I needed a holiday (as always) and Dan’s business goings-on meant that we could get away for a week and a half. We didn’t need any more invitation than that. I messaged Dan’s Mom and asked if they’d be around in Phoenix for a visit. She was recently retired and assured me that yes, they were always around! Not true. A couple of weeks later, Mom remembered that they were going down to Mexico with Matt & Alex’s family, on exactly the dates we planned to visit. I was bummed, with each day I was getting more and more family desperate. I was very aware of just how long it had been since I’d seen my own Mum and Dad. It didn’t take long to see the upside though – driving to Phoenix was going to be unpleasantly hot and probably not the best first test trip for Berta.
Preparations
Berta will get her own story one day, but for now, just know that she’s our “new” Sprinter van that has a long history and is earning our trust. Therefore, holiday, but also a chance to give Berta a proper test.
I finished work on a Thursday and Dan had his last bit of work on Friday morning. We spent all day Friday and Saturday getting her ready for a longer trip. It felt like an old trick now, though it was our first time building a van together. There would be no vetos with the “this is my van” argument – she was ours. We’d settled into our roles – me doing the auxiliary electrical and any engine work, Dan the rooftop hardware, suspension, drivetrain and air conditioning. The interior design was a joint effort but a whole lot of thought was going into that – we didn’t want to design anything before trying things out first.
Dan was finishing up replacing the driveshaft carrier bearing around lunch time and I was completely done. I’d had some annoying issues with our LED lights, but other than that, we had power, a fridge, a tiny solar panel on the roof, a fan, an inverter and lights. While Dan did his final checks, I starting packing the van. I was stoked to find that Dave’s mountain bike fit perfectly into the slot for the GIant. The Giant was staying home for this trip because of a busted fork.
We didn’t try to pack light and it was a pleasure. I brought everything in the kitchen I might need without a second thought, we packed huge containers for bike stuff, brought a suite of tools (for obvious reasons) and had excess clothes. The filing cabinet Dan had scored from Craigslist wasn’t as rattly as we anticipated and served as a perfect clothes drawer. The dresser that fit perfectly under the bench was a similar situation – janky and free, but the perfect temporary storage solution.
We were ready to hit the road at 4pm. The usual excitement for a van trip was absent, replaced by a nervousness and anxiety that was becoming a common feeling with Berta. We ignored it as best we could, we had to start enjoying our time with her. We waved to our neighbors as we left the driveway and had our first concerned look as we pulled out of the driveway, hearing some new noises from the rear of the van as we lumbered down the street. Maybe from the added weight? It went away after a couple of blocks so no worries there. We stopped off at a couple of auto stores that we’d rented gear from, checking the oil a couple of times to make sure the level was spot on after the oil change I’d done. So far so good.
As we got onto the highway, Dan was tuned into Berta’s vibrations and reported that the 50 mph wobble we’d had with the old carrier bearing was gone but had been replaced with a new kind of shudder that wasn’t speed dependent and gave a little double-shake each time it presented itself. Still work to be done, but not a deal breaker.
We did our best to enjoy the familiar drive towards Lake Tahoe, but it was hard not to panic at every small noise. We stopped often for Cleo and then for dinner once we got past Sacramento. Michelle Obama’s audiobook kept us company the rest of the way as the air became cool and we approached Donner Summit. We hoped that a completely burnt out truck and a closed west-bound highway wasn’t a bad omen for our journey and hoped the driver got out before the blaze.
It was near 10pm when we romped into Silver Creek Campground and found Ross’ car at Site 17. We just managed to squeeze the van in and we’d made camp. Ross and Jonah had already retired to their tent but there was a party atmosphere in the camp. This was the kick-off weekend for Burning Man and we’d seen plenty of burners heading towards Black Rock and some had made a pitstop here.
After a quick pee break for Cleo we were all in bed, exhausted after a couple of hard days work and a stressful drive. We were happy to see stars through our roof fan.
Search for Single Track
In the middle of the night, I was surprised to hear a baby crying. After a couple of minutes, I could tell it was Levi. Then I thought I was dreaming because he’d stayed home! Apparently not, when we opened the van door in the morning, he peeked out from the tent shortly after. Ross had brought both boys!
We had a lazy morning, loosely discussing what we could ride, but mostly just talking vans and bike trailers. Jonah and Levi turned the van into a jungle gym, climbing up on the bed, playing with the fan and light controls and picking up anything sitting out loose. The boys eventually got into pack-up mode, helping Ross de-camp the tent and their washing line. It was a tight fit in their white wagon, but they made use of every inch.
We contemplated shuttling Flume trail, but thought better of it because it was a little too warm to leave Cleo in the car for half a day. Jonah was keen for the shuttling idea so we drove over to Northstar, not sure if they’d be happy with a bike trailer but only one way to find out! Berta lead the way into familiar territory and we parked near where we always did for snowboarding, though not getting pole position. The carpark was a display of bike racks and bikes. I reversed Berta into some shade and we were about to walk down into the village when I noticed water dripping from underneath Berta.
Dan had attempted to charge the A/C system and so condenser fluid had been dripping down, but this looked different. I put my hand under the steady dripping of water. It was hot, blue and syrupy. It was coolant. Bugger. A quick look under the car told us that the engine side of the bottom radiator hose was leaking. The hose clamp was not adjustable and the hose didn’t look damaged so we’d have to put on a new clamp, preferably without taking the hose off and losing all our coolant. It was doable and we had everything we needed, but it was too hot to work on. The boys walked down into the village to find out about Northstar’s trailer policy while we prepared for our dirty work.
They returned with bad news – no trailers allowed anywhere on the property – each human had to be riding their own bike. No good for Levi so we contemplated other plans. Ross’ first idea was to cross the road and explore single track at Martis Creek, but then our carpark neighbor piped up and told us about a network of trails at Sugarbowl so we took his advice.
I opened the radiator cap to let the pressure out of the system, took my shirt off so it wouldn’t get dirty and installed the new hose clamp. It was fiddly work and hot coolant ran down my arm, but satisfyingly, as I tightened the new clamp down, the trickling water stopped.
Berta lead the way to Sugar Bowl and Ross kept an eye out for any coolant leakage as he followed. All was dry by the time we parked. We suited up for a ride, packed some lunch and sprayed Cleo down with water. Levi got a hold of the spray bottle then and cooled everyone and everything down. We were off with Ross leading the way, but we were soon faced with a gate citing private property, especially in the Summer. Shame that every single trail we wanted to ride was on the other side of it.
