​Today is predicted to be even hotter than yesterday.  The extreme heat warnings and record breaking highs stretch across the entire zone we are biking.  It makes last night's sleep in an A/C-filled room feel restorative and a form of recovery.  The alarm for 2:30 starts too early.  My body wants entirely to lay in the hotel bed.  But we choose to move, need to move.  The heat is too hard and too intense to excuse the night from moving our legs.  This extreme heat warning keeps getting extended in time and expanded in region so that it seems to sit wide and full of fuming-brooding over the entirety of southern California.  We also need to descend back down into the heart of Mojave Desert by going to 1300 feet today before climbing back up to 4300 ft.  Janna and I aimed to be through that low section before any part of the midday heat was right on us.  

By day's end, it would be nearly 116 degrees, though we started the day only expecting 105 degrees F. 

The ride out of Tehachapi at 3 am is completely dark and silent.  A settled temperate air degree is comfortable at this hour, belying the day's scorcher to come.  No cars are out.  It's peaceful, serene, and dense with night.  The road heads west out of town before turning north on a country byway.  In the dark, we pass through a countryside of ranches and their barking security dogs.  The dogs rush across vast ranchland yards before halting at perimeter fences and barking loudly at us.  Sometime later we arrive at a pullout with a placard.  Excitedly, I yell to Janna to pull over.  This is the viewpoint for the famous Tehachapi Loop.  Somewhere in the dark below us is a 3,800 foot stretch of Union Pacific Railroad that forms a spiral on top of itself to gain a steady 2% grade over Tehachapi Pass for trains.  Trains longer than 3,800 feet end up literally looping on top of themselves.  It's night, so I bemoan the lost opportunity to see what it looks like.  But suddenly, at that very moment, a train comes chugging through the dark at the track.  There are enough lights lining the train for us to get a good silhouette in the dark and realized we are literally watching a massive line do a loop on top of itself.  It was freaking spectacular.  

As soon as it's done winding helical, the train moves off and we push on.  Luckily, this morning's first 20 miles are nearly all downhill.  This affords us distance in favor of our time.  We continue on through several small communities clustered along the road.  Janna and I reach Cesar E. Chavez National Monument.  It's too early for the center to be open.  We both regret that opportunity not afforded to tour the grounds and learn more about the famous workers' rights leader.  We decide to come back to see this again someday.  We pull out of the entrance parking lot to continue along the Sierra Cascades which almost immediately joins Highway 58. 

This highway is intense.  As in, one of the most intense I've ever ridden in my life.  The Adventure Cycling Association maps mention that this highway can be particularly bad for cyclists.  It is not an understatement.  Before making a right to join its shoulder, we can see that even now at 4 something in the morning, it is crammed with semis and rushing traffic going 70+ mph.  The shoulder is terrible and littered with glass, metal shards, literally bricks (bricks everywhere for long stretches!), and crumbling pavement.  We turn on our lights.  I'm completely aware that it's that gray morning dawn-time when it's not fully night but not fully day and the crepuscular vision of drivers is terrible.  Luckily, our northbound approach means its mostly downhill for us.  We turn onto the highway and watch as what seemed to be a wide shoulder narrows next to guardrails on our rights and 4 lanes of traffic one-way on our lefts.  I'm pure adrenaline and tons of stress.  It becomes five harrowing miles of terrible riding where I keep thinking we are going to get hit.  Over and over again, I say out loud, "This is scary ass shit."  Janna keeps silent as we continue along the freeway.  

And it is hot.  Like so hot I start getting dizzy.  As we enter town at noon in the height of the sun, we beeline it immediately for a Mexican restaurant where we prop our bikes and head inside for food and icy drinks.  I can't believe how hot it feels.  I feel absolutely wrecked physically.  I down several glasses of ice water.  I'm feeling so off that I can't even really eat the lunch we order.  Janna gets worried about me.  We both look up our campsite and find that there is a closure!  Immediately, we set ourselves to task to find a place to stay in Lake Isabella.  It's too hot to continue going farther anywhere.  We find a cheap place to stay at the Lake Isabella Motel.  It's affordable and not too far from the main thoroughfare.  Plus, they have swamp coolers - better than nothing.  Unfortunately, they won't let us check in for three more hours.  The only thing to do is make our way now to the local Vons to get a resupply for the next two days.  

As Janna and I make our way over, I cannot believe how much hotter it feels.  A feeling of anxious nausea washes over me.  I can't put my finger on it, but I feel absolutely awful.  It turns out every business in town is closed for indoor access due to COVID and the Vons is regulating how many can go in and out.  There is no escaping the heat for the next three hours.  There is also no shade overhang at the Vons so we find a place to prop our bikes in an angular throw of building shade.  Janna goes in first.  Outside, I feel like I'm cooking in the sliver of shade on the blacktop.  We would later find out it was 116 degrees F, a new record-breaking high for the area.  When Janna comes to switch with me, I'm feeling real low.  I stagger into the store and buy 2 Gatorades and 2 Pedialytes.  I need electrolytes and liquids now.  I rejoin her outside and immediately guzzle two of them.  A light comes back on inside me.  We pass the next 3 hours sitting out in those conditions until we ride slowly in the blazing sun over to the motel.   

We check-in to the motel and upon entry to the room, I head to the bathroom where I urinate for the first time in hours.  It comes out as an opaque ice tea color.  I panic, immediately thinking I've somehow developed rhabdo again.  It's one of the darkest urines in my life.  Janna assures me it's not rhabdo and that I need to keep drinking liquids - which I definitely oblige.  I drink tons of fluids to recuperate.  It ends up doing the thing as I'm suffering from extreme dehydration and on the verge of heat exhaustion.  I head into the shower, put it on the coldest temperature, and just sit underneath the water stream while we crank the swamp cooler and close every window shade to the room.   In about an hour, I'm starting to feel like a human again.  It's only early afternoon now, but we're already pouring over our ACA maps trying to figure out our plans for tomorrow.  A quick check of temperature reveals it's supposed to be 114 degrees here and nearly 97 even up at Sequoia National Monument where we're supposed to camp tomorrow at elevation.  It will be over 100 degrees by 9 am.  That's a mind-blowing statistic.  And that's on top of an expected 80 miles of cycling and 8,000 feet of gain.

