Stagecoach 400 - Day 6 - A Winter Storm at Our Backs to Anza and Lake Henshaw
Date: March 14, 2024
73.3 Miles
7,090 Feet of Gain
Idyllwild, CA to Lake Henshaw Resort
I'm buzzing with anticipation as soon as my eyes open. The room is warm, the bed welcoming, and my legs tired. But, I know the next round of Santa Ana Winds are brewing a concoction of snowstorms on high and thunderstorms down low. We dress at 5 am, eat breakfast, and flip on the TV. Sure enough, the local news is plastered with images from downtown LA where the Santa Ana Winds are ripping and roaring. Trees are shorn, stoplights whipped, and even cars crushed from falling debris. The news reports gusts of wind hitting 70 - 80 mph. Holy shit. We open the drapes and see nothing yet that strong outside our room at the Idyllwild Inn. Janna and I both put some substantial layers on as we prepare to exit into the cold. It's absolutely brooding outside, a mix of moody clouds and swirling gray that indicates the atmospheric instability overhead. We push past the door and down into the empty town of sleepy-morning Idyllwild where we are one of the few out. We had debated last night which route to take this morning. The official route descends off the mountain on dirt roads and singletrack. The alternate is to just ride the highway straight back down the way we came up which is shorter and faster. I've done the latter two years ago on this route (when the dirt descent was closed from wildfire damage); I'm hungry to see the official way down so we start the morning ascending through neighborhoods until we hit dirt and enter the San Bernadino National Forest.
We're both thankful for the steep riding as it keeps us warm. Single shafts of sunlight sulk through the cloud cover. It's a menace of a storm to watch build. The dirt road is smooth enough…until it isn't. The route heads down some chunky road that has experienced a winter's worth of erosion. It's all streaked and straited with ruts, water, and mud; people have definitely been through riding OHVs tearing it up even more. We end up hike-a-biking down the worst of the mud to avoid getting absolutely splattered. The HAB also ends up cooling our already absolutely frigid fingers. But every descent reminds us we are heading to lower elevation where further escape from snow can be sought. The road catches a bend and joins a wider dirt track that cuts across the dry grass shrubland. I keep stopping over and over to snap photos of light wafting through the mottled quilt of cloud cover overhead. That play of shadow and shine is so stark and contrasted that it makes the straggles of pine trees around us look blackened and shear against the backdrop of the San Jacintos.
The dirt road weaves through faded brush before swinging onto some singletrack that intersects with it. We ride through the woods on smooth trail that climbs and weaves amid granite boulders and vibrantly fore-lit green shrubs. I'm enjoying the singletrack, but I also can't shake the realization that it's certainly slowing us down while the snowstorm ferments overhead. Neither Janna and I are strong singletrack riders; I enjoy the tread on bikepacking routes as a chance to mix things up and see some new places. But I tend to go slow and sure to avoid injury - Janna's the same. The singletrack begins to take some deep dips and after-climbs that require us to hop off the bikes and hike-a-bike. It plunges back into pockets of trees and then winds sharply around boulders that take all my concentration to navigate. I'm really loving it. Suddenly, the trail heads down for a creek crossing. I'm sure this creek normally flows low or dry. But with the recent storms and snowmelt, it's pumping out some solid depth. And its caught in a drainage where upstream and downstream scouting are not possible with a bike which forces us to cross at this point. It's cold out, and we realize we're going to have to get our feet wet. Neither of us are strangers to frequent stream crossings you just plunge your shoes into, yet both us hesitate at getting our feet wet on a day with coming snow and current temps in the high 30s. There's nothing to do but get it over, so I splash through followed by Janna. I jump on the bike to pump my pedals vigorously and to increase my metabolic heat output and warm up.
Trail tread leads back into granite-fields amid green shrubs before cresting out on a shallow ridge with incredible backdrops of the mountains behind us. I'm really enjoying this section as a splatter of blue sky opens up above us. The sun hits us with some needed warmth. I keep turning around to gawk at the landscape behind us all drizzled with the winter storm and washed-out light contrasting with the fore-lit vegetation. It's truly beautiful to see. I jump ahead on my maps and see the singletrack is soon to end at a pavement connection soon. Janna and I stop beside another stream to swap out some winter layers. Then, we pedals through the soft granite dust/sand and connect with paved Apple Canyon Road that winds past its so-named campground before merging with the shoulder of paved HWY 74. We both push hard down past Lake Hemet and its closed store to quickly swing onto dirt once more on Thomas Mountain Road.
