Near the bottom we encountered a trio of backpackers. They were hoping for a ride up to the trailhead so they could get back to the Pacific Coast Trail.
The rest of the group headed back to our motel, and I volunteered to hop in my car and retrieve the cached water. Along the way, I stopped to let the hitch hikers know that I could give one of them a ride, but only one ... as the back of my car was loaded with bike stuff.
An older gent with a scraggly beard and floppy chapeau got in and put his backpack in his lap. We chatted quite a bit on the way up, including why he was chosen to be the one to go up first.
“You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to get a ride when you look like me.”
I brought him all the way up to the trailhead. Along the way, we stopped to pick up the cached water. Also along the way I saw Sweetie, in the company of another hiker ... carrying one of our water containers. I pulled over to chat.
“I’m here to pick the water up, but if you’d rather use it, that’s OK.”
“Actually, I’m trying to walk down to Lone Pine. Do you know how far it is?”
I allowed that I didn’t.
“Maybe 12 miles or so? Hard to say. Do you want a ride?”
Of course he did.
“I’ll get you on the way down.”
When I returned, I found Sweetie and the backpacker sitting under a few rocks to get out of the Sun. Sweetie was panting. I managed to get it in the back of the car, and the backpacker hopped in the passenger seat.
Sweetie gave me the look. You know the one. The “You’re not going to leave me here, are you?” look. I motioned towards the car with my head, and she hopped into the floorboard of the passenger seat. Clearly, this was not new to her.
I scritched her head resting on the console while chatting with Tim about life and hometowns. Tim was from Trona, a town I’ve been fascinated with for years. Once a proud town based on mining the minerals from nearby Searles Dry Lake, it’s dying a slow painful death due to job loss and general decay. It used to have a Ford dealer. Gone. A gas station. Gone. Parks. Gone. Trona High School is still there, and their football team, the Trona Tornadoes, are the only high school football team that plays on a dirt field. They call it the Pit. And they don’t often lose in the Pit.
Gawd, I loved talking to this guy.
When we got to the ranch house, we opened the door, and Sweetie hopped out and shuffled back home. After a short chat with the hitch hikers (still waiting for a ride), I dropped Tim off at the Pizza Factory in Lone Pine, and met the group for a burger at Carls.
I accepted Bob’s gracious offer to sell me his tire. No way I wanted to deal with buying a new one. There aren’t a lot of options for that kind of thing in the Owens Valley. Then I headed off to Bishop to register for the Eastern Sierra Double. Bishop is a place where ducks rule.
I got all of my stuff, met up with Teresa and the gang, and we all met for a carbo-load festival. I had a small garlic and spinach pizza that I ate all by myself. Yum.
Now time to drive the 40 miles up the Sherwin Grade for our home out in Mammoth.
It was a beautiful starry evening. I felt really luck to be there under the stars and the fading light. Just gorgeous. And it was going to be a great day.
BANG.
I briefly saw what it was. A deer had run across my path. And I hit it. But good.
Something like that happens and it takes a good long while to figure out what happened. I immediately stopped, but it took a long while to sink in. Then I saw the smoke and steam rising from my hood. Uh oh.
I spent the next three hours under those stars making and receiving phone calls ... trying to figure out what to do.
In the end, the car and I were towed back down to Bishop. Stefan, who was going to join me at Mammoth called, and I asked him to stay down in the Denny’s in Bishop to wait for me. By the time I made it down, it was after midnight. Since the double was to start at 5AM, we decided to stay at the local Mo6 ... the nicest and larges Mo6 room I have ever seen.
Since we got to bed so late, Stefan and I elected to do the 6AM start. Those are the fast guys. Stefan is fast. Yours truly is not. Do I look a little apprehensive?
One advantage with being in the fast group is that you really scoot along in that paceline. We made rapid progress around the Owens River, crossed US395, and headed to the first rest stop in the Round Valley, with roads framed by poplars and cottonwoods. It was beautiful.
But it was time to climb. The Sherwin Grade is a 3000 foot climb at about 7-8 percent. It ain’t easy, but we were going at it pretty hard, so we got up pretty quickly. On to Mammoth Lakes.
Along the way in a little town called Aspen Springs, there is a sweet little descent that heads right into town and a long roll out .... well ... a long roll out if it weren’t for that flippin stop sign at the bottom. Guess where the CHP was waiting for cyclists running stop signs? Yep. We heard they handed out several tickets.
Stefan was feeling his oats on the flat part of US395 and he was kind enough to let me pace behind him. I wasn’t sure I could keep up with him for long.
Next, we climbed to Mammoth Lakes, and turned down the Scenic Loop and back to US395. At bottom, there were three ... count ‘em ... three CHP cruisers waiting to hand out tickets for not stopping at the stop sign.
Incredibly, Stefan got confused and rode the wrong way up US395! We yelled at him to stop, as did the CHP officers. But no ticket. I guess they were stop-sign blind for the day.
We climbed Deadman Summit (how is that for a name?) and turned off onto some of the sweetest cycling miles you’ll ever see ... the June Lake Loop. Within about half a mile of the turnoff, you get the view from Oh! Ridge. It is aptly named.
Then you scoot downhill through the little burgh of June Lake, through some aspens, past the ski resort, then drop down a twisty road into even more aspens, all in the shadow of Horsetail Falls and Carson Peak. It is amazing.
