Mike's Journal

Into Thin Air

Day 6
28 Miles – 2,500ft climb
Placerville to The Mormon Immigrant Trail.

For some reason the entire western face of the Sierras above Placerville smells like freshly cooked artichokes. The smell is unique, and staggeringly strong. Jeff and I agree that forests/mountain ranges don’t normally smell like this, and I wonder if perhaps an ice-cream man has become fascinated by gardening and now sells homegrown artichokes out of a truck equipped with boilers overflowing with the gourmet vegetable (flower?). If so, his route matches ours perfectly, and he holds 8mph just ahead of us and out of sight as we ride.

The climb out of Placerville was steep at first, and then followed a ridgetop of mountain orchards, vineyards, and fruit stands. The views were beautiful and the family-run stands impossible to pass up. Jeff and I enjoyed a caramel apple. At one point as we ate I noticed a sign that read, “FRESH CHERRIES! YOU PICK!” The sign was above a trailer full of cherry branches adorned with wilting leaves…. and “fresh” cherries.

As is the case some days the miles were slow in coming and we finished the day part way up the Mormon Immigrant Trail and camped in a meadow.

Day 7
38 Miles – 10,000 feet of climbing to 8,000 feet.
Mormon Immigrant Trail to Kirkwood.

Jeff and I have become super-heroes; I am Superman and he is The Flash. We ride like lightening and the hills are but a nuisance. We are animals, feral beasts knowing the ways of the forest, earth, and stars. As we cycle up into thin air we dance and sing trashy rock songs from the 80’s;

“Pour some sugar on me; when you need some love…”

It is a ritual and we assert our strength with powerful screams. The brilliant exhibition of Def Leopard and John “Cougar” Mellencamp becomes akin to the roar of a lion. We are unstoppable!

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…And then it is awful. The map does not mention the lack of ANY place to buy food or water along the Mormon Immigrant Trail and though we had packed much food and water, it is not enough. We ride up and over mountains, down, and back up again. 4,000ft; 5,000ft, 6,000ft, 7,000ft, 8,000ft , 7,000ft, 8,000 ft again… There is snow and we are cold. The snow is like kryptonite and Superman withers. The flash becomes quite gaseous and is plagued by intense cramping. Because he is hungry, thirsty and disoriented the Flash makes a small miscalculation and shits his pants (just a little).

We continue on and arrive at Kirkwood around 6:00p.m. We stop a passing cyclist to ask where we can find food. There is only one place and it’s close by; The Kirkwood Inn. He asks us where we’re going and we say Maine. Our conversation continues and he quickly becomes the toughest human I have ever met. He rides 500-mile races on his bicycle. He has run the John Muir Trail (220 miles) in less than eight days over twenty times; he calls this ultra-light backpacking. Jeff and I don’t know what to say. This man feels no pain. He must be a god.

The Kirkwood Inn was built in 1864. It is basically a log cabin with low ceilings; inside it is cozy and boisterous. Old rugs hang on the walls and the locals are friendly. They ask how heavy our bikes are and can’t believe the weight when they lift up the back end. Dinner is great and I like the waitress; I especially like the way she smiles. I want her to invite us to her house because she is beautiful. It is dark and we don’t know where we will sleep, I want a shower. Her boyfriend arrives around nine and Jeff and I stumble off in to the night to find our home for the night. It is cold; 35 degrees maybe; I wear five layers and I’ve over eaten; I vomit in my mouth (just a little).

Day 8
Kirkwood

I wake up in my tent after a heavy slumber. It was dark when we set up camp and now for the first time I see the giant granite boulders strewn about on the forest floor. I put on my shoes and jump from rock to rock. I run around and play, and piss off the highest boulder I can find. I feel so light upright on my feet. It is nice to move without the weight of that bicycle for a while, my trusty steed. I eat oatmeal, drink green tea (genmachia), and dunk my head in Kirkwood Lake. By nightfall we will have said goodbye to California entered the state of Nevada.

Posted by Mike at June 12, 2004 01:41 PM