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Tour of the Eastern Sierras and Deep BOBisms By Jack Handey
Phil and I weren’t going to write up a ride report for this tour. “Nobody ever responds to ride reports on that list,” he cried. Well, I figured, you really can’t say much about ride reports except things like, “Sounds like a nice ride,” or, “Wish I could have been with you,” or, “Is that what bikes are for?” Yet, we decided to write one anyway, just in case someone might actually be interested, or was considering a tour in this part of the country. And in order to involve general iBobbers, it was decided to interject some of our equipment/bike experiences, questions, and conversations we engaged in as we rode this main highway/backcountry tour. We call these interjections “Deep Bobisms.” They are designated with an *. You’re more than welcome to comment, query, complain, test, or flame. We don’t care. I had just finished my Masters and needed to celebrate and recondition. I’ve put on twenty pounds in the last year, sitting in front of a computer. I had also had a hankerin’ to tour again in the Eastern Sierra region of California since my last tour there in ’81. So I invited Phil and we headed off on a 10-hour road trip from Tucson, Arizona to Bishop, California. Located east of the Sierra Nevada (Mt. Whitney 14,000+’) and west of the White Mountains (Boundary Peak 13,000+’) along Highway 395 in the Owens Valley, Bishop is the gateway to the high country. Elevation is roughly 4000’. The Sierras create a rain shadow for this land so it’s high desert/sagebrush country. And it’s dry. Very dry. And it’s mountainous. And even in the mountains it’s very very dry. The first major decision of this loop tour was clockwise or counterclockwise? * Do we head north on 395 and deal with the whoosh of traffic or do we get onto the back roads of the White Mountains as soon as possible? Phil is totally intolerant of whoosh. * I’m less intolerant only because the country is so damned beautiful as you climb up 395. The High Sierra and White Mountain escarpments rise out of the desert floor like two great granite white whales. We figured we’d hit this portion coming back, so let’s get away from traffic and people right from the start and head up into the White Mountains for our Day One. And up it was.
From Bishop to Big Pine is a split 4 Lane highway with a gradual down to a little below 4000’. Just outside of Big Pine you make a left onto Highway 168 and head east into the White Mountains. There’s an interpretive Kiosk explaining the area including the famous Bristlecone Pine, oldest living trees on the planet. There’s also a Giant Sequoia planted to commemorate the opening of our White Mountain Road to auto traffic in 1913. It was dedicated to Teddy Roosevelt and was also one of the last real trees seen that day. We headed east on a narrow-shouldered two-lane road, crossed the Owens River (really a creek), and began the climb up to Westgard Pass, our destination for the day. It’s steep (usually 8% with a couple of tenners thrown in for fun), and it was hot (90’s). The only thing that grows in these mountains is sagebrush until you get way up there, and then you get Juniper/Pinyon/Bristlecone. Mr. Sun beats on you with a million little hammers of heat. In conditions like this I wear two layers: a paper thin long sleeve silk T for UV protections and a cotton poplin for evaporative cooling. * The only respite an occasional breath of cool air coming down from the high country. It promised more comfortable temperatures as we climbed. Fortunately, half way up, you come upon Batchelder Springs, the location of a 19th century tollhouse and spring. The spring is still there and it was most welcome for its water and shade.
