Cold is a state of mind. Having moved to California from Colorado
earlier
this year, one of the things I was looking forward to was not having to
endure cold weather. I can only remember seeing snow come out of the
skies
in the LA Basin twice in my lifetime, once in Jr High and another time
in
the mid 80's. It just doesn't get cold here. The moutains have other
ideas
though, at least attaining somewhat cold temeratures in Winter. Still,
I
doubt I'll ever be able to match the -19f I experienced XC skiing once
at
10,000ft in Colorado. When your toes go numb, it doesn't matter if
it's
-19f or 40f though.
Early starts this time of year are the norm, especially when checking
out a
trail that is not as heavily traveled as most others in SoCal.
Traveling
through one of the inland valleys on the way I noticed that it was 40f
out
and the wind was blowing pretty strong from the North. Bill and John
showed
at the trailhead a couple of minutes after I arrived. They had checked
the
other trailhead because an earlier conversation led them to believe I
was
going to beat them to our planned meeting place and I was not there
when
they first arrived. Some drivers just don't heed the "slower traffic
must
use turnouts" signs. Jumping out of the truck, I noticed that the 37f
shown
was enhanced by the aforementioned stiff breeze out of the North.
Being
that the planned route was a point-to-point shuttle to avoid a heavily
traveled 2-lane highway with loads of weekend traffic, Bill and I
jammed
over to the other trailhead to drop my truck off and get back before
John
turned into a popsicle.
My weapon of choice for the day was my heavy bike, which had been more
of a
default than choice because of recent maintenance issues on my other
bikes.
Bill had brought his new "pig bike" that was about as porky as Arnold
Ziffel. John had his Maverick American, though admittedly had mostly
been
singlespeeding lately. Starting at around 4,500ft, the fireroad climb
was
in good shape from the Friday night/Saturday morning rains. The DG
sand was
packed down where it was deepest and the surface was definitely
conducive to
helping the climb be as a-technical as a fire road can get. That was
ok
with all of us, as the cold wind blew and we made haste up the road.
Starting a ride with an immediate large and sustained climb cold right
out
of the truck can be brutal, especially when it's cold. John
jackrabbited
up, Bill followed and I started at a true slog pace. John had to peel
his
wool shirt after about a half of a mile, but readily passed me again
after
getting situated. We rallied up about four places on the climb, though
there wasn't much waiting going on because it to was too cold to sit
for too
long. Being the one rolling up on them each time ther ewas a pause, I
never
once lamented about not stopping for a rest. I just wanted to get up
that
hill. The saving grace in any of the southerly pitches up was the fact
that
the wind was strong enough to give us a push up. As soon as I felt the
wind
assisting, I'd sit up as high as I could in the saddle and let the wind
give
me a shove. I was wondering if my wind shell would be better put to
use as
a sail for these sections. Nearing the top, the puddles in the road
were
solid ice, prompting us to get to a place in the Sun to load up on some
food
and warm up.
The consensus at the top concluded that we all had numb toes. We
actually
weren't at the top, but decided to stop in the last bit of direct
sunlight
to recharge. Looking back down the climb, it was easy to tell we had
climbed about 3,000 feet in the 7 miles or so of road. It looked so
much
closer from the bottom of the climb, as it always does. I decided to
don
the hood on my wind shell, which was a first in a long time. Wearing
black
had paid off as much as it could have for the conditions, sunny and
cold.
For Southern California, it was downright cold.
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The break didn't last very long and we zipped up the remaining quarter
mile
to the singletrack drop-in. It wasn't an easy trail to find, but was
right
there in plain sight off of the road...if one knows what to look for.
The
surface was covered in pine straw, pine cones and smatterings of
varying
sized "spoke killer" sticks. The trailbed was well designed and well
built,
reeking of a CCC build. That in itself was enough to make me readily
accept
the lead as offered by Bill and John. A quick drop of the saddle and
flip
of the hood back for increased peripheral vision and down the trail we
filed.
The pine straw made the surface a little squirrely at times and the
switchbacks were tight enough to challenge anyone with a cross between
the
pine straw and loose DG sand in them. The switchbacks would have been
a
little more manageable if a couple of moto abusers had not dug many
them out
some the day before. The ones that were not dug out by a pinned
throttle
were crosscut and the ditch dug by the spinning wheels of these
goofballs
was off-trail. Even so, almost all of the trail was very rideable and
the
excellent raw nature overrode any abuses it had unfortunately incurred.
After struggling with the first few switchbacks, I had to stop and let
some
air out of my tires to get better traction. John pulled up after Bill
and
said he was having trouble braking in that his brake pads were pretty
worn
and the fact that he could not feel his fingers well enough to control
his
braking. It was still pretty cold.
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The first switchback after letting some air out of my tires let me know
that
the right decision had been made, for now. In-between the switchbacks,
the
trail twisted, turned, went up slightly here and there and had some fun
stretches of wide-open cruising. Some of the large granite boulders on
the
edges of the trail made for some fun rolling moves, or high speed
dodging.
After one particularly fast section, I slowed in the flat that followed
and
heard Bill coming in behind me. Then I heard something akin to the
Jolly
Green Giant pouring milk on some giant-sized Rice Krispies, SNAP!
CRACKLE!