Caught off-guard by this updated information, I feel a bit panicked, especially given my near heat exhaustion from today.  I start to wonder out loud whether we have in it us (really me) to keep going.  Janna reminds me not to quit on a bad day and the beauty of the national parks to come.  She assures me that my dehydration will improve and that high elevation Sierras are before us.  We quickly reformulate a plan.  We will bike up and over the southern Sierras tomorrow instead of camping on top to knock out even more miles to get us closer to Three Rivers.  Three Rivers sits low and hot two days out.  We have a hotel there and a zero day planned for our wedding anniversary.  Get there, get in the A/C and the heat wave should thus have passed.  I'm back in the game mentally.  With that, we drink tons of fluids and food before heading to bed at 6 pm for a 3 am leaving again.  ​

​The night is long yet short.  The Motel 6 we found, the one with bars over the windows and people milling around, really came to life shortly after we turned off our lights.  First began the yelling outside.  It seems a crowd had congregated in this common spot known to all.  People starting banging on our window.  Multiple times the door handle jiggled and some strong pushing followed on the locked door.  I absolutely did not sleep.  This was coupled with the fact that the Motel 6 turned off A/C to all rooms beginning at 11 pm.  With the air off, and the nighttime temperature outside still over 100 degrees, the room began to cook.  

Janna and I both stripped down.  Laid on the bed.  Sweating - gotta be over 90 in here.  I get up, grab a tepid glass of water.  Dump it on my stomach and chest while lying in bed.  Just the subtle grace of evaporative cooling to get me feeling able to sleep.  The door knob turns in attempt to opening.  I shoot awake.  Someone bangs on the windows.  I do not move from the bed.  What small hours of night pass between when I put my head down and when I get up to move is small and rough.  I sleep maybe two hours.  

The alarm goes off just prior to 3 am.  It's time to move.  The record heat wave is here, and today is our significant desert crossing.  We aim to make the crossing and be into Tehachapi before noon.  Before the worst heat.  That way, we can find a place to baton down indoors in air conditioning.  Plus, that area is at a higher elevation than here.  But it's 3 am now so my mind only lives here in this moment.  In minutes we are dressed.  The bikes are pre-packed.  It's time to exit the dark sauna and into the slice of night.  I swing the motel room door open prepared for dozens of people fighting and yelling.  Sometime recently, they all left.  It's just the empty parking lot under dim lighting.  Time to move quick then.  We roll by the front desk and knock on the window behind bars to hand over our room keys.

Biking through a big city at 3 am is always interesting.

I'm alert despite the quiet outside.  I throw a leg over the bike and we push over into the dark.  It feels like body temperature outside; weirdly comfortable and alarmingly warm.  Janna surges ahead with the potence of importance to get moving.  I can barely keep up.  Legs churn but my words are slurring and my energy low given two nights in a row with little sleep.  I keep toggling my GPS unit on to catch a glimpse of our direction.  We're out of the Motel 6 area and into residential-land.  Everything is unlit and unworried; the sun is far away.  Nary a driver passes by.  We turn off a bike lane in a main thoroughfare for an extended slight downhill through city-edge homes where rurality laps and dogs come barking at us behind fence and brick.  Houses fall back and we're swimming amongst dark farmer's fields.  The wind is absent.  I feel fast. 

The avenue we're on lacks a sufficient shoulder but there are no cars.  I can see the twinkling of core Palmdale behind us.  I can also catch the shape building of the desert mountains we cross as the faintest hint of gray discerns the horizons and foretells the sunrise to come.  I'm thirsty already in the dry nighttime heat as moisture expels with my breath and sweat.  It's a race against the coming sun now.  Cover miles, move legs.  Crepuscular lighting brings definition and color to the land.  Yellow grasses flat fields surround us all crisp and dormant for summer.  We pass through the small communities of Del Sur and Antelope Acres.  We stop at Antelope Acres Market at 5:30 am which is just opening for the day.  We run in and I find the drink Electrolit (the first time I've heard of it).  Somewhat similar to a cross between Pedialyte and Gatorade, I buy some and start chug two bottles outside.  

The sun is now above the horizon.  It's an orange colored mass filtering through the only clouds near the horizon anywhere in the sky.  I can feel the temperatures rising.  We pedal on across the hot low Antelope Valley towards a rising land mass called Willow Springs Butte.  We pass it and continue straight as Tehachapi Willow Springs Road begins a slow ascent.  Janna and I have covered a solid 20 miles now before the sun has even risen meaningfully.  The fields next to us become punctuated with creosote and the first Joshua trees found in this stretch.  Telephone poles rise up as we pass Willow Springs Butte and begin earnestly seeing the Tehachapi mountains rising as desert peaks in the distance.  Massive farmer's fields intersperse across the Mojave, all fed with massive water sprinklers.  The straight road we've been coursing finally takes its first gradual turn in miles shifting us with a stare to the northwest.  Before us lays a valley angling up to the mountains and thick with Joshua trees.  We both hike down a dirt road crawling along the base of a butte to find some privacy to relieve ourselves away from the highway.  

