Ohlone Wilderness Trail

I hopped off the bus at the point of closest approach to Lake Del Valle and began the day right at 10:00 AM. Given the scale of the day, it was, to say the least, an inadvisably late start.

I figured if I could average 5 miles per hour and the route came out to 45 miles, that would put me at about 9 hours and a finishing time of 7:00 PM. It would be dark, but not problematically so. Naturally it was at this point I realized I'd forgotton my headlamp.

The bike path was quite nice and allowed to skip running along any busy roads.

Slightly nervous about bonking in the middle of a wilderness area, I slammed the Gatorade I'd been carrying and stopped by a gas station for a replacement Gatorade, a Clif Bar, and a bag of Lay's potato chips.

Sycamore Grove Park is a lovely, flat, open park. It was nice to see so many people, many of them perhaps getting an active start to their winter break, out walking and biking with their families.

I had a hard time finding my intended route, but the trails seemed to go the same direction as they forked all over the plain.

One big fear was that I'd burn precious time and miles on wrong turns or dead-end trails on private land. I had a bad feeling as I scrambled down a six foot vertical embankment to a brushy river bed below, but the trail got me where I needed to go.

I felt more at home as I finally started to gain some elevation.

Del Valle is an outstanding and scenic trail run. It's a bit of a drive to get there, but a trail wraps around the north side of the lake for at least seven miles. Out and back, that's more than enough for a nice, quiet long run.

The running was quite good, but the rolling hills weren't as easy or brief as I expected.

The smooth running stopped immediately as soon as I stepped onto the Ohlone Trail. I grew a bit nervous, as sixteen miles is a long way to run just to find yourself stepping onto the beginning of a marathon-length trail.

The scenery was lovely though, and the near-solstice sun angle was very forgiving.

It was nice to see a few of the only people I'd see all day, but it was moderately discouraging to descend 500 feet into a valley, just to immediately ascend the other side.

The photos don't do it justice, and it's hard to put into words just how pleasant the top of the ridge is. It feels like the sort of place where you spread out a picnic blanket, pull a book out of your backpack, and then just stare at the clouds for a few hours.

As I approached the southeast corner of the route, it felt like a big accomplishment—even if I was only halfway done—to turn the corner and start heading back west toward San Francisco Bay.

I slowly watched my average pace drop throughout the day from 7.5 miles per hour, down to 6 miles per hour, and then into the fives. In this region though, the running flowed and I felt like I was able to at least prevent it from dropping further.

After ascending the previous valley, I was painfully well aware I had probably not less than twenty miles remaining. If I'd known Rose Peak would be the high point of the entire day, I wouldn't have skipped the summit, but alas, I skirted around it, cutting off an extra one or two hundred feet of elevation gain.

Another selfie, this time with the glossy finish mostly worn off.

Miles of rolling hills unfolded into the distance with Mission Peak (rightmost peak just touching the horizon) visible on the horizon.

A mile later, Mission Peak seemed not even slightly closer.

At this point the trail switched to single track, as it would remain for most of the remaining descent to the Sunol staging area.

I was somewhat disappointed that a ten mile rolling descent with stunning views could actually feel so unpleasant, but the previous thirty miles of running and ten pounds of gear and water had taken their toll. My brain was happy, but my legs were not.

I was encouraged looking back east, hoping that a waxing gibbous moon would substitute for a forgotten headlamp.

I stopped at the Sunol staging area and sat on a picnic table for at least five minutes. I ate the rest of my potato chips and Clif bar, knowing the final ascent up Mission Peak would require all the potato chips I could throw at it.

The views briefly got better and better as the sun set.

With some food and gatorade in me, my spirits finally lifted. The back side of Mission Peak was surprisingly gradual and runnable.

Looking back east, Livermore was little more than a glow of lights on the horizon.

The light faded as I crested Misson Peak and the lights of the Bay Area came into view. A small tree with lights stood near the summit.

Disappointingly, my legs preferred climbing at this point, so that the descent from Misson Peak was not nearly as pleasant as usual.