october 14-17, 2004 by John Siebenthaler: photos©john siebenthaler
(clik for lg view)
Wet, sloppy snow and rain was the forecast for Sunday's ride back down to Oakhurst. I had everything necessary for a comfortable ride in the freezing rain, except for thermal innerwear and waterproof outerwear.
The blacktop parking lot was puddled but clear for the most part. The bikes, though, were covered in several inches of wet, soggy slush, Slurpee like and thoroughly coating every horizontal surface. I remembered Robin's caution that sometimes, maybe, could happen, you might encounter winter conditions. More prophecy would have been appreciated. Really.
In what would turn out to be a major oversight, I hadn't packed anything more thermal than dryfit, and as it turned out only my ride pants and boots were waterproof. The mx gloves were comfortable, as in on a sunny spring day, but without waterproofing or insulation they were about as useful as Kleenex mittens.
I dressed in two layers of dryfit – all I had. I didn't want to wear cotton, figuring once wet, which was a certainty, a conventional tee would would weigh about 15 pounds and take a week to dry.
There was definitely an air of concern in the dining room during breakfast. And although we had access to jumbo trash bags and kitchen supplied food handler gloves, the former were gathered to a point and not easily convertable to the hideously functional black plastic and duck tape redneck rainsuit, while the flimsy gloves shredded almost immediately.
The need was to get all the bikes back down the mountain to Oakhurst, and the only way down was to ride through the weather. The original plan was for another event through the forest. I doubted the wisdom of tackling the final day's activities without proper gear, figuring if I made it to town intact that would be challenge enough.
Cory Eastman hunched over the Forest Service map while shouting out the backroad directions to Oakhurst, a route with enough twists and turns to break a snake's back.
My biggest concern was the potential for hypothermia while riding the rain and snow slickened mountain roads on worn out knobbies. Even my rudimentary dirt knowledge from the past couple of days suggested that a lack of clutching and braking precision could get dicey.
After tossing my gear bag and backpack into the equipment truck, I hooked up with Martin, who also agreed the direct road route was prudent considering the conditions. Meanwhile, Marc and Jeff had opted for the trail ride. After brushing the wet snow off the saddle, we fired up and headed out. Because there was a strong possibility the pass to Shaver Lake could be closed to traffic, we'd have to ride back down to Lakeshore and a gas stop after the previous days long ride.
Shaver Lake's only about 10 miles from the lodge, but getting there would take more than an hour because of the normally scenic detour around Huntington Lake. And that was only the beginning of the twisting ride back to Oakhurst. The temperature hovered around 30, and within a minute my gloves were soaked. My hands felt like I'd plunged them into a bucket of ice water, and my fingers felt on fire. This would, I realized, be a very long day of riding in difficult weather.
At first, only my hands were affected. Soon, though, the wind was driving the rain through my wind resistant ride jacket, and before long I was soaked to the skin. We made it into Shaver Lake, milling around with a larger group trying to make sense of directions. Finally, we were back on the road, southbound out of town, with a general sense of where to turn next.
The rain continued falling, although the temperature gradually rose to around the 50-degree mark as the altitude dropped. On the plus side, my Sidis proved very watertight, so my feet stayed warm and dry, as did my legs. Above the waist was another matter. Every time we crossed a gas station, riders stopped and huddled inside, trying to regain a little warmth before the next leg.
By the time we reached Bass Lake, I decided to slow down, figuring I'd stay a bit warmer by riding a little slower. Martin and I were on the final leg into Oakhurst when Marc caught up with us, at the same location we'd met two days before. We rode the last few miles into town as a trio, parked the bikes, and waited for a turn in the showers. By this time I was shivering constantly, but I also knew the last minute weather would be the basis for a great story years into the future.
As it turned out, the snow that greeted us Sunday morning was the frontal edge of a freak storm, one that would have deadly consequences for two Japanese rock climbers who got caught out on a rock face and froze to death in Yosemite at a little over 3,000 feet.
This episode reinforced that most basic riding lesson – you can't put it on if you don't bring it along. Packing for the worst always seems like wasted effort at the time, but nothing like the sense of futility felt when you realize the perfect piece of equipment is back home in the drawer.
I rode down in the last van out with Anthony, our CW driver. For the other occupants, there were planes to catch, but I was spending the night in Fresno before a 9 a.m. hop out Monday. Because of the blizzard, that flight would be cancelled, and it would take 24 hours of airport hopscotch before I finally pulled into the driveway at seven a.m. Tuesday. Fitting final drama for a fabulous adventure. What an experience. What a Trek.
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