We u-turned and tried to find another trail towards a lake but that was private too. When we hit an intersection with three options, two of them were bike-illegal Pacific Crest Trail and the other faded into nothing after 50m. This was a dud. We bailed and rode back to the cars to look for a better option. Ross found another good network of trails by Soda Springs, a place none of us had been before.
We shoved the bikes and the bike trailer into the van and we went off hunting. It was well past lunch time now so I ate my prepared sandwich as Dan drove. At Soda Springs, we found a beautiful little community surrounding a shimmering two-part lake with paddle boarders and vacationers galore.
Serene Lakes was mostly a private community with members-only beaches and foreshore. That didn’t stop us, we found a little sloped public beach near the trailhead and parked it. Levi had fallen asleep on the drive so we opted to hang out by the lake and have a beer instead of ride. I was the only one that swam and the water was gloriously cold. Levi snoozed in the car as we hung out chatting, me and Jonah sitting in the sun while Dan and Ross were down by the water’s edge.
When I asked Jonah if he was keen for a ride, that got everyone interested in a cruise. Ross was confident he could transfer the sleeping Levi into the trailer without interruption, but then Levi woke up. He was not a happy camper. For such a happy, smiling boy, I’d never heard him scream like this. After a while of trying to console him, Ross figured he’d eventually quiet down if we put him in the trailer and rode off so that’s what we did. We were geared up for a ride in no time, heading into Steven’s Canyon. Since it wasn’t too warm, we opted to leave Cleo to chill in the van and she was happy for it having already done the run around that morning.
The canyon was narrow and fell steeply down the mountain after the Serene Lakes dam. Thankfully we didn’t follow that steep decline, but stayed above it, cruising along some narrow firewood and double track on our way out to Mariah Point. On the way, we saw a few riders coming back and glimpsed the single track that we’d be taking on our return. Ross was right about Levi, he was content within minutes.
As we exited the forest and onto a ridge, we stopped often in the shade to let Ross and Levi catch up. This was the maiden single track voyage for the trailer and it was working out great so far. When we reached the point, there was a rocky single track down to a bench which Jonah and I were keen for. Dan eventually joined us too, but Ross didn’t wanna drag the trailer back up the hill so him and Levi remained in the shade. Jonah, Dan and I found this swing hanging from a tree that looked out into a deep valley. After Jonah had a sit, Dan was keen for a ride so after weighting the swing, he pushed it back as high as he could go, then let his body sway out towards the canyon.
What a ride, like launching into space with nothing but air below you. My.turn then, I did the same and couldn’t help but yell out as my feet were propelled into the valley below. I caught a breath in my chest at the slow motion of it all, it was like my body hung there a moment longer than it should have, suspended above the canyon below. That gave Jonah the courage and he was soon swinging out as well, holding tight to the ropes.
I had one last swing then we pushed/rode our bikes back up to Ross and Levi. Everyone was still happy and excited for some single track. We found the trail easily enough and enjoyed its sandy winding features. It was up and down, up and down, with nothing to strenuous and while plenty interesting, it was passable for the trailer.
We stopped when we came across a ski hut and did the obligatory explore. No one believed me when I said there was cold beer inside. At the next stop we had to check our trail maps for the right directions, but otherwise, we cruised all the way back into the canyon. Though we were technically doing the trail “backwards”, the last half mile or so was all downhill with tight switchbacks where we got up some speed. Ross was learning a new way of cornering, taking a wide entry so that he rode the top of each berm while Levi’s trailer almost cut each corner.
We were hollering at the end of the single track, stoked that we’d ridden it the wrong way. Ross was pretty happy at that for a trailer test ride as well, even Levi was smiling and talkative again. As we neared the gate to get back onto the fire road, I had a crack at the narrow, very steep dirt mound just next to it that we’d used to drop in. I pedaled hard, pushed my body forward near the peak and crested it. As I rested my bike by the side of the road, a guy yelled out, “Hey Lady! Hey Lady!”. It was a couple of riders just ahead of us that we’d seen at the end of the single track. I looked over to them, waiting for a scolding of some sort, but he just yelled out, “You’re amazing!” Haha, “Right on!” I replied. Dan, who had nearly made the hill by the gate, said “What about me?! I tried it” I then went over to the gate to help Ross get his bike and Levi over the gate.
Feeling the weight of the trailer, I wanted to give it a go and Ross happily obliged. He got on my bike as I rolled Levi up the hill. Yes it was weighty, but once you got going, the trailer ran so smoothly, you couldn’t feel anything other than the extra weight through your pedals. What a brilliant piece of kit.
Cleo was happy to see us when we returned and we wasted no time getting back down to the water. Everybody was in this time, even Dan with his obligatory scream. It was a lovely way to end the day, having the only public beach on Serene Lakes to ourselves. It was nearing 5pm so time for the boys to head home for the work and school week. Levi couldn’t decide how to say goodbye so I put my finger on his tongue which he got a laugh out of. Happy Levi was back!
They carefully packed the car and stowed their bikes on the rack and were off, leaving us to ponder our camp for the night. We picked a spot on the 89 just north of the campground we’d stayed in last night. We had a river view with access and weren’t any closer to the road than we had been at the campsite.
As soon as we parked up, we stood in the van and contemplated where to situate ourselves in the van. I was ready to cook dinner and Dan needed somewhere to sit other than our crappy $5 chairs. He looked at the passenger seat and I proposed that we simply unbolt it and install it backwards. It could be a nightly ritual until we got a swivel base for it. Yes, that was a good idea. He sat then, enjoyed a beer and enjoyed the view of the river while I cooked.
With dinner made, we had more contemplation. Where should we sit while eating? We wanted to maximize the view out of the side door because that would always be our main “window”, but did we want a couch? A nook with a table between two chairs? I sat in our camping chair on the floor of the van and we brainstormed. It would be a theme at every camp, a conversation we’d have to stop when we’d had enough because there were just so many options. For now, we were happy just to be in our Berta, next to the Truckee River with no one around us but the dwindling cars buzzing along the highway.
Tahoe Fail Trail
Cleo had a good night in her makeshift bed under our bed, keeping warm enough with the blanket and tired enough from yesterday’s mini ride to chill all night. By 8am we were out and about, the van already warming from the sun. Dan was really making the flipped passenger seat his home as I made coffee and breakfast.