Although the sun is clearly making its mark through splotches of blue sky, the temperatures just keep falling. Both of us share an unspoken sense of urgency to keep putting miles and elevation under our wheels. Thomas Mountain is a big climb ahead; I remember riding over this range two years ago on the route and mentally note there are some high points likely to experience the building winter weather. I tell Janna it's best we get up and over the range to drop into Anza where the conditions will likely be more favorable in the high desert. Janna takes that advice to heart and just starts cranking it up the wide dirt road climb. I'm babying my knee as always and lose sight of her as she hammers up the ascents. We round a corner with beautiful views back to Lake Hemet and Mt. San Jacinto along with their tumble of greenery. I note there is already a dusting of white snow on their mountain tops fresh to the day. I round a few more corners and can see way off to San Gorgonio; I note that it is absolutely caked in snow amid a drapery of dark gray storm clouds.
I start battling the intermingle of my body's internal heating system and the frigid temperatures outside it. Janna's comfortable and snug in almost every layer she owns including a neck gaiter over her face. I, on the other hand, and sweating hard under my layers enough to want to shed them. But the moment I do, the chill of falling temps makes me regret the choice. In the end, I choose the latter option and live with my outcome as we spin the last of our cranks up and over the saddle of Thomas Mountain. The washed-out atmosphere streaks equally across distant Anza Valley on the other side. No sooner do we stop for a brief break at the top than a flurry of snow starts to fall. I quickly lay my bike down to put on additional layers once more, including gloves in preparation for the coming windchill. Luckily, the building wind favors us a tailwind. With that we push off downhill down the decaying dirt that switchbacks sharply across the mountain-face. The flurries thicken enough that I feel a rise of concern for my body against the cold as the dirt softens and sticks to our tires a bit like peanut butter mud. But we turn a few more switchbacks on the descent and that issue mostly dissipates. Several large mud puddles line the road requiring us to ride the edges, but beyond that, the descent is mostly swift.
Yet, that cold bites deep. It sucks on the marrow and steals the joy of the downhill as I shiver to keep up the metabolic counter-fight. I seem to be doing well, but Janna is really bonking and suffering from the cold even more as a result. Even after turning onto paved Bautista Canyon Road and riding its nearly level surface with the tailwind, she's in a pretty intense shivering state. I bike ahead of her and then pull over to check my phone for where we should resupply. Our original plan was to stop at the Dollar General or a gas station to quickly grab some snacks and push on. But with the wild wind and cold, I'm feeling that a morale booster of a lunch stop might be more necessary. I eye a restaurant ahead but right then, a car pulls over and asks if we need anything. I tell them we're good and just looking to eat in Anza. The driver is a local who enthusiastically suggests we eat at La Cocina Mexican Restaurant that is along the route but a few miles further into Anza; they rave about the quality of the food and say that is hands-down, the best Mexican food in the area. I'm sold.
As soon as Janna catches up to me, I tell her we should consider stopping for a full lunch.
"No, I want to push on. I'd rather we get snacks and keep moving so we get to camp earlier," she replies.
"I'm feeling the same, but it's so cold, I'm thinking a stop for some warm food and calories might actually help us out," I say.
"Let's push on. I've got enough snacks to get to that restaurant outside Lake Henshaw and I'd rather get in my sleeping bag to get warm sooner," Janna resolutely states.
So we continue on. We swing a left onto paved Cahuilla Rd/HWY 371 and the wind just shakes us down. It may be more of a tailwind, but the exposure of the open grasslands and plains in this high desert valley means nothing stops the gusts from socking our bodies and stealing their warmth. We make it about two miles down the road and can see the small building of La Cocina coming up. Janna immediately beelines it into the parking lot and is leaning her bike against a picnic table before I can catch a left and join her. "Lunch indoors, it is," I smile to myself. We step into the heated interior, absolute relief pumping in my veins to be in some warmth and out of the wind and order massive meals of soda, guacamole, chips, salsas, tamales, and burritos. Our orders reflect the triple needs of a long reprieve, caloric refill, and energy for metabolic heat. The place is packed for lunch. We grab a table on the side and just eat with empty faces focused on refueling. Once enough carbs hit my system, my body warms, and I become conversational again, as does Janna. Janna and I eat long and leisurely, laughing, and taking questions from customers about where we are riding. The food is delicious and everything I need in this moment. We both speak of the need for this morale boost and break from the unrelenting cold outside. We grab our water bottles from outside and refill them. When I'm absolutely satisfied and ready, I layer-up again and brace for the cold outside.
