peak sammie

Louis is a veteran of Catalina riding. He’s been a part of more than a few brave, but dubious plans. I remember tales of the day he and Hank dove off the side of Samaniego Ridge, near the peak, and rode most of the way back to the 50 Year Trail. Louis is a good story teller.

He wanted to repeat that ride, more or less, except that now he had discovered a hiker-hacked trail, signed “Samaniego Peak – 2 miles.” Never mind that they are 2 miles straight up.

But we were going down. Louis had arranged a shuttle, and there really wasn’t any way I could say no.

Trails: Meadow, Lemmon, Sutherland, CDO shortcut, Samaniego Ridge, and lastly, no trail.

The first four were just bliss. There’s some fire damage, but I was overcome with relief that Catalina riding is not a hopeless cause (as it seemed after riding Butterfly and Crystal Springs). There is some really great riding in there, and some places are actually better since the fires.

We stopped to throw trees off the trail and built ramps over larger ones. A fair amount of work, but it wasn’t overwhelming like it used to be.

Burns = big views. And the views from Sutherland are like flying in an airplane. It’s a different world down there in the desert.

Mishap began early. First was a leaky rear tire. After the third pump the major process of tubing a heavily thorned tubeless tire began. Often the riding and time spent in the forest goes by too quickly on these rides, so I was happy to enjoy just being out there.

Next was the seat. One rail, then the other. Various fixes were attempted for the next 6 hours, but none were permanent. It burned more time, but again, I was happy to be out.

As we traversed along the eastern flank of Samaniego we entered a Crystal Springs style burn area. Crappy sideslope and a trail full of nasty briar bushes. Even Louis, the undisputed king of thrashing through all manner of nasty vegetation, was heard to utter a complaint or two.

“My legs feel like they are on fire.”

I had knee warmers, but my shins felt it.

We found a great climbing line, mostly on rock, to get us off the trail and onto the ridge.

Here we readied ourselves for ‘the drop.’ Despite the claim that it was mostly rideable, I expected to walk and suffer badly. I considered it fitting payback for the shuttle. I had hope, of course, that it was rideable, because neither of CDO and (the rest of) Samaniego Ridge Trail are viable options for exiting the arena of Catalina combat. Or so we think.

If this line worked out, or the hiker trail worked out, it would be pretty cool.

It didn’t much work out. We spent an hour just dropping the first 500 or so feet, all through very heavy brush. Louis is known for a lack of fear of vegetation, and he moves quickly through it, but his haste cost him in this case. His handlebars twisted around and severed his front hydro brakeline.

A certain four letter word, beginning with an F, was uttered, in repetition, and with increasing desperation.

We still had a good 3000 feet to drop, all at incredible grades, and he now had no front brake. At the time it was no hindrance, because we weren’t riding anyway, but it soon would be.

We eventually traversed to a point where some clear areas existed. But we got suckered into following the red flags of the hiker trail. A short rideable section would lead to dangerous rock scramble moves. Ah well, it was really no worse than I expected. But even if you expect 2000 scratches, jabs and blows, they still hurt. It’s just easier to keep a positive attitude.

There were some really cool moments of riding, but we were both held back by Louis’ lack of brake. His was for obvious reasons, while mine was due to the fact that I’m a big chicken when it comes to steep slopes and vegetation riddled riding. But if I see someone else ride it (and survive!) then sometimes I can overpower the logical, conservative part of my brain, and ride outside of myself. That’s the cool thing about riding with Louis.

Instead it was pretty slow, and I stopped checking the position of the sun, because it only confirmed what I already knew – there was no way we’d make it out before dark. I’ve got to hand it to Louis on some of the sections he rode, with rear brake, a quarter of a seat and a weakening body. He’s one tough hombre.

We did get (what seemed like) a long rally of riding, on lower desert trail, right as the sun was setting. I was just happy we were back on the hiker trail, meaning that we had something (supposedly) more free of vegetation than the general desert. Bushwhacking in the desert, at night, even with a headlamp, is not fun.

I remember sucking down about 60 oz of water, as I rode, at one point. It tasted so good, and seemed so endless, that I just couldn’t stop. It was pretty eye opening how much better I felt later on in the ride, simply due to the ‘extra’ water I carried in case things went wrong. Things were definitely going wrong.

When we went to climb a wash Louis stopped and began retching up the bad cheese and/or salami he had eaten at the peak. It wasn’t looking good, but I gave him some water and we limped out towards Deer Camp. After what seemed like hours we reached the “main” deer camp trail. We coasted down for a while, before disaster struck again – front tire flat this time! He didn’t have the energy for another tubeless->tube conversion, and this close to being out he asked me to ride home and fetch the truck. It was an obvious trail, and one he knows well, so I figured it’d be OK.

I took off down the trail, by headlamp, and commenced a period of extremely high focus riding. Concentrated effort on riding smooth, staying upright, and getting through the trail as quickly as possible. I wanted to make it back ASAP because I was quite worried, and second-guessing the decision to leave him with a (now completely) dead bike, a sour stomach and a weakened body.

I flashed through the trail, but it was all for not – I could not find the trail that led to casa de dog. The headlamp does not throw far, and eventually I realized I was too far north. I found a cattle trail and blazed off into the desert, hoping to intersect. I see now (by GPS) that I never saw that intersection either. A few curses were offered to the cholla and the prickly pear, all in vain. Eventually I saw the lights of someone driving on equestrian trail, so I made a B-line for the road.

Sandy and I drove the truck and soon retrieved the wounded bike and rider.

Stats: 15 miles in 8.5 hours, with an overall loss of 6500 feet. That is emphatically not good time. But the ride was a good time, overall, and a great adventure.

It was just what I needed, again. Purifying.