With the day heating up, we didn’t plan for much but rolled out of camp around 10am to find a spot by the beach for some F1 viewing.
We found the Lake Forest Boat Ramp, a favorite from last year, blissfully quiet with a shaded picnic table just for us. There was only one other party at the sandy beach by the dock and they were right down on the water so we had our quiet place. We set up our crappy chairs and I had qualifying on, continuing where we’d left off the night before. It was short-lived, only getting to the end of Q2 before our internet hotspot ran out.
Might as well go for a mountain bike then. Dan and Cleo were happy to hang out and it was here about a year ago where I went for a ride and my lungs gave out. It made sense to try the route again and see how I fared. I was soon kitted up and riding off along the bike path to Dollar Point.
The network of trails around Dollar Point were familiar and I remembered just how many of them weren’t mapped on my phone. I followed a few errant ones, but never made a full loop, having to do a bit of backtracking, but I was happy to explore a bit. I crossed the familiar dam, not ballsy enough to make the 2-3 foot gap in the concrete wall on my wheels.
I chose a much more sensible trail to get me towards the top of Mount Watson. Last year, I’d stupidly followed the recommendation of MTB Project and attempted to climb what was clearly a bomber downhill track. At the cost of a bit of fire road, I took a much gentler path which had some good flow and manageable climbing. The trails were dusty but the ground foliage typically beautiful. I didn’t see another person until I started rolling up a mile’s worth of arms on Mt. Watson Road. When I reached the point where the Tahoe Rim Trail crossed the road, two e-bikers came along and we chatted a while about e-bike range and camelback options.
Onto the Tahoe Rim Trail now, I was happy for the single track and didn’t mind the climbing. Once I started descending a little, I missed a turn off so I backtracked and followed the trail I thought led to Painted Rock for which the trail is named after, but that seemed to be going off track so I carried on the way I’d been going. Something to explore next time, I told myself.
The short section of downhill happened to be a tease and I got into some seriously technical climbing now. I had a very slow stack when my front wheel got caught between two rocks, which sent me and bike into the dirt, but otherwise had a smooth run. It felt like the dust was getting into the heart of my bike. The rear shock started to squeak and I was hearing an unfamiliar noise on hard landings. I don’t like it when my Ferrari doesn’t ride like one anymore.
Around the peak of the climb I was riding over thin slices of rock made a symphony as I rode over them. It helpfully alerted a couple of hiking groups of my approach. I got some views of the lake as I descended and the downhill track was great, but I was distracted by my bike not performing at its peak. I was thinking less about the obstacles in front of me and more about a swim and lake hangout. It was hot out, but I was hardly ever in full sun, always shaded by the pines.
I was spat out quite abruptly into a neighborhood a few blocks from lakeside and I enjoyed a gentle cruise to the beach Dan had moved to, only a few hundred meters up the road from where we’d been that morning. He’d moved on when the after school crowd showed being rowdy.
I rode along the rocky and sandy beach until I found my shirtless man and his pitbull. I proposed lunch at an establishment, which Dan was in favor of, so he walked my bike as we headed towards the van. As we walked, I felt a little uneasy so we sat in the shade for a bit. I was feeling hot then cold, almost like a dizzy spell when you’ve stood up too fast. We got going back to the van again and once there, I had to sit and put my head between my knees while Dan stowed my bike. I was feeling really lightheaded now and nauseous. It was 4pm by now and the late lunch idea was quickly crumbling. As I crawled into bed and put the fan on, I suggested we go back to our trusty camp. Dan obliged and had us on the road within minutes while I stayed in the rear thinking positive thoughts. I tried a bit of gatorade and a banana to get some energy into me, but I was forcing it down.
Once he parked up, Dan opened the rear doors that were facing the river. Yes, I would be fine once I cooled off in the water. I hopped down from bed but didn’t make it very far. I sat on the rear bumper and threw my guts up. Dan was there in a flash as I emptied my stomach, rubbing my back like my Mum used to do, going in slow circles without a word. It was the only comfort I had and I appreciated it. I was feeling very sorry for myself by the time I was done, but as soon as I stood up I felt better. I was grateful to have the river to clean up in. I gave myself a thorough wash down, taking my time and hitting the reset button.
After a few swimming neighbours left, we parked up for the night and sat outside in our crappy chairs. I read the Concours d’Elegance program, we chtted and contemplated what I’d eaten to make myself so sick. We figured it was a combination of the not-so-clear water we’d picked up at Silver Creek and pushing myself just a little too far. Dan made us a simple dinner of veggies and rice to appease my empty stomach and we enjoyed the sunset as the night cooled, happy to have an early night.
Is it a Rest Day if the Bike Leaves the Van?
We didn’t want to make coffee with the suspect Silver Creek water so replacing our stores was the first order of the day. Dan struggled with the turning of the passenger seat which made us decide it was a two-person job from now on to reduce back strain. Down near the lake, we were at the shops yet again. Dan filled our containers at the fill station outside while I bought us a few more inside as well as a bag of ice in an attempt to keep us out of the shops for at least a couple of days.
Driving onwards, we parked at North Tahoe Beach. We’d hung out here before and it was blissfully quiet. Dan snagged us a picnic table though we need not have been so competitive (being a weekday morning) but it’s how we’ve been trained. It was hot cooking breakfast and brewing coffee inside but in the shade of our picnic table we needed a jumper. While I’d figured out a way we could continue watching F1 on the laptop, we only got to half-distance because we discovered that the inverter wouldn’t charge the laptop while the car was off. Technical issues are rampant!
When our picnic table was no longer in shade, we moved camps and made this one permanent. We had a stellar view of the beach, plenty of shade and an esky full of beers. Dan set up my chair with a few rocks under the front to make it more comfortable but it really was a winless battle. Dan did driveshaft research as I read my book, one of us interrupting the other when a thought came to mind or when a beach-goer did something of interest. It was this day of sitting and relaxing that made us certain we needed zero-gravity chairs in our lives. By mid-afternoon, we’d cracked the beers and a guy gave us the perfect advertisement for the zero-gravity chair. He carried it to the water’s edge, plopped down his backpack, took his shirt off, reclined his large frame into the chair, then cracked a beer. When the beer was finished, he waltzed into the water to dunk himself, came out again and reclined into the horizontal position for the next hour or so. He was in heaven and we wanted the same.
