We stayed in Confidence at Brad's place on Friday night. I had to mention it because of the unique name of the little town. Plus, Brad has a very cool family — wife, two beautiful girls, and two dogs — that I absolutely adore. After a relaxed breakfast on Saturday, I drove up to Dardanelle where there is a store, a restaurant, a restroom, and a fee shower, a perfect place for the start and the end of a long ride. Yes, the ride would be long — for me at least — Dardanelle to Bridgeport to Dardanelle, going over Sonora Pass twice. I started riding at 9:29am.

Dardanelle Resort has everything you need!

After about four miles of mellow climbing, suddenly the grade kicks up. There, you see the warning sign for the steep grade ahead.

Does it say 26% grade? It's not downhill that's for sure.

The steep pitches always look intimidating. I suspect that it presents that look just so you, the rider, will crack, planting all the negative thoughts in your own head such as "Oh, F'k me, I can't ride up this thing; it is impossible!" But if you just keep your head down and pedal one stroke at a time, before you know it, you've crested over the top of the little steep pitch thinking "Oh, that was not too bad after all!" Well, there were quite a few steep pitches on this ride and those were the thoughts that went through my head except that I didn't swear.

The steepness of those sections would definitely leave an impression on anyone who has ridden either side of the Sonora Pass, but most of the time, it is, thank God, mellow and sometimes rolling. And there is breathtaking scenery to marvel about along the way. Much of the 14 miles from Dardanelle to the Sonora Pass follows along the Stanislaus River, in which many people fish. There are many granite cliffs on both sides that occasionally see a few rock climbers. Closer to the pass, the view opens up more with high peaks looming ahead enclosing a meadow with the river running through it.

Totally absorbed in the view, you will be surprised when the summit suddenly appears in front of you, marked by a big sign that could not be missed. 9624' … the air is thinner up here.

A few rolling sections lead to steep descend. This is where another 25% grade section is. Just take it slow, and on a bike, you can usually drop the cars and the motorcycles easily at these steep and winding downhill sections. At one point, after a gradual right hand bend, suddenly, a big valley opens up in front of and below you. I remember gawking at it while descending only to find myself shooting straight to the apex of a sharp right turn. I had just enough time to correct myself, but I couldn't help but notice the distinct skid marks that did shoot into the opposite lane — more than one set of skid marks.  I continued to gawk, but with caution now.

The downhill always goes by fast, so now you are in the valley. It's almost flat and straight. There, I had the urge to pedal, but suddenly I felt thirsty. Bridgeport was still 20+ miles away. There was an enormous complex, Marine Corp Training Center, on the side of the road. They probably had water there, but I didn't try — I didn't have my immigration documents with me. Nor did I find water at the 395 & 108 Junction — there was nothing there that I could see! There was still a little — little by comparison — hump, Devil's Gate Summit, to climb over on 395. By the time I arrived at Bridgeport, my two bottles had been dry for quite some time.

My mission now was to find a place for lunch, which turned out a very easy one because my bike came to a screeching halt in front of Sportsmen's Bar and Grill. I stepped in and found the last TT stage of Tour de France nearing the end. How fitting! I inhaled the Sportsman Burger and a potato salad as well as three full glasses of icy coke while witnessing Alberto Contador win his third Tour by 39 seconds, no more and no less, which I found ironic. I was not sure whom, Contador or Schleck, that God was teasing. (Note: Erik thought "ironic" was a wrong word to use in this scenario and he said it was "apropos.")

When I stepped back into the sun, I felt re-energized… except for one little problem — I ate and drank too fast and maybe too much too (I was hungry and thirsty!). Oh boy, the icy coke must have shocked my system, and then all that carbonated air… I just could not get comfortable. I now have a new appreciation for the discomfort babies have to go through before they are burped. I will not get into details here, but it took me the entire ride from Bridgeport to one mile before reaching the Sonora Pass the second time — that's about 31 miles — for the internal storm to finally subside.

Compare to that belly storm, the thunderstorm I rode through and got drenched in was just a minor annoyance. I first saw the dark clouds ahead of me and then was in the pouring rain for a good half hour or so just after the west side of Sonora Pass started getting steep.

The thunder and lightning was around me, but I pedaled on remembering how one person died and several got injured in a lightening storm last week at Grand Teton. I didn't really have a choice — what good it would do me if I stopped? Not sure what the people in the cars — not many during the storm — were thinking when they passed me, but I didn't want to get in anybody's car when I was fully soaked. One car drove right next to me at my pace on a fairly steep section. I sensed that the driver was probably looking in my direction waiting for me to raise the SOS. However, I had to focus on riding on or close to the white line, so I didn't turn my head. I simply nodded a few times, so the car drove on. After it passed me, I saw a couple of bikes hanging on the rack in the back. They probably felt bad for me. But really, I didn't mind climbing in the rain too much. I wasn't too cold and the rain did not make riding any more dangerous at that slow speed. When I was finally out of the rain and still had a few miles to go before the top, I felt lucky that I would not be descending in the rain. Down lower just when I rode into the storm, I had to stop to rain-proof my GPS device and my camera. Now, even though I was still on a climb in its general trend, I had to stop, not because I needed a break, but because I had to take a picture of the storm I just rode through.

