We decided instead to ride Reno Ridge. I think I felt drawn to Reno Ridge because of past experiences hiking and biking along ridge trails. Once you're up, the views can be splendid. Cindy and I (and even Dale and I, if you think back far enough) have ridden some really nice single track on ridge trails in the past, too.
Our plan was to follow Cement Creek Road to 759 Road, which would take us up to Reno Ridge. From there we would follow the Reno Ridge Road southwest to Reno Ridge Trail, which would take us down to Deadman Gulch Trail. On Deadman Gulch Trail we would drop precipitously through the infamous Deadmans Gulch switchbacks to return to our starting point at Cement Creek.
Our plan was to follow Cement Creek Road to 759 Road, which would take us up to Reno Ridge. From there we would follow the Reno Ridge Road southwest to Reno Ridge Trail, which would take us down to Deadman Gulch Trail. On Deadman Gulch Trail we would drop precipitously through the infamous Deadmans Gulch switchbacks to return to our starting point at Cement Creek.
To get started we simply had drive a few miles up Cement Creek Road to the Deadman Gulch Trailhead. On the map below, our route is displayed in a big fat brown line. We didn't get GPS points right at the beginning so our track picks up about a quarter mile late. Also, note that little jump at the beginning in the elevation profile: it's not real, regardless of what the GPS receiver thought.
On the drive up we passed a few groups of motocyclists, the off-road types, camped in pull-offs along the road. Many of the trails in the area are open to motorized travel, including the route we had planned.
We reached the trailhead around 8 a.m. and found only one other car in the parking area. We unloaded the bikes; there were only two, the RZ and the Superlight. It seemed odd, heading off on a big ride without Q&A. Rarely do Cindy and I do this sort of thing alone. Of course, Amos was coming along, so we weren't really alone. The air, chilly and damp, felt like air often does at the start of something exciting. Anticipation smells nice.
On the drive up we passed a few groups of motocyclists, the off-road types, camped in pull-offs along the road. Many of the trails in the area are open to motorized travel, including the route we had planned.
We reached the trailhead around 8 a.m. and found only one other car in the parking area. We unloaded the bikes; there were only two, the RZ and the Superlight. It seemed odd, heading off on a big ride without Q&A. Rarely do Cindy and I do this sort of thing alone. Of course, Amos was coming along, so we weren't really alone. The air, chilly and damp, felt like air often does at the start of something exciting. Anticipation smells nice.
For roughly the first mile we continued a gradual climb on the road beside Cement Creek. The road was narrow and in some places rocky, probably impassable for a vehicle like our van; easy on our bikes and there was not a car in sight. We crossed Waterfall Creek where it joined Cement Creek.
Between miles two and four, we climbed from an elevation of 10,000 ft to 11,000 ft. A thousand feet in two miles doesn't seem like it should be all that bad, but it took us a while. Cindy had been suffering from a bad sore throat and some sinus congestion. Battling the virus didn't likely help her stamina.
Parts of it were ridable, and there were a few fun rocky sections, but too much of it was a mess. It was also very wet. The trail was flat enough that drainage was not great, so deep pools of water filled the trough that was our trail. In places it reminded me of a submerged pump track, with only the crests of the rollers above water. Our gradual descent on Reno Ridge Trail, from miles eight to 10, was not the most fun a person could have on a bicycle.
This next one was steep. The picture just doesn't do it justice. Approaching a steep spot like this, it's often hard to see how far the ground drops away after each rock in the trail. It takes confidence and willingness to risk a fall. This one psyched her out:
Once across the creek, it was just a short distance to the van, and in no time at all we were back at the cabin. We found the three kids was playing in the creek beside the cabin. They were having a great time catching invertebrates, and needed the help of an expert for identification. Amos jumped right in. The usual larvae were all there: mayflies, stoneflies, caddisflies, and of course some true flies. It seemed that everyone had had a great morning and they had already eaten lunch. Cindy and I went into the cabin to rest and refuel. After that, we were ready for another ride.
We started climbing away from Cement Creek on a short connector trail and began to encounter some steeper climbs. The terrain was soft and sandy, and generally easy to ride. There were a few low, wet spots.
The climb up the side of Reno Ridge was steady, and we were slow. Although Cindy and I were pedaling (and occasionally walking) at a snail's pace, Amos was running. Running ahead to see what was coming. Running back to meet us. Running up the hillside. Leaping back down to the road. We told him we had many miles to go, and that he should pace himself, but he wouldn't listen.
Just after we took this picture, I had my biggest crash of the day. Cindy and I had stopped to find some breath, taken some pictures, and when we started riding again I somehow swerved left toward her, then over-corrected to the right to avoid hitting her, and was slightly off balance as my front wheel connected the rock in the picture. At perhaps 2 miles per hour, I fell onto my right side, landing solidly on my hip and banging my helmet against the ground. Uphill mountain biking is a dangerous activity.
Between miles two and four, we climbed from an elevation of 10,000 ft to 11,000 ft. A thousand feet in two miles doesn't seem like it should be all that bad, but it took us a while. Cindy had been suffering from a bad sore throat and some sinus congestion. Battling the virus didn't likely help her stamina. At one point during the climb we heard the distant buzzing of a swarm of giant wasps. The buzzing grew louder and we pulled of the trail and held on to our dog. A swarm of dirt bikes, engines screaming, blasted past us leaving behind a wake of exhaust and churned earth.
