'What have I gotten myself into here?', I half muttered as I picked my
way along the Main Divide Road under the trees in the darkness. I had
just watched the sunset from Santiago Peak, and was now heading
down, solo, with light from a 3/4 moon and whatever was left on the
headlight battery from last night's ride. Under the trees, no moon shone
and low beam on this light wasn't cutting it. I had challenged the gods
of our local Olympus and they had been gracious enough to allow me
safe passage to the Summit. I prayed their benevolence would hold out
for my trip down, the gods can be a fickle lot...
I parked my truck at the bird sanctuary about quarter to 2 on this
pleasant January Saturday afternoon. My thoughts were to ride up to
Main Divide, traverse over to the top of Joplin, drop down through Old
Camp and work my way out the Truck Trail and back. I've done this
loop before, but the last time I attempted it, last summer, I was denied
- too hot, too little water, too wimpy. I was sent packing by the
mountain - I had no business there that day.
Today, though warm, was nowhere near the heat of the summer. I had
been drinking water all morning and finished up 32 oz on the way to
Tucker Wildlife Sanctuary and had 3 bottles with me. I should be OK.
Harding Truck Trail is almost 100% uphill, so I had my helmet strapped
to my fanny pack, along with a spare LS jersey, and of course the
camera.I hopped on the bike and started up the fireroad.
Although I immediately encountered some deep rain erosion ruts, the
road was in pretty good shape overall. In areas there were many baby
head sized rocks strewn about, but in many other stretches it was like
the rain had actually washed the road clean. I tried to make mental
notes of the rutted and rocky areas, as the Plan B ride was just to the
top of the peak and back down.
Early on in my ascent, I was passed by another rider on a hardtail
Trek, a young tattooed twenty-something riding hard past me like he
was on a mission. I yelled out after him inquiring of his course - he was
heading up to Main Divide then down Maple Springs. Then he was gone
around the next corner. I made no attempt to match his pace. At
probably twice his age, my plan was to keep a steady, if somewhat
slower, pace up the hill.
I wasn't 20-25 minutes later when this same rider passed me coming
back down the hill. I recognized the tats and remarked about how he
had changed his mind so quickly. Yep, he said, he decided to give up his
intended course and turn around. He offered no further explanation as
he passed and I found myself, again, concerned for the youth of this
nation. Seeming to lack dedication, they may regret in later years not
having developed the will to see a project through to completion.
Well, this wasn't going to affect my resolve. With the Vision Quest
looming in the too near future (and me woefully unprepared for it in the
conditioning department), I had come to make an epic ride and there
was nothing going to hold me back. Not fear or common sense.
I reached Main Divide at
the top of Harding about
4:15. The moon was rising
above the mountains of
Big Bear, more to the
left was Baldy and
associated peaks rising
out of the haze of San
Berdoo, long deep
shadows cast in the
valleys by the late
winter sun. Days getting
longer now (yahoo!) I knew I had about another hour before the sun
would set. Having ridden Joplin down before under moonlight, and
remembering the difficulty of that adventure, I opted for plan B - to
the top of Saddleback.
The Main Divide across the slope
of Modjeska and Santiago peaks is
always a bit of a struggle. Steep
in sections, loose rocks that spin
the tires and my course constantly
being displaced by the rocky
surface, I struggled just to stay
upright and keep some forward
momentum. Making my way up the
flank of Santiago now, and with
the sun down low on my shoulder
and warm, I was getting ever
nearer my destination. A couple of
Edison employees were coming down
from the peak, safely ensconced
within the cab of their service
vehicle, windows rolled up. As they
passed, them coming down in the
quickly disappearing sun, me still
going up, the driver looked at me in
disbelief, and on they went. But
they would not be the last of my
encounters.
I was rounding the final corner of
the road, just below where you
turn right to get to the summit,
under that antenna forest, when
the sound of heavy steps on the
rocky surface of the road grabbed
my attention. Something heavy,
just out of view, was making its
way along the road. I pulled to
the left and peered over the
shrubs, not sure what I was about
to see. There, looking back up at
me and just as startled was - a lone hiker just starting down off the
summit. We both breathed a sigh of relief.
I rode over to introduce myself. You just don't see that many people up
this far above the world of men, and I always feel that anyone I meet
out here is someone with whom I must have a great deal in common.
