I don’t even think I can’t do it as I prepare my gear. Test temperature. Decide to pack another layer. Pump up tires. Pack bars and quick energy gummies. I can no longer carry a pack up a mountain by foot, but I can climb with just my body weight and light gear on my bike. So I do – the feeling of euphoria and exhaustion at the top worth the effort.
This pass has become an annual tradition. A ride right from town, pedaling 15 miles and 2,000 feet up to the summit. It’s not straight up, or my back couldn’t handle it – standing on pedals, grinding. It’s fast spinning 6 miles to the gate, where our two wheels are separated from four as we start the windy climb to the summit. Just bike traffic – nods and waves from those heading down and cordial greetings and encouragement to those we’re passing on the road up.
Trees still scarred from a Central Oregon burn a few years ago. Ground-level vegetation starting to appear, sprouting from the seeds buried in ash.
Temperature dropping as we ascend. Cloud front previously kept at bay now moving in, obscuring mountaintops in the distance and the pass we’re nearly hitting as we round one of the last windy turns.
Wind turns icy. Jackets and winter gloves come on during ever-so-brief photo stop at the summit for the fast ride down the mountain, frozen feet and hands slowly thawing as we’re pedaling back to warmth, sun on the fast flat.