Sierra Cascades - Day 17 - The Night I Slept in a U-Haul behind a Convenience Store in 100 Degree Heat
June 22, 2021
79.1 Miles
5,205 Feet of Gain
Kings Canyon National Park, CA to Auberry, CA
Today would end with one of the most sleepless nights of my life stuck someplace I never imagined I'd lay my head down (sleep might be an overstatement for lying awake, listening hard for hours) - especially after two beautiful nights in two separate National Parks. But the day started early with a rise in the mid-dark so we could pedal in relative coolness before another 100 degree high set in.
Janna and I pack up as quickly and quietly as we can from Sunset Campground in Kings Canyon National Park. We strap bags to our bike frames with precision and focus that this trip has built into habit. Our headlamps shine off the bike surfaces as the star-studded sky begins to hover between gray dawn and the end of night. With everything packed on, I begin a fast and relatively cold descent out of the Sierra Nevada mountains down into the western foothills. The Generals Highway cuts through granite that quickly transitions from sequoias into savannah oak and chapparal. Janna and I both stop a few times for bathroom breaks and to shed our layers as the temperatures already starts to spike so early in the day. I keep telling myself that the day ahead represents one of the last hot intervals of the route as Yosemite is coming soon, and we'll be back up to elevation before I know it.
We speed down through Etheda Springs and Pinehurst, gravity quickly making the montane alpine a memory. The two of us spill out onto an intersection with HWY 180/E Kings Canyon Road, having lost about 5000 feet of elevation. We quickly spin over to the Hume Lake Ranger District offices to fill up our water and use the restrooms. Unfortunately, both are closed. We pedal another half-a-mile down the road and find a Valero gas station that provides both as well as some snacks. Damn, it feels hot already. Although today is only supposed to reach a high of 105 F down here, I'm already sweating and feeling the anxiety of heat control. By 10:30 am, it's a steady 95 F. The highway has a good shoulder so we cruise downhill kicking our legs to cover miles before making a right onto N Elwood Rd. outside of Yokuts Valley. The road is double-lined but little trafficked. Plus, it's freshly paved and butter smooth. Janna and I speed past hillsides draped in grassy desiccated browns punctuated by live oak greens. The place looks like summer cooked.
The road slopes downhill into a canyon where we descend to the Kings River for a crossing on a bridge. The sight catches me because out of the craw of the arid unadorned Earth strikes a smash of green riparian rip that lines the Kings River with bushels of cottonwood and cattail. Even pine grows down here near the banks of moist soil. It's absolutely beautiful, and I pull to stop in a smatter of shade to admire the view. Even on the bridge the heat is oppressive, and I find myself thinking how the land reminds me of summer in Phoenix with the rocky mountains studded around the city all brown with the dormancy of spring grasses. Luckily, on the other side of the river is the MR5 Food Mart - a small convenience store we head inside of to grab bottles of cold sports drinks with electrolytes. I chug two immediately and let the struggling AC attempt to cool my bones. There is no one here on a day cranking heat.
I dread heading back outside on the bike but we are at the low point of today's ride - just over 500 feet above sea level after starting at over 6500 this morning. We won't catch much more elevation today to find coolness, but we can put a thousand feet between us and this low river crossing. Janna and I get back on our bikes and begin a long, slow ride on E Trimmer Springs Road as it weaves between desert foothills with small ranches and the occasional RV park. Any time a tree casts a shadow across the road, I stop to take a few minutes of respite to calm my breathing and lower my core temperature. I lose sight of Janna as she rides ahead. I think she's crushing it, but it turns out she's doing the same staccato stop-and-ride rhythm in tree shade just out of sight. I catch her about an hour later, and the two of us start for the vividly blue Pine Flat Lake.
The lake seems so out-of-place here. It's truly gorgeous and a phenomenal shade of azure so contrasted to the yellow-brown hills. Yet, the air is so hellfire hot that I start calling the water feature Satan's Lake. I pull out my weather app and see it's 106 F. I'm starting to feel that dangerous tip towards overheating. It's catching me, and I'm trying to right myself, but it's a struggle. We bike in silence now. Cicadas hum and then go silent as the heat builds around us. The lake shimmers blue. We pass by abandoned homes and half-burnt trailers. I think again how it's Satan's Lake. The two of us find the road weaving in and out of side-washes on a contour line about a hundred feet above the lake shore before we pass by a closed strip club and bar, and the road heads uphill. I can't wait to be gone from this forsaken misplaced reservoir. To be fair, I'm sure it's a great place and awesome spot to spend some summer hours out boating, fishing, and swimming. But my mind that moment was absolutely zeroed in on the suffering I was enduring in the heat and exposure.
