ST: Day 46

Daily Miles: 47

Total Miles: 2467

Avg: 7.8

Max: 29.1

Time on the bike: 05:47:05

I was woken up by heavy rain on my tent in the middle of the night. I flipped on my headlamp and sat up and unzipped the rain fly a little to get a look. My breath misted outward into the artificial light of the lamp, like I had taken a  long drag of a cigarette and was now exhaling, letting out all that vapor to drift and float and fly away. 

This isn’t good, I thought. It’s definately snowing at higher elevations. I wonder if it will affect getting to the pass tommorrow. I thought about a sign I had seen before beginning the climb up here. It had read: “No plowing at night or on weekends”. If there was appreciable snow up there I was on my own. 

I flicked off the light and got back into my warm sleeping bag, staring into the blackness and wondering, for the thousandth time, what I was doing here. I fell back asleep and when I woke up the light of dawn was beginning to emerge. 

The rain had stopped and when I went to open the rain fly I noticed the rain water had frozen. The fly was stiff and cold and crackled when I unzipped it. It was very cold when I emerged from the tent to pee. The sky looked clear when I looked up, and one star remained twinkling in the dusk blue horizon, just under a crescent moon that was slowly drifting away. I walked a little ways to the road to get a better view of the mountains, and a fresh layer of white blanketed the peaks ahead, staring back at me in a lonely and foreboding way. Some clouds lingered there and only a few peaks were visible. Everything else was secluded in the white, maybe getting more snow, maybe not.

I packed up my things and was soon on my way to Emory Pass. There was another 2000 feet to climb over 8 miles to get there. It was slow going but fine. The grade wasn’t bad and it wasn’t that taxing. I got about 5 miles up and snow was starting to show on the ground and trees. The road was wet and glistening from the sun behind me, and the scene felt more like winter wonderland than desert. 

I climbed one more mile and ice and snow started to show on the road. There were tire tracks from some cars that had come through, and for awhile I was able to ride in them successfully. The more I climbed the more snow there was and about a mile from the pass I wasn’t able to ride anymore. I got off my bike and began to push it up the road. It wouldn’t be bad if I had to walk to the pass and maybe down it a mile or so to get out of the snow. 

As I was pushing the bike through the snow a car going down stopped and chatted with me. 

“Lots of snow on the other side,” an older gentleman said. 

“How far until the snow ends?” I asked. 

“Oh, dear, about 20 miles I’d say,” the woman in the passenger seat chimed in. 

That can’t be right, I thought. 

“Be careful,” they both said, and drove away, car wheels crunching on the snow and ice. 

In another 15 minutes I reached the pass. It looked the same and different from when I crossed here in 2013. There was a lot of snow, maybe a foot. The clouds were rolling and socking the pass in, and the wind roared across the road. The mountains in the distance were white and green and for a moment I wished I had some skis instead of a bike. It was a lonely scene as I stood and stared at winter and at the road down, encased in ice and treacherous looking. 

I proceeded with caution and rode the brake, trying to make my way down without falling. I had one foot near the ground and one on the pedal, and it was incredibly exhausting and slow. After a few miles the tire tracks started to show again and it became easier, but the people that stopped and talked with me were right, it was far snowier here than on the other side. 

It started snowing as I proceeded slowly onward and the temperature seemed to have dropped. I saw two other cycle tourists about 5 miles down pushing thier bikes up towards the pass. 

“I wish I had some good news for you,” I smiled and laughed. They laughed too and told me it was rough going for awhile down as well. They were Canadian and nice folks. We wished each other well and I proceeded in my death descent down the mountains. 

Eventually after 10 miles the road started to clear and the snow was lessening on the trees. For the next 8 miles I coasted down one of the longest decents of the trip. I zoomed at 25+ mph along the countours of the mountains, breaking at the turns and bombing the straights. I felt like I was on a motorcycle instead of a bike. 

My joy ride ended at the bottom of a valley. I stopped for a minute to eat a snack. I had been riding for over three hours and managed only 22 miles. Clouds surrounded me and it started raining. This was my cue to keep pushing on. I climbed up and up again to get out of the valley. The climb was more strenuous than the ascent up the pass. There is a certain point when cycling where the grade on an ascent is too much. I was sweating and panting but finally reached the top after a few miles of climbing. 

The rest of the day was just a series of climbing and descending. It was slow and hard, made more frustrating by occasional rain and snow and a bad headwind some of the time. 

I finally made it into Silver City after a very exhausting day. I had survived the pass and the highest point on the route. I had a headache and felt ill and went to the motel 6 in town. I needed to get warmed up and take a shower and do laundry. 

Days like today are the ones that build character the most. It’s the rough times that we remember. Not because we remember how much it sucked, but how good it feels to stand on the other side.