Day 3 started off with the sun creeping through the two trees that I slept beneath. After only 2 days, my mornings had quickly become a routine, and something that required little thought, but brought a feeling of pleasure. -- Light stove to boil water for coffee, fill water bladders at nearby creek, eat while letting the air mattress drain, roll up shelter, dress for the day of riding, re-pack food for the day so it's easily accessible, lube bike chain, check tire pressure, etc...
The plans for the day were to get to Heenan Lake, situated at the base of Monitor pass, right off of Highway 89. On paper this would be about 50 miles of riding, with two large climbs included, each of over 4,000 feet of elevation gain in only a couple miles. Sounded simple enough... My guilelessness proved to be a mistake.
I was on the bike at 9:30am, and coasted gently down the road, passing several cow ponds before eventually arriving in a scenic meadow, with a spring creek dividing it. I stopped and fished for a few minutes, in hopes of tempting it's cut-bank residents with a small hopper imitation. The sun was already blazing, and the fish were not biting...
At this point I was only a couple of miles from the road which I would use to cross the valley, and the headwaters of the West Walker River. It only took a few minutes to skirt the meadows via an old overgrown farm road. As I neared my crossing point, and could see the highway only a couple hundred yards beyond, I knew this wasn't going to work... The road I was on led directly into the raging river, in what during a normal Summer of rainfall and snowmelt, would be easily waded across. There were people only 50 feet away, pulled over in a rest stop, admiring the view that was easily achieved. I was less enthusiastic at this point, knowing it would cost me countless hours of backtracking or re-routing. The road I was on can be seen in this picture towards the lower right hand side.
With few options, I decided to get to a higher point and weigh my options. I threw my bike on my head, using the frame bag as a pad, and scurried my way to the top of the nearest rocky point. From up there, I could see that the river was guided on both sides by steep and foreboding cliffs. After an hour of hike-a-bike, and only a small amount of ground covered traveling upstream, I returned to the road where I started. With a somewhat defeated feeling, I pedaled away from my desired direction, towards Poore Lake. Several miles up the road, now completely exposed to the mid-day sun, I rode up on a group of scouts returning from an overnight trip. The turnoff they were taking led to the foot-bridge located at Upper Leavitt Meadows.
After crossing the bridge, a slight relief came over me, only to be met with the realization that I had lost almost 4 hours of daylight due to the detour. Amazing what a little snow melt can do... I sat and ate some trail mix, and a refilled my water supply while regrouping my thoughts. And before long, admitting how much time had gotten away from me, I was back on the bike. Sticking to the pavement for the next 18 miles, and keeping the camera stashed away, to make up some time. This saved me 4,000 feet of climbing, and countless hours. I arrived at Walker just after 3pm, and joined the masses in line at Walker Burger. A burger, fries, and large soda helped to get my head back in the day, and convince my body that a second wind was within. I ate slowly, knowing how much more was ahead, sharing my adventure with a few roadies out for an afternoon ride, but as drawn to the shade as I was.
Two miles North of Walker was a turnoff that would put me back on my original route. On the map it was a quick four mile ride up a graded dirt road to the trailhead for the 16 miles of single-track that would guide me to Heenan Lake. Once again, I was wrong. As the road was not easy! It quickly switched back and forth from the valley floor seen here, to the top of the sharp peak seen in the middle of the picture, a gain of over 4,000 feet in those four miles. A majority of it, simply too steep to convince my increasingly heavy legs to pedal me up. The walk was slow, and exhausting.
Every few hundred yards, I was rewarded with a glimpse of where I had begun. Each time, the road and valley floor grew more distant. (the part of the road in the picture above can be seen just left of center in this picture)
With the help of some encouraging thumbs up from motorcyclists enjoying the view, and the ever present concern for the amount of daylight left, I reached the summit at just before 6:30pm. The road hit a dead end, and a sign for the Carson Iceberg Wilderness greeted me. The sight of this pristine chunk of single-track, along with the lowering sun provided me with another energy laden smile. I threw on long sleeved shirt, and gloves and began my descent.