A flash of brilliance hit me on this first day. Remember those Westerns where the fellas carry canteens covered in wool felt? Now I know why. I brought along two of Chris K.’s stainless steel water bottles http://www.velo-orange.com/ststwabo.html I wrapped them in thick wool socks and soaked ‘em. For the next couple of hours I had cool water, noticeably cool, on a hot day. Phil insisted cotton would be superior because it retains water better. I believed the wicking properties of wool increased the effect of evaporative cooling. We decided that one of you could figure out way to test this. * We really didn’t care. We also discovered that anthills situated in pavement cracks cause tire slippage, front and rear. Which tire is best in conditions like this? * I had considered keeping my double chainrings (46/32) on the bike. Glad I didn’t.* Hauling food, tools, clothes, camping stuff, and two gallons of water up that mountain made me appreciate that 24/28. Every time I go touring I think Ultralight, Ultralight, and Ultralight. But the Southwest is a different hot, dry ball of wax. Water gets you every time. Ultralight is OK for the S24O in temperate weather*, but when you head off onto back roads with iffy water sources you’re stuck dragging the kitchen sink and it’s gotta be full. Dehydration and heat stress are very real (I’ve been there) so I’d rather carry more than enough fluids and not be part of the he-man club.*
Topping out at Westgard Pass made all that hot climbing worthwhile. Cool winds, high mountain clouds, the scent of Juniper and Sage, no damn people, Ramen and beans heating on the stove, a soothing pipeload (ah, visions of Frank Patterson…or was it Timothy Leary?), and a 360 degree view of nothing but mountain tops and stars blow all that sweat and knee-popping into the past. Even the fact that it was only 30 miles of riding didn’t detract from the campers’ euphoria that envelopes you at the end of a day getting to Paradise. But, it was at this point in the tour that Phil became disconsolate. He discovered something that would tear asunder the bag-matching heart of any iBobber. His Barley and his Nelson Long Flap were different shades of green! Oh the humanity of it all! We discussed this ad infinitum and then spent an hour boiling juniper needles in order to develop a dye to rectify this horrendous situation. When applied with brushes of sage leaves one can actually get close to tinting the lighter Long Flap to match its smaller brother, but not really to Phil’s satisfaction. * I believe this iBOB conundrum may go eternally unsolved. Oh well. Scorpio and Sagittarius wished us a good night. Day 2 was a power dive out of the White Mountains along a rolling, car-less road through volcanic canyons into the Deep Springs Valley (5000’ roughly), a big bowl of sagebrush and location of one of the most private colleges on the planet.(http://www.deepsprings.edu/)
You then climb out of the valley to Gilbert Summit (6300’) and down to Highway 266/264. Turn right and you end up at the Cottontail Ranch (http://www.nevadamax.com/page20/mctail.html), Beatty, and eventually Vegas. We turned left. The views of the mountains are outstanding, but this is high lonesome desert and the sun’s intensity wore on us physically and visually for 40 long, straight miles. I suggest doing it 2 to 3 weeks earlier than we did. The high country would be colder but the desert more friendly. 15 miles out of the White Mountains brings you to Dyer, Nevada. You could spit across Dyer if you had any spit. Although a Podunk of a place, in reality it is an oasis containing general store, post office, and vacation trailer park (?). A cute little clerk at the deli counter served us up sandwiches and sodas after we had restocked the water (one liter left). A local jabbered away at us for a half hour. Can’t remember what he talked about. It was here we came across our first foreign tourists. Germans most likely. Definitely northern European I thought (clean cut, black socks, very very white), as they gave us a nod of recognition walking into the store. I wonder what they thought of this country? I wonder if they knew where they were? Later we learned that Las Vegas is a popular destination for Germans. They gamble then drive the great West in rented cars or motorcycles. They like a weak dollar.
The rest of the day was gradual uphill, plodding 26 miles up 264 to Highway 6 (The Grand Army of the Republic Highway). It was a surrealistic period of the tour, reminiscent of scenes from Lawrence of Arabia, endless horizons filled with dust devils climbing several hundred feet into the air. Dry. As we neared Highway 6, the western route back into the Sierras, we spied a line of green coming out of the mountains and crossing the belly of the desert like a belt. It turned into a wall of trees fed by an ice-cold stream meandering its way to an early death in a dry lake hidden somewhere to the east. Time to soak head and feet, wool water bottle socks, and sit in the shade; then mount up refreshed and push on. The coolness turns to a faded memory quite quickly.
