Trucke to Yosemite 3-Day (Mis)Adventure
For background to this story, start here.
Having talked myself into the trip against my better judgement, I started preparing for the trip by assembling a collection of bikepacking gear, with Will and Bikepacking.com providing a ton of advice. I was pretty skeptical at first of camping in the wilderness without a tent - mostly I was worried about what kind of creepy-crawlys might find me during the nights - but without the cash to buy something super light, I took Will's advice and bought a bivvy bag for rain protection and a mesh net for insect protection. I also ended up buying a new sleeping bag, since all of my previous bags were just too big to lug around for that kind of distance; a Revelate seat bag to carry food, clothes, and other essentials; and a compact REI down jacket I found on a clearance rack. For tires I found the 38mm Challenge Gravel Grider, which has large side knobs and a wide file tread, which sounded like the perfect combination for the mix of paved and dirt roads we were planning on riding. My complete gear list is at the bottom of this article.
Day 0: Hooray, Miscommunication!
The plan was to start our trip at daybreak on Friday morning. I took this to mean that we were sleeping in Sacramento Thursday night, then getting dropped off in Truckee early in the morning on Friday. What Will actually meant was that we would be camping outside Truckee on Thursday evening, then rolling out when we woke up the next morning. So when he kept asking for my ETA as I was driving to Sacramento Thursday evening, I was a little confused; and then when he started loading his gear into his truck upon my arrival I was even more confused. Luckily it didn't take me long to change clothes and organize my gear, and we were on the road at a reasonable time. The drive to Truckee went by smoothly - although we stopped at a bike shop to talk to a friend of Will's who had just snapped a carbon mtb frame in half using his stomach - and we managed to find an out-of-the-way dirt road outside Truckee to set up camp for the night. That first night would be the coldest of the trip, but I was cozy and warm in my new bag, and with no mosquitoes and clear skies I was loving my first taste of 'camping freedom', i.e. sleeping without a tent.
Day 1: More misunderstanding, a little bit of hike-a-bike, and What The Hell Am I Doing?
We awoke at daybreak, slowly packed up our gear (well, I was slow because I wasn't used to my gear setup yet), and rode back into Truckee for breakfast and to stock up on water for the first leg of the day. Once properly fueled, caffineated, and hydrated, we leisurely set out for the climb up to Donner Pass, stopping to get pictures of our bikes next to Donner Lake along the way. I recall Will feeling rather spry and pushing the pace up the climb up to Donner Pass, which led to what might have been my first bout of "what the hell have I gotten myself into?" for the trip (there would be many more). Thankfully, we (of course) had to stop for pictures at the lookout, but as I was lining up the perfect #bikeporn shot I noticed Will had already taken off across the bridge. Thinking this was a not-so-subtle method of telling me I was slow and needed to pick up the pace, I took off in hot pursuit with a burning sense of dread and my second bout of "what the hell have I gotten myself into?!". If this was what the whole 330mi and 39,000' of climbing was going to be like, well, shit. Thankfully, my existential woes lifted halfway across the bridge when I noticed that Will had turned off the road and pulled out his phone just across the bridge, at a location that would line up a perfect shot of me crossing the bridge with Donner Lake in the background. Oh. LOL, don't I feel foolish and insecure.
Feeling much relieved, we continued up and over Donner Pass and through the quaint town of Soda Springs until we finally hit dirt. Will stopped at every turn and change in road surface to take a picture for the writeup he was planning to submit to Bikepacking.com's route contest, since he thought that this untried route would stand a good chance at being a winning 3-day off-road bikepacking epic. This first section of dirt road was probably one of the few nicely-graded roads we would encounter on the trip, 'nicely-graded' being a relative term in this context. We had fun with the few stream crossings we encountered, taking photos to show how awesome we were and almost succeeding in keeping our feet dry.