We pack quickly having taken stock of our food. At this point, we'll definitely arrive after the camp store closes at Lake Henshaw. But after this huge lunch, we're fine with that. We pedal a few hundred feet and then swing into the Circle K parking lot to grab a few more snacks for a quick dinner tonight. Restocked and feeling renewed, the two of us continue down the pavement, enter the rural neighborhoods of Anza, and join the ATV roads that make up the backyards of the area. The Stagecoach 400's route take us on a meandering ride along the same rural backroads we had used to enter the area just two days before. We cast eyes over at Sunshine Market while speeding along from our tailwind. I shake my head in disbelief at the change in conditions, weather, and scenery we've experienced in three days' time.
We turn onto another bit of pavement that then ends in dirt. We're on Bailey Road, and I think back to two years ago to how I got a little turned around in this area. There was some definite hike-a-bike then, but when we arrive at what I'm prepared to be a slog, the road's been dramatically improved by road graders. Instead of a long push, we ride our way into the sandy-stone foothills of the surrounding mountains, crest some awesome dirt tread that flows through high-desert scrub, and then turn south on the sole roadway allowing mechanized travel through the Beauty Mountain Wilderness. The road narrows up through aisles of sagebrush and I see the track start to climb into the hills.
I note out loud that it looks like a big swath of this entire area has burned since I rode through two years ago. Charred stags of trees and emptied hillsides line the way. What haven't changed are the cool rock formations and chaparal landscapes that seem so striking. An information kiosk at the Wilderness boundary provides background on the Quino checkerspot butterfly which is endangered and found in this grid of protected southwestern scrub. We start up the climb, and the sun just comes full on out. What winter clouds remain overhead drift away, the winds of the storm channel through the valley behind us in a sturdy push, and with shear pleasure, I take in the beauty of where we are at. All the difficulties of the day seems to wash off. There is just Janna, me, and the sprawling chaparal desert around us. I shed most of my winter gear. I feel absolutely alive and in love with where we are.
The miles feel fun and easy. The hike-a-bikes feel renewing and different. It's sunny, the wind is effectively blocked, and we are surely making our way. Large yuccas and stone boulders dot the horizon amid a mix of new thornscrub. It's all so incredibly beautiful. The two of us pedal into the Cleveland National Forest as the sun starts to hit that angle of horizon that suggests evening is coming but simultaneously sets the land aflame in golden hour. We're both pedaling fast now and have accepted that, once again, we'll be pedaling into the dark. A strip of pavement emerges from the granite dust of the path. We fly down the descent to Warner Springs in the fading sun of the day. I'm alive and well, just lit up by the views around us.
At the bottom where the road intersects with paved HWY 79, we stop to put on reflective gear, blinking lights, and warmer gear. Everything will be closed at this point, so there is nothing to do but just try to cover as many miles as quickly as possible to get to camp. The stretch of highway ahead is one I've ridden once on the Stagecoach 400 two years ago, and one that we rode in the opposite direction on the Sierra Cascades three years ago. It's a very busy stretch of pavement with little shoulder - and we're about to bike down it at night. The threat of cars makes us wary and pumps the muscles to move us quick to our destination. With that, we push off into the gathered gloom of evening. Crickets chirp amid the grasslands as we ride through the middle of Warner Springs. The tailwind is giving us everything we need to move with haste. I cast my eyes over next to the school yard in town where the PCT crosses; somewhere out there are many thru-hikers heading northbound at the start of their attempts. It comforts and fortifies me.
Janna and I ride into an absolutely slow-burn of a delicate and gorgeous sunset that sits at our fore. I am alive.
We pull off a few times along the road side to use the restroom, eat snacks, get water, and take a break from passing vehicles in the night. The Earth's plunges all the way to night by the time we turn right on HWY 76. Now, it's a four mile ride in pitch blackness to the Lake Henshaw Resort. I don't know why, but these four miles feel like they take forever. I'm constantly tracking every approaching set of headlights in my rearview mirror in case they look like they will hit us. That stress keeps me moving fast. But the miles pass and we pull into a closed-down and darkened Lake Henshaw Resort where a gate sits closed in front of the campground. Luckily, I had called ahead about our late arrival on bikes, and the place granted us permission to come on through. I had stayed here the last time I rode the Stagecoach 400, so I know where to head to find tent camping spots and some privacy around the back of the property. We find a picnic table situated among a dense thicket of oaks to set up the X-Mid next to. Janna checks out the bathrooms to find only the women's side is unlocked; no matter, we're the only tent campers around. It's a dizzying blur of snacking, unpacking, and changing into warm clothing. The night is just plummeting in temps. I check the forecast and some significant rain and storms are projected to rip through tonight. This causes me to doublecheck the lines and rigging of our shelter for maximum storm-worthiness. Everything secured, I climb into the X-mid where Janna is already curled up asleep. I calm my breathing and follow her.