The downhill is as welcoming as the sudden cessation of headwind.  We swing a left on Highline Road which affords one last glimpse back into the mountains cloaked with wind energy.  The shoulder is wide and smooth.  A quick righthand turn on a stellar bikeway takes us along a paved path into the outskirts of Tehachapi.  Janna and I ride into town on Tucker Road; it's only 11 am.  We are right where we wanted to be by this time as the sun is scorching above, but less so now that we are in the high desert at 4000 feet in elevation.  It's then that we get a call from the campground we planned to stay at just a few miles off-route outside of town: they are actually not taking tent campers and hadn't realized it until now.  Stuck in a sea of private property, we know camping is not going to happen.  Janna pulls out her phone and finds a Best Western Plus just downtown with a room for like $50 - a perfect place to wait out a scorching day in A/C right next to food options.  The cheap price is compensation for visiting this town in the off-season heat of summer.  

And the city is absolutely lovely.  Honestly, a glorious trail town full of historical sites.  It's super walkable, pedestrian/bike friendly, and accessible with groceries and restaurants.  Plus, there's a bike shop.  We bike onwards towards town.  No sooner had five minutes passed then a car passes us, stops, turns around, and pulls up.  Turns out it's a Warmshowers host who is checking on us.  They give us beta on the area but decline a stay at their place because our hotel did not have free cancellations.  They tell us there is a great breakfast place ahead which is all we need to hear to get us moving.  We pull up to Henry's Café where the hostess has us put our bikes next to a second entrance door she says is closed.  We eat a great breakfast basking in the glow that comes after worry gives way to success.  Suddenly, we hear a giant crash outside.  The same hostess that had us put our bikes specially over next to the unused door had herself chosen to walk out the door, forgetting our bikes were there, which led to them smashing over.  I run to my bike to find my derailleur bent and brake levers misaligned.  She says, "Hope those aren't expensive," before immediately running to her car and driving away.  

It takes me the next 30 minutes to realign and fix everything as best as possible.  It's frustrating.  

That resolved, Janna and I make our ways over to the local Vons to get some groceries.  It's about 90 degrees at midday so I'm sweating hard.  We pull up our bikes next to a group of 6 PCT hikers.  They are stoked to see our setups and agree to watch our bikes while we head in to shop.  They're just setting in the shade of the overhang eating their own recent purchases.  Janna and I take our time in the store to grab a combination of fresh fruits/veggies and stuff for today/tomorrow.  And I find a ton of Pedialyte.  I chug a bottle immediately.  I buy a second one for later today.  

Back outside, the PCT group is examining our bikepacking touring setups.  They ask us a ton of questions about travel by bike.  We ask them how their thru-hikes on the PCT are going with the heat.  We all agree it's miserable.  They have the luck of hiking high higher on the mountain ridges and vegetation cover.  Janna and I eat our food and end up connecting in conservation with Kate (Voodoo) and Shannon (Princess North Star) - a couple who have done other thru-hikes and were now attempt a thru of the PCT.  They met on the AT, got married, and were doing all the major long-distance trails.  We exchanged contact info and agreed to get dinner together later.  Janna and I left the PCT crowd to head to our hotel room.  We were given the green for an early check-in to avoid the day's heat.  I leave Janna to run to the local bike shop (gotta see if they have a brake caliper) but find it's closed.  No matter, time to take a long shower and lay in the cold.  We take a long nap before evening rolls in.  Shannon and Katie text us about dinner and our two groups grab some excellent local Thai food.  Shannon and Katie ask a bunch of questions about our bike setups and what does/doesn't work.  Hiker midnight is coming and we're all exhausted so we pack up and head back to the hotel where we watch Indiana Jones before falling asleep.  It's agreed - we will start before 3 am again tomorrow until this giant heat wave leaves the area.  ​

Today, we planned a big exodus out of the range of Bernadino Mountains and out towards the true Mojave Desert all low with scrub and Joshua trees.  A significant and widespread newscast warning had been blanketed across southern California and all the way up the coast warning of an "Extreme Heat Warning" where temperatures were to spike well above 100 degrees and that outdoor activities should be curtailed.  Our plan was to bike all the way to Palmdale today, stay in a hotel with AC, then get up tomorrow in the middle of the night to make our large Mojave Desert crossing.  But that entailed us covering over 80 miles, 7,000+ feet of gain, and nearly 13,000 feet of loss today.  This, we knew, would be a big day and push us physically.  Although the heat warning really started tomorrow, we were already in 100+ degree F temperatures.  I could feel it in the blood of my veins with thirst and balance of electrolytes constantly on my brain.  Table Mountain provided a cool and perfect night's sleep on high to prepare us for a 4 am wake-up to bike almost the entire Angeles Crest.

My watch alarm went off at 4 am, and it was plenty dark out still.  I had slept terribly perseverating on the early wake up and how we were to accomplish what we planned to do today.  My mind was racked with anxiety about the coming desert, the heat warning, and whether I could handle it.  But when that alarm went off at 4, adrenaline coursed my vessels and I sprung up.  We quickly packed in the dark with headlamps and jackets on.  Light crept gray and sure across the mountain ranges.  Mentally I was contrasting my present situation of bundled jacket and hat with the sure late-day expectation of unbelievable heat.  But it was time to go.  We shoved some snacks in our mouths (no time for a proper breakfast this morning) and sped down the campground road to meet back up with the Angeles Crest Highway.

We biked about a mile down the road when Janna suddenly pulled over.  She turned and asked me if I could hear a noise coming from her bike.  I told her to bike back by me and an very audible squeaking could be heard.  It was coming from one of her One Up Components pedals.  My stomach dropped.  Back in April, I had the same model on one of my own bikes for a few weeks when it began seizing up.  It ended up seizing so bad on a 70 mile ride that I ended up with the bike flipped over on the side of the road using an Allen wrench with all the leverage I had to get it off.  I failed.  When I took it to a bike shop in Flag, they couldn't even get it off without a massive lever and several employees working at once.  It seems the spindle had fused into the pedal body permanently.  The company sent me a replacement, but I didn't trust the same thing wouldn't happen again.  Janna had no issue with the same pedal for months.  And now, on an 80+ mile day, it was starting to seize.  We pulled out Google Maps knowing that the clock was ticking.  There most certainly was a bike shop down in Palmdale.  