Our good fortune didn't last for too long, however. After some steep climbing on a rough road, we came upon a section of road which had recently been torn up across its entire width for about a quarter mile by a large tracked vehicle of some sort, leaving us with ~1/2-1' deep moon dust with scattered chunks of granite mixed in, varying in size from gravel chunks to small baby heads to ride-ending boulders. I tried to ride (or ski) down the boulder field a little ways, but quickly gave up when I realized just how dangerous the hidden rocks could be. Walking our bikes down proved to be nearly as dangerous, though, and we were lucky to get back on to the solid dirt at the bottom without sprained ankles. A few miles later we came across a suspect for the road's condition in the form of a large backhoe, and we were asked the typical "you're riding from where to where?!" questions before continuing on our way.
After a few more climbs, descents, hike-a-bikes, and stunning alpine photo ops, we eventually came to a forest service road following the top of a recently burnt-out forested ridgeline. The contrast between the lifeless charred and blackened stumps and the vibrantly blooming wildflowers was stunning. On top of that, the road was relatively smooth (that is, the big rocks were usually easy to ride around), and mostly either flat or slightly downhill, so besides stopping to enjoy the dramatic views we were able to make good time. Mentally, though, I was beginning to enter some seriously strange places in my mind. We had been riding for over 9 hours by this point, which was one of the longest times I've ever spent on a bike in one go, yet we had covered just over 50 mi, less than half of our planned distance for the day. This is when the "what the f*$@ did I get myself into?!" thoughts really set in, right alongside the dark mental numbness that I've since learned seems to hit me after ~8-10 hours of riding. It's a strange feeling to describe; words cannot adequately portray that unique mental state of a numbing detachment from reality.
After following the ridge for about 5 miles, we came upon an intersection with another dirt road that actually appeared to have been used sometime in the last year, along with a porta-john. I stopped to use it, partly because I hoped the break would lift the mental fugue I had entered, and partly because, well, we'd been riding for almost 10 hours and was due for another pee break. Again, WHAT THE HELL WAS I DOING. This is when I seriously started to doubt that we'd ever make it to Yosemite.
After following the ridge for about 5 miles, we came upon an intersection with another dirt road that actually appeared to have been used sometime in the last year, along with a porta-john. I stopped to use it, partly because I hoped the break would lift the mental fugue I had entered, and partly because, well, we'd been riding for almost 10 hours and was due for another pee break. Again, WHAT THE HELL WAS I DOING. This is when I seriously started to doubt that we'd ever make it to Yosemite.
Thankfully, Will lifted my spirits slightly by saying we'd be heading downhill for a little ways, and as it turned out it'd be mostly paved (well, sort of). The descent lasted for 10 miles, dropped us by over 2,300' (from 5,800' to 3,500'), and was glorious. I mean, sure, the condition of the road was often pretty shitty, but that's why we were on 'cross bikes. It was so fun that I never stopped to take pictures (though I wished I had a GoPro), so I have no photographic evidence to show how cool the road was. But picture this: an empty paved road following the edge of a plateau, with bare, blackened forests on both sides providing an open view of the surrounding terrain, and car-sized patches of disintegrating road providing spice. And now imagine riding it on a fully-loaded 'cross bike, heavy yet confidently stable, hammering down a gentle descent at up to 35mph, for 5mi. Then after the first 5 miles, imagine a steep, windy mountain-road descent full of wide turns on smooth pavement, dropping from the top of the plateau down into a deep valley with a river at the bottom, with an average speed of 35mph. Yes, it was glorious - and it also rescued me from the dark places in my mind and brought me back in touch with reality.
Alas, on trips like this, what goes down must inevitably go back up, in defiance of gravity (remember, we're in this for the Type-2 fun). The climb out the other side of the valley was actually quite nice: smooth pavement, decent views, and a consistent grade. Of course, if you know Will and I, you know that we didn't just sit in and chit-chat all the way to the top. No, one does not merely climb mountains with a friend; one tries to beat said friend to the top, even on a 1,500' climb in the middle of a 116 mile ride. I lost, but my excuse is that I was still concerned about just finishing the day's ride and didn't want to go too hard.