When it came time for camp, I darted across the road for yet another trip to the shops. Just a fresh loaf of bread this time but no more! I took the wheel now and we headed up highway 431 (Mt Rose Highway). In search for a camp, Dan took us on a circuitous route through a neighbourhood but it gave us a nice perspective of lakeside life.
We found a forest road a little ways up the hill and after driving past and doing the inevitable u-turn, I navigated Berta down it. I could feel Berta’s size along the bumpy dusty road and the only turn I had to make felt tight. I chose the second pull-out for its flatness and looking at the continuing road, it would have been silly to go any further. Dan got out to inspect and directed me to flatten the car out. We propped it up on a couple of rocks and that was another camp made!
Despite our unwillingness to carry on with Berta down the road, we walked down it for a sticky beak. It dead-ended a hundred meters away at a beautiful camp which was occupied by a small pop-up caravan, unfortunately with a National Forest ticket posted to its door. Upon closer inspection, the tag had been left there only that day! It was a shame because whoever lived here had clearly made it a home and hadn’t trashed the place.
There was singletrack leading off in three different directions from where we stood and while I knew we were near the Flume Trail, none of these trails were mapped on the mountain biking apps. We wandered down one for a little bit and found a nice view of the lake below the alpine fauna.
Back at the van, it was 7pm and dinner time really but I was restless. I figured I’d get the bikes out and clean the dust off them. Before I knew it, I was putting my helmet and shoes on. There was still some daylight left and with the single track all around us – I couldn’t help myself. Dan was content to stay at camp while Cleo and I did some recon of the area.
Typical Cleo, she sprinted ahead of me along the road then slowed to a steady trot behind my back wheel for the rest of the ride. We took every fork and the single track was exceptional, with bridges and rocky sections through beautiful alpine terrain. I resisted the temptation to go too far down any single trail, knowing it was late in the day and Cleo had limited range.
Back near the camper, the sunset show over the lake had started. I did some controlled sliding down a steep, sandy piece of singletrack, hoping that maps.me was correct in reporting a loop of trail that could take me back to the top of the hill.
If Cleo wasn’t dirty before, she sure was now, getting knee deep in sand in some parts thanks to it being so soft. We followed an old road for a bit then stopped for a rest where there was a break in the trees so we could enjoy the view. Cleo’s early speed had waned to nothing so she was happy for the break. The sky was bright orange and there wasn’t another person in sight, Cleo and I had a special moment and we missed Dan.
Riding back towards the highway, we nearly hit it before riding up another steep sandy hill which snaked through Aspen trees and had me on my feet towards the top. It popped us out right at the camper so we had an easy cruise home. I’m glad we hadn’t gone further than our 4km, Cleo was rooted.
Back at the van, we found Dan in his comfy seat and I scrambled. Dan had to catch the end of this sunset! I threw my bike in the van, we locked it up and walked back to the camper. The orange hue wasn’t as bright, but it lingered in the sky long enough for Dan to enjoy what we’d seen.
Dan had had a light dinner of leftovers and my tummy was a bit upset so I called it a night without food. We’d barely gotten into bed when Cleo demanded a cuddle so Dan shlepped her up onto the bed so we could have some snuggle time. We will have to figure out a solution for getting Cleo up and down into bed.
Wait Babe! I Wanna Go With You!
There was a little commotion after light’s out last night. Dan slept through it all, but I heard the owner’s of the camper return home, then another car and some footsteps and yelling. Cleo was on point with her warning growls despite the lack of windows.
We were all keen for a ride after brekkie and as Dan got the bikes out, Cleo sprinted around camp showing her enthusiasm. We rode quietly past the camper which now had a car parked next to it then veered off on the single track I’d explored yesterday. Dan was pretty stoked with the riding, noting that most other trails we’d been on either had grinding uphill sections or full sun exposure. This was neither. We were rolling gently up and down on grippy single track.
We stopped often and at every water crossing so Cleo could get her fill and cool herself down if she needed. We nearly caught up with a couple of hikers, then skirted a carpark full of them as we climbed up sandy single track. We had our first view of the lake at the top of the steep climb then dipped through a meadow and back into the pine forest.
At the next river crossing, there was a nice deep pool so I didn’t waste time trying to coax Cleo in, I just pushed her in. Not far from that, we came to an intersection with the Tahoe Rim Trail. The plan was for me to follow that as far as I dared, then drop down to lake level where Dan would pick me up after completing the loop back to camp. I never really liked this bit, not wanting to ride without my family but knowing it would be too much for them. Dan, ever encouraging me to get after it, told me to go off and enjoy the rim.
As I watched Dan ride off through the pines and Cleo follow, I thought about the trail ahead, the fact that it wasn’t mapped on MTB project, so I only had maps.me to rely on with no elevation data. I really didn’t know what I was getting into. All part of the excitement right? Not really. Cleo had hesitated a little ways along the trail, looking back at me. That did it. I shouted into the forest, “Wait babe! I wanna go with you!” Dan was out of sight, but I heard him yell back and rode towards him, picking up Cleo on my way.
Dan laughed as I caught up with him. Bugger the TRT, I wanted to be with my family. We enjoyed some beautiful rolling single track home, a great downhill reward for the climbing we’d done. Back at camp, there was no need to rush away so Dan made some lunch, I washed the bikes and Cleo made herself comfortable in the dirt under the car. I’m never happy riding a dirty bike so I got a lot of pleasure cleaning them off. We decided then that the full time van should have a bike stand so I can do it properly.
Over lunch, we contemplated our next move, and waved goodbye to the camper owners, who romped out just as we were finishing up. We thought about a climb at Trippy Rock, but we’d been there before so when I showed Dan the River Rocks crag in the guidebook, that was that. We flipped the passenger seat, stowed the shimmering bikes and got ourselves out of camp. There was a little bit of wheel spinning in the soft dusty ground, but nothing that Dan couldn’t handle.
Back down at lake level, we did an ice cream stop at a 7-Eleven then took highway 287 past Northstar through Truckee, then east on the major highway 80. Following the directions in the guidebook, we found a pullout one mile before the Nevada border and pulled off as quickly as we could, fearing the 70mph trucks chasing us down. We were fully exposed in the sun so would come back to a hot car, but that meant a good solar charge.
