My eldest son Luke was watching his younger brother Caleb weaving from side to side on the narrow mountain road as he negotiated its 8% grade in that rapid twiddling motion of the granny gear. As he approached, Luke chuckled beside me and hollered, “What are you doing?”
Caleb retorted, “Getting up here on my bike!”
“Who got here first?” asked Luke.
“You did,” said Caleb, “but you were walking and pushing, and I was riding!”
I had to admire the boy’s sheer doggedness — he was not going to walk, even if it meant he would arrive last at the top. Luke had pushed his bike in a straight line. Caleb had ridden in the same time-tested style that all kids try when confronted with their first big climb. And he had absolutely refused to put a foot down.
We had departed the Santa Barbara Mission earlier that day, riding north through Goleta and onto Highway 101 to approach the Refugio Pass turnoff after enjoying monster breakfast burrito at El Capitan Canyon Resort. From the turnoff we were faced with a 7-mile climb from sea level to around 1,500 feet. We were to spend a night in a friend’s cottage that is nestled in a crook of California that was part of the early kingdom of Alta California. We were far from the first to travel this route under their own “steam.”
Luke and Caleb approach the first big climb up Refugio Pass.
Mists of Time
Early in the summer of 1771, a party led by three padres stumbled into an exquisite oak-studded valley in central California. They made camp and, according to custom, began to prepare for the end-of-day devotional—known as the vesper hour. A large bronze bell was lifted from a mule-pack and hung from the low branch of a nearby tree. A short while later, one of the padres leaped up and rang the bell with astonishing vigor. The site was selected for a new mission.
With similar verve, a series of Franciscan missions was established throughout coastal California. The road linking them became an artery of industry and civilization for the state well before California would become a part of the U.S.
Several of the original 21 missions are in excellent repair today. Together they comprise what became known simply as El Camino Real or the Royal Highway, a route that has threaded its way through the mists of time to linger in the contemporary consciousness.
Its origins date back to the time of the American Revolution, when a series of small, self-reliant religious outposts were built a day’s travel apart from San Diego extending as far north as San Francisco. The track that linked them connected the Jesuit missions, pueblos or communities of adobe homes, and four presidios or military posts, one of which still exists in a refurbished state in Santa Barbara.
The Santa Barbara Mission enjoyed early prosperity and favor with the Native Americans. It became the center of life for about 1,700 “neophytes” or converts who lived in 250 adobe homes. Their lives included prayer and lessons but were also practical, focused largely on agricultural and economic training and advancement.
The inevitable decline in this relationship was partly due to the tension that existed between the state and the church, and how each viewed the natives and the land. The history books tell us that the Franciscans saw the Chumash as landowners under the Spanish King. But the Spanish government considered them sub-humans on Spanish land.
Archivists say that Father Junipero Serra, the founder of the California mission system, sincerely loved the Chumash people, but they ended up with the standard raw deal of the day, receiving little more than beatings and disease from the soldiers in return for the loss of their way of life.
Neophytes subsequently revolted en masse at each of Santa Ines, Santa Barbara, and La Purisima missions in 1824, an event that was sparked by the beating of a convert by a soldier.
The Santa Barbara Mission. also known as the ‘Queen of the Missions’, was founded by Padre Fermín Lasuén for the Franciscan order in 1786.
Having just exited the foothills on the eastern side of Refugio Pass, the boys coast beneath California oaks.
Classic California
Following a chilly night, we were welcomed by a crisp, clear start to the day as we pedaled over the cusp of the climb along a gravel forest road and down into the Santa Ynez Valley.
“This is classic California,” said Luke as we bumped our way beneath the arc of indigenous oak. I knew what he meant. Gaps in the growth offered glimpses of picturesque ranchland and a distant tumbling of the Transverse Range, spectacular as it always is with its emerald green coating of spring growth.
The charm of El Camino Real for today’s travelers still rests strongly in the two cornerstones of the original highway—the missions and the presidios. Spain exerted its control through the presidios and continually tried to do the same through the missions, although the Franciscans apparently resisted these attempts quite vigorously. Because of their remoteness, life in the old missions was remarkably self-reliant. In time their self-reliance became a threat to the Spanish government.
Mission Santa Ines in present-day Solvang was originally called “Mission of the Passes” because travelers had to negotiate the San Marcos Pass, Refugio Pass or the Gaviota Pass to cross the Santa Ynez Range. Their isolation discouraged visitors, but their self-reliance was on my mind as we glided down the long entrance avenue into Mission Santa Ines.
After taking a break to rehydrate and soak up some sunshine, we took a stroll through the inner courtyard.
Two creeks passed through the mission lands, and water was channeled via an elaborate system of canals into two stone-lined reservoirs—both the lavanderia or laundry and a mill complex are still standing. Although it operated under the Franciscans for only 32 years, with a neophyte population of almost 800 people, this provision of water made it possible for the mission to produce over 10,000 bushels of grain and run nearly 10,000 head of cattle in two seasons alone.
Most missions today host weekly mass, and have historical programs that educate visitors about their past.
