Autumn Interlude, Part 2: The Panorama Mountain Bike Trail

October 06, 2017

Autumn Interlude, Part 2: The Panorama Mountain Bike Trail

Was it faith? Was it confidence, blind or otherwise? Was it foolishness? Whatever it was, the mrs. chose to follow me out into a morning that had grown increasingly cloudy. Mind you I am not talking the the happy puffs of white type clouds, but the threatening dark grey kind; the kind that often preclude being pelted from above.

Emerging from the tent, the morning sky had started out mostly blue, just a few clouds out to the far northeast - way over there. Warned the day before that the next two nights were going to be especially cold - below freezing cold - I marveled at the hoar frost, the icy rime that covered the table, the bear box, the stove, a bottle cap left out, and had turned the yellow leaves of our little aspens to a dead, lifeless black. I looked back at that little bit of grey. I dawdled with a leisurely bowl of instant oatmeal and sipped my hot-pressed coffee, admired how the frost melted in a perfect arc around the mug where ever I set it down. Looking over my shoulder from time to time, each turn noticing that the grey seemed to have spread a little more, the blue in a slow but steady retreat.

trailhead

Maybe we should get going? I couldn't tell if this approaching thing was a hold-over summer storm, arriving late in the afternoon and departing quickly, or a early winter harbinger closing in on the high country. Whatever it was its actions were relentless, and by the time we had made ready, crossed the highway to where the Panorama Mountain Bike Trailhead was located, and took a few preliminary, pre-ride photos the blue had been pushed near entirely from the sky, holdout pockets here and there, most of it withdrawn well to the south.

The Panorama Mountain Bike Trail, so the book says, is composed of three conjoined loops totaling just under eleven miles in distance. I couldn't be sure if we would have time for that, but was willing to give it a try, and the mrs. willing to tag along for whatever adventure came. The riding surface was mostly similar to that of the previous ride on the other side of the highway, though softer, sandier, showing evidence of frequent OHV use (never saw any on either ride). We set off following the directions outlined in the book (again, to be reviewed shortly), but after a few junctions quickly gave it up, instead relying on my eyes to lead the way. After one road took us to a utility tunnel under the highway (good to know the two sides can be linked), we decided to simply head UP along which ever road headed in that direction. After all that was where the best views should be, and views are what the Panorama Trail is all about.

We moved up the hills in a series of steps, steep followed by gradual grade, and then repeating, stopping on occasion to marvel at clusters of large boulders, the burned forest, wondering if it was caused by lightning, trying to sense any electricity in this storm, and estimating how long it would take to drop our metal bikes and run whatever distance to the nearest shelter of boulders. Each "step" along the way afforded new views, brought new doubts, questions of wisdom and riding. Reaching a nice vantage just below the "summit" showed something falling along the far shore of Mono Lake and a steady wind blowing it our way. It was not much further to the very top where a USGS weather station had nothing to share other than that this peak was a good one for scientists to gather information. The hill's flat top took away the view of Mono but all the peaks in the Sierra crest stood out. It was blustery, an Irish "hard day", not at all "soft."

We tramped around a little, mocked the storm for good measure, and then began our own retreat from the heights, agreeing that this would make a good turn around point. We stopped here and there along the way back, no longer fearing the storm, though its face was uglier than ever. There were some odd basket things on poles, their purpose of which I could not guess at, the remains of another "only good car", and surrounding "tin can alley." That was where the first flakes began to fall, just gentle things, light and drifting. It was another couple hours before the heaviest fall arrived, when we were inside with plates full of hot tacos, rice and beans. Looking back we certainly shortened up the ride due to the conditions, but could have easily stayed out longer, explored more. We just couldn't tell what sort of wicked thing was coming our way.