Well, I celebrated too soon. One mile before the summit, just when I happily observed the tummy storm had gone away and I had gained some warmth by pedaling uphill out of the rain for a few miles, the clouds above me opened up. When I reached the top, I was again drenched. Knowing that I would face a chilling descend, I stopped and took a photo of the summit and gave myself a little time to get mentally prepared.

It turned out that the descend back to the car was a wild ride.

First, I was riding in the rain on wet pavement, so I took it easy, reminded by the weird sound from the wet brake from time to time. A mile or two later, I was out of the pouring rain, but still the big rain drops kept coming down in a more scattered fashion. The road was no longer soaking wet and I could tell my tires were dry, so I opened up a bit. Then suddenly dry hales came down. They fell on the ground and bounced like many white ceramic beads, but they seemed to crush under the tires and did not pose any serious threat. Then it was big rain drops again, but the sun was out too. The air got warmer and I could feel that my flapping wind breaker started to dry up.

Just then, a car in the opposite direction tapped its horn. Oh, it was Erik. Later I learned that they had finished their mission for the day, and since they were not too far from Dardanelle, Brad dropped him off so he drove up to look for me — that was after he had treated himself some ice cream at the Dardanelle store… We can't say he had his priorities messed up, can we? However, when I saw him on the road, I, was on my own mission — I had realized that there was a chance that I could make it back to Dardanelle before 5:29pm — 8 hours from my start time. Don't ask me why, but at that moment, 8:00 would sound so much better than 8:01. I nodded at him and continued my descend/sprint. At 5:28, I pulled into the parking lot of Dardanelle, with a big grin on my face — I made it!

I cannot count how many times I had done back country climbing and riding in the remote area (e.g. last year and this year's Death Rides) and had always been blessed with excellent weather. I had expected at one point, the good luck had to be balanced out one way or another. On Sunday, my friend Rob and I went up to Chipmunk Flat area for some rock climbing. Two climbs in, we were just commenting on how nice it was that the sun was behind the clouds and the temperature was perfect. Suddenly, lightening stuck above us and a dark patch of clouds peeked over the cliff like a monster and spit on us. We left some gear on the wall and threw everything in our pack and ran down to the car. I didn't ask myself what the rush was, but really, we were fully drenched by the time we reached the car anyway even though it was not too far away; we could have just walked slowly and the result would have been the same. Well, that was my story of being drenched on Sonora Pass highway twice, or three times if you count the second time I got rained on riding over the pass on my way back. I think my luck will be good for another while.

My GPS tracks: Garmin Connect, MTBGuru, Plus3Network (Note: why all 3 sites?)

Climbing Profiles:

Links:

• My photo album for this trip (a lot more photos)
• MTBR thread where it all started.
• Ride report on ChainReaction website

Erik has been talking about this climb. He spent days cleaning it out, and it is in very good shape right now — a five star climb by Yosemite standard. The crack is finger lock size with occasional hand jams. It is strenuous because it requires liebacking most the way up with hard-to-come-by stances for rests. He rates it 5.10b/c(?), but I know I had an easier time on Catchy (a 5.10d climb on the Cookie Cliff) than on this one. A few feet to the right is another corner crack (5.8 or 5.9?) that is almost as sustained but in a different size — cup hand size (for me) and it eventually leads to a sweet splitter hand crack. Then a few feet further to the right stands a fun technical climb that follows a wafer thin flake (5.11a?). Most of the time, I am hanging with my fingers or standing on edges that are as thin as a coin. It has to be magic that my overly stretched climbing shoes actually stay on the rock long enough for me to make one move after another. Off the same anchor is a wide crack in a corner that puts my offwidth climbing technique to test. Only after thrashing and kicking most of my way up, I notice a thin crack in the wall behind my back that I can pull on, which makes the difficulty to drop by two number grades immediately. However the crux lies in traversing a ten-foot roof. All the climbs are nothing but fun, and all are challenging in their own way. If I were Erik, I would also be proud of my discovery of these beauties, not to mention the great effort put in to uncover the beauty from beneath the choss, mud, and grass.

Having spent many weekends in Yosemite recently, it is a refreshing experience to spend a night out there. It is so quiet. Only the cracking of the firewood breaks the silence every now and then.