This guy, as I spent some talking to him, seemed to be an exception to
that rule. He had hiked up from Holy Jim to be here under this
beautifully clear, darkening sky, with the moon overhead and stars
beginning to appear in the wavering light. Whereas I was immersed in
the total joy of being here, this little fellow seemed to be nothing but
angry - angry that he hadn't prepared well enough for the deep creek
crossings at the bottom of Holy Jim, angry that despite all the clothing
he had on (much better dressed for the occasion than I) he was still
cold, blah, blah blah, I finally had to end our conversation lest I be
drawn into his little downward spiral. I wished him luck on his trip down,
and rode the last 100 or so yards to the Summit of Mount Olympus.
I've been here before under the moon,
but always with at least one other fool
to accompany. Here I was alone at the
peak as the last vestige of the setting
sun slipped beneath the haze over the
waters of the Pacific Ocean. Calm,
peaceful - what an incredible
experience. Yet, the moon was not as
high in the sky yet as I had thought it
might be, and the darkening twilight was
little more so than I had allowed. I put
on the 2nd jersey I had brought, fixed
the light to my helmet, looked at that
tiny NIMH battery wondering about how
much of a charge I had left over from last night, and struck off down
the road. What, indeed, had I gotten myself into?
I took no time to figure out that the low beam on the light wasn't
really any better than no beam at all. The bike was being bounced off
of all kinds of unseen rocks, ruts and roots. Mindful that brighter
settings would burn whatever battery I had left faster, I rationalized
that a brighter setting would get me down now and by the time the
battery gave up, the moon would be high enough in the night sky to
properly illuminate the road ahead. As I
rode down in the deep blue twilight, I
clung to this thought like a security
blanket.
With the light on middle beam, I was
able to see well enough to negotiate the
fireroad at a relatively quick pace. While
being bounced around and occasionally
coming up quickly on a front tire
swallowing rut, somehow I settled into a
pace that felt, maybe not comfortable,
but at least sustainable.
Beyond the beam of my light lay
darkness, the moon not high enough yet to reach above the ridgeline
that shadowed the road. Passing deep dark shadows to the left and
right, the random sound of the wind in the bushes and trees had my
spidey senses on high alert. A couple of times, hurtling through
darkness, intent on discovering whatever obstacles lay out there in the
dark in front of my tire, I felt as though there was something running
alongside of me, pacing me. Spooky....... Eyes straight ahead, I had to
calm my mind and nerves lest I let myself get swept up in a wave of
paranoia that would do me no good at all. I have always enjoyed an
adventure - well here I was in the middle of one.
When I reached the top of Harding at Main Divide again I had to take
a break. It was more comfortable here - out in the open, moon higher
and brighter now, the familiar lights of So Cal below. I have always
enjoyed this view, found it fulfilling, and tonight was no exception. It
was breathtaking and all mine. I checked the battery level indicator on
the light and found it reassuringly (and ultimately incorrectly) at mid
level. Looking down into the darkness that was Harding Truck Trail, my
path down, I took off again.
There were quite a few deep ruts and washouts over this section and I
had to pick my way carefully through that short downhill sections just
off Main Divide. Where Harding then turns up from there is for the
most part under cover of trees. The moonlight did not reach into these
areas and though my legs were feeling the exertion of the length of
the ride so far, I pushed hard to maintain speed going up the road. I
was certain that I could outrun any of the native creatures that might
take an interest in my passing. Except for my imagination working
overtime in the dark, the short climb on this stretch was uneventful.
Harding Truck Trail turned down again and the moon now was high in
the sky and bright. The night sky itself was inky black and the stars
shone very brightly against that backdrop. It was an incredible view of
the Cosmos that one just can't get with the pollution of light in the
city. It makes me feel at once grand and diminutive in the scheme of
things. Just one lone soul, pushing the limits of his own confidence, here
to bask in the glory that is our Universe. I was almost overcome
emotionally by the majesty of it. I had to ride on.
Amazingly, the battery held until I was about 20 minutes from the
bottom and my truck. The light dimmed for a minute, then blinked out
altogether. The charge indicator wasn't all that accurate, but it didn't
matter. I had made it this far and the moonlight was now plentiful. I
took another little break at the bench that is about a mile or two up
from the bottom of Harding and watched a few bike lights over on
Santiago Truck Trail make their way down there. I was only a few
minutes from my truck now.
As I loaded my bike into the truck, about 20 minutes to 8 PM now, I
was struck at my good fortune. I have always pushed my limits and had
done so again. I have always been a believer of Nietze's adage that
what doesn't kill me only makes me stronger, and I had come away this
night stronger still. I know this to be a temporary condition that will
last only until the next time I go out to test myself against the world
at large. At that time, all bets will be off again. But, for now at least,
I had again found myself in God's good graces. I had made my assault
upon that night and returned in one piece. Another test passed, another
story to tell.......
-Bob McCarter
 |
Copyright© The Warrior's Society® |
|