adversity.
So why on earth would one ante up to the table to pit themselves against such a thing? Because challenges like this are the makings of triumph, and in the case of Ride Fish Rock, the few become many... Add a couple of aid stations, SAG support, HAM radio comms, grilled tater-tots and cheese, and the formidable becomes achievable.
Now that we've rescheduled our annual event to August when the beer at the end of the day will only taste sweeter, and the sprawling lawn and shade at Anderson Valley Brewing Company become that much more meaningful, the stage is set for one of the best and most memorable days you can have on a road bike.
Ride Fish Rock takes place in 65 days. It's one for the ages and will not be forgotten.
Thar’s not a whole lotta tule-fog backtrail when it comes to pedlin’ yer briney on the roads ‘round here. Truth be told, ‘twas just ’bout fifteen cold seasons ago when only a spriggle o’ folks had ever jowered down Fish Rock Road. But that’s a stone-down true yarn for a stretch that’s always been cloked in mooly myth and whisper.
The first brights ‘bout Ride Fish Rock lit up when we got a hitch in the DeLorme trail-book what still lays out at the Monkey’s roost. That ol’ Gazetteer’s been charfed up with pen marks like a barndoor, showin’ every chiggle road we jotted down to bahl afore folks started trackin’ their yammers with clickers and bleep-box maps.
Page 87—there she was. Fish Rock. We got our scogs on her and started hollerin’ down the berryvine. Most folks just gave a shrug and went back to their swigger. But a handcount of high-ballin’ hoons we trusted had heard tell, maybe even tried it. They’d say, “It’s a fair-grated bahl, but it’ll put hair on yer beans.” Long stretches of steep snatch, more’n 15 percent for a jaw-crackin’ distance, not a sip of wet to be found, and made o’ plain ol’ dirt. Aint for the leaky-hearted.
She’s named for a gone-to-nothin’ burg out in Mendocino, just north of Gualala. Fish Rock it was called in the late eighteen-hunnerds, ‘fore the folks skedaddled and left it ghosty. Now the road’s all that’s left, like a whisper from the fog.
Dan Harting—ye might know him from Voloroco, settin’ up his jape joint right here at the Monkey shack—was jawin’ the other day ‘bout a ride he took out yonder some winters back. Him and a coupla cronies found themselves shiverin’ on Fish Rock, one of ‘em takin’ a snow-nap in a mud-ditch ‘til they scurried back home and drained the hoddie tryin’ to warm their bones. No jape.
Fish Rock’s like a glowy-lure from a deep sea devil—she pulls ya in with her charm, then chomps ya whole. Lone hosses tend to get bit the worst, comin’ in boney-skin and goin’ out bonked. She winds through brushy pine and chaparral oak, with views that’ll make ya blink, but the jags and slip-grit’ll test yer gams and yer grit both. Ride stories speak of busted bikes, nutter weather, and full-on rebellin’ in the paceline.
So why bahl up to this snarl in the first place? ‘Cause that’s where the larrups lie. Ride Fish Rock turns few into many. Toss in some grub-stops, SAG wagons, HAM gabbers, a grill with hot tater-tots and cheese squish, and suddenly it don’t look so squirrelly.
Now that we’ve scooted the shindig to August, when the brewbottle hits sweeter and the cool grass at Anderson Valley Brewing feels like a bedroll from heaven, we’re primed for one of the best road-bikie days a bahl could dream.
Ride Fish Rock blasts off in 65 days. It’s a big ‘un. One for the yarn-books.
So yuh, join us. Let’s bahl.
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