As we approached Reno Ridge, the trail flattened out and the forest opened up. The views were spectacular. The sixth mile of the ride was one of the nicest.
A picture of my RZ on Reno Ridge. Who would have thought it would never make it back to Michigan?
Reno Ridge Road was not as we had hoped. Scenic, yes, and rolling, yes, but the amplitude of the rolling was too great. Each climb was very steep, and the sandy surface of the road was soft and deep from the continual spinning of ATV and motorcycle tires. Each downhill was fun and furiously fast, but each climb was a significant push: never a switchback or traverse, always a direct line to the top. Thirty minutes up, three minutes down. Clearly, the road had not been laid out for non-motorized travel. Here, Cindy ascends yet another roller.
Reno Ridge Road was not as we had hoped. Scenic, yes, and rolling, yes, but the amplitude of the rolling was too great. Each climb was very steep, and the sandy surface of the road was soft and deep from the continual spinning of ATV and motorcycle tires. Each downhill was fun and furiously fast, but each climb was a significant push: never a switchback or traverse, always a direct line to the top. Thirty minutes up, three minutes down. Clearly, the road had not been laid out for non-motorized travel. Here, Cindy ascends yet another roller.
We'd come only half way, maybe seven miles, but how many miles had Amos run? Ten? Fifteen? As we approached the southern end of Reno Ridge Road, Amos was getting tired, too. Here's a nice cool, wet spot to lie down.
The best part of the ride, I was certain, would be Reno Ridge Trail. Although we were at the top of the world and the scenery was great, Reno Ridge Road had been a bit of bust, as far as a ridge ride was concerned. The Ridge Trail would be better, right?
Well, maybe in some places. At least it was mostly down hill. Unfortunately, much of it looked like the picture below. The path was heavily used by motorcycles, and cut so deeply by there was often no place for our pedals.
Parts of it were ridable, and there were a few fun rocky sections, but too much of it was a mess. It was also very wet. The trail was flat enough that drainage was not great, so deep pools of water filled the trough that was our trail. In places it reminded me of a submerged pump track, with only the crests of the rollers above water. Our gradual descent on Reno Ridge Trail, from miles eight to 10, was not the most fun a person could have on a bicycle.
It was in the best spot in this section of the trail that Cindy took a spill. I was working my way across some sharply angled rock in the trail, alongside a steep drop into a small rocky creek. It was tricky because there was sand on the rock and I was a little worried my tires would slide out from under me, and the bicycle and I would tumble into the creek. I'd just cleared it when I heard Cindy cry out. I quickly dismounted and ran up toward her where she lay in a heap with her bike. She wasn't sure exactly what had happened, but it appeared that perhaps in sliding back on her saddle to nose over some rocks, she slid too far and gone right off the back of her bike!
While I had expected Reno Ridge to be a great ride, I was a little worried about the descent through the Deadman Gulch switchbacks. The trail guides indicated the switchbacks were steep, rocky, eroded, and difficult. I was worried that they would be too steep to ride, and that we - or especially Cindy - might find them too challenging or intimidating. I pictured the worst-case scenario of a semi-technical scramble from a rock climber's perspective, and I pictured doing it while trying to lower a bicycle down through big boulder fields. I was wrong about that, too.
As it turned out, once we hit the Deadman Gulch Trail, the ride was a blast. It was indeed steep, technical, and in places wet and badly eroded, but motorized travel had been restricted to the downhill direction, so the surface was firm, less churned by spinning knobs. The trail was also fast, fun, and challenging. Just what I needed after a day of slow grinding up steep slopes, muddy water, and channelized trail. Sometimes it was so fun I had to yell.
Through more than 30 switchbacks, the pattern was often the same: Start with a steep, screeming fast descent with a few big rocks thrown in for some good air. The rocks increase in size and frequency near the switchback, and the trail steepens. Hit the brakes, slow down, slide back on the saddle, noodle your best line through the boulders, let the front wheel drop into the big pool of opaque water that might be 3 inches or a foot deep, slowly roll it through the tight switchback. Now, do it again.
Here's a smooth one Cindy did with ease:
This next one was steep. The picture just doesn't do it justice. Approaching a steep spot like this, it's often hard to see how far the ground drops away after each rock in the trail. It takes confidence and willingness to risk a fall. This one psyched her out:
Near the bottom, as the trail approached Cement Creek, the switchbacks became less frequent, the ride smoothed out, and we were given a nice chance to relax and let our brake rotors cool as the ride wound down. It had been a really tough ride for us. In many places it had not been fun, but it did have some nice rewards, and it ended well.
Back near the trailhead, crossing Cement Creek was a new experience for Amos. It took some effort to coax him across the log. Once he'd done it, he ran back and forth across it many times as Cindy and I shuttled the bikes across. No, we didn't ride across the log.
Once across the creek, it was just a short distance to the van, and in no time at all we were back at the cabin. We found the three kids was playing in the creek beside the cabin. They were having a great time catching invertebrates, and needed the help of an expert for identification. Amos jumped right in. The usual larvae were all there: mayflies, stoneflies, caddisflies, and of course some true flies. It seemed that everyone had had a great morning and they had already eaten lunch. Cindy and I went into the cabin to rest and refuel. After that, we were ready for another ride.
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