The trail immediately crossed a creek, and became hard to follow, costing me a few extra minutes of back-tracking to regain my bearings. The pedals spun over easier, as the trail opened up and began to follow an ever growing creek. The sun was frequently obscured by the trees and hill sides, as it dropped lower and lower on the horizon. I was comfortable with my pace, as it was a pretty quick downhill flow. I was feeling good until the next speed bump...
About 4 miles into the 16 miles of single track, I came upon a couple hiking back towards their truck parked at the summit from which I had just been. They were locals, that had hike the area before, and seemed to know the area well. This was comforting, as they confirmed that I was where I had hoped I was. They then proceeded to tell me that the river was impassible ahead, and that I had to cross it at some point to reach my destination of Heenan Lake. Once again, I was pretty deflated. Not entirely sure they were correct, but now hesitant that the maps I had might be slightly off, or at least in the terms of not taking the usually "small creek" crossing into account.
I continued on. And once again, feeling the need to push harder. I was now breaking a sweat from the exertion. The trail was easy to follow, and seemed to keep me on course. Although there was a point, where I questioned crossing a downed tree that lay across a 40 foot deep canyon that the river had carved. At this point I completely understood how a depleted mind and body can make irrational decisions, the kind you hear about people making in survival situations. Over halfway into this leg of the journey, I smelled a campfire, and the setting sun illuminated a haze in the trees. I could hear the laughter of children as I approached a camp. Two fathers came out to greet me. Their first words set the mood... "You seen any bears yet?" They had hiked up from one of the side trails and were staying the night. They had spotted three bears near their camp only hours ago. We chatted, and they reassured me as to my direction being the correct one, and that I needn't cross any rivers to get where I was going. And as the sun was now very faint, and only offering light to the tops of the trees, I once again had to dig deep. In retrospect, I'm sure I could have camped near them, as camping alone in bear country isn't the most comforting feeling. Instead I pushed on. Digging deep yet again, convincing my body that it had more left in it. The lingering and unsettling concern of bears offering a good motivation.
Several miles further down the trail I hit a giant meadow just faintly lit by the final orange beams of sunlight the day had to offer. It was now 8pm. I had made good time to this point, but with still over 5 miles to go before hitting the 4 mile stretch of dirt road to the lake, I was running out of light. The trail quickly disappeared as the meadow opened up. I picked a point miles across the openness, and started pedaling towards it. The soil was moist, and occasional springs required a deviation from my straight line approach. Pedal strokes became thoughtless, as my mind was occupied by the days decisions, and concerns. Wondering if I should've stayed and camped near the family. Or if I was even headed the right direction at this point. By the time I reached the other side of the valley, and the dirt double-track came into view for the first time, it was nearly dark. It was a very welcomed sight, and at this point, I was comforted by the sights I had escaped in the first place. Fresh tire tracks let me know that this road was accessible despite all the high rivers. The sky still blue, and offering some light by which to ride. I stopped with only a few miles to go. I sat for a minute, regrouped myself, topped off my water reservoirs, ate a Snickers, and put on my headlamp before settling back into the saddle.
The lights of a campfire came into view just as I crested a small ridge behind Heenan Lake. I had made it... It was close to 11pm. I was on the move for nearly 12 hours. I was exhausted, and yet filled with a huge feeling of achievement, and joy. For multiple hours a day, now for 3 days, I had only myself. My mind constantly working in conjunction with my body, convincing it to keep going, and offering it insight, frequently into itself... Always having an answer, and always willing to continue on. For me this was what it was all about. This is the feeling I sought, although prior to achieving it, I didn't know it existed. It truly was something special. A day that stands out more than most in my past. I set up my shelter with the last ounce of energy I had, then retired to the sleeping bag without even eating...
The ride started with a great decent down the west side of Monitor Pass to meet up with and skirt the Carson River into Markleeville. I rolled into town just before 11am. I filled up on my liquids and splurged on a large deli sandwich prior to sticking my head into the Ranger station and purchasing two more detailed maps of the Tahoe are. 