The top of the climb brought us to an intersection with an honest-to-god 2-lane paved road. Seeing as I had just drank the last of my water, and Will was down to about a liter after giving me some of his, signs of civilization were a welcome relief. We continued on our route, turning off down a dirt road after half a mile. This road was supposed to take use roughly east to Union Valley Reservoir, then south to Hwy 50 and on into Pollock Pines for the night. On a map, it looks pretty straightforward - wide, clear dirt roads all the way, including a ride across a large dam at the reservoir. Unfortunately fate had other intentions, as we were soon greeted by a gate festooned with "Private Property" and "No Trespassing" signs posted by the logging company which owns, apparently, all of the land we were planning on riding through. Time for a change in plans.
While I took a pee break and tried not to break out into nervous hysterics, Will pulled out his phone and started working on a re-route. I tried looking at a map as well, but without being too familiar with our route (how much of a 350mi route through completely unfamiliar terrain can you honestly manage to remember?) I wasn't much help. Seeing as we had been riding for almost 12 hours, were running out of water, and still had at least 30 miles to go on a hastily-assembled Google Maps route, we picked the most direct route option with the least climbing. Plus, the route included Mosquito Road, which Will said he'd wanted to ride for a long time anyways. Winner, winner... 30mi to dinner!
While I took a pee break and tried not to break out into nervous hysterics, Will pulled out his phone and started working on a re-route. I tried looking at a map as well, but without being too familiar with our route (how much of a 350mi route through completely unfamiliar terrain can you honestly manage to remember?) I wasn't much help. Seeing as we had been riding for almost 12 hours, were running out of water, and still had at least 30 miles to go on a hastily-assembled Google Maps route, we picked the most direct route option with the least climbing. Plus, the route included Mosquito Road, which Will said he'd wanted to ride for a long time anyways. Winner, winner... 30mi to dinner!
Backtracking to the main road we continued downhill, luckily coming across a campground with potable water and bathrooms. Restocked, we rode on and soon came to Mosquito road. This road quickly became nigh-unrideable, thanks to thousands of downed tree branches, big and small, cluttering the road and attempting to rip our derailleurs off (had that happen once before, I'd like to avoid a repeat occurrence, thanks). It was slow going, and to make matters worse Will misread the map, so that instead of turning left onto a much nicer-looking road, we continued straight through foliage hell for a while and had to backtrack. Will's 40C WTB Nano tires had more grip in these conditions than my tires and he seemingly effortlessly turned around and rode back to the intersection, leaving me tangled in branches, struggling to find traction, and silently plotting his demise. I was a little cranky right then.
Thankfully, the real Mosquito Road was in slightly better condition, but it was still slow going, considering we had a slight downhill grade most of the way. At some point along the road we came across a friendly guy in a truck, who turned out to be an employee of the logging company that owned the land we were riding through. It was the end of the day, and he was closing up gates along the road to keep trespassers like us out. When we told him where were riding to and where we had started, he was pretty impressed, and told us that a park ranger would be coming through soon to close off the other end of the road, and that we should be careful so we don't get a ticket. He also said he'd cover for us if he saw the park ranger. We thanked him and continued on our way, and luckily we never saw anyone else on the road.
Eventually the dirt turned to pavement, and pavement brought us back to civilization, popping us out into a rustic farm community. We stopped for a break at an intersection, and Will warned me that the road we were about to descend was a steep brake-burner, and to be careful. I promptly ignored him and bombed down the road at high speed - I love my hydro discs! Partway down I stopped to wait for some cars to go by, and when Will caught up we had to take some awesome switchback photos before finishing the descent.
Thankfully, the real Mosquito Road was in slightly better condition, but it was still slow going, considering we had a slight downhill grade most of the way. At some point along the road we came across a friendly guy in a truck, who turned out to be an employee of the logging company that owned the land we were riding through. It was the end of the day, and he was closing up gates along the road to keep trespassers like us out. When we told him where were riding to and where we had started, he was pretty impressed, and told us that a park ranger would be coming through soon to close off the other end of the road, and that we should be careful so we don't get a ticket. He also said he'd cover for us if he saw the park ranger. We thanked him and continued on our way, and luckily we never saw anyone else on the road.
