Mount Saint Helena, CA

If you asked the average person in the Bay Area about what they thought the most iconic or recognizable mountain in the area was, they’d likely point you to Mount Tamalpais, or Mount Diablo, which are two prominent peaks sitting respectively at 2,571’ or 3,849’ above the bay.

In the world of cycling, the aforementioned mountains are fairly legendary. Typically, a stage of the Tour of California has a mountaintop finish at the summit of Mount Diablo, and Mount Tamalpais is usually heralded as the birthplace of Mountain biking, as well as being the arguable center of the Bay Area’s cycling culture.

However, Mount Saint Helena is a third standalone peak in the bay which is not only of greater height, but additionally has a ride experience easily rivalling the other two. And, I’d argue that it’s just as iconic, at least to the residents of Sonoma, Napa and Lake Counties.

Mount Saint Helena is special compared to other mountains in the Coast Ranges because it’s not the direct result of tectonic activity. It's actually a dormant volcano that protrudes just over 4,300’ above Sonoma, Napa, and Lake Counties. (Fun fact: The three counties form a tripoint on the south end of the mountain, so to get to the summit one must pass through all of them.)

My first experiences with Mount Saint Helena were as a very young boy. When I’d visit my mom’s (now closed) clothing store in Healdsburg, I’d look out the window of our car and stare at the massive peak which loomed over the expansive vineyards and forested ridges.

It wasn’t until the second half of my freshman year of high school that I finally had a chance to summit the mountain. It’s a day I’ll never forget as it was the last time I went on a serious bike ride with my dad. It was a special moment for me (not unlike my experience on White Mountain Peak), and I was greeted at the top by a large feral billy goat. While I may have tired out my dad significantly, my old man made it all the way to the top from the fire road access gate off State Highway 29. All things considered, the fact he made it was no small feat, but does go to show that just about anybody can make it to the top if they’re determined to.

My next encounter with the mountain wasn’t until November 2016. I was finally home for thanksgiving break and I’d been wanting to get out of Marin and take on the mountain again. Even though I was still fighting off the tail end of mononucleosis, I decided to go for it.

After some planning and a one hour drive, I arrived at Calistoga. I found a lot to park in at the intersection of petrified forest road and CA-128 in front of Mary’s Home Plate Café.

After a few minutes of fairly standard unloading and changing, I was rolling northeast to the summit. At first, spinning along Highway 128 was quite nice. There was plenty of space on the shoulder, and passing motorists didn’t have to give a second thought to my presence.

This ended after about a mile, whereupon I turned onto Tubbs Lane. Perhaps at one point in time, Tubbs Lane was indeed a “lane” in the pastoral sense, where nary but an occasional wagon passed through on the way from Lake County to Santa Rosa. Today, however, it’s a highly trafficked 1.3 mile straightaway where some parts of the white line demarcating the road’s boundary have crumbled into adjacent drainage ditches, leaving little room for a cyclist to ride comfortably.

Thankfully, after about four minutes of stressfully pedaling on the narrow straightaway, I had cleared Tubbs Lane, and I was well on my way to Old Lawley Toll Road, the first part of the ascent.

Living up to its name, Old Lawley Toll Road, was built by a dude named John Lawley between 1866 and 1868. (for more details, read a story about the road from the Lake County News here.) The Lawley Toll Road served as a vital second link from Lake County into Napa County. Up until 1868, there was only one road between the two locales.

Actually riding up the old road is just as cool as its history. It’s incredibly quiet, gently winding, and provides numerous overlooks and vistas over the Napa Valley. When I was there, tongues of fog were swirling over the hillside vineyards and forests. In some spots, the road is completely shaded by a canopy of old oak trees, which provided a respite from the winter mist.

After about 3 miles of blissfully riding up Old Lawley Toll Road, I was ejected out onto Highway 29. Perhaps it was the timing, but ascending that road was honestly miserable. It was not physically difficult to do, as the part of the ascent on Highway 29 is only a 6% grade for about 2 and a quarter miles.

What makes Highway 29 so bad is that it's incredibly dangerous. Not only is there only no shoulder,  but high volumes of traffic are constantly going through at high speeds, and the road is not straight at any point along the route.

After a little less than 15 harrowing minutes which included riding on top of low asphalt barriers at the edge of the shoulder to avoid traffic, I made it to the gate for the dirt road to the top of the mountain. I don’t think I’ll ever ride Highway 29 in its current state again unless it’s very early in the morning.

So, 45 minutes of riding and 2200’ of ascending on pavement later, I’d made it onto the dirt. Due to recent rains, parts of the road were soft, slick, or both. Despite the occasional patch of what felt like riding on greasy banana peels, the integrity of the road was surprisingly good.

Once I passed a popular rock climbing spot known as “the bubble” there was not a soul to speak of. At that point on the mountain, I was starting to go into a different climatic zone than where I’d started. Redwood and Oak forest had given way to Foothill pines (Pinus sabiniana) and Hoary Manzanita (Arctostaphylos canescens).

I continued trucking up toward the summit. At around 3500’, the environment around me had decidedly gone from feeling coastal to more like that of the sierra foothills. Stands of douglas firs sprouted out from innumerable manzanita, and where it occurred, undergrowth was sparser than at lower elevations.

Finally, a little more than an hour after I started from Calistoga, I was riding up the final pitches of the ascent. The road got rougher and kicked up to a 14% grade for the last ~200 vertical feet of mountain. At this point, I wanted the hard part of the ride to all be over quickly, so I tore off the figurative band-aid and cranked out some power on the wet rocks covering the road.

At first, I was rather disappointed by what I saw at the summit. Clouds had covered the top of the mountain, and little but a few trees and radio antennae were visible.

Then, just as I was about to call it a day and start the 13 mile descent back to Calistoga, the cloud split and began to extricate itself from around the summit. The patches of light coming through the clouds made the distant towns, farms, and vineyards of Napa and Sonoma contrast highly with one another. For a few moments, I looked north and caught a glimpse of Middletown, in Southern Lake County. I was shocked by what I saw.

The dense forests I remembered from racing bikes in that area during in high school had vanished. The hillsides and mountains were barren, with only a stubble of early successional shrubs and grasses filling the space once occupied by dense stands of pines, douglas firs, and other conifers. For the first time, I saw with my own eyes the damage the Valley Fire of 2015 had wrought upon the land there.

Not disappointed with my experience, I decided to go home as another cloud began to bear down on the summit of the mountain. I snapped a few photos at the top, a few more on the way down, and booked it back towards the car.  I flew down Highway 29, leaning into the banked hairpins and coasting away from the cars and trucks behind me. Like a jet coming in to land, I sped back into Calistoga and coasted up to where I’d parked.

I took one more glance at the peak, which was obscured by clouds. I loaded my bike into the car, and after 90 minutes of thinking about a meal and a warm shower, I was home.