| Chasing The Thunder Trip Report |
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| Chasing The Thunder   |
| Page Type: Trip Report Location: California, United States, North America Lat/Lon: 34.37971°N / 117.69928°W Date Ridden: Jul 22, 2006 Activities: Cross Country, Mountain Season: Summer | Page By: Tom Kenney Created/Edited: Jan 27, 2008 / Jan 27, 2008 Object ID: 265768 Hits: 238 Loading... Page Score: 85.22% - 3 Votes Loading... Vote: Log in to vote |
Chasing The ThunderNOTE: This report was previously posted at www.MyBikeSite.com
As far back as my feeble wit can recall, I've always loved thunderstorms. They are, for me, the most interesting of all weather phenomena. Mixing large quantities of water and electricity is not something I'm willing to try in my kitchen, though, so whenever Ma Nature is willing to oblige, I take her up on the offer.
So it was that, on last Saturday, when I had the choice of doing yet another lap around the sweltering, dusty, overused Santa Monicas or putting a ding in my gasoline budget and chasing the thunder...
SOLEDAD: I'm cruising. A super-sweet groove of live Steve Kimock Band is flowing from the speakers. Curve after curve of road slips under the tires as I head out towards the towering storm clouds. Holy s#!+...there are already anvil-tops on some of those clouds! It's gonna be a good one.
LITTLE ROCK: The desert opens up a little as I hit Fort Tejon Road. Sage and joshuas and junipers, oh my.
VALYERMO: Signs of flash floods - sand and gravel and cobbles strewn across the road - speak volumes of the weather potential.
BIG PINES HIGHWAY: The curves are sweeter, the air cooler, and those beautiful clouds are so close. I pull off the highway at the Jackson Lake trailhead and strap on the gear and head out.
Feelin' fine. Clouds are starting to obscure the sun as I spin the pedals and make tremendous progress. I'm riding more consistently than usual at this altitude, stopping for fewer rests. Will this lead to altitude sickness? I haven't been afflicted with this malady for many years, but ever since I puked up my guts after riding lightning-quick to the summit of Waterman I've been more careful even at these moderate elevations.
Some dirty-bikers pass me on a steep section, and a few corners later I pass them back as they enjoy some barley pop sittin' 'round the truck. They express moderate admiration (or is that sarcasm?) at my willingness to make the climb. Doesn't really matter what they think...this kind of riding is my 'steak and potatoes.'
RUMBLErumble-rumblePOW!-rumblerumble. Yeah! That's what I came for. Lay that velvet sledgehammer down!
The storm picks up pace as I climb past the PCT and on towards Jackson Flat. There are now two active halves of this storm cell. Lightning is striking Valyermo behind me, and more is touching down near San Gabriel Reservoir. The echoes take forever to cross the upper canyon of the San Gabriel River, bouncing from Mount Baden-Powell to Mount Baldy and back.
And there is rain...but not for me. The storm cell is parked, and all the rain is falling over the fault zone down in the foothills.
POW! BOOMBoomboom-rumble...
As I pass Jackson Flat and head on to Grassy Hollow, I smell smoke. There is a fire burning somewhere east of Wrightwood. As I pass a saddle in the ridge I get a view down towards Mile High Ranch, and see another fire near Largo Vista and the 138. That's two. And moments after passing Grassy Hollow I look over and there's a sprout of another fire high on Mount Baden-Powell. That's three.
As I climb up towards East Blue Ridge, I watch the Jackson Flat area get zapped repeatedly. I'm approaching 8,000 feet elevation and the temps are still 90 F, and gawd-offal humid. And still no rain!
I hunker down in the forest atop Blue Ridge, at 8,400 feet elevation. Lunch consists of some funky nut-and-fruit bar I bought at Whole Paycheck and water that is now just about bath warm. The rain never arrives, staying well to the northwest. After as much rest as I risk on top of a high peak in a storm, I beat it on down the line and hit the Blue Ridge Trail.
The conditions are prime on this super-sweet ribbon of pine duff. The familiar obstacles have changed a little, and this keeps me alert. I have the trail to myself, and I use the brakes a little less...and a little less... "He-he-he-he-he-HA-HA-HA-HA!!!!" The forest zipps by in a riparian blur. Switchback after sweet switchback ... brake .. lean ... pedal ... release the brakes again ... WHOOSH! The trail is short but oh-so-worth the climb up Highway 2 to get back on route.
And by now, the mileage and altitude have taken a toll, so I just cruise up the highway and slip into that meditative (or brain-dead) state where pedalling is like breathing...it just happens.
While cranking up the highway, I get periodic glimpses of the growing fire down by Pearblossom. I hope everybody's OK down there. I'm also surprised that in the desert there is enough fuel to sustain a fire of that size for long.
As I pass through the PCT trailhead at Inspiration Point, I talk with a guy who just got off Baden-Powell. Or, rather, was chased off by lightning bolts! He said it was pretty dang scary, and secretly I wished I'd been there to see it. Man, am I sick!
The storm winds down as I traverse the ridge past Jackson Flat. The show's over. Nothing left but the relaxing sojourn down the Jackson Lake Trail.
This is perhaps my favorite trail in SoCal. It's not very technical at all, but has a few spicy spots. Flowing sections cut through stands of white fir, oak, cedar and squaw bush. A section on a green oxidized copper cliff causes jitters in my tired state, but it's all good. Then comes the speed zone passing through the oak forest...zoom! zoom! It puts one final good spin on an outstanding day in the high country.
FIN! |
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