Circumstances
offered up a late season get away with DG. The weather looked iffy at best but
mental health status increased our flexibility regarding the weekend weather
requirements. At the agreed hour we
loaded up and headed over Highway 20.
The colors had
peaked days or weeks before and every leaf that could turn color had done so
and all were on the decline. The
yellows and oranges were dull and tinted brown. Many leaves painted the ground
like a soggy thanksgiving-themed quilt.
On the drive
over as we approached Rainy Pass there was snow on the hills. At Washington
Pass the snow on the sides of the road and thick fog surprised us and necessitated
cutting our speed in half. When we got
below the fog the clouds overhead were thick and we would not see any blue sky
the rest of the trip.
It was so quiet
it almost felt like there was a mood of foreboding in the Methow. The snows are
creeping down from the mountains. Fall has given way and the forest is just
waiting for winter to move in. Though it hasn’t happened yet, the change is
inevitable and it feels as though every living thing is braced, dreading the
coming of winter.
There is a
pronounced lull between summer and winter recreation and the seasonal tourists
are back in the city watching football. Riding conditions aren’t ideal but the
trails are deserted and for those willing to wear some extra layers and go a
little slower you are rewarded with a unique though solitary experience.
On Saturday
morning we checked every weather source known to us including looking up at the
sky seeking a sign from God. Expecting
that rain would find us sooner or later we dressed accordingly and headed out. Our confidence bolstered by the powers of
Gabba we found a comfortable rhythm. Even with embrocation, my calves felt a
twinge of cold. The sky was dark and the temperature was below forty. Despite our selection of miracle clothing we were
adding and shedding layers seeking a balance between sweating and being cold.
Veering off the
Chewuch onto 5130 the road kicks up sharply.
The climb seemed harder than I expected but soon the grade lessened from
eight percent to the steady two to three percent that we would be on for the
next twenty five kilometers until the crazy steep climb at the end.
The forest was
dark, wet and silently waiting for winter.
We saw no deer or mammals or even birds.
There was no breeze. It was spooky quiet. In the two hours we would spend on this
gravel road we would see one truck. We
joked this was a great place and time of year to hide dead bodies. DG looked at
me suspiciously.
I had checked the
night before and found I had ridden this in back in July of 2015 and at that
time the washboard was among the worst I had ever ridden. Additionally on that ride the gravel was soft
and slow. This time the gravel was
stable and faster but the washboard was still ridiculous. It was so pronounced in spots that we pointed
to it and commented. It looked like
waves of dirt frozen in time. My bike
had ejected a bottle when I rode this sixteen months ago and I confess I kept
looking on the sides of the road hoping I might spot my long lost grey buddy.
The floor of the
valley we were riding went from narrow to wide and back again several
times. One minute the mountains crowded
in upon us and the road and river were the only things splitting the two sides.
At other times the valley floor was as wide as a farmer’s field.
The road went on
forever. After years of using a heart
rate monitor I have gotten pretty good at guessing my heart rate for a given
level of effort. Based on my level of
effort my heart rate should have been about 150. It was over 160. I wondered if I was getting sick or if it was
the loose surface or perhaps the elevation. I couldn’t explain why my HR was so
high.
The road wasn’t
especially curvy and the undulations weren’t excessive. Even though it wasn’t
technically challenging the washboard had us hunting back and forth trying to
find a decent line which made it tough to grab a bottle or food with our gloves
hands.
I finally called
for a stop and we ate, drank and adjusted clothing. After a couple minutes we set off again and
felt measurably better. The cumulative
fatigue from the washboard and the effort required by our bodies to battle the
uphill and cold was wearing us down.
We had decided earlier
that we would turn around when we encountered one of three things; the end of
the road, snow on the road that made it unsafe or significant rain. We still
had eight km to the end of the road and it started to rain. We kept riding. Uphill.
As we climbed we
inched closer and closer to the snow line.
The rain was still light and the uphill effort was keeping us warm. We spotted patches of snow by the side of the
road. Finally we reached the base of the final climb. The road got rocky and steep. We climbed the double digit grade and reached
the Billy Goat Trailhead. No cars in the lot today. There were patches of snow on the ground.
We laughed that
we had met all three of our “turn around” criteria at once. We were at the road end, there was snow on
the ground and the rain was picking up and there were flakes of snow mixed in
with it. Any one of those would have
been enough to turn us around but having all three was ironic.
We were two and
a half hours into our epic adventure. We had climbed over a thousand meters on
gravel. This combined with keeping our bodies warm had burned a lot of
calories. We ate and drank and took photos so that if anyone found our bodies they
could look at the pictures and tell our next of kin that we were having fun
right up until we died.
We put on rain
jackets and in fact every piece of clothing we had in anticipation of the
chilly descent. When we started to roll the surface was steep and rocky so we
coasted braking frequently. This was
safe but it also didn’t generate any heat.
I gritted my teeth for an hour and a half of type-two fun.
There is just
something about hypothermia isn’t there?
This wasn’t a situation where if we got a flat we would die, but if we
had a mechanical I imagine one of us would work on the bike whilst the other
did jumping jacks to stay warm.
After the steep
part we were able to start pedaling on the sustained two to three percent
downhill and that helped generate some heat.
Also the drop in elevation brought with it some warmer air which we
noted with relief.
Pushing the pace
had the dual benefits of generating heat and shortening the time in the
rain. When we got back on the pavement
the road still had potholes and rough spots that prevented pacelining. The rain was softer now but the temperature
was still cool.
We were cautious
on the slick final portion of the descent back to the Chewuch. We ate the rest of our food and I felt a
sense of relief that we were in the home stretch. I was tired, much more tired than I should
have been. As we went along the rollers
that lead to Winthrop my HR stayed high.
I didn’t think I
was bonking and my brain searched for an explanation. One month ago I had ridden for nine hours
with three times the elevation gain and I had felt downright strong at the
end. Only later would I realize that
this day I was a bit underdressed and that the energy to keep me warm had to
come from somewhere.
DG wasn’t in a
hurry and we worked our way back to the cabin. We joked that it only rained for the last
three hours of our four plus hour ride. Mercifully, aside from the initial
descent, it didn’t rain hard until we were back at the cabin.
That ride left a
mark on both of us.
We did what all
good masochists would do and after a good night’s sleep we put on our costumes
and did it again, this time on mountain bikes.
Our Sunday ride
stayed closer to civilization and we only got some drizzle the last half hour
of our ride. Our legs were tired but our spirits refreshed. It was a blast.
I recall the
words of Scott Z who pointed out that one man’s vacation is another man’s
nightmare. Experience has taught me that
you can’t explain this kind of a weekend to most people.