We slung the climbing gear on our backs and walked away from the highway towards the Truckee River. A clear trail led us across a pair of train tracks. Like good boys and girls, we looked both ways before crossing. Dan and Cleo were ahead of me when I started crossing. By the time I was over the first set of tracks, I looked left and there was a bloody train coming! I had plenty of time to get over and stood at the top of a small scramble down to see the train close up. When it got near I thought better of it and scrambled down the embankment for some protection, dropping my guidebook in the process. The train was huge up close! After it passed, I retrieved my book and we carried on.
After walking through the brush, we came out at a gorgeous dam. Cleo and I were keen for a swim so I stripped down and both of us got in to cool off. The water was only hip deep so I was able to get over to the dam wall, letting the water crash onto my shoulders.
We crossed over the suspension bridge above the dam and a short while along a sandy road, we found a deserted crag. The wall was in the sun but the base camp was great, with trees all around throwing plenty of shade. A nice breeze was also developing so it was a pleasant setting.
By the time I started up our first route, probably around 3pm, the traffic on the highway had slowed to a crawl. Sirens blared and we saw multiple firetrucks and ambulances heading east moving slowly past stopped cars.
I enjoyed a great first lead of a 5.7, having to remember some crack climbing technique and liking the gear placement. Dan didn’t like it so much, opting to take it out on his way down so he didn’t have to bother with it on the way up. I climbed the route one more time, then set up a top-rope on a neighboring 5.10b route. It had a tough start which ended up needing a semi-dyno and power-belay to get over and the following moves were hard but nice. The rock was grippy and the sequences flowed nicely.
Dan realized after we got to the crag that he’d forgotten to clip his toenails so he didn’t get back on the wall. It was past 5pm and the traffic had cleared so we took that as our queue. The canyon was nearly in the shade but the heat of the day hadn’t faded, which meant time for a swim! First, we ventured along a trail to find the upstream crag but were soon met with a dead end.
Retracing our steps, we stepped over the aqueduct and came upon a Cleo-startled trail runner as we made our way back towards the dam. At the dam, two fishermen had established themselves so we continued further upstream in search of another spot to have a dip. In doing so, we found the upstream crag. It made sense that the guidebook described it as infrequently visited because you’d have to cross the high current river to get to it and the routes looked dirty with difficult approaches.
The better part of our exploring was our own private beach! I was in like a shot, splashing and carrying on, trying to see if I could cross the river with my hands above my head (I could not, the current was too strong). Dan did his usually up-to-his-belly-button creep in, then dunked himself once to wash off a bit.
As we were drying off, the fishermen had moved up to us, not satisfied with their first catch of trout down river. They apologized for catching me in my undies and we soon left them to it.
On the way back, the canyon was now fully shaded by the mountains so we sat a while at a bench admiring the water flowing over the dam. We were soon restless, thinking about Berta isolated at the side of the highway, so we moved on. We found Berta shaded and not as hot inside as we’d thought it would be. It was daunting pulling out into highway speed traffic but Dan managed and soon got us up to speed and into Nevada. I’d spotted a potential camp on our way to the crag so we did some u-turn shenanigans through a casino town, drove back into California, u-turned again, then pulled off down a dirt road towards the river.
We weren’t the first campers here but we found an isolated spot right by the water and parked so that we didn’t have to look at the pile of rubbish someone had left. Despite being close to the highway, the noise of the flowing river and the crickets soon outweighed the road noise.
The first train of the night passed by just before nightfall and I got a honk in return for my enthusiastic wave. The night was blissfully cool, though we could feel the difference being down a 1,000 feet or so in elevation relative to Tahoe.
We were becoming light poor in the van. I’d noticed the left headlight was out and of the 6 LEDs I’d installed, only the two near the kitchen were still working. My reading light had also died but in happy news, I’d figured out that the inverter would charge the laptop, but only if the inverter had more than a 12.5 supply, so we could charge whenever the engine was running. Always learning.
The Bustling Crag
There were too many trains to count throughout the night, each met with us yelling out, “Choo! Choo!” Cleo hadn’t needed the blanket on the bed thanks to the warmer night. The sun was on us quickly and I faffed around making coffee, breakfast and doing dishes while Dan re-aligned the rear passenger door.
We’d noticed it hadn’t been closed properly overnight and Dan discovered the hinge bolts had come loose on one side, probably thanks to the bumpy road we’d been taking. Using the jack to support the door, he got our tools out and after a few blows with a soft hammer and using the rear door badge to line things up, we were soon good again.
We were out of camp by around 10am, driving back through camp the way we’d come for an easy path onto the highway and into the 80 mph traffic. We only went a couple of miles before finding our pull-out for a second time. There was a truck parked up this time so maybe we’d have company at the cliffs? Nope. We walked the approach (no trains this time) and found the crag in the shade.
Our only real plan was to do the 5.8 feature climb up the middle of the left wall but then Dan got his hands on the guidebook. He found a nice group of climbs on the right wall starting with a 5.6 warm-up. Cleo found herself a shaded cave with a great lookout and didn’t move the rest of the morning. It was 11:30am by the time I started up the 5.6 which was a mix of sport and trad. It was a nice route on grippy rock, some of which was in the sun by the time I finished.
Dan followed and he was properly in the sun the whole climb. As he ascended, a group of ATVs passed by, then went back the way they’d come. The rest of the morning, we saw multiple trains, mountain bikers and of course the steady roar of the highway. The guidebook labelled our next 5.9 route as “grainy and unpleasant” but I found the opposite. It was fun featured climb with a couple of cruxes, one of which being visibility as I was looking straight up into the sun as it peeked over the cliff. I really enjoyed the climb, it had very rewarding holds right where you needed them.
Dan had busied himself with making comfortable belay station and had done a great job perching himself on a small rock in what little shade was on offer. I enjoyed the seat as Dan climbed and he enjoyed the diversity of the route as I had, figuring out the best hand configuration for the crack moves and muscling over the ledges.
We could see Berta’s roof from the top of this route so he had a good look before coming down. I climbed the route again which was brilliant a second time but meant I was feeling a little pumped. The 5.8 we’d come to do could wait until next time, the day was heating up and the crag was now fully in the sun. We chugged some water and ate a couple of Clif bars before wandering out, me with jelly legs.
We passed the dam and went back to yesterday’s swim spot for a blissful cool off. I’d brought some soap so we had a proper wash too. With no fishermen to crash our party, we lingered in the water, me jumping in and out. When I brought up the idea of a sports bar late lunch, we were gone.
