The Hollywood sign, each of its letters standing 45 feet tall on the slopes of the Santa Monica mountains, is a load stone for tourists and locals alike. It is the logo of the cinematic world, the visual nexus between reality and fantasty. I've biked up into the Santa Monicas myself for a closer look at the sign, which I can also see, from a distance of several miles, from my house in the flatlands of Los Angeles.

One day, I pedaled my way up into historic Cahuenga Pass, which separates the San Fernando Valley from the Los Angeles Basin. I found myself on Wonder Drive, a narrow residential road high above Hollywood, and a bit west of the Hollywood sign. I stopped at the end of the paved road, where the view was in fact wonderful, looking out over the blue waters of the Hollywood Reservoir and beyond it the Los Angeles Basin. Looking the other way, where the pavement ended, a dirt road paralleled the power line towers that traveled up and out of the Hollywood Reservoir.

Hollywood Hills and Beyond (Click on image for full view)

The dirt road traveled through the very maw of the eastern end of Cahuenga Pass, part of way angling down the base of a steep slope, part of it rising above me, the whole of the mountain rising above me appearing like a brush-covered monolith. To the east, part of the slope of the mountain was fenced in, blocking close passage to the famous Hollywood sign. The sign itself was invisible from my vantage point. Where the paved road ended and the dirt road began, I could also see a rough, quite steep trail leading toward the top of the slope. I thought it might be worthwhile to hike up that trail someday, but since I was on my bike, I opted for the pleasures of the dirt road. Along the way I met a couple of hikers. I stopped to ask them about the trail I'd seen. They told me it led up to the top of a mountain called Cahuenga Peak. "It's got some great views, but you can't take your bike up there."

On my way home I had a contrarian idea. One day, I told myself, I would return to the end of Wonder Drive and the beginning of the Cahuenga Peak trail. And I would take my bike up the mountain with me, slinging it over my shoulder. How far would I have to carry my bike? I didn't know, but it sounded like a worthy, quasi cyclo-cross challenge.

Back home, I looked up what I could about Cahuenga Peak on the Web. At 1,820 feet above sea level, I learned that it's the highest point in the eastern Santa Monicas, L.A's "local" mountain range that bisects the city. The peak is one of two in the range to retain its original Indian name, in honor of the Cahuenga tribe of Gabrielo Indians. The Gabrielo were among the Native Americans who inhabited southern California long before the coming of the Spanish or U.S settlers. Today, the Cahuengas are gone, and the peak is apparently on private land owned partly by the Forest Lawn cometary and the Howard Hughes corporation.

Some people would like to see the peak become part of adjacent Griffith Park, the largest urban park in the U.S. Unfortunately, the park's dirt trails and road that wind through miles of wilderness are currently off limits to mountain bikers. So I felt ambivalent about who ultimately owns and controls the land around the peak. I don't want it made off limits to bike riders, but then again I don't want to see the peak graded for a housing project.

From what I found on the Web, the trail continued southeast from the top of the peak along a narrow ridge, to connect with a paved road above the Hollywood sign. From there I would be able coast down to the flatlands and home, making a loop trip. But it also seemed that riding on the dirt would be limited, if not impossible. Still, such a monumental bike 'n hike intrigued me, particularly since I didn't know if it was possible to complete it. The concept, as much as the location, had become my personal loadstone.

A couple of months later, on a warm, late April afternoon, I put on a pair of Specialized Rockhopper bike-n-hike shoes and climbed onto my bike. Not only could I see the distant Hollywood sign from my street as I began to pedal north, I realized I could also see Cahuenga Peak, looming as the biggest bulge on the horizon in front of me. Over the next 45 minutes I pedaled about 10 miles, slicing through the center of Hollywood to reach Cahuenga Blvd., which then carried me alongside an unending convoy of cars up to the pass separating the L.A. Basin from the San Fernando Valley. I rode on a busy, one-way frontage road just off the adjacent Ventura Freeway. At this time of day, I wasn't that much slower than rush hour traffic.

Turning onto a side street just below the top of Cahuenga Pass, which led into the San Fernando Valley, I made a stiff climb through a residential neighborhood. The climb soon brought me back to pavement's end at Wonder Drive and the unmarked trailhead for Cahuenga Peak. I didn't bother to rest because I suddenly realized there was a potential for an unplanned night ride if I dawdled, and I wasn't equipped with lights. So I shouldered my bike and started up what turned out to be a trail that was far more vertical that I had expected. I counted out 50 slow steps, and decided I needed to rest, after all.