The road heads inland from the lake on an upwards slope. We pass by the Trimmer Work Center - a Sierra USFS employee work station on our lefts. I remember stopping at the Beaver Work Center on the Great Divide and recall the water I was able to get. This Trimmer Work Center is the sole outpost in these grassy desert hills. A closed gate blocks the entrance. The place is completely shut down from COVID. But I can just make out a pump spigot outside the main building's front area. The large metal gate blocking the road stops abruptly on either side to become a wooden picket fence. Janna and I jump the wooden fences and head to the spigot. I'm overheated, red-faced, ill, and on the verge of overwhelming nausea. I keep my expectations low but am elated to find the spigot works and immediately sit under the faucet to let cold water spray all over me. Janna drenches herself too. We dump all our hot water out and drink heavily of the ice-cold pump. Again and again. Then I douse myself in the water on repeat. We rehydrate, cool, rest, and recover for an hour. The day's heat keeps rising. It was 106 F last time I looked and now probably growing.
A conversational debate sets in between us. I feel a sense of panic about leaving this place. We have reliable cold water and tree shade; I'd rather stay here until late afternoon/evening and continue on. Janna says we need to keep moving because there are no public lands ahead and we have to stay on schedule to finish; plus, in her argument, this area is low and slated to get hotter. The two of us weigh the pros and cons. I know she's right in the end because we have nearly 30 more miles to go today and that'll still take a while. Plus, we plan to stop and stay in Auberry, CA at a noted cyclist-only camping spot at a grocery store in town. Either side of town is bordered by 10-15 miles of private land with no dispersed camping available. It's important we make that site before the store closes. I sigh, get wet again, and then jump the fence to put all the water on my bike. Then, the two us push off on a steep climb into the Sierra National Forest.
I feel a bit better than before after our rest and cooling. The miles pass as we head into flatlands filled with live oaks in a sea of yellow highland desert grass. Ahead, a road repair construction crew has us pause before letting us ride through. As we wait in the shadow of a tree, the flagger strikes up a conversation. Turns out, he's from Auberry. We confidently tell him about our plans to camp that night at the cyclist spot. He looks at us with a side-eye and says he knows of no such thing. He says Auberry really doesn't have any camping available. The two of us point out the identified POI on the ACA map - a market. In my head, I imagine a rural store with oak trees and a large yard for peaceful camping - it's what we've experienced before. He looks at us and says he owns a house with property that immediately abuts the "grocery" and can't think of any way there is a spot there to camp. A seed of concern roots in my head. He says it's hot out and to be careful. He's super nice, and I play his concerns about our camping off as him simply not understanding the flexibility of where to camp sometimes as a bikepacker.
The hours that follow stay above 100 F. To be honest, the details of the day begin to slip my mind as I lock-in on trying to make Auberry and not get ill from the heat. Again, Janna speeds ahead for an hour or two. The two of us participate in a dance of "ride from one measly tree shade to the next." Literally, there is a moment when I pull over off the roadway under a dead tree that casts the most miserly thin shade as the sun filters through barren twig branches. But it's better than nothing. We are technically still in the boundaries of the Sierra National Forest, but all the land immediately next to the road is private ranch and property inholdings. The sea of public lands is out-of-reach, as we expected.
The exurbs of Auberry make themselves known as small rural businesses speckling the roadside every few miles until we are outside the town limits. The whole time, I've been slowly contemplating whether the camping ahead exists. As we roll into town, we find it to be more of a collection of old homes, abandoned properties, small churches, volunteer fire departments, and the market. Some of the businesses are closed and sit empty. We ride up to the market. I immediately find my concern rising. The place is called a market, but it's more a liquor store with convenience food and bars placed over every window and the doors. The place is in the middle of small homes and shuttered buildings with no shade - not a single tree in the back. Janna and I exchange looks. I think to myself, "This can't be it. If it is, where would we even put up a tent?" I note there must be a mistake, or the owner intends to have us camp on a nearby plot of land. Janna is red-faced and ill. The day's heat has finally caught up to her, and she can't seem to keep her core temperature down. The two have us have covered 80 miles today in 106 F heat, and she is physically done. There is a single bench outside the entrance door with a 2 foot awning of shade. I tell her to sit while I try to figure out where to camp for tonight.
