october 14-17, 2004 by John Siebenthaler: photos©john siebenthaler
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The section of the Italian Bar we rode is a long series of switchbacks, beginning at just under 2,000 feet and ending at just over 3,000 feet, stacked one on top of another before emerging onto Jose Basin Road a quarter mile higher and a mile south.
The “road” is one car in width, assuming the car's a Mini-Cooper. Within a minute of our daring trio reaching the top, two gravel-laden county dump trucks started rumbling down the road we'd just treated as a closed course test track.
We left pavement for trail, taking a tack on Sugarloaf Hill, with the path changing from dirt to gravel to fire road and back. Before long we entered the small town of Shaver Lake, on state highway 168. It was the last stop on the way to Sierra Summit, our destination for the weekend.
Out on the highway, cruising – flailing might be more technically accurate – over the peak, the effect altitude has on already lean jetting was manifest as I tried to keep up with Marc's larger Honda 650. The little Kaw pulled valiantly, but with my hefty butt aboard, fifth was out of the question. No problem...just drop down to fourth and wail away.
I'd started the day balancing precariously on the pegs while riding over tree roots and washouts, and was now diving into corners at 60 on the downhill pavement. From time to time, I thought I caught a faint whiff of sizzling brake pads, but it could've just been knobbies inflated to 12 psi overheating.
clik for lg view
clik for lg view
clik for lg view
clik for lg view First ever trail ride was aboard sturdy little KLX 400(top), ideally suited to my lack of skill. There were plenty of hazards, including trees tumbling down the mountain. Honda support proved invaluable for everything from flat repair to road rescue. Jeff, Marc, and Martin at scenic overlook, before tackling hillclimb on way to Bald Mountain (bottom).
We pulled into the lodge, unencumbered ourselves of headgear, protectors, backpacks, Velcro, nylon strapping, etc., and found the keg. Surprisingly, advance arrivals had already made serious inroads on the contents.
Later, a hot shower washed off the trail dust, and as the crowd at the comfortable bar began to swell, it felt good to sit, stretch, and reflect on the route just traveled. As the heat of the day quickly gave way to crisp, cold mountain air, the night sky emerged crystal clear and endless.
Day two began with an up at dawn drill for the hearty breakfast buffet just after sunup. Still working out the kinks from Friday’s adventure, I took comfort in the knowledge that because I wasn't in the hospital and hadn't needed rescuing I’d passed the initiation.
After topping off the Camelbak backpack water reservoir I checked my trail mix stash – still sufficient to feed a herd of squirrels for the next six months. Starvation wouldn't be a problem, and I was packing enough H2O to open a car wash.
There’s always an air of frenzy that surrounds the initial departure of any group of guys engaged in a common activity. This Saturday morning was no exception: everyone was busy busy busy, like a class of sixth-graders off for a day at Disneyworld, performing the cowboy equivalent of hoof checking, bridle fitting, and saddle adjusting.
Today's goal was the hard section bypassed the day before. Marc’s Pirelli roommate Jeff Adams agreed to fill out our foursome. A licensed WERA rider, Jeff actually does know how to read a map, and amuses himself with rock climbing and mountain rescues when not otherwise engaged in MX tire testing for his company.
The morning route took us back to Shaver Lake, where we’d tackle the fire lookout tower on Bald Mountain. Named for its meager tree growth, the Sequoia National Forest picked the barren rock for use as a fire lookout because of its 1,000 square mile view. At 9,430 feet, the tower, completed in 1955, had to be packed in by mule train, and wasn't opened to the public until 1967, when logging roads provided access. Today the tower's abandoned, and climbers hang out at their own risk.
We headed southwest, past 8,700-foot Chinese Peak before climbing up over the Tamarack Ridge and then dropping back down into Shaver Lake. By now I appreciated the fact that even though the KLX struggled in the altitude, the tradeoff of lighter weight and better maneuverability made up for the occasional flat out highway shortcoming.
After gassing up, we picked up two-lane King’s Road east, enjoying the next six miles of scenery before the turn into the off-road vehicle area around Glen Meadow. We passed a lone Jeep as the countryside turned into a boulder-strewn obstacle course fit only for burros and birds.
Jeff led the way up the dirt and gravel path, occasionally rounding a bend and surprising a Jeep straddling a fissure or negotiating a fallen tree at minus 2 miles an hour. We’d been at it less than an hour, Marc and I pulling up the rear, when the rugged rise became a solid sand, gravel, and tree root wall blocking the route to the peak.
We had to lean back and look up to see Jeff and Martin energetically waving us on with encouraging gestures from their vantage point in the clouds. Marc wanted to know why he couldn't just return to Denver and his snowmobiles, while I could only think about the beach back home, nice and flat, a panorama of gentle waves lapping the shore while dainty sandpipers tended the sand for the bikini parade.
We both looked at each other, and I must have spooked, because the next thing I knew Martin was high-fiving me as I cleared the summit. Now it was Marc’s turn.
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