Eventually the dirt turned to pavement, and pavement brought us back to civilization, popping us out into a rustic farm community. We stopped for a break at an intersection, and Will warned me that the road we were about to descend was a steep brake-burner, and to be careful. I promptly ignored him and bombed down the road at high speed - I love my hydro discs! Partway down I stopped to wait for some cars to go by, and when Will caught up we had to take some awesome switchback photos before finishing the descent.
By this point we had descended to the bottom of a deep valley, though, and the sight of a (rather cool-looking) bridge at the bottom meant one thing: it was time to climb back up. I was definitely feeling a little tired by this point (we were 101 miles in), and the first two miles of the climb, at a ~10% grade, sapped most of my remaining energy reserves. By the time we had reached the end of the main climb and emerged into a residential neighborhood with glimmers of golder-hour light beginning to appear through the trees, I was mentally fatigued and ready to call it a day - it was just overwhelming to think of how far we'd traveled so far, not to mention how long we'd been moving.
I regained some energy with the help of flat(ter) roads and some Shot Blocks, and soon we were in the outskirts of Placerville, where we were planning to grab dinner and potentially crash for the night. Upon opening both Yelp and Google Maps, however, we found to our dismay that there were no restaurants left open along our route - we'd either have to head downhill, in the opposite direction of our route, or continue on another 12 miles and 1,200' to Pollock Pines. By this time we had been sitting down and resting for at least ten minutes, and the sugar and caffeine of the shot blocks had also kicked in. I was ready to roll out in search of the nearest food source, even if it was in the wrong direction. Will, on the other hand, had run out of food entirely and was all aboard the bonk express. Since we (both) really needed some solid food in order to complete the final push, I introduced Will to the glorious high-calorie gas-station snack that is Combos while heating up a Mountain House freeze-dried lasagna. I found it quite ironic that Will Scheel, a survivor of the Tour Divide race and the first person to complete the race on a cross bike, was unprepared for a little 3-day trip less than a fifty miles from his home and had to be rescued by an over prepared bikepacking n00b. In his defense, he claims that the route we followed - his own 'exploratory' route - proved to be more remote, and often more difficult, than the official Tour Divide race route. Although he hadn't yet admitted it, I knew by this point that - with Will proving to be as tired and mentally overwhelmed with the journey as I was - we wouldn't be making it to Yosemite.
By the time we finished off the lasagna and regained some energy, the sun had set and darkness was closing in on us. I pondered the thoughts of the drivers who passed by our makeshift camp, outshining my puny headlamp with their headlights. What must they think of us? We strapped our own headlights to our bars and set out for Pollock Pines. After just a few miles Will's light started to sputter and fade; it must have gotten turned on in his pack and drained the battery, and the uphill grade was just enough to keep his dynamo hub from providing enough power to keep it alive - which, funny enough, has since happened on every ride I've done with him. On top of that his rear blinky light kept falling off his bike, requiring multiple stops to re-attach it. As we rode we passed by several fast-food restaurants and cafes, their dark facades taunting us. We even came upon a biker-friendly bar (the other kind of biker), but alas they did not serve food. It was at this point that my Garmin died. Have a Garmin Edge 500? Ever wondered how long the battery lasts on a single charge? 16 hours.
At last we made it to Pollock Pines, and the light of a Taco Bell - the only source of food left open at 10:30pm - beckoned us in like mosquitoes to a bug zapper. The staff was friendly but gave us some funny looks as we each ordered, and then devoured, ~$10 of Taco Bell food a piece. That may not sound like much, but think about it: $10 of Taco Bell. That's a lot of soft-shell tacos and Burrito Supremes. After refilling our water and enjoying complimentary cinnamon twists, we crossed the main street in search of a small park that Will thought would have space for an unobtrusive camp site. An open dirt turnout on the side of the road looked inviting, and further investigation revealed a path down to a mini beach with a few trees next to a small lake. Out of sight of the road, and with a quiet tinkling of water providing a soothing backdrop, we laid down our bags and quickly passed out. My last thoughts before falling asleep were: 1) I really hope Will realizes that reaching Yosemite is an unrealistic goal before he turns this trip into a death ride, and 2) What the hell did I get myself into?