I head inside the market and ask the employee behind the counter if I can talk to the owner to figure out where to camp as a cyclist. The owner comes out. Turns out he is a stellar guy with a positive attitude and super caring heart. He assures me we can camp on the property. Relief floods my veins. We get to talking. He tells me about how he came to letting cyclists camp here, and I listen rapturously. The owner lets me know that they will close up the market at 8 pm and that that will be our last opportunity to use the restrooms and get water. The store opens at 8 am the next day (after we plan to be gone). He also lets me know we can shower if we want. I'm stoked. But I'm also starting to sweat. It's stuffy in here; it turns out the A/C broke yesterday and isn't fixed yet. All the drinks will be warm; it's a bit of a disappointment especially since I was hoping to get Janna inside to cool down. It might actually be cooler outside in the shade in 100 F air temps than in here. He says not to open any freezers or fridges to help keep the products from spoiling.
We walk outside together so that he can show us where to camp. I give a thumbs up to Janna as we come around the corner and head to the back of the store building. It's a large blacktop parking lot bordered immediately by a 6.5 foot cinderblock wall with barbed wire on top. I glance to the right to see there's a dumpster with obvious trash-rot on the ground along with piles of wood pallets. Behind us sit two U-hauls stored for rent. My heart sinks as understanding dawns. I ask him if this is where he intends to have us camp. He rubs his chin and says yes. Thoughts are whizzing through my head: (a) we have a trekking pole shelter that won't stay upright on straight blacktop without stakes in the ground, (b) it's over 100 out and the blacktop is probably 20 degrees hotter that we're to sleep on, (c) there are going to be no bathrooms for either of us, and (d) I'm hesitant to sleep so openly behind a shop where someone could drive in and pin us in place if they wanted to with this parking lot. At the same time, I'm entirely grateful that the owner is giving us permission to stay here overnight and permission to hang out the rest of the afternoon. He looks at me and says the other option I have for camping is to sleep in the back of a U-Haul truck. He also offers to have us bathe in there. That sets me even more cautious - I imagine a worst-case scenario where someone comes upon us in the night and closes the hatch, effectively locking us in. I decline both offers and gratefully accept staying on the blacktop.
The owner heads back in for work, and I get to work thinking of how to spin this for Janna and/or find a better spot. Before I walk out front, my mind starts working on other options: we could bike further into the Sierra National Forest another 15 miles out past all the private land, I could see if local hotels are available, I could try reaching out to the fire department, or I could call local churches. I walk to the front mulling these options and see Janna with her head between her legs while sitting. She looks awful and absolutely heat-exerted. I deliver the news about staying. We both walk our bikes to the back, and she takes it all in. I'm trying to be super positive to offset the drawbacks of what will be surely be shitty night's sleep. We discuss the various alternatives. I jump on the phone and call every hotel around; not a single one has availability. We talk about biking further, but Janna admits that would put us at almost 100 miles today in 106 F heat, and she's worried she's about to be seriously sick as it is. I pull up Google and call every religious place in the area - no one picks up. Options are narrowing as the day slips to late afternoon. I'm coming to grips with the fact that we will need to rest here tonight.
Janna and I both take turns heading inside while one of us stays outside to watch the bikes. We're both alternating sitting in the sliver of shade of the awning while guzzling hot Gatorades in the triple digit heat. A slew of people come driving in. I act casual and try to blend in; but two touring cyclists won't be inconspicuous anywhere. Not going to lie - a few people pull up with obvious facial skin scabs from what seems to be meth along with rotted-out teeth. They come over to talk to me. I engage in good-hearted conversation until they start asking where the two of us are staying tonight. I tell them (with what I think is assured confidence) that we're hanging here until it gets cool and then biking another 30 miles into the National Forest. They ask pointedly how much our gear is worth, how much we could sell a bike for. I'm super uncomfortable and dodge the specifics of where we're heading, sleeping, and how much our gear could sell for secondhand. They press harder with their questions, fixated and looking me over. Demanding to know what campground exactly we're staying in. I ask them why they want to know. "Might want to come see you tonight," is what I get back. "I bet I could get a lot of money for your bike."
Fuck no.
I redirect the conversation to ask questions of my own. Where are they from, where are they heading. This seems to diffuse the tension. Suddenly, one of their party comes out with a TON of alcohol. There is some whooping and hollering before the car squeals out. I make a mental note to not set up an ounce of camping gear until well after dark to avoid people scoping us out.