It’s a 10-mile climb to Highway 6 and another 6 or 7 miles to Montgomery Pass (7100 feet), our goal for the night. We didn’t make it. The sun was getting low and we were beat so turned off the highway a few miles short of the pass and followed a dirt road into some sagebrush hills populated only by wild mustangs who watched us from a safe distance. This is one of the joys of riding in the West, find a dirt road, ride it, and 9 times out of 10 you’ll find yourself a pretty neat campsite, or at least an adequate one. You can camp anywhere in National Forest so there’s no stress about finding a “real” campsite. Besides, we’ve found that anywhere you lay down the groundcloth, throw out the sleeping pad and bag, and start your stove turns into home. You just need the proper equipment and state of mind. It takes years to develop both, but once you learn, the joy of touring comes easily.
Boundary Peak, the highest in Nevada at 13,140 feet, lay to the south. Tonight’s camp, on a little knoll overlooking the highway, had a view so clear that I counted a dozen satellites zooming overhead before nodding out. The next morning I found a rusted to paper thinness but complete Prince Albert tin, thrown out by some miner or cowboy who knows how long ago? Morning is cowboy coffee and oatmeal. Day 3 was a fun day: Temps got cooler, winds were favorable, but it was still dry. Days like this can fool you. The coolness makes you forget about water. A 4 mile climb to Montgomery Pass and then 16 miles of downhill to Benton, California (5400 feet), a 1930’s café, and the turnoff to Highway 120, road to the high country.
4 miles west of Benton is Benton Hot Springs (http://www.ghosttowns.com/states/ca/benton.html). I dipped my feet into what I thought would be an ice-cold stream. It must have been over 100 degrees. Ah Ha! So that’s where they get the name!
From here it’s a rolling 25-mile climb through more sagebrush then juniper/pinyon to Sagehen Summit at 8100 feet. This road was the best: rolling through Red-rock country, volcanic cinder cones of the Mono Craters (http://www.cco.caltech.edu/~meltzner/mono/), the Sierras in the background, and eventually a 40 mph roller coaster off Sagehen Summit through pine trees to the edge of Mono Lake.
Another 12 or 15 miles and you’re in Lee Vining (http://www.leevining.com/) at 7000 feet. 72 miles and two passes. A good day. We reasoned we deserved a motel, restaurant, but not necessarily those thousands of German tourists. So finally we are back onto the four lanes of Highway 395 and into the mainstream of tourist civilization. But it’s only 65 miles to Bishop. After a little climb to 8000 feet we should drop like rocks down to 4000 feet and be back at our starting point in no time. Piece of cake for Day 4. With the Sierras rising to 12,000 feet on our right, the views for the day were beyond awesome. It wasn’t my fault the drop didn’t happen until the last 15 miles or so. It wasn’t my fault the first 50 miles included a few rolling climbs against a stiff headwind (I like pedaling up hill). I purposely avoid looking at maps too closely to keep it somewhat a mystery, pain or no pain. Needless to say, we worked. That’s OK, it made the end of the day that much more fulfilling.
Driving against the wind over Deadman Summit (8000 feet), past Mammoth Lakes, around Lake Crowley, and finally to Tom’s Place (7000 feet) we came to one of the better downhills in the history of the world. 7000 feet to 4000 feet in about 8 miles. Wow! You tuck, you get up to 35 or 40, and hold on for dear life as crosswinds from canyons and SUV’s buffet you and rough roads threaten to send you airborne. Inevitably the passenger in each vehicle that passes will turn around and stare in wonder, awe, admiration, envy, and/or confusion, which must have turned to sympathy as we bottomed out. We were being lowered into a caldron. The temperature had gone from mid-80’s to 103 in minutes. The last 8 miles was oven-like and the traffic thickened to ooze as we hit roadwork. This is where mirrors are more important than helmets (which we didn’t wear the whole tour*). Don’t whine, just go, you’ll feel good about it in the end. So there’s the tour. If you made it this far you’re alright. If you enjoy paved backroads with a bit of hardpack, remoteness, beautiful country, unbeatable skies, and can handle medium difficulty (I’m fat, gauge from there) with a heavy load, then this is very doable and worthwhile. If you’re a wine and cheese kind of guy, forget it.
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