Damn--I done it...

Well, I've taken a huge step in my quest. Today I made my airline reservations--gulp. This makes the whole thing a lot more concrete. A couple of months ago, I purchased the maps from Adventure Cycling that I'll be using, but this is an order of magnitude more intense. I looked at various cheap ticket places, compared prices and schedules. When I finally got up the nerve, entered the information, and pressed "purchase," the computer would not bring up the next screen. Was the universe trying to tell me something? Scott, dude, DON'T do it! Or was it just a test, a measure of my resolve? I logged on later, however, and got the business done. At $367 and change, I've got myself a non-refundable ticket to Bar Harbor, ME. I'll leave Burbank, CA, at 1:05 pm on Tues. 7th of August and arrive in Bar Harbor at about 9 am on August the 8th. I decided to push back the date a little to give me plenty of time to get myself and my gear together after returning from the Oregon coast. Jodi and I should be home from that adventure about the 25th of July, give or take. Also, I want to err on the side of cooler temperatures generally. I'll still have plenty of heat, but with this date, I'll be crossing the Mid-West well into September, maybe early Oct. I'll hit freezing temperatures in the Rockies for sure, but I found that Oct. is one of the driest months for the regions I'll be cycling through. My other concern was the low desert. Oct. is still pretty hot in places like Quartzsite and Yuma. The later the better for that part of the world, for sure.

So the knowledge of my impending journey sits in my stomach like a molten lump of oatmeal or a greasy burger and super-sized fries. Throw in one of those nasty petro-"shakes" and you know how I'm feeling. Perhaps the toughest aspect of this anticipation is the emotional turmoil--worry at leaving Jodi, fear of failure, trepidation at the months on my own. This is a big meal I'm gearing up for, and that, of course, is the point, but knowing that doesn't make it easier. I suppose facing these emotional challenges is one of the biggest reasons to do it. The journey has its physical and financial components, but the emotions are the point--well, and the knowledge such travel conveys.

Before each journey or big mountain climb, I've found myself in a similar place. When El Capitan loomed above me, I drank deep of the uncertainty that now courses through me. Of course, once I get into the flow, climb the first pitch, pedal those first miles, I'll have a better time of it. I've got to take this 12 step style, one day at a time. Admit to myself, my God and one other person that I've got a problem--adventure addiction--and move to deal with it. The only solution here is to tackle the illness head-on and do the deeds, chug the liquor life and ride the high from east to west.

My most recent touring experience was a bust. We started from home, but two days in, Django bruised his paw again. We rented a U-Hual in Lake Isabella and drove home. Besides missing out on a great tour, I was looking forward to using this as a training base. I'm not worried, however. I'll have plenty of riding when I get home, and Jodi and I have the big Oregon tour in the middle of July, which should put a fine edge on my condition. Django is fine, but we did purchase a set of booties for him that we will be using all the time for road touring. We can't risk blow-outs in the remote places we travel, and we don't want to hurt the poor doggie, either!

Something unexpected came of this aborted tour: I've recommitted myself to becoming a climber again. I haven't climbed much at all over the last couple of years, and I thought I had made peace with not having it in my life. I'd pulled a finger, torn a shoulder muscle, felt annoyed at the driving required to get to the crags. After Jodi and I got back to Tehachapi, we retooled our trip, loaded up the VW camper, and headed out for the East Side. Jodi has done some day rides over the last week or so, and both of us have done some hiking. One hike in particular shifted my perspective.

The three of us headed out for Kearsarge Pass, about 11,700 ft. Late spring snow clung to the peaks, but the trail was mostly clear. Jodi was still dealing with the cold I'd given her, so she bailed out after a couple of miles. Django and I continued on. Soaring granite walls, steep snow fields, crags, walls and spires filled our vision. The day was cool, perfect for hiking. The more I looked at the rock, felt myself move through the mountains, the more I knew something was missing in my life. I just had to get back to the vertical world. I was a grinning, happy fool as we topped the pass and looked over the west side drainages and peaks--rank upon rank of Sierra perfection. Yes, I needed to be up here, in places like this, more often.

Cycle touring is still very important to me, but as John Muir said, "I am forever and hopelessly, a mountaineer." What this means for my TransAm is that I will be treating it as an opportunity to start getting back in shape for the rock. I've already purchased a set of elastics with handles that I'll use as a protable gym. Most days, early or late, I'll start my reconditioning. I've lost a lot of muscle over the last couple of years. I'm just a skinny punk at this point--175 lbs. Sounds like a lot to some of you, I'm sure, but I'm 6'4" tall and fine boned, so you might get a sense for my build. The attached photos should help, too. Anyway, I've got to re-gain ten to fifteen pounds of muscle to be where I want to on the rock. During my "burley" peak of my early twenties, I was up to 205 lbs. I don't expect or really want to be that big again, but I'm going to have to lose some of this stick-man thing I've got going now. I guess I'm looking at balancing these twin passions, which shouldn't be too hard. I may take fewer long bike, tours, however, to make room for climbing, which takes a steady application in order to be done properly. More than cycling, it requires a mental/spiritual "edge" that requires some regular attention.

Photos of the new GTT--Greenspeed Tandem Trike

Here she is fully loaded and ready to roll. Our usual Jandd Expedition panniers won't fit because of the attachment for the trailer. Fortunately, we happen to have two sets of Radical panniers--one medium, one large--that can do the job. I'm considering getting a small, new set for the front seat, but this seems to work so far.

