The last four weeks have seen the hillsides go from white
to brown and finally to green. Less than
two weeks ago you could just see the tiny sprouts of green if you bent
down. Now there are green hills and wild
flowers are just starting to bud. The nights still dip down to freezing but
sunshine greets your face in the morning and every day has the smell of spring.
With Hottie still on IR tux and I were out early talking
to the owls and spooking the deer.
The weather and my training calendar were both pointing
toward a long ride on Saturday. I wanted
to get going early so Hottie and I would still have some day left for other
activities.
One of my objectives for spring (from a list complied during
the winter) was to ride to the end of the Chewuch. The end of the road is a place called “Thirty
Mile.” I was hoping the route would be
free of snow. After comparing it to the option of going out to the end of Twisp
River Road I thought the mostly north-south drainage would have less snow than
the generally east-west Twisp River valley.
Yes as a matter of fact I do over think most things. I get that from my mom. Deal with it.
When I left it was right around freezing, but the
sunshine made it feel warmer. The canyon
is a long gradual climb with a bunch of rollers to keep you shifting. I arrived at my desired HR zone, looked
around at the beauty of the day and churned out a familiar rhythm.
Although I passed a carcass or two and stray limbs (both
from trees and mammals that had become part of the food chain) it was generally
a vista full of life. The hills had a
green haze as spring is taking a foothold. Birds sang and the river whooshed by as I went
up the valley. I spooked some deer here and there and had to slow to avoid one
of the dumbest of the breed who waited for me to get really close before
darting into the road. In a word, “venison.”
My route was mostly in the sunshine but parts were in the
shade and it was then that I was reminded that the temp was only in the mid
thirties. The climb was gradual but
constant. I passed four or five empty forest service campgrounds as the
kilometers ticked by.
An hour in I ate my first bar and took a long drink as
the road straightened out for an unusually long stretch. I am sure I subconsciously slowed down. Instead of riding hard to the next corner,
then hard to the next, then the next - seeing the long straight caused me to
grasp the length of my hard effort. I am
really good at doing hard things in small chunks.
I was reminded that when the river gets louder it means
the valley, and therefore the road grade, gets steeper. Downed trees reached out into the road
requiring me to swerve from one side to the other. Twice I had to go off road because a fallen tree
was stretched across the whole road.
The valley was narrow in parts and opened up wide for
long stretches further on. I saw one
car early on then I had the whole valley to myself. When the pavement finally ended; the gradient
though uphill, lessened. I was approaching the area burned by the Thirty Mile
Fire in 2001. It felt eerie.
My brain was in a battle because the sun was bright and
if you saw a photo of what was before my eyes you would think it was a hot July
day. My brain saw this and wanted to
open up my sweat glands but my body was still reporting temperatures in the
thirties and so confusion set in.
Nearing my objective the valley floor opened up and the
grade felt almost flat. Climbing will do
that to you. The ghosts of burned out trees stood in stark contrast to the
green on the ground. The sandy road had the first real washboard of the season
and I was weaving back and forth searching for a good line. I was looking at the burned snags that
climbed up the valley walls and contemplating the fire that burned here nearly fourteen
years ago.
I was the only person in a big, wide open area of the
valley. Usually I would feel like the place was all mine. However, I didn’t
feel like I had the place to myself. I
felt like I was trespassing. It didn’t
feel like it was mine. Something felt
weird. It was a feeling I have had
before when I have been all alone in a place that at a different time was
covered with people. Like being the only
person in a stadium.
As I rounded a corner I came upon a small memorial
erected to honor four firefighters who had died fighting the fire in July of
2001. I had no idea the memorial was even
there. The orderliness of the asphalt walkway, the neat lines of the rock
monument and brass plaques were in sharp contrast to the chaos of jumbled rocks
and fallen trees nearby. The monument stood out for a number of reasons.
I unclipped and tried to reconcile the tragedy of the
fire with the tragedy of the loss of life. The firefighters were college age kids with
their whole lives in front of them. My
recent experience with fire has made me sensitive and this monument struck a
raw nerve.
After my ride I did a little research and found the deaths
were blamed on a breakdown in communications between government agencies. Was it okay for one agency to “dip” water
from another agencies jurisdiction to fight the fire? The delay in getting an answer contributed to
their deaths.
Perhaps the greatest tragedy was that when the Carlton
Complex fires began to flare up last summer it was the delay in communication
between government agencies that allowed the fire to become too big to
stop. We failed to incorporate the
lessons we should have learned from the passing of these firefighters.
With reverence I rode the last mile or so out to the road
end. I took a few photos, finished off a
bar and pointed the bike toward the cabin. I didn’t offer up my usual Wahoo
when I took off.
Above is the view looking up, below is looking down...
On the way down I searched for and soon spotted the
memorial. Again I paused and looked at
the array of tokens that had been left by others to honor the fallen. What can you say?
Two minutes later
I was rolling along and enjoying the slight downhill. The sandy road was faster
on the way down as compared to the way up.
Riding felt fun. The beauty of
the area was overwhelming and I was smiling once again.
Before long I was on pavement and pushing against a
slight headwind. The downhill and the
scenery had me motivated and my HR was still up as I was working hard and
loving it. Sunshine and a downhill make
it hard to go slow.
I kept drilling it and when I looked down and saw I had
been at it for three hours it was again time to eat something. For some reason
I thought that since I would be back at the cabin in about an hour I could skip
it. What made me think I could skip food
for the fourth hour of a hard ride is beyond explanation.
Often we get what we deserve.
Later, when the downhill flattened out and I dug down to
keep my speed up but I felt gassed. Up
ahead I spotted a cyclist on a mountain bike.
I pushed to catch him and it took longer than it should have. When I finally passed it took more effort
than I expected.
What the heck…….. I’m bonking ! I deserved it, I made a mistake. I had food in my pocket too. What a maroon I am.
I throttled back but kept my cadence high. When I got cell coverage I sent a text to
Hottie that I was running just a bit late.
My autopilot kicked in and I made the familiar climb to the cabin. When I arrived I unclipped, gathered my empty
bottles and went inside.
I was trashed and Hottie spotted it right away. I pulled off my shoes and fell on the bed
next to Tux. It was hard to pull off my gloves.
After cleaning up we ate and got on with our afternoon. I would like to say I slept well but I
didn’t. Cramps will do that to you. I
had ridden hard.
Sunday was an easy recovery ride that included some play
time on the mountain bike trails.
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