We were at a crossroads up on the Angeles Crest.  The official Sierra Cascades continued along the length of the San Gabriel mountains before cresting and making its way down into Palmdale.  To our rights lay a Google Maps route that dropped us immediately off and down to the desert below.  The alternate would shave off 35 miles from the day.  Plus, it was only a matter of time until the pedal froze up completely and wouldn't even rotate; a when not an if.  Being down there would afford us an easier opportunity to get help.  But we'd be riding in low Mojave all day, for some still 50 miles.  And we'd completely miss riding the entirety of the San Gabriel Mountains and Angeles Crest Highway.  The longer we debated, the more daylight and heat ticked forward.  Janna resolutely said, "We are riding the official Sierra Cascades route if it takes me standing on the pedal and bike all day."  

Angeles Crest and mountain-miles it was.  

But first, I quickly used a single bar of reception to text my mom of our situation in case the pedal became an absolute mechanical fail and we needed someone to know where we were.  My mom rapidly texted back that she'd look into AAA taking us if needed.  A second text conveyed that she had a seen a report on the national news about the extreme heat warning all up and down where we were riding.  And then the phone reception completely blinked out.  

Janna and I turned our wheels away from the alternate and stared at a climb yanking us further into the mountains and ravishing in the morning fade coming on from night.  It was a commitment moment of absolutely assuredness, partnership, no turning back, and agreement to problem-solve whatever came.  We started climbing.  The route wound us into trees upwards as dawn had not yet revealed the entirely of sunlight upon the Earth.  A sign for a crossing of the Pacific Crest Trail popped up.  My mind focused in on how this route was parallel to the trail.  I kept thinking I had no idea how the day would end.  But all I could do was pedal into beauty.  The curve rounded and suddenly Inspiration Point Vista and a pull-off opened up.  It was at this precise moment that the sun crested high enough in the sky behind us to kindle orange light textured horizontally on the upper faces of the mountain peaks around us.  We both stopped our bikes and stared at awe at Mt. Baden-Powell, all contrast of sun and night.  That was a dawn to invigorate me, to compel me forward despite the uncertainties embedded in the ride. 

​Janna and I woke up to the heat of the desert as the Sun hit our tarp.  Even in the early hour, it was blazing down hard and threatened a scorching day.  Janna hadn't slept well, understandably, given the uncertainties about whether we'd be able to get a chain today with Don and Karen's help.  They told us last night that they wouldn't be over until around 9:30 because they needed to pack up their RV, and we needed to make sure the bike shop in Hesperia was open.  Thus, Janna and I leisurely, though anxiously, tore down camp until Don and Karen showed up.  We didn't want to leave our gear unattended, so it was decided that Janna would ride down with them to Hesperia herself while I stayed behind to clean gear and be a watchdog over it.  

At 9:30 am, Karen and Don rolled up in their RV.  They seemed excited for this adventure of helping two cyclists on a tour.  They offered to take Janna's bike with them to Hesperia just in case anything else needed taken care of.  We were worried about getting dirt in their RV but Karen mothered us in the best of ways that such things didn't matter and they wanted to help/take care of us.  Don and I fit Janna's bike in the RV and they were off.  The high for the day was predicted to be 102 degrees F where we were riding.  Normally, I'd want to be off super early to avoid the worst heat, but there was nothing to do but sit back and sit in the shade of desert trees as morning ticked by.  

I passed the time by looking ahead to the next three days.  We had a campsite up high planned for tonight, but we were looking to camp low the following day in a National Forest campground that seemed to be squatting in a desert canyon.  I had just enough reception to take a look at the weather forecast and I noted that nearby Palmdale looked to be well over 100 degrees; the campground would probably be close to 110 degrees due to its location in a canyon.  That sounded awful for sleeping or even just being alive.  The big open Mojave Desert stretch was coming up immediately after.  All signs were pointing to record heat and wretched camping therein.  I scanned Palmdale, that large California city sprawling north into the desert, and found a cheap Motel 6.  It was real cheap, like mind-blowing; and it offered air conditioning.  I quickly recalculated our miles and thought it might be better to bike all the way to Palmdale tomorrow, adding on some 15-20 miles, in order to get some AC and a better night's sleep.  We'd get a solid resupply option and it would set us up the next day to leave sometime after midnight for a big desert crossing.  Starting from Palmdale would be a real advantage for making that big nighttime ride more doable.  

Janna was back by about 10:30 am with Don and Karen.  They all exited the RV laughing with success as Janna produced two 9-speed chains.  It turns out that the shop had almost nothing left in inventory except these 9-speed chains.  The luck was palpable and pleasing.  I got to work getting one on her bike and one stashed away just-in-case.  Don and Karen hugged us goodbye and left on their RVs, only to show up 15 minutes later again to make sure we were okay; they were super caring.  We all took some photos together and agreed to meetup this fall (Which they did!  They came and stayed with us at the Canyon that September!).  Now they were truly off and Janna and I were left to clean up some grease, pull out an early lunch, and finally pack up with a feeling of success under our feet.  Between her near-exploding chain and my warped brake caliper, the mechanical issues seemed behind us (and more than we ever had go wrong on any single trip).  

We left the campground at 11:30 am and pushed out onto the highway edge as 90 degree temps were in full-earnest.  The crystal blue of Silverwood Lake stood gorgeous amongst the dry, June, desert hills.  We knew today was going to be hot, but it felt more desert-like than we anticipated.  A hot iron of atmosphere invaded my lungs with every inhale followed by water loss on the exhale.  We had too briefly considered today's route with assumptions we'd climb back up to elevation and a greater cool.  Instead, today turned about to be about 90% crossing of high Mojave Desert mountains.  Some traffic picked up along Highway 138 as we inched across a valley.  It was sweltering and we both kept taking frequent breaks at any dirt pullouts to drink water and calm our heart rates.  A quick weather check revealed it to be 100 degrees.  

