What are the worst possible things that could happen to somebody on a mountain-bike ride in a remote area, such as high on Mt. St. Helens in Washington?
This story is based on an actual ride with some fictional enhancement.
Approximately 11,000 wor...
An hour of easier riding moved us from the southern to northern end of the Plains of Abraham, the trail mostly rideable except for rocky streambeds, tight corners, and sections of pure sand. I felt as if the volcano on our left was monitoring our progress.
Easier riding with Mt. Adams behind.
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The trail descended a long ridge and joined an abandoned dirt road that angled away from the volcano. Twenty minutes later we arrived at the St. Helens observation station, filled with half a dozen cars and people milling about, mesmerized by the volcano. Road access was from the north, the opposite direction from our moonscape riding. This lookout was the closest a road came to the volcano.
Descending the long ridge, St. Helens in the background.
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The small portion of civilization felt out of place, an intrusion on isolation. Philip, Chad, and Navi were eating their lunch when I rolled up. They were only half way through their sandwiches, so I wasn't that far behind. This was the original end-point for my ride with Navi, where we would have turned around and gone back the way we had come.
Momentary civilization at the road-accessible observation point, open St. Helens crater visible.
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Instead, a short section of the paved road, snaking in from the north, would connect us to the Smith Creek trail, where we would say goodbye to civilization entirely. Little did I know the best decision was to turn around now and go back the way we had come.
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