Summer of 2019 OMTM was given the challenge of creating the routes for Stage One of the Cascade Triple Crown ride series in collaboration with Rapha Seattle, which was to be based out of Winthrop, WA, just east of the North Cascades. This entailed creating two days of mixed-terrain riding somewhere in the neighborhood of 100 miles + 10,000 feet of climbing per day. A bit tricky given we are based in Portland and Winthrop is a good six-hours away up near the Canadian border. Logistically complicated ideas were hatched, routes were penciled in with fingers crossed. Now to see if they worked.
Recon would of course be necessary. We were familiar with several of segments of the proposed routes, but had yet to ride everything in sequence. Several questionable connections and intended lines remained untested. Seasonal timing made things a bit tricky. Routes planned in March could not be vetted until they were free of snow. Some years that could mean July. Our proposed dates were in late June, giving us a bit of anxiety. NOAA's interactive snow level overlay maps were critical in monitoring the progress of the melt-out. Fortunately this year was particularly warm and dry early on with the high country clearing out ahead of schedule.
James Buckroyd and I headed up to meet Brandon and Kenny from Rapha Seattle in Winthrop, WA the first week in June to pre-ride as much as we could. It was determined that if we hustled, we would be able to vet all the necessary sections within a three day window. A six-hour drive built into either end of the trip left essentially one full ride day with 46 miles of additional pre-riding to suss both routes. Fortunately everything checked out with flying colors, surpassing expectations. So far so great. The routes were going to be perfect.
The weekend of the event proper, Dustin Klein and I opted for a an eastern-central approach from Portland to Winthrop via WA97 through the Dalles, Yakima, Ellensburg and Wenatchee, passing through wonderfully wild and scenic swaths of the Wenatchee National Forest, tracing the Columbia and Methow Rivers upstream into the heart of the Okanogan to Winthrop. We weren't sure what to expect as far as rider cross-section and turnout. This area can be a bit of a tough sell in terms of commitment. It is beautiful, remote and as such can be logistically problematic. The evening of our arrival bikes were prepped, gear was selected and burritos devoured. Early to bed, early to get up in the morning and ride bikes is - I believe how the saying goes.
Day One 7:30am Sun Mountain.
Straight out of the gate we dive right into a singletrack descent from the top of Sun Mountain. The trails are fantastic but we quickly realize we'll be cutting it close on time. Arriving at the start at 8am on the nose, the Rapha group is hot to trot, in the saddle, beginning to roll. Breakfast will need to be quick. Pockets stuffed with scones and throats burning from coffee inhaled, we roll out several minutes behind the peloton. A good move ultimately, taking some of the heat off. We would simply work our way up from the back rather than feeling pressured to hold the pace at the front. At least that was the idea.
The first climb is a doozie. NF37 arcs eastward, gaining 4600 feet over 20 miles to Baldy Pass. Gradients are reasonable and views plentiful however as we ascend through immense valleys, rocky drainages, recovering burns and vibrant early summer wildflower bloom. Rain the evening prior has compressed the surface, conditioning the climb into a damp, clayish hardpack providing plenty of traction. We encounter scattered sets of riders coalescing according to pace. Before long we are approaching Baldy Pass. I am surprised to see so many riders in minimal summer kits. Short sleeves. Bare legs. Some are shivering, quickly donning whatever layers they have. I notice the pit-pat of raindrops. It may be 74 and sunny in town, but 6400 feet in the Okanogan is an entirely different beast.
We nudge over the top and begin our descent toward Conconully and the planned lunch stop. Twenty miles up. Fifteen miles down the other side. Straightforward. Immediately over the top we jam on the brakes. A cluster of multicolored lycra awkwardly crowds the exposed grade. Strange place to stop. A few ATVs add to the confusion. People on phones. Pacing. Blank-faced anxiety. Bikes scattered at odd angles. Something isn't right. A rider is down. Dazed. Dusty. His shoulder pitched at an unnatural angle. There is blood.