Janna comes out 20 minutes later elated. The store owner has now told her we could sleep in the U-Hauls. I cock my head with skepticism that this is the better option. Janna says, "I would rather sleep on the floor of a U-Haul truck parked backwards into the cinder block wall then sleep out in the open on the blacktop." All my mind keeps thinking is if someone were to pull that latch shut and lock us in. We debate the merits and cons; I fold. Janna gleefully tells the shop owner our decision. I tell Janna about the uncomfortable questioning of some of the people who just came and went. She agrees we'll be discrete about setting up camp until the last moment.
As 8 pm nears, the shop owner and his employee start cleaning up. Janna and I buy a giant container of water to both drink tonight plus to fill our bottles with tomorrow morning. The owner asks again if we want to bathe in the U-Haul. We decline but head to his restrooms one more time before we have to hold our urine for 12 hours. The sun bends behind the cinder block wall. It finally feels relatively cool at 94 F degrees. I park both bikes immediately behind the bumper of the backed-up U-Haul between the truck and wall so that they are directly in our view and out-of-sight of anyone coming into the parking lot. The latch on the roll-drop door is open. Janna is positively giddy inside setting up a nest of sleep materials. I'm fucking adrenaline pumped and anxious thinking about that meth group. It's now past 8 PM, and the employee is getting ready to leave after locking up. I see Janna talking to him on the side as I lay out my sleeping pad inside the U-Haul. She comes over, atypically quiet and pensive, but she doesn't share anything.
She doesn't share anything, that is, until after we're riding tomorrow. The final conservation she had with the employee was him saying, "I'm so glad you two are staying here tonight because my car has an issue, and I have to leave it here overnight. I'd never trust leaving anything in this parking lot with what goes on. Glad to know you two will watch over it."
When she tells me this tomorrow morning, all I can think of is: "But WHO WAS GOING TO WATCH OUT FOR US!?" But back in the evening, I'm blissfully unaware of that conversation. Which is good because my mind is already sprinting through evaluations of our safety: Why are there metals bars across each of the store's windows? Do people come into this parking lot late at night to fuck around? What will I do if someone tries to lock us in the U-Haul? What if we hear people messing around in the night outside the truck? Why are there so many abandoned buildings nearby? Are those meth people from before going to come back?
My mind tends to go to dark scenarios when I'm unsure of where I'm camping. It helps me think through and prepare for how to react. I don't tell Janna any of this though; I just keep up the positive vibe that we're not sleeping on blacktop next to a dumpster. The sun sets. Janna immediately passes out into a deep heat-exhausted slumber with steady snoring in tow. I, however, get jacked up on fear/adrenaline and listen for every sound in the parking lot. Crickets start up. The sulfur orange lights of night lamps come on. Dogs bay from nearby. My blood flows at the speed of light for survival through me. With her asleep, I subconsciously take on the role of needing to protect us. And so goes the night. I'm so paranoid about making noise in the echoing chamber of the U-Haul, that I take minutes to turn on my sleeping pad so as to muffle my sounds. A few times I swear I hear talking in the parking lot around 2 am. I creep slow and steady to the edge of the U-Haul and peer slowly around the edge. Nothing but the smear of dark plus the gray opaqueness beyond the dim street lights. I lay back down. Get up again, repeat. It's paranoia, but I can't shake checking to look - just in case.
The hours pass. I don't sleep a minute. I'm in flight or fight mode. One car rolls by around 3 am. Slows to a crawl next to the turn to the parking lot. I peer cautiously out. After a brief pause, it continues on. I lay back down. Damn, this sucks. At 4 am, Janna suddenly wakes up. In the most soft of whispers she turns and asks if I'm awake. I respond that I haven't slept and am entirely awake. "Want to get going?" she asks. I jolt to my feet and start stuffing gear away. "Let's get the fuck out of here," I respond. In the pre-dawn darkness we roll out on our bikes never to look back. We are completely fine. And in hindsight, I just want to reiterate how kind and considerate the store owner was to let cyclists stay. In the end, nothing bad happened; we were the recipients of generosity. However, I'll also say with hindsight that I would never sleep in such a situation again.
There is an addendum to this piece. A few months later, in the fall, when we were biking the Sky Islands Odyssey, we ran into another bikepacker. We talked about the worst places we had slept - I cued him into our U-Haul night. He looked at us wide-eyed and said he would NEVER sleep in a U-Haul. I asked why. It turns out he's a special crimes investigator for the police. He started sharing stories about nightmare scenes he's had to investigate that involved the worst people using the back of rental trucks to commit their crimes. When I told him my fear that someone would pull the door latch down and lock us in, he looked at us straight in the faces and said he's had to investigate crimes committed on people like that before. I promised myself right there to never to sleep in the back of a U-Haul again.
