The September long weekend was forecast to be rainy and cool and we were heading north of Vancouver. We briefly considered heading south to central Washington state but Scott bought us Gore-tex socks. What’s a little rain when your feet are dry and warm?
North of Squamish, north of Whistler, north of Pemberton and still the southern/central part of the province; the Chilcotins hint at the vastness of BC and Canada. Following the 4 hour drive, we set up camp at the Frieburg forest service recreation area on the banks of Tyaughten Lake. The Saturday dawn was muted by clouds. I was not muted, but rather giggled with delight every time a fish jumped out of the lake to eat a bug. Totally entertained. When Scott finally convinced me to lycra up, we headed north with the idea of slogging up Taylor Creek to Spruce Lake keeping plans for the return trip vague. For 2 very experienced outdoor people, we are quite complacent about mis-turns and ended up in the Cinnabar Basin rather than Taylor Creek. Not lost, just exploring on the fly. 
Cinnabar was steep and empty of people.
We climbed.
We hiked.
We got rained on. We got to the top. The top was cold and windy and rainy (and no, it wasn’t Windy Pass– that was for tomorrow!). The trail we ascended was not on the map and with the clouds covering us and obscuring every peak we couldn’t get good sight lines for orientation.
Contrary to previous trips, we prudently descended the same trail we took up. Doesn’t it look like there should be a bear in there? This is grizzly country.
A short 40ish km day with 1800 m climbing and DRY feet! Resting up for tomorrow.
Sunday was to be our biggish day. Ride to Gun Creek, Climb Gun Creek to Spruce Lake, Spruce Lake to Windy Pass, down Eldorado Basin, up the last ridge, down Lick Trail and then roll into camp. We had heard that Lick Trail was the best descending single track in the south Chilcotin. The morning was good as our goal was to ride more than we hike-a-biked. The weather was nicer than Saturday with periods of blue sky and warmth. Our greatest frustration was the thick silty-clayey mud, a contrast to the sandy mud of Cinnabar Basin, robbing our traction.
We had lunch at Spruce Lake. Spruce Lake is the common fly-in drop off for mtn bikers and hikers who ’shuttle’ via float-plane and use the public shelter as a base camp for exploration (mmmmm, plans for next year!).
Leaving Spuce Lake was a steep and long climb to Windy Pass, almost none of it rideable due to steepness and mud. As we approached the pass, our neighbor at the campsite was already heading down. He grunted up High Trail and was planning on camping at Spruce Lake for the night. We thought he was crazy. He carried all of his gear in a backpack, was wearing baggies and a tank top and had switched to his platform pedals that morning! Urgh, a longish XC bike packing trip in the rain, carrying all the weight on his back (a full 40 L Arcteryx bag), wearing wet baggies and giving up the ability to pedal uphill.
Finally the top of Windy Pass. No friends on a powder day…Is there a singletrack equivalent??
How can you not be happy here?
We had anticipated a long day and brought headlamps as a security blanket. As we approached the final climb of the day, the sun was shining, we still had food and water in the camelbaks, some strength in the legs and smile on our faces. Since I posses a granny gear, I was leading the climb and snagged my handelbars on a small spruce tree adhacent to the trail. I hollared at Scott to watch his Jones bars coming through before realizing that my back wheel wasn’t moving. I was experiencing my first ride-ending, major mechanical bike failure within site of the tasty singletrack reward we had steadily ridden towards for 8+ hours. The ride was over. But camp was down there. Down by that picturesque blue lake highlighted by the setting sun.
Scott is my ideal partner. He did not for a fraction of a heartbeat consider taking the descent and meeting me at the bottom of the trail. He shouldered my bike, and without a single complaint, just the recognition of a missed treasure, started down the trail. Down all 15 kms of the trail. Through grizzly and black bear country at night, with a disappointed wife. I am thrilled at how we worked together in a potentially difficult situation. One of our interesting conversations- loud conversations for the benefit of Mr and Mrs Bear- discussed what we would have done had the mechanical happened when we were 30 kms out instead of 15 kms. I would have gone to Spruce Lake and waited for the next day’s float plane to drop off passengers and then arrange a flight out! But I’m lazy like that.
As we approached camp almost 12 hours after leaving, my crankiness multiplied. Since we are down the mountain and back at camp, there was no need to keep my wits. Scott had to ask the other campers to turn their music down (seriously WTF with the noise? Silence is not evil), they replied that the loudness was b/c the speakers were pointed towards out tent. No, I commented, it is loud because the volume is turned up and there are NO WALLS. You are outside.
This seemed like the best remedy for my soul. Followed by a bomber of Thelonium Monk tripel.
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