"Hey man, we should just keep moving" Dustin is right. The last thing a crash scene needs is more riders milling about, unsure of what to do. A bit shaken, we cautiously resume. Soon we are back to bunnyhopping ruts, cooking corners and dodging range cattle as 37 winds east beneath the craggy prominences of Old Baldy and Mt McCay. The Okanogan has its own inherent, well-maintained character. Intersections are well-signed. Roads seem to go somewhere. Even smaller, lesser-traveled secondary doubletrack is clear and free of blowdown and debris. Not that it isn't abundantly wild, I’ve sighted bears on each of my last three visits, but the region does feel curiously looked-after.
Our lunch stop materializes a few minutes later beside a shady brook, an ample hillock of sandwiches in white butcher paper lures us toward an open tailgate. By typical OMTM standards, a supported lunch was going to be quite a treat, let alone one catered by chefs Rick Gencarelli and Chris DiMinno of Portland's Lardo and Trifecta. The sandwiches deliver a heavenly abundance of smoked chicken, vegetables and savory baguette, a satisfying contrast to the cloying tedium of typical ride nutrition. 35 miles into a 94-mile day and I am already considering a nap. We replenish bottles with water filtered from Granite Creek and reluctantly push into the second major climb of the day.
Our early-June foray determined that this second climb, though smaller in stature, was going to be the more challenging of the two in sequence. Though I am satiated from lunch and experientially glowing, my legs seem to cooperate less as the day goes on. I helplessly watch my ride mates pull away and eventually disappear. Gradients increase. The afternoon dust, heat and monotony of a long slow climb wears me down, imposing a physical weight. Yet the road grinds relentlessly upward.
I find a pattern emerges on big days whereby the first half tends to be very external - frontloaded with anticipation, excitement, photo stops, chattiness and camaraderie whereas much of that dries up on the back end. Conversation tapers to single syllables, eyes glass over, people begin to go dark. Or maybe it’s just me. I find myself drawn into a sort of tunnel vision, repeating phrases in sync with the rhythm of the pedalstrokes. Song verses fill my headspace, running in nonsensical loops. 'Hotel California' into the Dead's 'Scarlet Begonias' into ‘Cripple Creek', the loping grooves perfectly aligned to the cadence and lazy bob of the cranks.
My GPS shows I am approaching a series of sharp switchbacks marking the upper section of the climb through the apex. The last mile is rough going but also the most visually dramatic, twisting steeply through eerie burn-ravaged spires of blackened forest. Down to one bottle, I stop to filter just below the top. Knowing others will be coming along low on water, I post up and wait. Sure enough, a handful of riders come through with empty bottles, which I am happy to refill.
I cross a cattle guard marking the top of the second climb. Yep. That was fucking hard. Climb number two of a two-climb day is behind me. Very satisfying. The next 12 miles float like a rush of hazy magic, wind in my face, freehub buzzing like a bee, gradients so slight I hardly touch the brakes. Lush stands of evergreen and grassy meadows streaming past in a detached blur, empty forest roads gradually broadening into sundrenched valleys of bunchgrass and sage. Balky Hill is the first incline I encounter for some time, velvety golden hillsides radiant in the late afternoon sun. Soon I'm skimming serpentine ribbons into yet another valley, approaching the outskirts of Twisp.
A gathering of dusty bikes catches my eye outside of a grocery store. I had almost forgotten there were other riders. I recognize them from earlier in the day. The sweltering asphalt and auto traffic are harsh on the senses. I make my way over. Plastic water gallons are drained, snacks and tires compared. 20 miles remain. Although it is hot, the conversational spark is returning. They tell me Dustin has made a detour to Blue Star Coffee, just up the road. I beeline, hoping to catch him. I'm in luck. Blue Star is a favorite of mine. Craft espresso - a little milk - a little ice…it feels like just the reset button I need.
Back in the saddle, we head west over smooth pavement along the Twisp River. The sun dips behind the mountains. We pass in and out of cool thermal pockets. Insects buzz and chirp in the tall roadside grass. Pink and purple hues of twilight settle over the valley. Dustin and I angle northward beneath the glowing hillsides of Elbow Coulee and back up Sun Mountain. Leaves rustle, dappling gentle patterns across the understory. This is the final climb of the day. My legs are empty. I am exhausted, but happy.
