I've been going to Wilbur Hot Springs, a relaxing and gorgeous place, for decades, but only just last year discovered the magnificent Bear Valley a few miles north of the Wilbur turnoff. Lured by the prospect of acres of wildflower blooms and in celebration of Gene's upcoming marriage, I organized a group trip to do the level @20 mile out-and-back gravel road trip ("the plan," below) by bike. This is the story of a plan gone wrong.
Dan and I were the first to arrive, driving his van which he'd reconfigured to transport four of the bikes (and a good thing he'd done that, too <--foreshadowing). Having set up camp, we borrowed some beater bikes to visit the geyser up the Wilbur valley.
We enjoyed an hour or two in the pool next to the geyser, but didn't give much thought to the next day's trip: we were out of cell phone reach and didn't even know for sure who was going to be joining us.
Talia (that's her, below, on our camping platform) and Gene made it up in time for dinner Friday, but the question remained: would we have more riders or only we four on the morn?
The next day we were able to reach our missing riders by landline only to learn that no, they would not be joining us. So we set out, later than we should have, and in the wrong direction.
And that's the part I'm still a little surprised about: the original thought was that we would split into two groups, one doing the out-and-back, and the other a theoretical @35m round trip through the mountains ("the mistake" on the map, above). Somehow, and clearly without enough thought, we opted for the harder--much,
much harder--of the two rides, and, compounding our error, set out to do it clockwise on the theory that we should tackle the climbing first and the flats later.
This might have worked out if there were only a single climb rather than what we actually faced: multiple peaks stretched out across many miles and with several thousand feet of elevation between them.
As it was, we were entering some rough land, full of crazy vehicles and expended ammunition, but with not another bicyclist to be seen.
There always seemed to be yet another peak to climb, and even with electric assist it was hard work, especially as--another mistake--at least one of the bikes might not have been fully charged.
The promised valley lay always somehow ahead, visible but distant. With a dawning awareness of just how distant it still was, and recognizing that even once we attained it we'd still have 10 or 15 miles to go to get back to Wilbur, Dan and I made a decision to send the most reliable and strongly powered bike/biker combination to dash back to pick up our van, namely Dan himself on the one bike that didn't have a motor. My hero.
I was left to lead the group, and was reasonably but by no means completely certain that I knew exactly where we were going. Hiding my fears and ignoring the fact that we were running out of water, i urged us on, and eventually we made it to the valley floor, where we rested among the flowers.
Spirits restored, but uncertain as to just when, if ever, Dan would find us, we continued. We were able to replenish our water at a ranch along the way, but our batteries were low and our butts sore.
The specific field that was the original target for "the plan" turned out not to have much by way of flowers, the cows having presumably eaten them all.
But the valley was otherwise full of flowers and, all agreed, well worth the originally planned ride, if not the ride we had actually ended up doing.
Though fully prepared to pedal the rest of the way back, we were unabashedly relieved to spot Dan and the van...
And exhausted, but beautiful, we climbed in for the final @10 miles back to camp.
Join us next year when we return for more flowers and new mistakes.
