SONORA PASS Y2K RIDE
(This is an addendum of sorts to our original Sonora Pass story, which includes maps and a few other niceties)

Sometimes you get the bear, and sometimes the bear gets you. Our June 25, 2000 ride showed quite clearly that this was the year of the bear. But who would know from the initial photos here?

Does it get any better than this? Here Richard Brockie is leading out Sergei Badeka, next to a very noisy Stanislaus River. 10:27am	Rob Baynes rounds a corner as we come to the start of the very, very steep western side of Sonora Pass. This occurs just a few miles out of Dardanelle. 10:44am.
Above is the lead-in to the dreaded "window" section, shown on the right. This is the stuff legends are made of, although I have yet to get a photo that gives any idea of just how steep it is. 10:48am.
Almost there! This is Sal Contreras, about to tackle the "window." At the right is Rob, just cresting the top. 10:52am.
Please note...so far, it's a pretty pleasant 85 degrees or so, just a couple degrees cooler than at the start. At this point, each cloud is regarded as a friend that provides shade.

And if you thought you were done with the tough stuff, forget that notion...fast! This is one of the few photos that catches just how steep this is. 11:02am.	Notice the way that pole exerts a powerful force on Rob, pushing him in the opposite direction? 11:30am.

Rob's feeling pretty darned good here, as the grade levels off towards maybe 8% for a short while. 11:31am.	Chipmunk flat. Normally, this would be an intro to a Killer Squirrel story, but these rodents are so small and wimpy you almost feel sorry for them. 11:35am.
What's missing is a set of photos from Blue Canyon, one of the most stunningly beautiful sections of road you'll find anywhere. As you go past Chipmunk Flat, the road heads off to the right and curves around that giant granite outcropping...and goes up, up, up, up, up (did we say UP?) on the way to the summit. The plan was to stop on the way back and get lots of photos, but as you'll see later on, those plans didn't quite work out.

That's Sal, the final rider approaching the top of the pass, at 12:20pm.	Group shot, with (left to right) Richard, Sal, Sergei and Rob (as usual, I'm absent from the photo). Note our bikes on the right, piled up against a "NO BICYCLES" sign. We would later discover the wisdom of those words... 12:30pm
It was at this point that Rob decided to turn back; he was feeling more sensible than the rest of us. Somehow I had the foresight to give him the keys to the van, partly because I wasn't so sure I'd be able to make it myself, as I was just coming down with a relapse of a sore throat that I'd thought I'd beat a few days earlier. But, glutton for punishment that I am, I pushed on.

We're right above the turnaround point, at the US Marines Winter Warfare Training Camp. That should have been a clue, as the clouds begin to thicken... 1:14pm	At 1:32 we're heading back, delayed a bit by a flat tire Sal had on the way down. The clouds are a bit darker yet, and once in awhile we hear thunder.

It's 1:40pm and Sal's climbing up the first really substantial grade on the way back.	Um...what's that up ahead on the left? And those occasional flashes in the sky? This is just past a Marine encampment, where we were able to procure water for the trip back. 1:55pm.
At Leavitt Pack Station, things are beginning to get UGLY! First drops of rain, thunder increasing, temperature beginning to drop. Maybe around 70 degrees here...but hey, a warm afternoon thunderstorm's no big deal! 1:56pm.
And that's the end of the photos, the last one being the steep climb on the right, taken at precisely 2pm. From this point on the ride became a hellish combination of lightning, hail and very, very cold temperatures...eventually dropping to 42 degrees, from a high of 97 at the turnaround point! The chart below shows the official temperature readings from a weather station just down the summit on the west side. Shortly after that last photo, the rain began...and ended about a minute later. Unfortunately, it was replaced by hail. Lots of hail. Hail that curiously bounced around and made funny pinging noises in your spokes, and made you very glad you were wearing a helmet! The hail ceased being an innocuous curiosity about the time that it decided to stop bouncing off you and simply stuck...to your gloves, to your shorts, and your skin. This was an experience I'd never had before, and never want again. The intensity of the climb and the very slick roadway demanded your complete attention, so I never had the opportunity to take the photos that would really define what this ride was like. You continued to ride, being ever-so-thankful that it was uphill, since you had no leg warmers, no jacket...nothing except your jersey and shorts and now-very-soggy shoes. The steeper parts of the climb couldn't be negotiated sitting down because there was so little weight on your slippery front wheel that it would simply slide out on you. Making matters worse was that this was a half-rain, half-hail mixture, so everything was soaking through. Amazingly, modern high-tech jerseys do a much better job at keeping you warm in ridiculous conditions than you'd think possible! Still, the couple of very brief descents were absolute killers, as you felt like a popsicle in no time. But wait, there's more. By 2:20 or so, the lightning was coming in at the rate of four a minute or so...and within a short time, even more frequent than that. And closer all the time! This was perhaps the first time in my life where I began pondering my existence as a mere statistic, something thrust into nature's fury to test the conductive potential of a cyclist vs the bare surrounding landscape. At this point, there were very few cars, as most had decided to wait this one out. Visibility was becoming quite poor (not helped at all by that mixture of water and sweat streaming down into your eyes), and by the time the final steep ascent to the top came around, one could hardly see at all. The most striking effect was that lightning was no longer seen in the traditional sense (despite its extreme proximity) but rather merely noted as white flashes across one part of what should have been your view ahead. If it had been at all possible to stop, I would have. Conditions were worse than I had ever dealt with before...very tired, everything soaked through, 42 degrees, and an uncertain future ahead. And what about Rob? I'd told him that he should drive the car over the summit around 3:30pm, which would have given us enough time to get back unless we'd run into trouble. Well, we were in trouble, but had no way of letting him know! Fortunately, just as Rob made it back to camp, he noticed the increasing thunder in the mountains and almost immediately headed back up the pass, this time in what was to become a rescue wagon. But at 2:30, I just didn't know what to expect. I couldn't stop, as I'd quickly freeze. I couldn't seek shelter from the lightning, because A) there wasn't any, and B) if there was, I probably would have been missed by Rob. Things just got worse and worse and worse. Richard and Sergei were just a bit ahead of me, and Sal someplace behind me. At 2:40pm, on the very last part of the climb, at a time when visibility was so bad that I had to ride towards the middle of the road to make sure I wasn't going to ride off it, I finally spot Rob, driving our white van of mercy. Inside were Richard and Sergei. Since I didn't know how far back Sal was, or what shape he was in, I told them to drive down and pick him up first, and then come back for me. Almost immediately after doing so I had that feeling of "Boy, am I stupid or what???" Fear, doubt and uncertainty filled my mind yet again, as I was faced with not knowing how much longer I'd be out there in the elements. Eventually I could no longer focus enough on the road to safely keep riding, so I dismounted and began walking (yes, walking!) towards the summit. I couldn't stop and wait because hypothermia already felt like it was setting in. Had to keep moving. Thank goodness Sal wasn't all that far behind me, and in a few minutes I was shivering to death inside a van with four soaked cyclists and a heater turned up past the charbroil setting. From the viewpoint of the van, the surroundings were almost surreal. I mean, we were actually out there riding in that? The drive from the summit back down was impressive. In just a couple hours the entire landscape had changed, with new waterfalls everywhere, the road a mess of hail and debris, and cars sliding around in winter conditions at the beginning of summer. I think the picture below says it all. --Mike--
	Remember, this is June 25, 2000...in the Western Hemisphere! As it turns out, this freak storm was caused by the remnants of tropical storm Carlotta, but it definitely pointed out the need to be prepared for anything while riding at high altitudes, and just how quickly things can change! For more info on Sonora Pass, check out our original ride report (and photos).