Sometimes, as I counted out 50, 75, or 100 steps before resting again, I had to make my way through tunnels of brush,which would grab annoyingly at my jersey and my bike; sometimes the trail opened up, offering increasingly dramatic views of the L.A. Basin. I began to see more of the Hollywood Reservoir. There were a few flat stretches of hard packed trail here and there, where I was able to ride my bike a few yards, but most of the route was way too vertical and way too narrow. There seemed to be a succession of big, loose rocks, as if they were part of a devil's staircase. Other times I found myself clambering unsteadily up the middle of a constricted chute. And if I wasn't catching my saddle in the over hanging vegetation, I was close to banging the bike's front wheel into the big rocks at my feet.

Click on picture for larger view

I knew I was close to the crest of the ridge because the sun was suddenly in my eyes. It had taken about 45 minutes, but I finally found myself at the ridge top, alone, feeling as if I had worn a groove into my shoulder from carrying my bike almost all that way. But my efforts were amply rewarded with wonderful views in all directions.

I could see northwest into the San Fernando Valley, with Universal Studio directly below me. I could look south into the L.A. Basin, with its clusters of skyscrapers looking purely Lilliputian, and west I could see the receding line of Santa Monica mountain ridges marching off toward the Pacific Ocean. The cities of Glendale and Burbank and the chaotic backdrop of the San Gabriel Mountains were to the north. And the top of Cahuenga Peak was still a few hundred yards to the east.

The sun had dipped noticeably lower in the sky. The wind blew raggedly over the crest of the ridge and over my sweat drenched body. My blood still ran hot after my hard climb up the trail, so I didn't feel the sudden change in temperature yet, I could see the route to the top of the peak was much easier now, not nearly as steep, although it was rough in places.

As I started off again, I was even able to ride my bike a bit, and in a few minutes I reached the summit of Cahuenga Peak. The sense of accomplishment was palpable as I stood in the freshening wind, yet I felt humbled by my wild surroundings and isolation from people and the trappings of civilization. This was indeed, in the language of the Gabrielos, Cahuenga, "place of the mountains."

With the sun dropping toward the horizon, it was time to come off the mountain. I had to make my way along the slowly descending ridge, to the paved road that would take me back down to the flatlands. There was still a considerable distance to go, though, along the ridge, which ran east-southeast from the top of the peak. Beyond, at the end of the trail, a series of communication towers rose up over the pavement, marking the summit of 1675 ft. Mt. Lee, the adjacent and lower peak that marks the western boundary of Griffith Park.

As I made my way along the ridge toward the pavement, the trail dipped down onto the north side of the mountain, where the shaded terrain was presumably a bit more moist. I found myself surrounded by thick, lush vegetation, highlighted with bright displays of yellow monkey flowers. Regaining the crest of the ridge, I was able to carefully ride a few stretches of dirt up, down, and on the level. But I spent more time judiciously climbing down badly eroded sections of the rocky trail.

At trail's end, I reached a fence that blocked nominal access to the pavement. I carefully made my way downhill to my left, bike on shoulder, where I could go around the end of the fence. Once on pavement, I remounted my bike and rode uphill for a bit. Coming around a bend, I suddenly found myself above the Hollywood sign. I could just see the tops of the giant letters, each 45 feet tall, jutting above a slope that fell steeply away from me.

Click on image above for a larger view

The road stopped at the fenced-in collection of towers atop Mt. Lee, named for Don Lee, an early pioneer in the field of television and a Cadillac dealer. Once more I was able to drink in the view of the L.A. Basin. Then I turned around and coasted for a long, long time downhill, only stopping to pull on a jacket. I dropped down Beachwood Canyon and then I crossed Hollywood and Sunset Blvds on Gower Street, and passed by the Hollywood Forever Cemetery, where the remains of movie star legends like Rudolph Valentino, Douglas Fairbanks, and Peter Lorre lie. Just beyond was the Paramount movie studio, as well as a residential section of Tinsel Town, the latter looking as if it had popped out of the pages of a Raymond Chandler mystery novel.

I kept riding until I turned onto my own street. It was dusk, and I could just make out the distant Hollywood sign and Cahuenga Peak, before I turned into my driveway to conclude my mini-epic bike 'n hike adventure.