Berta, again, despite sitting in the sun all day wasn’t too warm. Dan did his highway tricks one last time and we headed for Truckee. I figured we’d cruise through town to find a suitable establishment that would welcome Cleo but we ended up at the first place we saw. The River Side Inn sat right on the Truckee River with a large back deck with a table in the corner just for us. The setting came at a price but this was a treat so we didn’t mind. Iced water was the highlight but lunch was also delicious. Cleo was happy too because there was a band of squirrels below deck for her to keep occupied with.
We would have stayed longer but for the loud-mouthed group behind us and anyway, we had errands to run. We stopped at a shopping complex and bought replacement headlights, yet more water containers and as a bonus, browsed last year’s winter gear at a sale. Not needing to re-invent the wheel, we figured we might as well go back to our usual camp by the river.
I was straight into the river and stayed submerged up to my shoulders while Cleo and Dan sat riverside so we could chat. Back on land, I called Mum and Dad for an overdue catch up. Mum and I took turns giving Dad shit for his new role as the President of the Port Bouvard Bowls Club and Dan enjoyed listening in, as always.
After dinner, Dan was ready for bed, but I sat outside reading my book until it was too dark, then carried on in bed with Dan snoring beside me and Cleo snoring underneath us. We were in heaven.
That Blue is Just Popping!
We were up early this morning with Cleo asking very politely if she could get into bed. Of course we obliged but damn she’s a heavy dog! No climbing today. With such a long time between climbs, our fingers and limbs were sore. Mountain biking was a possibility but we also had some racing to watch. Dan and Cleo stayed in bed as I made pancakes for breakfast. A hoodie and trackies were essential in the early morning but as soon as the sun hit the van, I transitioned to a bikini.
I drove us out of camp with Dan in charge of leisure activities. The highlight of our day came early as we drove through a round-a-bout teaming with construction workers. As I slowed down for it, a black, brightly-vested lady sporting her morning coffee wished us a good day then exclaimed, “That blue is just popping!” We replied with a “Yeewwww!” And that got the other construction guys hollering as we rolled through. It would be the theme of the day. Berta wasn’t the only blue thing popping, but the sky and lakes too!
As we drove along Donner Lake, we gave up hope of hanging out there – Berta is just too big to park along the side of the road. Just as we agreed on that, we saw a few open spots in an established carpark with a bathroom and everything. I swung us in there and that’s where we stayed the rest of the day. We found a bench right by the water with our names on it and set up day camp. The lake was glassy and quiet (again, it was the calm before the weekend storm).
The early morning users of the lake were of the paddling variety, venturing out on kayaks and SUP boards. We joined in the fun, frolicking in the water looking for shiny things on the lake bed and picking them up with our toes. I found a quarter!
At some point during the day, we decided we’d be buying a SUP board next Summer. It would be the perfect rest day activity and great for Cleo and Dan to keep themselves busy with whenever I was off mountain biking. We paid attention to the different types of board on display, from blow-up to rigid, and contemplated storage for it in Berta.
As the wind picked up in the afternoon, the SUP boarders and kayakers looked stupid, battling with all their might against the wind and going nowhere. The wing boarders became kings of the lake and the water was soon full of them. Guys on short boards with foils held a blow-up kiteboarding style wing in their hands to catch the wind. It was great entertainment with people of all capabilities out in front of us.
We saw a beautiful Hobie Cat just like ours with beautiful rainbow sails and he sailed the entire length of the lake, making us miss our sailboat. Cleo whiled away the afternoon sunbathing or sleeping in the shade of our bench while we jumped in and out of the water and stayed shaded, having yummy sandwiches for lunch.
At 3pm, the lake was properly choppy thanks to the wind and so all activities ceased. The conditions weren’t ideal for any type of water craft, even the Hobie. We put an F1 practice session on then, with Cleo providing background entertainment becoming possessed by a small fallen log and whatever prey she imagine was hidden underneath it. We were in fits of laughter watching her in hunt mode.
We lingered until about 5pm then were ready to find our next camp. We crested Donner Summit heading west away from the lakes to The Emeralds. This was a climbing spot we’d visited last year and with its multiple crags spread out over a couple of miles, we figured it would be an ok place to be for the long weekend. Most importantly, there was a cold river that ran right through the area.
From the summit we descended around 2,000 feet and the difference in temperature was easily felt. It must have been nearly 10 degrees warmer. Off the highway, we crossed the familiar bridge that towered over the South Yuba River and started our camp hunting. There were a few established campgrounds dotted around but they were of no interest to us. We climbed a mile uphill away from the river, seeing a couple of makeshift camps right by the side of the road, then decided we’d be better off at a spot we’d seen on the other side of the bridge.
On our descent, we passed a van camp nicely off the road but completely exposed to the sun and in full view of the road. We would have to do better than that! We sure did. I spotted a lumpy dirt road off to our right and stopped just in time to nose into it. Dan egged me on, but I had turn-around anxiety so he got out for a look. He found a perfect little nook surrounded by bush and even shaded by some tall trees. He took over the driving then, doing a 10-point turn to get Berta turned around and into position. With one large rock positioned under the front left wheel and we were camped.
It was still too hot (and probably crowded) to go down to the river so we set up our chairs and watched F1 over a beer, cheese and crackers. This camp was not only isolated and close to the crag, it had full cell service! When the sun went down some flies came out and poor Cleo was getting bothered by ants as she lay in the dirt, refusing to use the mat we’d provided for her. Time for a walk then.
As we trekked down the road, we discovered we were much closer to the river than we thought – barely a five minute walk. We had no intention of swimming since the day had cooled off nicely, but I couldn’t help myself once at the water’s edge on the downstream side of the bridge. I slid into the water, not testing the temperature intentionally and it was even more freezing than I remember. Much colder than Tahoe, Donner or the Truckee River, this was almost painful. I swam quick smart a few dozen meters to the closest beach hooting and hollering like an idiot which was entertaining for Dan. I had tingles all over by the time I was out and it was take a couple of hours for me to feel warm again.
Cleo got a badly needed wash then we battled the flies, beating them out of her eyes, on our walk back. Thankfully, the flies weren’t so bad at camp and by the time night had properly fallen, they were no more.
We ate dinner outside and remained out to see the sky change color and the stars come out.
Pebble Beach (Again?)
I had my best sleep of the trip with no wake-ups and Cleo shared the experience – she was dead to the world even after we got up. We were nearing the end of our stores, but Dan rustled up a delicious egg, cheese and spam brekkie while I prepared wraps for lunch. We have a kitchen big enough for two!