On sunday, we head for the climb that drew Erik back here in the first place — he really wanted to take one last look at, and maybe even give a try on, this crack that spans a perfectly horizontal roof before the area is closed in by snow. To get to the base, we have to climb two approach pitches. I like them both despite the loose condition. At the sight of the roof crack, I was struck by the beauty and intimidated by the difficulty the crack presents. As it turns out, it is indeed very difficult — hard to climb and hard to protect, and a fall yields great consequences. I know Erik will return to this climb. Hopefully he will come back with a better protection plan.

The area is still under development. Trails need to be improved, climbs need to be cleaned, and anchors need to be installed. Until then, I really can't say.

Since we have to live Saturday to get to Sunday, we decide to spend a day at the Fissures in Table Mountain area (See A Climber's guide to the Sonora Pass Highway, by Young et al). It is only 15 minutes away from Allen's apartment. With Allen leading and me following, we work our way up: Back Stage Pass (5.9), Repo Man (5.10d), Luminous Flesh Giants (5.11b), Structural Disintegration (5.11c), and High Resolution (5.11d). Matt from Allen's gym joins us later and skips the 5.9 and 5.10d warmup routes. In the afternoon, Amy, Rocky, and Amy's dog Ruby emerge from the talus field, but only have time to do the 5.9 before they have to go down. We reunion later in the evening for a grand Halloween Rock'n'Roll party in town.

The long awaited Sunday finally comes. When the sun rises, I see a cat woman in the mirror on the wall in front of me, and Allen of course transforms into the real himself — Spiderman. Soon after we arrive at the Grotto, another cat woman (Kirsten), a gecko (Debby), a green monster (Darrell), a cat man (Daniel) show up along with a bunch of humans and a few dogs. The Grotto probably have never seen so many creatures moving around on a same day. Oh, Darrell has something to say and show about that day here.

The highlight of the party is the cake — Amy has single handedly baked the cake and even gave the cake a funny face. Aren't these — climbing, Halloween, birthday, partying — all about fun?

Saturday – the Fissures

Allen concentrating on Luminous Flesh Giants.	Does this look High Resolution? Need a better camera.
Can you find me in this matrix of blocks?	Amy is a professional photographer and I guess only she can come up with such interesting composition.

Sunday – the Grotto

Return of the Spikerman!	Amy, the flower.
Darrell, the green monster.	What's that rope doing there? Gecko don't need no rope!
At least Daniel's head is warm.	That cute smile goes well with the cute ears.
A vertical race.	And here is the cake. I wonder if Allen actually picks his nose often.

She was planning to go climbing on Sunday with a friend of hers, but that friend had to bail last minute. Not wanting to stay in the house, she called Allen and I when we were on our way to Lost World. I gave her direction to the climbing area, but wasn't sure if we would see her there because even with the help of the guidebook and my direction, the approach is still not that easy to find. So I was really impressed when I heard her from below while I was leading the 2nd pitch of Pangaea . By the time we finished the climb and rappelled down to the ground, she had been waiting for almost two hours. She cheerfully dismissed my sorrow for her long wait by saying that she was having a good time reading her book and playing with her dog.

We then found out that she got in an car accident on her way up. Nobody was hurt, but her headlights were damaged. Because of that she had to leave early so that she could get back home (an 1 hour drive) in light. She described this situation to us with a smile.

After Allen led Peaceful Warrior , she top roped it. Unfortunately, before she even reached the top, it was already time for her to leave due to the steep hike out. She came down without finishing the climb.

I felt extremely sorry for her that she drove a long way to get here, got in an accident, had a damage in her car, and only got chance to do 2/3 of a climb. However, she was very relaxed about it and the whole time when she was with us, she was being nothing but fun. Her cheerful and relaxed attitude earned my great admiration. Not many people, men or women, can be so cool about what life has to offer! People, myself included, sometimes get so caught up in our losses and gains. If the gain does not justify our losses, we get regretful and depressed and drag everyone around down with us. I just hope that by writing this down, I'll remember Melissa next time when I find myself in such a situation.

Most of the people in this crowd showed up at a cragging area, Genesis, at Burst Rock earlier in the day. Some of them have known each other for years and use this gathering as a good chance to re-union. Some of them, like me, are just excited to meet climber legends such as Royal Robbins and Tom Frost and other local climbers. Ropes are dropped down from the top of many climbs. People chat, joke, and climb. Yesterday, she might have been a stranger; and today, she is holding the other end of the rope that you trust with your life. Without knowing it, I have bagged a few routes: Finger Twister (5.10a, finger crack), The Direct (5.8, wide hand crack), Primo (5.5, hand crack), Thwart (5.11d, face, top rope), Unknown climb (5.10a/b, face, top rope, left of Primo).

