The Radavist

A week ago, I embarked on a journey across Highway 50 in Nevada, seeking out mountain bike trails. We’ve come to call this trip the “Nevada Highway 50 MTB Road Trip.” This is the third installment.

Previously: Nevada Highway 50 MTB Road Trip: Carson Valley’s Clear Creek Trail, Nevada Highway 50 MTB Road Trip: Kingston and the Toiyabe Crest Trail, and Nevada Highway 50 MTB Road Trip: Ely and Cave Lake Trails.

Conveniently located a few hours from St. George, Utah and its magnificent MTB trails, is Caliente, Nevada. As we diverted off the gem that is Highway 50, I didn’t know what to expect. It was already dark by the time we pulled into the Caliente Hot Springs Motel and Spa – it sounds fancy, but don’t worry, it’s very approachable – and after a long day, we were all cooked, heading to bed immediately. Come morning, we were filled in with the day’s agenda.

A week ago, I embarked on a journey across Highway 50 in Nevada, seeking out mountain bike trails. We’ve come to call this trip the “Nevada Highway 50 MTB Road Trip.” This is the third installment.

Previously: Nevada Highway 50 MTB Road Trip: Carson Valley’s Clear Creek Trail, and Nevada Highway 50 MTB Road Trip: Kingston and the Toiyabe Crest Trail.

A week ago, I embarked on a journey across Highway 50 in Nevada, seeking out mountain bike trails. We’ve come to call this trip the “Nevada Highway 50 MTB Road Trip.” This is the second installment.

Previously: Nevada Highway 50 MTB Road Trip: Carson Valley’s Clear Creek Trail

Say you’re heading west, or east for that matter, from or to Moab, Utah for a mountain bike trip. You look at the map and your options are pretty straightforward. Next time you’re traversing Nevada, don’t skip over Highway 50. This road was dubbed “the Loneliest Highway” but it’s anything but that for mountain bikers. Strung along this ribbon of highway are gems of towns looking to draw in mountain bikers to experience their local trails, both new and old.

Introductions to trips like this often times get wrapped up in marketing jargon, or storylines that revolve around re-imagining historical tales, and that’s not a bad thing at all! Finding a story on a trip gives it more meaning, more impact, and overall a better reading experience. Yet, the lack of a story doesn’t inherently doom a tale. Sometimes having fun on new trails is enough motivation to spur a road trip of epic proportions. To be honest, the story here is motivated by one thing: finding solid mountain bike riding along Nevada’s Highway 50, which was dubbed “The Loneliest Road in America” by Life magazine in July 1986.

With the long weekend approaching here in the United States, many coastal Californians will head inland and upland to seek the cooler temperatures found along the Tahoe basin, via US Highway 395. This zone has always been curious to me when traveling to or from various races or other events. Having ridden plenty of singletrack in the area, I’m always down to try something new, especially when it has a bit of story behind it. Last year, after our Highway 50 MTB trip and before Grinduro, I linked up with my friend Brooke and her friend Kate to ride the Sierra Canyon Trail, just outside of Genoa, Nevada.

I’d Do Reno: An Unsolicited Photo Essay About This Year’s Cyclocross Nationals in Reno, Nevada
Words by Laura Winberry, photos by Ian Stowe, Michael Jasinski and Patrick Means

Reno is a shit hole. This is the unsolicited and resounding opinion given to me by friends and strangers alike in the months leading up to this year’s Cyclocross Nationals in Reno, Nevada. More or less, the transaction would play out like this. Other People: Are you going to race through to Nats? Me: Yes. Other People: Cool. Reno is a shit hole. See you there. Me: Vague staring, plus some blinking.

After South Africa, I realized two things. The first being my knee injury will have me off the bike for a few weeks and the second; it’s finally the perfect time for the desert. Rather than stewing at home, unable to ride and constantly being surrounded by the thing that I can’t do right now – riding bikes – I decided that a trip to the Mojave was in order. A nonprofit artist organization, the High Desert Test Sites, was doing their annual symposium in the Joshua Tree area. Cari has worked with them in the past, so I thought it’d be an awesome excuse to get out to the Mojave for a short trip.

The problem is, Joshua Tree this time of year is a zoo, so finding a camping spot on the weekend is a challenge. My rough plan was to drive out to the Cady Mountains, camp, wake up to look for Big Horn sheep and explore the slot canyons, then drive to Joshua Tree for the festivities. We’d then bail out back to the Mojave and explore some more areas I’ve got saved for just such an occasion.

There it was, carved into the side of the mountain like a serpentine scar, slithering its way up toward a sky riddled with barren peaks; their toothy prominences ripping through the leading edge of a building storm. A keen eye and a pointed finger could trace its path, lurching upward from where we stood at the western edge of the Great Basin Desert, zigzagging all the way up through Pinyon/Juniper woodland, wandering between stands of Ponderosa and getting steeper as the Foxtail pines got shorter. Miles away it could still just barely be seen, emerging atop an alpine ridgeline some four thousand feet above.

May 9, 2020:

“Also, if you’re interested, riding from Mammoth to Tahoe and back in June…”

This non sequitur caught me off guard. It was also exactly what I’ve wanted to hear for a while. I have long admired the big days my buddy Connor puts in the mountains. Slipped in the middle of casual conversation (mostly about bikes) between two friends, was the invitation to join in on one of his epic adventures. An invitation to partake in the fun, madness, joy, suffering, and glory.

We had set aside that Autumn weekend months earlier, just after having briefly met at a bike race called Lost and Found in late Spring. Matt was planning an extended bike commute through my town and asked to camp in my backyard. I told him sure, I have a fire pit, so it can really be like camping, but I’m going to barnacle onto that trip because it sounds fun. This trip took on many different names, with the goal to write some mockingly weird shit about it, and this one stuck: Tour of the Barnacle: The Chronicles of Holding On. The Barnacle Tour fell through, and a story that will not be told passed between then and this, but hell, we decided to stick to doing some exotic bike trip that weekend.

Sept 29th post-Grinduro California: As Nam and I packed up our secret van, preparing for the 2,500 mile cross country long haul to Ellijay GA, we couldn’t help but wonder what the hell we were doing.  We had 4.5 days to make it in time for the 3rd annual Bikepacking Summit; an event we’ve been meaning to attend since it’s inception.  Earlier in the summer Lael Wilcox and I had talked about presenting together, and we had to make it back east to visit family at some point anyway, so might as well just go for it in one shot.  At least that was the thought process when planning months ago. We aren’t the types to be in a rush…time to hit the road.