Despite the heat expected for the day, we were still looking for a hoodie in the morning and the van was nicely shaded for the morning wake-up. I perused the climbing guidebook and thought it fitting that we climb at the Pebble Beach crag considering where we’d been a couple of weeks ago. We packed up, left Berta to soak up the day’s sun with the fan sucking hot air out.
At the end of our short commute to the carpark we found it wasn’t fully packed yet – not bad for 9am. We followed the familiar and easy approach, overtaking an Asian family along the firewood before dipping into the forest. There would be limited shade today and everybody was out early to chase it. At Pebble Beach, we clambered up the crag to meet another couple making an endeavor up a middle route. We said our hellos, set down our gear and got straight into the easier routes on the wall. Dan introduced us to our new friends with a whopping fart while on the wall which had everyone laughing.
We were quietly entertained by the other couple’s banter as we climbed. They had very detailed back and forth for the simplest things, as if they wanted to argue every point but not quite getting there each time. They didn’t stay long after we’d arrived, explaining that they had a dog in their van they had to get back too. We soon figured out they were the ones parked in the exposed camp and we couldn’t imagine leaving any living thing in the sun like that for five minutes, let alone a few hours.
Miraculously having the crag to ourselves the rest of the day, we’d done nearly every route on the wall by the time the sun was touching the base of the cliff, right around 2pm. I was stoked to finish on a 5.10a then 5.10b lead on the right hand side of the wall, but the end of shade meant the 5.10b on the left side would have to wait until next time.
As we were packing up, a group of about five people showed up, clambering up the approach to the base of the cliff. I didn’t try to hide my disbelief that they’d climb this black rock in the sun. When I asked where they’d been climbing all morning, they explained that they’d just arrived having driven up from the Bay Area that morning. Ouch. Having not visited the crag before, I gave them the lay of the land before we packed the rest of our gear and left them to it. Having spent all day in the shade, the sun felt almost poisonous.
First things first, we needed to cool off. We clambered down a trail to a pool we’d seen from the approach and though it was fairly stagnant, it still had that emerald tinge. Cleo nearly leapt into the water and so did I. Dan, as ever, needed convincing and did his little dance before plunging in.
With a lot of the day left, I was keen for some exploring so we stashed our bags amongst the trees and meandered up “stream” though the riverbed was dry and turned from gravel to rocks then to huge boulders. I was interested in seeing the gorge, not really for the climbing that was reportedly dirty, wet, rarely travelled and very difficult, but to see the dam wall that kept the climbing area dry from Lake Spaulding.
It was hot stepping across the rocks and though we found few side streams with trickling water, there were no more pools. We walked, hopped and clambered about half a mile to reach the gorge but it felt longer than that thanks to the up and down of the boulders.
The gorge was impressive. Showers of water teemed in from on high and the temperature was cool. We could see the tip of the dam wall way at the top, it must have been at least fifty meters over our heads. I climbed in a little ways and we spotted a few bolts and anchors but had no interest in ever climbing there. Despite the grade of climbing, it was way too isolated and the car-size boulders lining the gorge were intimidating, making it very easy to imagine another one falling.
We the adventure itch scratched, it was time to call it a day. We opted to wind our way through forest scrub instead of taking the hot boulders and it was much easier going. We passed by Pebble Beach and saw the group on the wall – it looked like they were being roasted alive.
Back at our stagnant pool, we had another cool off then I fetched our bags and we made our way out, doing some trail finding along the way. Dan even found a pair of climbing shoes in pretty good condition. Back at the main carpark, we shouldn’t have been surprised at the crowd but we were. There were cars absolutely everywhere, there was even a Burning Man caravan parked up on the side of the road having established camp.
Not interested in swimming amongst the masses, we hung the climbing shoes on a post by the bridge and retreated to our camp. Berta just started to throw some shade to her right side so we cracked cold beers from the fridge and watched more Formula 1 while Cleo napped, in the dirt like a bum.
As the sun went down, we went down for a swim and a wash and found no one on the downstream side. The number of cars had halved and we all felt better after a makeshift shower and having our systems shocked by the cold. Back at our glorious, secluded camp, we got into qualifying, a simple dinner and an early night after watching the stars come out.
Our Oasis
Dan was in deep sleep this morning. Cleo and I went for a short walk around camp while he dozed, then I did the dishes and had almost finished lunch but the time he rose. I’d also picked out a crag for the day. Rationing now to ensure we had enough for our final days, we had the regular eggs, cheese and spam brekkie. With coffee in hand and Cleo having stretched out her soreness from yesterday, we were off to get our climb on.
With all the cars and campers lining the road, we couldn’t help but smirk at our camp. Over the bridge and walking down the approach road, we were looking for the first trail off to the right. We were moving slowly, keeping our eyes peeled, and we were soon overtaken by a HUGE climbing group. They didn’t make eye contact and move forward with purpose right past us. Such is the vibe on a hot morning of a long weekend. My instinct was to jump off the road and out of the madness, which is essentially what I did. My mind conjured an imaginative trail and I stepped into the brush. It was soon obvious that there was no trail and we got back onto the road, thankfully finding it deserted again.
A few dozen meters further down the road, we saw a simple cairn and a narrow but defined trail. It was an easy walk with a small bit of scrambling at the end, then we were at the Oasis crag. It was in shade just as Pebble Beach had been, a small crag with a great base for us to spread out on. There was no one here now, but we weren’t so naive not to expect company so we kept our camp small and off to one side.
We started on a 5.5 trad lead which was not often climbed so it was dirty with a few loose blocks. I didn’t mind it, liking any excuse to use the dragon cam Dan bought me. We moved from right to left on the wall with the routes sharing anchors with just the range of grades we liked: 5.5, 5.8, 5.8, 5.10a, 5.10c/d, 5.10a.
As noon approached, the hoots and hollers from the touristy Emerald Pools grew louder. It didn’t bother us hearing the chaos, we still had the whole crag to ourselves and I could imagine the jockeying for routes that was going on further down the valley.
We ate our lunch with legs swinging off our ledge contemplating our isolation nearby so much human activity. I would later figure out that this crag was overlooked by most because it doesn’t feature on the Mountain Project app but the guidebook rates it. I’ll remember that for future weekends and other crags – that the guidebook is worth having for that reason alone.