But I was absolutely also feeling the heat.  As we climbed, those same fears about rhabdo crept back into my brain.  I keep thinking: "Am I drinking enough?  What color was my urine?  When was my last urination event?  Am I balancing salt well?"  And the higher and more intense the climb, the more I could feel the high temperatures burning through me to the core of my bones.  I stopped more and more frequently to give the quads a rest from the burning churn.  Janna began to remark she was feeling off from the heat and exertion.  I was getting downright nauseous.  The climb continued beautifully and relentlessly.  

Suddenly, a pocket of pines appeared at a bend in the road.  I stared incessantly with promises to bathe in their shade and eat some food.  Janna got their first and down a liter or so of water.  I pulled up, laid my bike down on the shoulder, and then just walked over to sit beneath their boughs.  We took some salt pills, reapplied sunscreen, and I started eating some dates for sugar and potassium.  My stomach soaked it all up.  But that triple digit heat and intense climbing had already gotten to me - I was battling a sub-migraine and constant feelings of vomiting.  We continued climbing and then suddenly, were back in a multitude of woodland expanse that spilled us past cabins baking in the high-elevation sun and into the heart of Wrightwood.  It was here that we officially merged with the Angeles Crest Highway/HWY 2.  

The town of Wrightwood turned out to be exactly what I needed.  Even up here at 6000 feet, it was in the low 90s.  But, they had a great grocery at Wrightwood Fine Foods where we parked our bikes and walked in the temperature AC of the store to resupply for both today and tomorrow.  I downed three ice-cold Gatorades, and Janna the same.  Then, we started slowly pedaling down the city center where a sign for Bigfoot Bowls caught my eye.  I had a sudden urge for intense calorie consumption, especially some great vegan food.  We rolled up, got some more cold drinks, and ate some tofu/rice bowls with soy.  It also exactly what I needed to battle off the migraine, settle the nausea, and give my legs what they needed from the climb.  Plus, it was now in the late afternoon which meant that even with the sun shining in our eyes while riding, its bite was so much less worse.  

We pedaled out of Wrightwood down the pine-lined Angeles Crest HWY where we passed through the village of closed-up Big Pines (nothing was open from COVID).  Our intended camp for the night was at Table Mountain Campground, a USFS campground located off-route up another steep 1-mile-several-hundred-feet-climb.  At this point both of our knees were cooked.  Instead of pedaling, we got off our bikes and pushed our bikes up to the campground located at 7000 feet finely nestled in the pines.  I loved this campground.  It was all-respite and oasis from the desert surrounding us.  With our last bar of reception while in Wrightwood, Janna and I had seen that a massive "Extreme Heat Warning" got blanketed over our entire area starting tomorrow.  Temperatures were to be well above 100 degrees, closer to 115 F in areas for the next five days.  This was all corresponding with our upcoming biggest desert crossings.  It had my stomach in knots for fear of the heat and my health.  We made a decision that we would start transitioning to some significant night riding and flip our schedules to make it work.  Janna's assuredness and cool head became the rock I leaned on in my fears of the weather conditions to come.  But tonight we had the mountain all dark and calm as cool air blanketed us, making us chase our jackets.  I sat up as black ink sky befell and the world of LA twinkled with millions and millions of lights in the cityscape below, thousands of feet down our coming direction.  ​

​Janna and I slept-in due to the bed and cabin situation.  We felt comfortable leaving later in the morning because we were going to remain relatively high up in the San Bernadino Mountains.  We ate breakfast leftovers before cleaning the cabin followed by packing up the bikes.  That put us outside on the front driveway by 9 am.  We locked the place and started off with sore butts towards the north shores of Big Bear Lake.  We had spent all of the past two days getting groceries and riding along the south shore.  The north shore was arguably less developed, had more National Forest abutting the lake, and way less vehicular traffic.  The morning was easy cruising through small cabin hamlets along the lake coupled with frequent stops to gaze out on sage colliding with deep blue water.  The west side of Big Bear Lake had lots of boats and beaches to swim and play.  It looked inviting and gorgeous underneath the blazing summer sun.  Cars were parked end-to-end along any pullouts as recreators made their ways to the waves.  

At the far end of the lake, the mountains "bowled-up" around us, pinching the lake into a narrow outflow that had been dammed (thus forming the reservoir).  Here at Bear Lake Dam, Highway 18 started a twisty and narrow climb up into the San Bernadino Mountains as the road became known as the scenic "Rim of the World."  And it was truly spectacular for the sights.  Big 'ol craggy peaks white with granite and streaked with conifers rose around us.  Although the highway was curvy with a good flow of traffic, the shoulder was wide, welcoming, and frequent with pullouts.  And we used the pullouts to look back down on where we had climbed and descending cliffs of mountains above the smoggy sprawl of Los Angeles thousands of feet below us.  It certainly had a "sky island" feel to it all: the desert low and expansive while we are all high and tree-cupped.  

Today was a welcome zero day, just a few days into the trip, but at a crucial point we had previously planned for; we wanted recovery with unseasoned legs and a previous-day's big climb.  Janna and I absolutely slept-in late.  After waking up, we walked down the street from the cabin in the day's already garnering warmth to get some breakfast at a local restaurant.  While there, we saw two PCT-hikers who I chatted with about their experiences and plans moving forward.  Afterwards, we stopped by a local pie restaurant for the best chocolate cream pie I have ever eaten.

From there, we walked to the post office in Big Bear.  We had a bounce box that had arrived several days prior that we needed to grab a few repair items from before sending it on to our next location.  Once back at the cabin, I set about looking for bike shops in the area.  My caliper hadn't responded well to the many of the descents yesterday and the brake pads were annoyingly rubbing on the rotor no matter what steps I took to ameliorate the situation.  My intentions were also to hopefully find a more robust caliper.  I called Bear Valley Bikes and they said to come on over.  We road the some 8 miles out to the bike shop down backstreets that took us along ritzy neighborhoods with insane multi-million dollar homes/cabins.  They took both our bikes in immediately, as they wanted to take a look a look at Janna's bike just for kicks.  

