11/5/2016 Day 5

I’m up by 530am and huddled around the wood stove in the kitchen where my chocolate pancake is being prepared. My water bottles are chunky with ice, but not frozen. I’m out the door and on the bike by 6am, prepared for 6 hours of hell. There are 2 paths. One is loose, sandy single track, far too steep to drag a 60lb bike up. I know, because I briefly tried, but quickly slid backwards with both brakes locked up. The alternate is a slightly lower grade double track, covered in a sea of loose, pointed, granite marbles the size of grapefruits. Each step, my ankle rolls, kicking up one of these projectiles, either into my ankle, shin, or bike. “What the fuck?!?” I frustratingly say to myself, keeping it confined to my own mind as I begin the uphill battle. It goes this way for 2 hours. “This is fucking stupid!” I now say aloud with more conviction after another hour of relentless absurdity. There is nobody around to hear me. I looked down and could still see the Paradise Hotel. I passed my first trekker coming down by 8am. The look from her guide was telling. More confirmation that I was possibly going the wrong way. “Five hours to top. Very steep. This way more difficult,” her guide shares.

Step, step, push. Step, step, drag. I alternated hand grips, positions, pace…literally anything that would create any type of efficiency. It was all the same. This was hell, and there was no getting out. However, I have far too much pride and far too much of my dad’s stubbornness to admit defeat. I am unwavering in my conviction on this endeavor. Finally, after 3 hours, ankles bruised, shins bloodied, I crossed the first ridge, off the marbles, and onto loose, gravely sand. I never thought I would be so excited for slightly better footing. The challenge now after cresting the 1^st ridge, is that I had a pretty direct line of site up to the next ridge, and it wasn’t close. Step, step, push. Step, step, drag. Breathe. I’m higher now. I am aware that my breathing is becoming more labored, but not noticeably. I consume plenty of water and go slowly. I’m feeling better. By 10am, I’m seeing more trekkers coming down the pass. Instead of bewilderment, they look at me with amazement and offer support and encouragement. “How long since you were at the summit?” I ask each as they pass me. It seems reasonable to double their descent time to arrive at my hopeful ascent time…assuming of course I can sustain this same pace. With each passing trekker, I’m feeling once again inspired that I’m doing the right thing. “I’ll show those guides and guide books,” I cockily quip to myself. Step, step, push.  Step, step, drag.  Breathe. Finally…there are prayer flags. I can see the summit! It’s right there. “How far to the summit?” I anxiously ask a trekker and her guide trying to gauge my timing. “For you…maybe 1.5 – 2 hours.” This can’t be. It’s right there. I can see it! By this time, I’m nearing 17k ft and the air is indeed thinner. Unfortunately the summit isn’t as close as I think but at least I can see my end, just enough to inspire me, while at the same time discourage me. Quite the paradox. Step, step, push.  Step, step, drag.  Breeeaathhe…

Just under 90 minutes later, slightly before noon, and just under 6 hours of relentless, persistent battle, I reached the top of Thorang La. There was nobody there except the 1 person who was working at the tea house (yes, there is a tea house at the summit for weary trekkers to celebrate their achievement and refuel). I had the entire summit to myself, most all trekkers having already descended fearing an afternoon storm. Instead, the weather was perfect. The winds were calm. The sky was that same blue…that indescribable, bluer than the truest blue, the kind you only see in cartoons and comic books. Immediately, the past 6 hours were vanquished from my thoughts and I was at total and complete peace. The only thing left was to stretch my smile a bit more and descend that steep single track down the other side.

Ear. To. Ear. That is all I can say. My breathing calmed. My pulse quickened. The beauty is literally paralyzing. Yes…literally. I felt like I couldn’t move. Remember that day you descended true single track from the top of a near 18k foot mountain with nobody else around? That was me. Today. Over the first roll I descended, almost recklessly, like a child zooming down a big hill the first time he learned to ride a bike, with no fear of injury or repercussion. True, untethered exuberance. Barely feathering my brakes. “Slow down!” I tell myself. “Enjoy this. You have no place to be.” I stopped and looked around. I was in a shark’s mouth. All the way around me, 360 degrees, there were jagged white peaks, and down the middle was this narrow ribbon of single track that I was on. I listened. I could hear the adrenaline driven, thumping of my heart. I pressed on with more child like emotion, every couple of minutes stopping to savor and enjoy the truest nature I’ve ever experienced. By far, the worst, but more importantly, the best day ever on a mountain bike. I was told numerous times that I was going the wrong way. I disagree. Bikes. Always. Win

Step, step, push.  Step, step, drag

I promise…its steeper than it looks

Zoom, zoom

2 hours of marbles

2 hours of “progress”

What hellish climb?

Best descent ever

More please

Still down?

Descents like this wash away the prior suffering

Still going down

My sleeping after a rollercoaster ride