The sight of palm trees and orange groves was the first hint that something was amiss. Cycling almost due West along the Citrus Trail the road seemed too flat. The final sign that my map reading was flawed was the long steep grade that loomed in the distance. Hitting the bottom of the climb was like going in reverse. The early afternoon sun beat down on my head and forced me to replace my bicycle helmet with a sweatband. Salty sweat was stinging my eyes and my supply of water was running low. The climb was totally unexpected and quickly became my own silent struggle. A sign in the distance seemed to indicate a roadside turnoff in the next 1,000 feet. As I rode up to the sign the words became clear and I realized my horrible error. In small black lettering the sign indicated not to an approaching turnoff but my current elevation. Although I had looked at the map numerous times I had mistaken the surrounding hills as my elevation, around 3,000 feet. Having discovered my error, I was mentally and physically crushed. The fact that my destination was Kings Canyon National Park, 7,000 feet high in the Sierra Nevada Mountains, suddenly meant so much more. My elevation gain had just doubled; and I had already spent the morning cycling through the rugged California foothills.
There was nowhere to go but up and as the hill continued to rise the valley orchards spread out below. Although beautiful, in my present state I could not fully appreciate the view. At the first shade tree I stopped and sweated in misery. A few grazing cows ran off in fright at my intrusion. The climb was at least four miles and I reached the top dehydrated and fatigued. At the first gas station I stopped and bought water, a Coke, and small snack. Coke is a good thing to drink when one is tired because of the quick sugar boost it provides. The water and snack was to keep my body going. I wanted to taste some food from the Mexican food stand, but figured that it would be too difficult for my body to digest.
After about a half hour I set off along the undulating road. Five miles up the road I stopped at another gas station; the last place to fill up with water before the twenty-mile climb into the mountains. It was two o’clock and the sun was still heating things up so I decided to wait it out. To pass the time I had another snack and called some of my family. By the time I finished talking on my cell phone I was surprised that almost two hours had passed. Having misjudged the time, it would now be a challenge to reach the top of the climb before dark. I had less than three hours of daylight left to ride twenty-four miles, with at least a 3,000 foot elevation gain, having already ridden seventy-five miles over undulating terrain.
With a renewed sense of urgency I set off, concentrating on maintaining a steady pace, while controlling a growing sense of panic. Despite my tired body I made a strong showing, but could only manage a respectable nine miles per hour. Math and the laws of physics were not in my favor. Ahead the road wound along the mountainside providing excellent views of the California foothills. Half a dozen times I was forced to stop and eat some more energy food and took the opportunities to enjoy the scenery. The sun was setting and I was still ten miles from my destination. As dusk approach I gazed forlornly at the passing cars that left me to ride into the night.
By the time I reached the entrance of Kings Canyon National Park it was dark. My fading headlamp cast a faint beam of light on the road ahead as I cycled towards the camp store. Fortunately, despite my fears that it was closed, the camp store was still open. I was overjoyed! They even had fuel for my stove so I could eat a descent meal. I bought some food and two bottles of beer; figuring that I deserved it. As I was packing up a park ranger pulled alongside me. Prepared to be hassled about my lack of lighting, I was surprised by the friendliness of this law enforcement ranger. He asked about my trip and even said I could camp for free in the nearby national forest or designate myself an inexpensive hiker/biker campsite. He was hands done the coolest ranger I’d ever encountered. I didn’t feel like cycling two miles to the national forest so for thirty minutes I dragged my tired body through a noisy smoke-filled campground. It was hopeless, so I returned to a closed campground and after consuming my beers and dinner went to sleep.
The next morning I was a bit sore and tired. I returned to the camp store, bought some breakfast, and then went to the visitor center. After buying the obligatory souvenir patch I inquired about whether to head down into Kings Canyon or South to Giant Sequoia National Park. The ranger said that Kings Canyon was the more scenic, albeit most difficult ride. So after hiking through a Giant Sequoia grove containing the second largest tree in North America I headed into the canyon.
The serpentine descent was a rush of adrenaline and the scenery spectacular, but the last few miles of gradual uphill took a fair amount of effort. At Cedar Grove I split a campsite with two men who just happened to have grown up in Michigan. One even lives in Ann Arbor, my hometown. After setting up camp I went to the store and bought some hot dogs and tortillas; they were out of bread. It was disgusting, but edible. After washing my clothes in the cook pot I went exploring by bike. I visited an old pioneer cabin, sat on Muir Rock, and heard the rush of water over Rapid River Falls. At dusk I returned to the store for some beers and talked the night away with the guys. Although I was unsure at first, it turned out that they were not a gay couple; not that it mattered any.
I awoke at sunrise to get an early start. My destination for the day was Frisco, about a hundred miles away. As I was packing up a black bear passed through the meadow across the road. It was the last of many bear encounters on this two-week bicycling tour. I was on the road before most people were awake and had the road mostly to myself. The scenery and sense of solitude was incredible! After a few miles of very gradual descending the sixteen mile climb began. The scenery was so spectacular that I had to stop frequently to take photos. Although it was a substantial climb the “day off” had given my body a chance to recover and I cycled upwards without great difficulty. After about two hours of cycling I reached the summit of the climb.
Over the past two weeks of cycling I had done a ton of brutal climbing and this was my last mountain. Like Lance Armstrong on Alpe d’huez, I pumped a fist in triumph and cheered. Thirty miles and a 7,000 foot of descent lay ahead. I’d done it! I’d accomplished my dream of cycling through the beautiful and rugged Sierra Nevada Mountains of California.