They worked on my caliper for a bit while Janna and I wandered around the shop or sat outside.  The mechanic came out and told me my caliper had warped from the heat of my bike load and the descents, meaning it was curved into rubbing on my rotor.  And unfortunately, with COVID and the supply chain issues, they had absolutely nothing to replace it with.  But, they told they would work on in as best as possible to get it to be as smooth as possible; the next time I found a bike, they encouraged me to immediately get that thing replaced with something better suited to handle our loads.  I eyed Janna's Paul Klampers with a sense of envy an they were performing beautifully and had no issues as mechanicals.  Bear Valley Bikes did an awesome time wrenching and working on that warped plastic caliper to get the brake pads into a defensible, practical use.  I really, truly appreciated their work.  

And with that, we pushed back off to head back to the cabin.  Ultimately, we didn't want to be out too much today as today was a rest day.  We ended up riding along and through multiple cabin-filled woodland areas before spilling out next to Bear Lake and making our way to a Vons.  While Janna went inside, I called my parents and filled them in on our trip.  Then, it was my turn and I headed inside to buy groceries for the rest of the day and tomorrow.  Groceries packed, we headed back to the cabin.  The evening was spent watching some episodes of Season 1 of Loki (just released), Season 1 of Sweet Tooth (just released), and Raya and the Last Dragon.  The legs stayed up and rested as a good night's sleep whisked us to tomorrow.

​After a fitful night's sleep in Banning, we got up early knowing that today was going to be a crux ride. Since beginning the tour, we had cast nervous eyes ahead to Big Bear knowing that we had over 8,000 feet of gain to do in a day.  I slept terribly thanks for uncertainties about my brake and whether it would perform well on the rest of the route (or at least until I found a better caliper).  The morning was bright, sun smack pumping heat.  It was chill enough for light wind jackets but we knew that a 90+ degree day lay ahead down here.  The roads were clear of vehicles at 6 am as Janna and I wound through the streets of Banning that I had ridden the day before to get to the bike shop.  And then we passed the bike shop with a laugh and continued on into Beaumont.  

Down paved backroads along the foothills we began to rise.  The climbing became steep as dried summer grasslands kissed the asphalt road shoulders.  It got steep enough that I jumped off my bike and had to push it up several sections of notable grades through Yucaipa.  The thousand feet or so of gain was instantly lost as we descended through the neighborhoods outlying Yucaipa and hit Highway 38.  The day just felt like one of those summer scorchers where early morning hits already too hot.  I was dripped sweat and it was barely 8 am.  On the outskirts of Yucaipa, we stopped at a Rite Aid along the road for bathrooms and Gatorade.  The goal was to stay hydrated.  

The Sierra Cascades continued along countryside rising from urbanity.  We swung a right on Highway 38 and gaped at the road that entered a schism between hills on the official up-climb through the San Bernadino Mountains.  We pulled off in facilities for the San Gorgonio Wilderness Association for one last bathroom break as we knew we were going to be riding the edge of a highway for a few hours where privacy for privy would be scarce.  It was time to push cause the Sun was rising still.  

Janna told me my face looked ridiculous from the amount of mineral sunscreen I had lathered on this morning.  We took a selfie to examine our respective faces and laughed at the clown paint smeared by sweat and itching.  After eating for bit, we wrapped up and got back on the bikes to begin the next 4000/5000 feet of gain.  I felt calmer now that we were in the pines.  Shade was relatively abundant so the threat of triple digits felt less at-hand.  We climbed and climbed through the abundance of trees as distant peaks got closer and the elevation continued to gain.  I stopped at every pullout on either side of the road to gaze over the edge at the incredible sprawl of mountain range and valley around us.  

In early afternoon we stopped for a long break at a campground nestled in the trees but closed for COVID.  We walked our bikes around the car gate to a picnic table to sit in the shade.  Luckily, a water pump was functional for the season so I was able to refill our supplies.  Afterwards, the shoulder on the highway began to really open up again.  The wider the shoulder, the more relaxed I felt.  But countering that was a nagging fear that the heat and physical exertion were going to give me rhabdo.  Ever since I had been treated for rhabdomyolysis last autumn, I had been paranoid and panicked about it occurring again.  I kept stopping to pee and intensely analyze its color.  I was thinking constantly about salt and water intake.  About the temperature.  About the physical effort.  But as the elevation gained and the worst of the heat abated (despite my intense sweating), my fears of rhabdo began to subside as well.  

By mid afternoon we hit 8000 feet in elevation at Onyx Pass with only several hundred to go.  We were worked to the bone from the up-and-downs, but ultimately cumulative ups that put us around 8000 feet of gain.  It was remarkable to me that we had climbed all the way up here.  Sugarloaf Mountain and San Gorgonio Mountain rose dramatically to sweep the altitude above us and catch my eyes.  We felt strong and yet exhausted - a perfect combination.  After a pass at 8300 feet, we began a long and beautiful descent downhill into Big Bear nestled in a flat and expansive high-elevation valley.  Large pines dappled shadow and light across the afternoon pavement and we were alive.  We rolled down the avenues and highway shoulder into Big Bear City where a turn into a network of homes set in the trees led us to a cabin.  One of Janna's coworkers at her old school owned a cabin in the area and said we could stay in it for a few days for free.  

As soon as we pulled into the cabin's driveway, a neighbor came over to introduce herself.  She said she had been keeping an eye out for us all day and couldn't believe we had biked up here.  Me either.

