Raymond is a small town in the Sierra foothills near the southern entrance to Yosemite as the crow flies.  In the late 1800s it was the terminus of the San Joaquin Valley and Yosemite Railroad where passengers would transfer from trains to stagecoaches to complete their journey.  The railroad is long gone, and the town is now known as the venue for the Everyone Loves Raymond Gravel Ride.  

The ride has three options: a 35 mile loop to the northeast of town, a 60 mile lollypop to the northwest and a 90 miler that combines the two.  I opted for the 60 miler since I didn’t think I could make the cutoff times that would allow me to complete the 90 miles.

The night before the ride I camped out at a lake near the start in order to test out the gear I purchased to take on the Tuscany Trail later this spring.  It was hard to sleep with the howls of the coyotes, mooing of the cows, gobbles of the turkeys and the braying of the donkeys throughout the night, but the gear worked great (but that’s material for a future comment solicitation device).

From the start at the town park, basically some horseshoe pits and picnic benches, we headed through downtown Raymond.  Blink and you miss it.  Up some hills and some rollers before descending to the Chowchilla River.  Every time I hear Chowchilla I think of the Chowchilla kidnappings.  I also think of chinchillas.  Then I wonder if anyone has ever kidnapped chinchillas.  I have a lot of time to think on these long rides, and most of the thoughts are not very profound.

In addition to chinchillas I also thought about growing up in the Bay Area in the 70s and all the crazy stuff that was going on.  Patty Hearst, the Peoples’ Temple, the assassinations of Harvey Milk and Mayor Moscone, the Zodiac Killer.  All this from one part of the country, and before we had CNN hyping stories from across the country in order to fill airtime.  As crazy as things might seem today, we’ve been through worse.  But I digress.  

We climbed up away from the river and soon were onto dirt roads through rolling hills which were starting to turn from green to brown.  At a junction we came across an old abandoned smelter.  Nobody knew who dealt her, but I assume it has something to do with the Gold Rush.  We crossed some cattle guards into open range.  Butterflies flitted across the road, which was fitting given that we were in Mariposa County.  After a short downhill we came to the first aid station where I filled up on water for the next section of long climbs.

White Rock Road, presumably named for the granite that made the road rather bumpy in places, climbed about 700 feet from the rest stop.  Not too steep, but it was a long grind and it was getting warm in the late morning.  We turned off through some gates and onto some private land.  Psychologically it felt that we must be at the top, but in reality we were only about halfway up.

Beach Road, which was nowhere near a beach, was not maintained by the county, so it was rather rough, pockmarked with hoofprints and cow poop.  There were a number of muddy creek crossings as the road wound its way around the contours of the hills, trending ever upward.  At least we were getting up into the trees which provided some shade.

At last we reached the pavement of Ben Hur Road.  This must be the top, right?  Wrong.  After about 100 yards on asphalt we were back onto the dirt of Silver Bar Road with a couple hundred feet more of climbing.  Being higher in elevation the grass was greener and the road was shadier.  Snakes enjoying the sun on the road darted back into the grass as riders came by.  Luckily these were garter snakes rather than rattlers.  

At the crest of the hill Silver Bar Road turned to asphalt and descended a steep grade.  Because the county sanded the road during the winter snows, the turns were treacherous, so we couldn’t let loose.  But soon enough we hit the bottom of the descent at Ben Hur Road and enjoyed the asphalt for the next several miles.

It was getting warmer and I was running low on water so I was looking forward to the next rest stop.  Pulling up to the stop I heard the fateful words, “We’re out of water.”  WTF?  That’s one of the reasons we pay money for these events.  OK, how about a soda?  “Out of that too.”  I was not loving Raymond at this moment.  Raymond was a poor planner.  Luckily a moto stopped by and dropped off a few small bottles of water, one of which I appropriated for myself.  They also had some ice that they scooped into our bottles, and I loaded up on grapes for their moisture.  Now that Cesar Chavez has been unpersoned, we don’t have to boycott them anymore. 

“It’s only about 10 miles to the next stop and it’s all downhill.  They should have water there.”  All downhill, except for the 600 foot climb up the back side of White Rock Road.  The temperature was getting up into the low 90s as we neared the top.  Stay stoic.  There’s nothing I can do but push on and drink what I have.  Once over the top it was a fantastic 4 mile descent to the next stop.

The water flowed slowly out of the large containers, indicating they were low on water here too, but they had sodas, so I was able to fill up my bottles with Pepsi.  No need to reopen the 19th century cemetery just down the road today.  I think we’ll survive.

After a short climb out of the aid station we had gentle rollers that trended downward allowing me to keep a pretty good pace, though occasionally motorcycles headed the opposite direction meaning I had to be more cautious than I’d like.  Cramps started setting in.  Time for more stoicism.  Everyone cramps.  Just keep pedaling. 

Soon I was back onto pavement and descending down to the Chowchilla River and onto the final big climb of the day of about 400 feet.  Over the top there were a few more small rollers that trended uphill until finally we headed downhill to the finish where beer and tacos awaited.  At least they didn’t run out of those.

Overall it was a good ride with nice scenery. I’ll likely be back someday to ride the short loop and with an extra bottle of water.