PLOP! The plop part sounded unnatural enough for me to stop and turn
to see
Bill through the trees, picking himself up. I yelled over to ask if he
was
ok and he replied in an affirmative manner. I pedaled back up the
trail to
see John roll up and Bill picking his bike up, with a big spoke killer
wedged between his fork crown and front tire. Super duper superman! I
didn't want to laugh, but the pine straw sticking out of his helmet
reminded
me of the Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz and a stifle was in order
instead
of the guffaw that was just below the surface. I did remove the straw
and
it wasn't just to keep from laughing.
Hurrying someone who has just biffed is a major no-no. They need to be
given a chance to recover enough to continue if they are going to do
so.
Bill said he was ready pretty quickly, so I led off again. A few more
traverses led to a little more of an open space where the moss covered
pine
trunks and large salt and pepper boulders became more prevalent. This
also
included a few more increases in downgrade with tight switchbacks at
the end
of each, so keeping a keen eye with the speed became even more
paramount.
After one tight switchback that followed an open and fast section, I
decided
to pause again because it was out of the wind, in the Sun and I hadn't
heard
Bill rattling down the babyheads behind me. Shortly afterwards, I saw
Bill
and John come into view and they rolled up to where I had paused.
Apparently Bill had biffed again and John's hands were still numb, so
where
we were at seemed like a good place to pause for a while. The boulders
in
the Sun were warmed up, so we used them to warm our hands. Bill's new
bike
had taken his biffs worse than he had, with a bit of a wobbly rear
wheel, a
bent rear disc rotor and one broken spoke in the front wheel. I
managed to
get his rotor bent back to a useable status and he later tied his
broken
spoke to another to keep it from rattling.
Quoted message said:From what I had seen on the maps before coming up to this place, I had
thought the subalpine flora would run out quickly, but it didn't. The
trees
thinned a little more, but didn't change. The surface of the trial
didn't
change much either, which was fine by me. A few stretches gave way to
stunning views to the North off of the mountain we were on. If any of
us
happened to be an acrophobic, it would not have been a good thing.
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After stopping to take a couple of photos of the view, I rode on to
catch up
to my compadres. They had stopped at the puzzle of the day, a double
switchback. The Cha has about 2"+ more wheelbase than all of my other
bikes
and the top switcher looked really tight. I rolled in a little high,
managed a short stall, got just enough front wheel cut and roll,
followed by
a small impromptu tail-whip to finish the upper and good roll through
the
lower turn. It reminded me a lot of the same type combo on one of my
favorite Colorado high country trails. They let me take the lead again
and
now that Bill had shaken off his miscues and John's hands were no
longer
numb, the grouping stayed relatively tight the rest of the way down the
singletrack.
Just before the singletrack ended, the trail broke out into the open
and all
of a sudden we found ourselves in some high chapparal. It seemed that
we
skipped the Transitional zone, but maybe had about a quarter mile of it
in
between the other two zones. A short trip in the chapparal and an old
roadbed presented itself for us to drop down to a historical site and
smattering of garbifacts. The views were spectacular, especially with
the
North wind cleansing the normally hazy conditions. The view sported a
bird's eye shot of the dilapidated jeep road that was to be the last
six
miles of our journey, including my truck parked at the terminus about
2,000ft below.
A few final short and rocky climbs finally yielded to downhill only and
Bill
led the charge, quite possibly renewed by the increase in temperature
and
absence of that cold North wind. Either way, it was nice to just hang
and
cruise, the longer travel bikes soaking up all of the babyheads and
dips
that the old roadbed could muster. Though weighing in less than Bill
and
myself and having a more XC oriented bike, John didn't waste much time
either...maybe because his hands were now usable and not like a couple
of
snow cones on the ends of his arms? Right before Bill stopped after a
rocky
turn, I had the good fortune to flip a good sized rock up into my right
shin. You know, the kind that makes a nice thud noise when it hits and
tends to leave a good strawberry and lump.
As I inspected my shin, I noticed my rear tire might have needed a
little
more air, but blew it off and told myself to rein it in a little more.
That
didn't work. A few turns later and that mushy feeling came from the
back of
my bike and I commenced to pulling over. Peeling a thick sidewalled DH
tire
from a DH rim can be a task, but the Soma steel levers made quick work
of
it, as did Bill's offer of Co2 in filling the new tube that replaced
the
snake-bitten one. With renewed confidence from a properly inflated
rear
tire, I led off one final time. The grade lessened for just about the
rest
of the route, but gave one last hurrah at the very end. Bill took off
like
a shot and I followed closely in what he ended up calling "Ludicrous
Speed"
in a nice homage to Mr. Brooks. Bill had stopped at the intersection
we
were supposed to turn left at near the highway, but I blazed past and
stopped very shortly thereafter in my first nose wheelie on the Cha.
That
bike certainly can make the rider at times.
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We hit a quick spin up to my truck on about a quarter mile of the
dreaded
highway. I sure was glad we had chosen to use vehicles to connect up
this
part of the route because that road was filled with line crowding hogs
and
speeding jackasses. Back at the trailhead while transferring bikes and
gear, it seemed warm out. I couldn't help but wonder how cold it was
on top
if we felt warm at the 45f my truck was registering as we pulled out
and
headed to town for some post-ride mexican eats. Yeah, it was cold,
even for
an expatriate Coloradan.
JD