Loaded for bear

The road, like a slender finger of spring, splits winter and reaches into the backcountry. Spring is here with the promise of long days of sunshine.  Under a blue sky dotted with clouds ranging from white to grey three souls rolled out of Mazama and follow that road into the mountains where winter remains steadfast.

As the miles ticked by we climb and the snow on either side of the road grows deeper. Wild flowers are starting to bloom on the valley floor, yet the mountains are still cloaked under a deep blanket of snow. Spring is a time of contrasts.

As we ride, we look lumpy, our pockets bulging as we make our way deeper into the hills.  

The road isn't ready for cars and, on weekends, the snow plows are idle. We ride three abreast.  The first hour was warm, but now the clouds are thicker and a wind is bringing the chill of the snow through our jerseys.  Patches of ice on the pavement become larger and more frequent.  Finally we round a corner and can see the road goes into a wall of snow. 

There is no doubt we are at the end.  Often in spring I ride a road to where the snow takes over and there is a "Should I, or shouldn't I?" moment as I consider if I should turn around or keep going.  No debate here.  This is it.

We look around and realize it has begun to spit snow.  We are emptying our pockets like we are contestants in a game show.  We pull out jackets, vests, gloves, tights, and neck warmers. I sit on the pavement to put on wind pants. I am amazed that the road isn't cold.  We dress as fast as we can and then begin what we know will be a long, cold descent.  We are no longer lumpy, we are dressed to stay warm.  We have all done this multiple times over the years and we came prepared.

Time to get going.  

As we begin the descent the sweat on the front of my beanie turns cold and I have an ice cream headache.  The wind blows in our faces, then from the side, then for a moment behind us as we ride down the mountain we spent the last two hours riding up.  I realize that while I am not quite warm, I am not cold.  After several minutes we see two cyclists heading up and they are not lumpy.  They will be cold.  They will be very, very cold.

We trade pulls and can't help but have fun on the never ending descent.  The road grade fluctuates as we drop thousand of feet. 

As we near the valley floor we see a cyclist with bare arms and legs.  He appears to be out for a short ride and will turn around soon (we hope).  We finish our ride and welcome some hot lentil soup into our bellies.  We express gratitude for the day, the ride and each other's company.