The cabin was exactly what we wanted.  We stored our bikes out back, carried our bags in, and got to work taking long and wonderful showers.  After, we dawned some relatively clean clothes, caught a cab in the area, and were whisked away downtown for some dinner dining options.  After a great meal at an Indian restaurant, we caught the same cab back to the cabin where we settled into watching some TV before falling asleep hard.  ​

​Janna and I started our morning in Idyllwild late and leisurely.  We only had 30 miles planned out today and only a couple of thousand feet of gain.  The Sierra Cascades would take us up and over, then down the San Jacinto range to Banning, CA right along the I-10 as it crosses a vein of the low Mohave Desert.  We had originally planned on camping at Bogart County Park just west and north of town, outside of Beaumont.  However, the campground and park had closed to tent campers due to COVID, and all reservations were cancelled.  All other camping in the area was either closed (due to COVID) or restricted to RV park usage.  I had searched fruitlessly and settled on the fact that we were going to need to book a hotel room in the area; this was also encouraged by the major vein of urban desert that was due to be over 100 degrees.  

But first, we took a long morning in Idyllwild.  We walked from our cabin over to the Red Kettle for breakfast.  After a long time eating and talking, we walked over to Nomad Adventures once again for an item Janna forgot at home.  We then walked over to the small grocery in the middle of town to pick up some resupplies.  By the time we got back to cabin and packed our bikes, it was nearly noon.  But this was summer; the season demands all-day dives into existence with the gift on long-light.  

The Sierra Cascades ascended to over 6,000 feet at Pine Cove.  Large southwestern pines stood massive in the mountain woodlands around us.  The road climbed and climbed as heat battered up the elevation.  I was dripping sweat and knew more was to come way down in Banning below at 2000 feet.  Large expanses of the mountain range began to frame the road as pine fell away in dramatic views of San Jacinto Peak.  Large white granite chunks of the mountain smoothly graced the highway sides and traffic was relatively light.  From this high point, a long descent began down to the desert in earnest.  The road spun through groves of pines that fell away to reveal dramatic peaks of chapparal and scrub in the cooking desert below. 

We pulled off several times to jump into the woods for a quick pee break.  Signs beckoned the Pacific Crest Trail near, indicative of our bike route's aspirations.  Indian Vista with a shaded kiosk provided respite from the Sun.  Both Janna and I had dressed in light/white shirts (and Janna in tights) for this trip in an effort to keep ourselves cool for the section we were riding currently.  The heat was strong even now, promising more to come.  At this moment, I had no idea that a record summer of "heat domes" lay before us on the route.  For now, all seemed good for riding in the day.  

A curve in the bend brought us by Indian Creek and Indian Vista.  Nearby, dammed Lake Fulmor sat back among the crevices of the mountain complete with greenery.  We pulled our bikes off the road, parked them in the shade, and hiked back along wooden ramadas and dirt trails for a circumference of the lake.  We found a boardwalk/pier jutting smally into the lake's center where we sat on the wooden planks and soaked in the cool provided by water tempering the atmosphere of the summer.  After about an hour we knew we needed to descend to get to our hotel for an early sleep before a massive climb the next day.  We walked back to our bikes and pushed out onto Highway 243 once more.  

The highway took a sudden, and dramatically steep plunge down to the desert.  This was nearly a 4000 foot descent happening in only like 13 miles.  It was dizzyingly​ fast, and even spooked me a bit for the speeds.  All semblance of a shoulder disappeared as heat came on like a blow dryer to the face.  A curve in the bend brought us expansive views of San Gorgonio and the San Bernadino Range rising even higher and more dramatically in the distance across the valley of heat.  We stopped at one last pullout to look out on it all as a slew of vehicles sped past us.  Janna and I agreed the next stop would be at the bottom.  We started descending, and suddenly my brakes began to feel spongy…too spongy.  Like, I kept clutching my right brake paddle and felt nothing was responding.  I pulled off into a pullout and realized that my hydraulic brake had overheated from the intensity of heat from the descent, causing it to burst and drain the entirety of brake fluid.  I now had no rear brake on nearly 3000 more feet of descent.  I gasped at the situation, but knew there was nothing to do but keep on descending and pray that my front brake didn't rupture either.  The goal was to keep my speed down but also feather the front brake lest it overheat.  

I jumped back on the highway and the road got even steeper as an insane number of intense switchbacks curled back and forth down the mountainside.  There was no shoulder and large trucks, motorcycles, and even semis were hauling speed on the descent whipping back and forth along the curves of the highway, the white line of which we hugged as best as possible with our tires.  I was running on pure adrenaline between no front brake and large vehicles mere feet (or foot) to my left. 

And suddenly we were down into suburban neighborhoods in 100 degree heat.  I caught up to Janna and told her I had completely lost a brake.  She gaped that I did that descent given the situation.  We both turned and peered up the curving highway climbing into rock and agreed to never, ever ride that insane stretch of road again.  But now the problem was I had to find a bike shop ASAP to see if I could purchase a new rear brake.  We pushed off down suburban streets baking in the sun and smoldering heat.  Dried grass fields sat in lots and vacant areas between neighborhoods where every house seemed to have a guard dog that raced out to the fence and roaringly rage-barked at us.  I keep waiting for one to jump the fence or make it through.  A chihuahua did come at us and snapped at my ankles in a full sprint for five minutes.  We wound through neighborhoods before reaching the I-10 - a massive artery carrying drivers to LA.  The Sierra Cascades took us under the highway on a network of urban roads choked with vehicles before we left the route to make our way down a frontage road to our lodging at a Hampton Inn we got a ridiculous deal.  

The hotel was gloriously cool from the triple-digit heat outside.  We took our bikes to our room where Janna immediately showered while I feverishly searched on Google for a bike shop even remotely nearby that had sufficient parts.  I found one called Ridgeline Service in Beaumont, about a 20 minute bike-ride away.  But it was closing in less than hour.  I strapped on my helmet, ran outside with my bikes, and pedaled with all ferocity through the later-afternoon hundred degree heat at full speed to where this bike shop was.  I cannot stress enough how absolutely fantastic the owner was.  I had called ahead with my predicament and he was ready for me when I arrived.  My first impression was how empty of supplies the shop was.  This was the reality of the pandemic still-raging: supply chain shortages, especially in bike gear everywhere.  Literally, due to COVID and its disruptions, there was massive demand for all-things bike-related, but there was not enough inventory.  As a result, almost every bike shop across the county was empty of gear and low on offerings.  