As Good As It Gets: The Perfect Day Ride

55.8 Miles/3,500 ft. Climb

Sometimes the stars align, the winds shift, and the patron saint of cyclists smiles down upon us. This ride was one such occasion. I had a free day to myself before I wanted to be at my mother's place in Carson City, NV, to visit and help her pack for the big move. She was leaving her home of the last ten years, the place where my father had died. On the forested Sierra crest visible from her front door, we had scattered his ashes. She liked to look up and see that place and think of him--though she is not physically capable of walking to the crag where we had set free the dust of his body on the clear mountain breezes.

So this trip had some meaning beyond the usual good times I found in the peaks and valleys of the East Side. This was one of my last trips up to Carson City to visit her there and stay in the house where I last knew my father.

Although I had strained mightily on the three day tour to Kennedy Meadows with Jodi, I was keen to get in one more classic ride on the way north, so I left Jodi at Pearsonville and drove up through the hot desert afternoon--freaky hot for April 2nd, the low 90's down in Creosote Country. The warm weather and good forecast held promise for excellent conditions up high where I wanted to ride, the Jeffrey pine and sagebrush volcanic lands north-east of Mammoth. The cycling gods blessed my bittersweet journey, and I was given a day to cherish.

The night before was frosty cold at 7,000 ft. I huddled in my bag as long as I could, but the growing day would not be put off. I turned on the heater in the van and got dressed, brewed coffee. Clad in a down jacket and thick polar fleece pants, I went for a walk in the bright April dawn. The Sierras were glorious in their winter white, gullies, ridges, gleaming craggy crests of snow and rock. From a high knoll, I could see the White Mountains, too. A typically dry range, this time it held a snowy mantle and lived up to its name. The sun climbed and warmed me. Finally, it was time to pack and drive to the start of the ride. In short order, I pulled into the June Lake turn-off and parked at a deserted visitor center.

I extricated the HP Velo Street Machine from the van and busied myself with dressing, collecting gear, applying sunscreen--the habitual stations of the cross for all my rides. To the west, a snow-plastered Ritter Range pierced the blue sky. In the parking lot, I stood in fantastic warmth. The heat of the sun cut through the high, cool air.

My route was simple: From the first (southern) June Lake turn-off, head north on Hwy 395 (huge shoulder/light traffic) to Hwy 120 and take that east to Sagehen Summit, over 8,000 ft. high with views even the Olympian gods could not improve. From the summit, drop back to 395, jog north to the other end of the June Lake Loop Rd, and follow that back to my vehicle--the one that burns petroleum.

What transpired was a waking dream of effort and solitude, cycling nirvana. The smooth shoulder of 395 carried me quickly down the few miles to 120. Once I left the main north-south route, I left virtually everyone behind. Thirty five, forty minutes at a stretch with not another soul on the road. I paused frequently for pictures and wide-eyed gaping. I stood in the middle of the road and didn't give a damn. Mono Lake mirrored the sky. Distant ranges, rank upon rank, faded into silences unexplored. The bike clicked and whirred and carried me upward through a landscape painted by Salvador Dali: stout Jeffrey pines jutted from a light gray sea of pumice spread beneath soaring cinder cones ringed by broken teeth of harder rock. I was keenly grateful for this smoothly paved trail through an otherwise unrideable country. A cyclist hitting the shoulder here would go down in an instant. Although there might be some wisdom to the adage that leaving the path is the way to find one's path, it's bad advice for pedal-powered pilgrims in this neck of the woods.

Too quickly I reached the summit and drank in once again the panorama of my favorite place in the world, my one true home. Okay, mate, down it is. The descent was hampered by cross and headwinds, but even so, I arrived at the base in minutes, concluding a pitch that had taken me over an hour to climb. I was struck yet again by the strange bi-polar disorder of bi-cycle travel, how one aspect can require so much effort, so much muscle-burning, soul-searching struggle, while the other is simple as sin. Here's the rub: Do we need the pain in order to enjoy the pleasure of surrender to gravity's insistent desire? If the path to enlightenment is as difficult to walk as a razor's edge, can it be accomplished with spoked wheels and a chain? The philosophy of kinetics does not yield easy answers, especially when the philosopher is clipped to an HP Velotechnik Street Machine Gte and hurtling downward through Dante's Vulcan playground. No time for deep thoughts, Captain. Hold your line, dodge the dragons, and flee these infernal regions! Down, down, down...

Jog right on 395, left on the Loop, into the snowy peaks and granite gaps. Switzerland? Norway? Fie on foreign soil. This Range of Light folded me into it arms and held tight, a gentle climb and cruise lakeside, a safe passage through avalanche-prone narrows, precipitous alps draped in snow looming impossibly high. Warm sun and cool winds swirled across faceted lakes and flashing cascades...and I was virtually alone. Everything was shut down--too little snow for skiing, too early for the swarms of summer campers that infest this area from June through August. Chalets and motels stood empty. Vacancy signs hung everywhere. A lone dog wandered down the road.

I, however, was slapped with the steepest climbing of the day, hard, ornery rollers that tested what was left of my reserves. I took the signed bike route, which avoids the main hamlet of June Lake but, of course, offers more climbing. Still, the views were grand, the road empty. Then the hills gave up, checked out--TKO, recumbent cyclist! I zipped down the last hill and so back to where I began.

I camped out in the sage and enjoyed a fine German lager while clouds danced on the highest summits. It's not just me, I don't think, but hasn't the St. Pauli Girl gotten hotter over the years, retooled with a bit of the Cosmo aesthetic? Not that I mind, certainly not. Still, some deep thoughts are worth considering after the riding is done.

Mammoth Mtn. and the Ritter Range

The bike just prior to launch

Beginning the big climb to Sagehen Summit

Hello Dali Land

The Jeffrey pine forest

An open basin before the summit

The sweet sign of success

High Sierra vista:The craggy dark peaks are the Ritter Range

The road to June Lake

Give me a bike to match my mountains.

The point of the journey

Camp after the ride

Parting shot