Day Two 7:00am Sun Mountain.
Fuck. Everything hurts. The harsh light is like razors in my eyes. Head pounding. Throat parched. Legs are like tensioned cables drawn beyond capacity. Between yesterday’s ride and last night’s beers, I am a peculiar grade of dried-out, clenched up and maybe just a bit hung over. I’m having a hard time envisioning myself out of bed, let alone riding. I sit up and try to speak, hardly recognizing the gravelly baritone that comes out. I fumble with my jet-boil and manage to get water going. The first cup of coffee doesn’t do much to temper the morning light. The second cup enables a bit of movement. A third cup. A banana. A fourth cup. Packets of instant oatmeal choked down. Okay. I’m entertaining the possibility of at least putting on clothes…maybe rolling down to the start…but Hart’s Pass is absolutely not happening.
Though the bike feels awkward and stiff, the cool rush of descending perks me up. Nine miles, mostly downhill, the valley still deep in shadow, bracing wind in my face. Okay, maybe this isn’t SO bad. The first of several punchy rollers knocks me back to square one, questioning my abilities for the day. Arriving at the start however, a quick scan of weary faces reassures that I am not alone. Something about solidarity…shared suffering…whatever it is, it is something. Maybe. Dustin and I agree that Slate Peak and Hart’s Pass are essential to our Okanogan experience. We really can’t not. A plan is proposed. It feels like a good one, bypassing the unnecessary climbing of Banker Pass and approaching the route in a reverse beeline to Mazama. Only the hits today. All killer - no filler.
We set off in the direction of Hart’s Pass, diving straight into the trails. The Methow trail system, for the uninitiated, is a 120-mile network linking the entire valley via singletrack, fire road and forest path over a patchwork of USFS, Fish & Wildlife, State and private lands, one of the most richly developed community trail networks in the Northwest.
This stretch also happens to be flat, fun and absurdly beautiful. I can feel the day beginning to come around as we meander cool glades, grassy clearings and small shady rollers, cutting playful lines along the river. We arrive in Mazama ahead of schedule. 10am. A bit early for lunch, but there are rumors of cookies the size of medicine balls, so we decide to call it brunch and forge ahead. Fleshing out the menu with Bahn Mi and savory bbq chips, DiMinno and Gencarelli deliver amazement once again, shoring up my resolve. The Hart’s Pass and Slate Peak climbs are up next.
I’ve never considered Slate Peak a particularly ‘hard’ climb. I mean, it is certainly big enough. 21.5 miles up w/ 5500 feet of gain, but the numbers don’t really seem to translate out here the way they do back home. The grandeur of the scenery has a softening effect, taking the edge off the climb. The primitive roadbed doubles back, hair-pinning and snaking upward through fragrant evergreen and exposed outcroppings of craggy sunbaked rock. Rounding Deadhorse Point the road contracts to a narrow rubblestrewn shelf barely wide enough for bikes let alone auto traffic - it only gets better from here. Hart’s Pass is on a short list of climbs I wish I had never done so that I could do them again for the first time.
We spin up through subalpine wildflower meadows crossing into wide valleys bristling with burned forest. Roadside creeks gurgle with early summer snowmelt. Auto traffic tends to be a precarious dance along these narrow roads, but thankfully it’s pretty quiet today. We pull aside to make room for an approaching pickup. It turns out to be our friend Abe from Portland, sitting out today’s ride due to a cracked headset, but taking in the scenery nonetheless.
The landscape ramps up in proportion to the gradients, rugged rocky valleys and matchstick forests so characteristically Okanogan, level out for just a moment as we reach the pass. Hart’s Pass is not the top mind you, but rather a crossroads - a campsite, a small ranger’s cabin, PCT crossing and a fork in the road. The gamier of the two options, NF700, dives deep into the valley beyond en route to the Barron and Chancellor mining claims. Today however, our way is up.