The owner took my bike into the stand and confirmed that my rear brakes had leaked all hydraulic fluid out, and straight onto my brake rotor which was now somewhat compromised.  He also let me know he only had one set of brakes in the shop - an entry level Shimano mechanical brake caliper that was almost entirely plastic.  Everything else was out of stock due to COVID.  It would have to do.  He took my bike back and installed the caliper while he also did his best (an amazing job) to clean the brake rotor as best as possible (there were no rotors to be sold).  The rotor was caked in industrial brake fluid that had dried in the heat into a smooth and un-grip-worthy sheet.  But cleaned as best as possible, I had to make it work.  The owner brought my bike back out and told me this would get me on my way, but to replace it at my earliest convenience because it wasn't designed to take such repeated heat/weight on a touring rig.  He also told me he was absolutely mind-blown that I rode that descent on San Jacinto with no brake.  I thanked him, stepped back out into the 100 degree heat, and biked as fast as possible back to the Hampton Inn to get out of the heat and get relaxing in the cool.  

Once I made it back to the Hampton Inn and settled in, Janna and I identified a bike shop up in Big Bear (the next big town on-route) where I might grab a better brake caliper a couple of days down the road.  We left the hotel to walk to the grocery store, we restocked, grabbed some Chipotle where we sat outside in the shade of the building as evening and a break in the heat finally came.  After, we walked back to the hotel where I finally grabbed an ice-cold shower and prepared for the major day of riding tomorrow. ​

​Rain pattered our campsite throughout the night as a gentle pour from the inland-stretching marine layer.  We slept well.  Morning was subsequently overcast and cool.  A thick stew of clouds smeared atmospheric-opaquicity over Mt. Palomar rising about the campground.  Mixes of blue sky wafting here and there suggested it wouldn't last long.  We were in the desert for sure, but knew that we needed to descend even lower in elevation today before an all-day climb up into the cool pines of Idyllwild.  The marine layer was affording us well-tempered temps we knew to take advantage of.  Quickly, Janna and I packed up camp, ate breakfast, and pushed out onto the highway edge.

The brown grasslands of the desert surrounded us as live oak gave way to cholla.  We stopped at the historical Oak Grove Stage Station before descending down to a low point at Aguanga, CA.  Here, we swung a right and started up Rt. 371/Cahuila Rd. towards Anza.  This stretch of highway was hellacious in all the dangerous ways for a cyclist: it had no shoulders, was packed with speeding vehicles (the speed limit was 55/65 mph to start with), all uphill with curves and steep drop-offs, and apparently a heavily-used commuter route during rush hour.  We were smack dab in the middle of that car-time.  Panicked and tense, I rode slowly up the hill taking care of my left knee (same injury I've had for years).  The climb was incredibly steep and we pulled over in every dirt driveway/turnout joining the road to let a litany of vehicles rage past us.  These pullouts afforded us an opportunity to mentally recuperate from the taxing aggressive and fast traffic.  It was then that I took a moment to turn around and be mesmerized by the distant wrinkled folds of desert beaks in line against the plunging valley we were climbing from, all contrasted with gray cool clouds and blue distant sky.  It was quite epic and beautiful.

As Janna and I climbed, a mess of rock jumbles peppered the high grassland desert hills around us.  The clouds above us began dissipating in the reigning strength of rising sun.  Finally, the steepness of this first climb of the day began to lessen as a centerpiece of desert savannah spread out around us on our approach to Anza.  And there, distantly, sat the massive peak of Mount San Jacinto, just close enough to be seen, but just far enough to barely cusp the horizon.  By now, the clouds of morning were gone and full Sun of a summer day was upon us.  We shed layers damp with our sweat from exertion and breathed a sigh of relief at the worst traffic being behind us.  We both agreed we would never want to ride that stretch of pavement ever again.  Puddles of sage sat amongst the grasses and larger mountain peaks began to loom ever closer as we pulled into Anza at mid-day.  

We descended from a saddle down through unburned pines to reach Mountain Center where we took a right up Rt. 243.  The road twisted and climbed steeply up the mountain peaks.  Rock became white granite set against a growth of evergreen pine.  It was absolutely gorgeous and reminded me again of biking up Mt. Lemmon in Tucson.  A couple of hours later we coasted into town.  Both of us had no idea was Idyllwild was like and were blown away by how cool it was.  It is actually a rather large town set in the sprawling pines of a valley high up in the San Jacintos.  Downtown had quite a number of businesses, restaurants, groceries, and even a movie theater.  We made our way slowly, making sure to take in all the sights.  I've always had a firm belief that when I bikepack/tour, that I want to absorb not only the natural sights of the journey, but the cultural sights of the towns we pass through as well.  It always lets me feel truly immersed in all qualities of an adventure route.  

We biked over to Idyllwild Inn where our reservations were held.  I had chosen this place for us to stay because it was recommended by the folks running the Stagecoach 400 bikepacking route and gave us a massive discount as cyclists for their smallest lodging in Cabin 9.  Once we checked in and unpacked our gear, we walked around downtown.  The center held a small green area where giant sequoias were planted.  Janna and I also walked over to Nomad Adventures for me to get a new water bladder.  I had an ultralight one I had used for years and it had sprung unrepairable leaks meaning all my water draining into my frame bag.  Luckily, I was able to get a durable MSR 6L dromedary, that to this day is the same one I use with no issues.  We spent the evening walking around town, grabbing some resupplies from the market, and getting some dinner out.  ​