Day 1: 118 miles (? my Garmin died), ~16 hours, 13,200' of climbing, 33% of total route complete.
I regained some energy with the help of flat(ter) roads and some Shot Blocks, and soon we were in the outskirts of Placerville, where we were planning to grab dinner and potentially crash for the night. Upon opening both Yelp and Google Maps, however, we found to our dismay that there were no restaurants left open along our route - we'd either have to head downhill, in the opposite direction of our route, or continue on another 12 miles and 1,200' to Pollock Pines. By this time we had been sitting down and resting for at least ten minutes, and the sugar and caffeine of the shot blocks had also kicked in. I was ready to roll out in search of the nearest food source, even if it was in the wrong direction. Will, on the other hand, had run out of food entirely and was all aboard the bonk express. Since we (both) really needed some solid food in order to complete the final push, I introduced Will to the glorious high-calorie gas-station snack that is Combos while heating up a Mountain House freeze-dried lasagna. I found it quite ironic that Will Scheel, a survivor of the Tour Divide race and the first person to complete the race on a cross bike, was unprepared for a little 3-day trip less than a fifty miles from his home and had to be rescued by an over prepared bikepacking n00b. In his defense, he claims that the route we followed - his own 'exploratory' route - proved to be more remote, and often more difficult, than the official Tour Divide race route. Although he hadn't yet admitted it, I knew by this point that - with Will proving to be as tired and mentally overwhelmed with the journey as I was - we wouldn't be making it to Yosemite.
By the time we finished off the lasagna and regained some energy, the sun had set and darkness was closing in on us. I pondered the thoughts of the drivers who passed by our makeshift camp, outshining my puny headlamp with their headlights. What must they think of us? We strapped our own headlights to our bars and set out for Pollock Pines. After just a few miles Will's light started to sputter and fade; it must have gotten turned on in his pack and drained the battery, and the uphill grade was just enough to keep his dynamo hub from providing enough power to keep it alive - which, funny enough, has since happened on every ride I've done with him. On top of that his rear blinky light kept falling off his bike, requiring multiple stops to re-attach it. As we rode we passed by several fast-food restaurants and cafes, their dark facades taunting us. We even came upon a biker-friendly bar (the other kind of biker), but alas they did not serve food. It was at this point that my Garmin died. Have a Garmin Edge 500? Ever wondered how long the battery lasts on a single charge? 16 hours.
At last we made it to Pollock Pines, and the light of a Taco Bell - the only source of food left open at 10:30pm - beckoned us in like mosquitoes to a bug zapper. The staff was friendly but gave us some funny looks as we each ordered, and then devoured, ~$10 of Taco Bell food a piece. That may not sound like much, but think about it: $10 of Taco Bell. That's a lot of soft-shell tacos and Burrito Supremes. After refilling our water and enjoying complimentary cinnamon twists, we crossed the main street in search of a small park that Will thought would have space for an unobtrusive camp site. An open dirt turnout on the side of the road looked inviting, and further investigation revealed a path down to a mini beach with a few trees next to a small lake. Out of sight of the road, and with a quiet tinkling of water providing a soothing backdrop, we laid down our bags and quickly passed out. My last thoughts before falling asleep were: 1) I really hope Will realizes that reaching Yosemite is an unrealistic goal before he turns this trip into a death ride, and 2) What the hell did I get myself into?
Day 1: 118 miles (? my Garmin died), ~16 hours, 13,200' of climbing, 33% of total route complete.
Gear List
- Specialized Diverge Expert (2015)
- Challenge Gravel Grinder 38mm tires [Not tubeless at the time, but I've since converted and they're fantastic!]
- Mountain Hardware HyperLamina Spark sleeping bag [good to 35deg]
- REI Stratus inflatable sleeping pad [seriously comfortable]
- Revelate Terrapin seat bag
- Camelbak Agent backpack with 3L bladder