On Sunday, under the leadership of Brad, one of the authors of the Sonora Pass guidebook, we, a smaller crowd, approach the Lost World before noon. While there are good climbs all around the gorge, I spend most of the afternoon at the Clock Tower Area. The climbs there are of surprisingly good quality. I can at least vouch for these climbs: Timeless (first pitch, 5.9, lieback), Between Nothingness and Eternity (first pitch, 5.10c, sport), Undocumented climb (5.10b, sport, to the left of Between Nothingness and Eternity), Weapons of Mass Destruction (5.11 b/c, sport, not in guidebook yet), and Cock the Hammer (5.10c, awkward steep crack). Allen and I have decided to go back to continue our exploration at the wonderful Lost World next weekend. Wanna join us?

I didn't count, but I think about 30 climbers showed up for this gathering.	Tahoe, Kelly's puppy, is a real superstar!
Socializing is the main course of the day, and climbing is a side dish.	When there are so many climbers around, I'm not surprised to see an anchor like this.
Slay high stepping Thwart (5.11d) at Genesis.	Hunter's music climbs higher than anyone.
Tahoe receives abundant love at the Crag.	Wish someone could carry me like this on a steep ascent/descent. This is the sort of treatment you get when you are cute, really really cute.
Allen onsighting Weapons of Mass Destruction (5.11b/c).	And Mei follows his steps.
When Brad opens his mouth, everyone listens.	Allen fighting Green Monster (5.12a).

Expecting crowds every where especially in Yosemite, We met up with Steve at Sonora Pass, a summit on Highway 108 at an elevation of 9624 ft. Steve, knowing the area better than Allen and me, led us to the base of a few rock buttresses a couple miles west of the Pass. There was no obvious trail to follow, so we bushwhacked our way up the gully between the first and second buttresses. The gully was very loose and steep. At this altitude, I was breathing harder than normal, but there was no discomfort, so I just slowly make my way up following the two guys.

There are a couple of established climbs on the buttress to our right, including a 1-pitch 5.10d crack called What Is. But that would not be adventurous for Steve. So we, or rather he, decided to go up another undocumented crack system 100 feet down the gully from What Is. The crack on the bottom looks wide but easy and it leads up to a roof higher up that looks challenging. From below, the climb looks like 2-pitch long, which should be a good start for an adventurous day.

• Pitch 1: A rainfall of dirt and gravels turned into a small rockfall. Steve instinctively wedged his leg into the crack to stop the big chunks of rocks from falling onto me standing below. I owe my life to Steve now. The first pitch was short. I would give it a 5.6. Allen followed Steve and then he belayed me up, which was a pattern to be followed all the way up.
• Pitch 2: The second pitch started with a diagonal crack that led to the roof that Steve had had his eye on, so it was his opportunity to lead it. The crystals in the rock kept falling off, a good indicator of a virgin land never touched by man. The crack below the roof felt easy. Pulling through the roof was a little tricky which involved lie-backing and high stepping. But what surprised me was the scene after popping out of the roof — a wall that looked fairly blank with a very thin and shallow crack, about 30 feet long, running in the middle of it. Lucky that Steve had some RP's to protect this section, but still I thought it was a very a scary section to lead. Steve thought this pitch deserves at least a 5.10+.
• Pitch 3: Only after we reached the top of the second pitch did we realize that we were still ways to go to the real top. The third pitch was 100 feet of 4th class, which we all ran up very quickly. Now we were under another vertical wall with a perfect crack system shooting straight up.
• Pitch 4: Allen and I decided this climb would be an all-Steve-led first ascent. I tried to make myself useful while Allen conducted his belay duty, so I documented our ascent with my digital camera. The crack was again thin on this pitch, and also had a roof in the way. It didn't look easy when Steve led it. But with two people cleaning up before me, when I got to climb this pitch, it was in a good climbing condition. I think Allen gave this 195 ft pitch a 5.10+ rating.
• pitch 5: Finally, we saw the real top just one short pitch away. There were a few cracks in front of us. One in the left corner that starts with a diagonal hand crack and leads into a wide but protectable chimney. One in the middle, even wider with a huge drop right at the base. One on the right side with the first 25 feet of face climbing without a crack and then a thin crack that leads to the top. We picked the crack in the left corner to finish off the climb. It felt like a 5.8. Later Steve top roped the thin crack to the right and considered it fit the character of the whole climb better. It just needs a bolt to protect the first 25 feet.

The view at the top was marvelous. The peaks were still topped with snow with deep river canyons leading to the alpine country to the west. Alpine Delight was one of the names Steve came up with for the climb. Although he settled down with another name, Eye of the Needle, to better describe the character of the climb. I had the "alpine delight" in my heart at the end of that day.