The Agony and the Ecstasy, Part I

I couldn’t remember the last time I hit a dirt trail on a mountain bike, but I’m pretty sure it was about eight years ago. I had done a lot of mountain biking over a six-year period before that, with colleagues and friends.

But, injuries, family commitments and other factors made getting out for trail rides with buddies increasingly difficult. I resorted to riding my mountain bike by myself on a paved trail near my home. Then, about two and half years ago my mountain bike was stolen. Thieves broke into a side door of my garage during early morning hours, and made off with it.

When that happened, I figured my mountain biking days were over. I got the insurance money for my Cannondale Jekyll, a “Lefty.” It was a great handling full-suspension aluminum frame mountain bike. I then bought a Scott CR1 Team, a carbon fiber frame road bike. Now that was a move that really paid off! I found new friends to ride with, and since, I’ve had nothing but a string of amazing rides.

Marc, one of my road biking buddies, also has a mountain bike, and he recently asked if I wanted to mountain bike the Flume Trail, a scenic but challenging trail on the northeast side of Lake Tahoe. Pat, another riding buddy, had a mountain bike I could borrow, so I figured it was a great chance to hit the dirt again. Marc knew of a more ambitious version of the out and back route I’d done on the Flume Trail a few times. His route circled up a steep rocky trail behind the mountain that sits above the northeast end of Marlette Lake. He raved about the amazing, windy mountaintop view of Marlette and Tahoe.

I later discovered he kind of soft-pedaled the price of admission to see that view: A hefty dose of steep, technical climbing on a rock and sand-heavy trail. In high altitude.

The weather prediction on the morning we started out was sunny with a high around 83. But Tahoe weather badly fooled the forecasters that day, because when we hit the trail that morning a few days ago, dark clouds were overhead. The air was heavy and cool and it smelled like rain.

We had prepared for hot, dry riding by lathering up with sunscreen and wearing T-shirts. We were in no way dressed to ride in rain. We stopped at the bike rental shop at the trailhead and Marc asked the guy behind the counter if they sold rain ponchos.

“It never rains here,” he said, eying a satellite map on his computer showing that, yes, rain was headed this way.

And no, he had no rain gear.

I grew up a few miles away on Lake Tahoe’s Nevada side and over the years learned that weather in the Tahoe Basin, especially in the spring, summer and fall, can literally change in five minutes. In a snap, it can morph from a brilliant warm sunny day, to rain squalls, to hail, to even snow. My mom always crowed, “If you don’t like the weather here, wait five minutes!”

Tahoe weather will definitely keep you on your toes, and always seems to do so when you’re least prepared for it. So when we shoved off to do this major ride, I knew one thing for sure: We were going to get wet, and it was going to be cold.

But knowing Tahoe weather, I also knew that despite any rain we’d run into there was a very good chance it wouldn’t last all day. It would blow in, and blow out, and I was even pretty sure the sun would eventually come out. I told Marc that.

But he didn’t look convinced.

Soon after the ride’s start near Spooner Lake, there’s a long, tough climb on a fire road that, in 7,000 feet of altitude, will quickly put you in touch with your fitness. Or lack thereof!

I’m in good high altitude climbing shape for road biking, but this had me breathing like I was in a panic sprint trying to escape an angry grizzly. I drew deep for oxygen all the way up this thing. 

After a short recovery rest at the top, we descended about a half-mile down a steep fire road to the southwest shore of Marlette Lake. The long, narrow lake sits above and parallel to Lake Tahoe behind a high, narrow mountain. We rode along the lake’s west shore to an inlet where the trail takes a hard left. It switches back and forth down a rock and sand path, through a small creek and out toward the western face of a mountain cliff of conifers and broken slabs of granite that juts high above Tahoe.

Slightly sloping across the face of the cliff, the Flume Trail once supported wooden water-fed chutes. About 160 or so years ago, they floated felled logs down the mountain to lumber mills that sawed them into posts and planks for silver mines in Nevada towns like Virginia City. The chutes are long gone, but the trail remains, and has become a mountain bike ride favorite in the region.On past rides on this trail, it’s been sunny and clear. That makes for plenty to see: the vast deep blue waters of Lake Tahoe looming below and miles across its surface to the forested mountains on the west shore. Visible almost straight down, far below the trail’s edge, are the white sand beaches of Sand Harbor. The stupefying high altitude panoramic view is a dangerous distraction to riders negotiating the trail’s mushy turns of unstable decomposed granite. Riders figure out fast it’s best to stop and get off their bikes to do their gawking, rather than risk riding off the edge of the cliff.

This time, though, as soon as we rode onto the flume part of the trail, a steady rain pelted down. Wind gusting up the cliff combined with it to make my flimsy T-shirt a thin defense against the cold and wet.

A pair of riders had stopped along the trail to sit out the rain under a cave like space they found above the trail. Marc was ahead of me, and I figured I’d stay warmer if I kept pedaling.

But riding on the sandy trail in the wind and rain got old fast. When I caught up to Marc, he stood in a dry area under a granite overhang. 

Now, waiting this stuff out seemed like a good idea.

So, with our bikes leaned against the granite wall of the trail, we munched on some jerky, and jumped up and down once in awhile to stay warm.

From our high vantage point, we could see the middle of the lake was socked in by a moving mass of low rain clouds and mist in multiple shades of gray. It made Tahoe look like an ocean, since the mountains on the far side of the lake weren’t visible. Black spears of rain shot down to the lake’s ruffled gray/black waters. As we surveyed the squall, we could hear the staccato sound of raindrops slapping the wet trail sand. A look southward down the eastern edge of Tahoe revealed a Big Sur-like coast, with rain damp forests meeting fog edged gray waters along the inlets and points of the shore. Looking north, past Tahoe where the weather seemed to be headed, we saw pale blue skies.

In one way, it felt a little dreary, off our bikes, standing semi-protected from the cold, wet, gray day, with limited visibility. But at the same time, it was also exhilarating. We were in the middle of a cliff overlooking Lake Tahoe, watching a late summer weather front bully its way through the Tahoe Basin, loaded with dark, rain dropping clouds.

It was an adventure, and the best adventures usually have a few obstacles to overcome. So I told myself, don’t fight it. You’re here, so enjoy the show! Nature is the boss, just deal with it the best way you know how.

The clouds began to lift off the lake and soon we could see the dark profile of the mountains along the west shore. This shadowboxing storm was now backing off, quickly allowing more light and more miles of visibility across the lake. We got back on our bikes and warmed up by riding as fast as we could over the nicely dipping remainder of the cliff trail.

At the end of the trail was the fire road where we again met the two other riders standing in the dry area under the canopy of a cedar tree. They had ridden by us while we waited out the rain along the trail. They were going to arrange a ride back to their car, more than happy to bail on any more riding.

 “This weather won’t last,” I called back, as we pushed up the steep, rutted, rocky fire road. “Don’t be surprised to see the sun later.”

Somehow, I don’t think they believed me.

Til next time, always strap on a helmet before you ride. And remember, do all you can to keep the rubber side down!

-- Mark Eric Larson

(Coming up in Part II, read how the tough stuff gets ratcheted up a few more notches on the second half of the ride, when some pain is doled out on the way to the top.)

Mark Eric Larson has written two books of essays, "The NERVE...of Some People's Kids," and "Don't Force it, Get a Bigger Hammer. To read, visit: 
http://www.scribd.com/Mark%20Eric%20Larson/shelf