Aebleskiver to Vaquero
Solvang might be described today as part Danish, part boutique, and part unpretentious town, but it’s most certainly all-American. Flaunting cutesy tourism slogans like ‘sip, savor, and swirl,’ or ‘from grape to glass,’ it’s the essential marketing success story. Combining the history of the old stagecoach route with the origins of winemaking—the first vine was planted by a Franciscan padre—the city has hosted the Tour of California and several professional cycling teams for their annual spring training camps each year for the last 15 years.
After enjoying an aebleskiver brunch, a traditional sphere-shaped pancake soaked in syrup (the name means apple slices), we set off with somewhat less enthusiasm for the windy ride along Santa Rosa Road, which follows the Santa Ynez River toward Lompoc. It remains a beautiful agrarian route, but the valley catches near gale-force winds as they funnel up from the Pacific Ocean.
I noticed that the boys had begun to struggle as we pedaled past almond orchards, vegetable farms and wineries, and I finally decided to halt the discomfort. We took a break in front of the Sanford Winery with about seven miles to go, not long before both boys were reduced to near exhaustion. Alas, there is no “side to side” when you are pedaling head-down into a Force Five gale.
We set up our tents at Lompoc’s River Park campground before riding down to the nearby La Purisima Mission.
Self-Reliance
“I can make anything from the mission period,” said blacksmith Moises Soliz. “Anything!”
As we watched him craft a bolt of metal into a nail, we listened, we smelt, and we dwelt in the clamor, the acrid aroma, and the vision of a long-lost skill.
Learning the trade from his father at the age of 14, Moises had been a traditional metal crafter for 55 years. “Nails, strap hinges, locks, bells, turn hinges, rifle barrels, breeches, knives, machetes … anything, I can make it all.” I listened quietly and with a deep sense of respect for the man who has worked at La Purisima Mission for decades—he fashioned most of the restoration pieces out of raw iron for this California State Historic Park.
In 1834, following the order to secularize the missions, assets were administered civilly, landholdings were divided among the inhabitants, and the neophytes were released from supervision. In 1845, La Purisima was sold to Juan Temple of Los Angeles, after which it changed hands a few times before the end of the century.
Mexico’s independence from Spain marked the beginning of the end for the entire system, and Mexico began to divide the spoils. Governor Pio Pico and his brother appropriated 90,000 acres of land from Mission San Luis Rey alone. By 1846 mission life had disappeared.
Due to neglect, the La Purisima buildings eventually began to collapse, and by 1933, when the property was given to public ownership by the Union Oil Company, the mission was in ruins. Thanks to the County of Santa Barbara, the State of California, the National Park Service, and the Civilian Conservation Corps, the renovation of La Purisima began in 1934, with the grounds being restored and the rooms furnished to appear as they had in 1820.
La Purisima was the only California mission not built in the shape of a quadrangle. The mission leaders had chosen a linear layout because they felt the local Chumash, a more compliant group, wouldn’t need to be contained within a fortress-like quadrangle.
Having enjoyed a quiet, if wet, night at Lompoc’s River Park campground, we started down Highway 1, back to Santa Barbara. As we passed the old Rancho San Julian, owned by the Dibblee family since the mid-19th century, I thought of the changes that had occurred since the missions were built. The rancho period followed the mission period, both part of the Spanish era, with the natives then seeking work on the large land grants as vaqueros, or cowboys. The vaquero tradition today is a cherished part of the American West. Change is here to stay.
Rancho San Julian rests in grassy ranges that were put to good use by Spanish-born ranchers such as Don Jose de la Guerra. As commandante of the presidia at Santa Barbara, he was granted the right to graze cattle on the 48,221-acre ranch in 1816.
A passage entitled En El Rancho de San Julian by Inez de la Guerra Dibblee is richly adorned with the fragrance of those days: “Work is over for the day. From the old adobe kitchen smoke and the good odor of roasting beef. Looking up from my book, I see the men sitting around on the bunkhouse step and benches against the wall waiting with clean hands and shining faces for the clang of the supper bell.”
In 1822, the ranch was taken over by the Mexican government to function as a meat- and wool-producing “kitchen ranch,” to supply the presidio garrison with beef, tallow, and horses.
Although most people today only visit one mission at a time, by choosing to bike from mission to mission, connecting as many as possible, bikepackers or adventure cyclists should be able to cobble together a route that, in the north and south sections of El Camino Real, relies on the non-profit Adventure Cycling’s Pacific Coast Route.
The bells mark the route, and when we reached each mission, we lingered in the shade of the old porticos. ” I just love the spirit of this place,” Luke whispered as we walked through La Purisima’s grounds. I knew what he meant. So did I.
Lesson learned: As with 
many trips and travel, what we enjoyed the most was the camaraderie. The boys good natured teasing of each other was replaced with encouragement in a heartbeat if required. And, for two teenage boys, having enough food is by far preferable to having the right gear. Having a large set of panniers isn’t always a good idea.
A worthy cause: The California Missions Foundation works constantly to maintain and restore the 21 missions. Most valuable item: Caleb took his sketch book. As soon as we arrived at the top of Refugio Pass he began to pencil a vignette of the cottage we slept in. Most useless item: Additional clothing – we packed too much gear. A single change of clothes would have been enough.