It was 1pm when I started our last ascent. A 5.10a that finished under a roof, it was a much tougher and enjoyable lead than the 10s of Pebble Beach. This was a sustained 10a while the former climbs had been one-move-wonders. There were a couple of places where I had to adjust my position before pushing up but I made it cleanly.
Dan needed some beta where I’d struggled but he also pushed through it. What a great end to another day of climbing. Our toes were sore, our knees scraped and our fingers aching, but all in a good way. By the time Dan lowered off the 5.10a, the wall was in the sun so our day was done.
Back at the approach road, we crossed it to explore by the river that fed the famous pools. Cleo got in for a drink and a cool down and when I saw a shallow path crossing the river to the pools, I went over for a look. It was a meat market. Thee were people spread out everywhere, though you couldn’t say they were spread out from each other. Each camp probably had about a meter of space between them and the next people. There was one large, beautifully turquoise pool, surrounded by red rock, but because the water is so frigidly cold, you can’t really hang out in it so everyone was forced to find their place on the banks. No thanks. I retreated quickly and signaled to Dan that it wasn’t worth him taking his shoes off to cross the water for a look.
It seemed hotter today and that idea was confirmed when we returned to Berta. It was HOT inside. We were impressed that we hadn’t been blocked in – the parking was so crazy today that there were people parked along our small dirt road but they’d all left space for us. We found some shade under the trees having cold drinks and watching more F1. Dan was on cool-down duty, spraying me and Cleo with his water sprayed intermittently to keep us comfortable.
At about 4pm we were overdue for a cool off so ventured down to our spot on the river. On the downstream side, we went a little further than usual to find a private spot. Poor Cleo was moving slowly now, her paws sore from the boulder hopping and scrambling.
After everyone had dipped themselves in, we laid out on a beautiful shaded smooth boulder right by the water that we could relax on. Dan was so comfortable lying down with his head in my lap that I feared he’d fall back into his morning sleep but he stayed awake to chat to me while Cleo kept watch for intruders.
Inspired by what Dan told me about Joe Rogan’s cold shock protein therapy, I got into the water up to my neck and stayed in for two minutes. Timing myself, it was bloody hard! Pinpricks and extreme tingling turned into what felt like knife pricks across my upper body. You can’t get that feeling any other way, it completely refreshed my body. We must have hung out riverside for about an hour before heading back to Berta. It was still warm at camp but the van was producing shade now so we could sit comfortably and watch the race. It was a brilliant one and we were thankful to have such a great setting to watch it in.
Once the sun went down, it was cool enough to be in the van and cook dinner. Having to get creative now, I heated up some leftover and bulked it up with a modified version Mum’s naan recipe. Delicious. As I was frying the last of the naan, Dan was sitting in the flipper passenger’s seat when his eyes went wide looking out of the van and he yelled, “SHUT THE DOORS! SHUT THE DOORS!” He managed to get “SNAKE!” out as I clambered up onto the bed to shut the back doors from the inside. Thankfully Cleo was already in the car and hadn’t noticed the huge slithering brown and striped rattle snake making his way through our camp. Dan watched through the closed windows and reported that the snake went straight underneath the car. Dan started the engine with the hopes of scaring him out from under the van, not wanting him to find his way through one of the many holes in the floor. Moving over to the other window, we saw that he maintained his trajectory and moved out from under the car and away from camp. Ewww! Needless to say, we all spent the rest of the night inside the van and I made sure to take my last bathroom break before sundown.
Dan ventured up onto the roof of the van for sunset (his feet not touching the ground) but it was one climb that I couldn’t do. I stayed inside doing the dishes while he surveyed the land from atop his Sprinter van.
Home Safe, Love Berta
Sirens woke me at 6am and the early morning light shining through the fan lid kept me awake. With Dan still snoozing, Cleo and I went for a walk down to the river. To our surprise, we had neighbors in the form of two people in hammocks hung in nearby trees. Bugger that – they were sleeping with rattle snakes as far as I was concerned. We saw two firetrucks speed up the road as we walked down it, lights on, but their sirens silent. They gave us a wave as we stood off to the side of the road. I enjoyed a refreshing face wash while Cleo stood watch, then we returned to camp. There were a few early birds in the carpark and the roadside campers were sleeping in like Dan was.
Our neighbors were packing up as I got back and I found Dan still sleeping soundly in Berta so he hadn’t seen the note I’d left explaining where we were. We had only one bottle of drinking water left so we skipped coffee and use up the rest of our stores for breakfast. I was satisfied with our supplies – we weren’t starving and we hadn’t wasted anything. We packed up for the last time, removing our leveling rock and rolling out of camp before any tourists showed up.
Joining the highway, we saw a few Burners and traffic started to congest around Colfax. The heat crept up as we crept down in elevation and like everyone else in the world, we stopped in at Colfax for some coffee, water and a quick walk for Cleo. We were still learning about Berta, having to stop at two different gas stations to find the appropriate diesel. The first one we stopped at offered only renewable diesel that according to Mercedes was no good for our V6 engine.
Once we got into Sacramento, we were properly scorching in the heat. I had a bright idea that we could maybe meet up with our Sprinter Experts guy to get another key made but it didn’t work out being a public holiday and all. On the other side of Sacramento we hit traffic and so put a podcast on with the windows down whenever we were crawling, pausing it once we got up to speed again because we couldn’t hear over the wind noise. I was constantly jumping into the back with Cleo to give her a proper spray down, trying to keep her cool as much as we could.
At first sight of the Bay Area it cooled off a bit but at home it was still super hot! When Berta pulled into the driveway, we were elated. This was a test trip with a car that we have to learn to trust. We’d driven 638 miles and the worst problem we had was a bit of leaking coolant. We were scared to take anything for granted, almost holding our breath every time we turned the key, and now we were home.
After a cold shower, Cleo included, we went straight to our favorite pub since our fridge was empty and watched an American youngster beat Rafael Nadal at the US open as we had a filling lunch and beers in frosted glasses. The hog ride was the hottest we’d had and at home we were grateful that the house was still cool. We relaxed to some post-race show then started the great unpack one the sun was off the van.
Unbeknownst to us, the Bay Area had endured temperatures over 100*F the entire long weekend and having spent one afternoon in it, we were missing our private Emeralds bathing spot.
Berta was home. No tow trucks were called. No hearts were broken. If anything, we might just be falling in love.
8/29-9/5/2022, 657 miles