Emerging from the tree line we cross into a series of expansive meadows, layers of glaciated peaks receding to the west, graduated according to distance. As with most epic climbs, the magic is all in the last few miles. Riders begin to emerge from the woodwork, visible perhaps only now because of the exposure provided by the final switchbacks. The summit is a flat parcel of windswept gravel, razed in WWII to accommodate radar equipment. Today there is just a decaying lookout tower and a cold wind. Nonetheless cheerful cyclists up top bubble with excited conversation, snacking and configuring themselves for photos. I realize that many of today’s riders are likely seeing Slate Peak for the first time, which is a joy to witness. I can feel a headache coming on from the elevation, so I keep things brief, snapping a few pictures and moving on. I am thrilled to find Brandon from Rapha posted up w/ a cooler full of chilled La Croix and pastries.
True to Cascadian form, the weather takes a turn. A cold rain picks up. Icy. Hard. Angry rain. From this vantage point I can see showers shaping up to the east. Time to lose some elevation. Having been caught in heavy rain the past two times I’ve made this descent, I will attest, twice is plenty. It’s amazing how quickly you can cover 21 miles in the downward direction. I manage to reconnect with Dustin en route. The rain thankfully subsides and before long, we are back in Mazama enjoying espresso, chocolate chip cookies, cheese, crackers, gummies, brownies and more cookies.
The remainder of our course retraces the same wonderful sequence of trails and forest paths from earlier this morning. For whatever reason, likely the playful singletrack and combined blast of sugar, carbs and caffeine, a spirited race effort takes shape. Our small group punches the final 17 miles back into town for dinner.
Graciously hosted by Rapha, mounds of roasted chickpeas, quinoa, pita, greek salad, ample kalamata and pepperoncini are visions of glory after two days of relentless climbing. It is good to be off the bike. Rehydrate - recover - replenish. Sit down. Stand up. Stretch. All of it in a goofy post-ride haze. Dustin and I unwind and eat our fill yet still have another 10 miles and 1300 feet to go. We bid farewell to the group and make our way back toward Sun Mountain. The climb is long and slow on tired legs, but we’re in no hurry. The sky expresses shimmering gradients of magenta and indigo, the valley slowly fading into semi-dark, cool, quiet and still - the ideal ending to a stellar weekend of big riding through even bigger country.
DAY ONE
The route for Day One was an 85.5 mile loop connecting Winthrop to Twisp with an optional out-n-back to Conconully on the east end. The loop is closed via Elbow Coulee. Overall elevation will be 9558 cumulative feet of climbing. This particular course is essentially two major climb/descent sequences w/ a healthy dose of pastoral rollers on the back-end. Services are available in Winthrop, Conconully and Twisp plus lots of creek water access for filtering. Roads are well-maintained, well-signed fast-rolling gravel w/ some rougher stuff leading up to the summit of the second climb, however all well within the capability of standard drop bar gravel bikes.
85.5 miles
9558 feet
ROUTE FORMAT: LOOP
SURFACE: 90% maintained gravel, 20% TARMAC
TIRES: 38c - 2”
BIKE: cyclocross/gravel/adventure/jazzbike
WATER/SERVICES: winthrop, conconully, twisp. filter recommended.
FULL RIDE WITH GPS ROUTE + TCX FILE
DAY TWO
Day Two’s routing is a riff on the classic Hart’s Pass climb. Rather than a straight out-n-back, we sought to create more of a loop effect w/ Banker Pass on the front end to get things started. This puts riders conveniently at the Mazama Store on both the way up and the way down for snacks/coffee/water and such. The back end utilizes the connectivity of the Methow trail system and the wonderful Wolf Creek Road as a means of returning to Winthrop.
88.9 miles
9169 feet
ROUTE FORMAT: INVERTED LOLLIPOP
SURFACE: 80% maintained gravel, 10% SINGLETRACK, 10% TARMAC
TIRES: 38c - 2”
BIKE: cyclocross/gravel/adventure/jazzbike
WATER/SERVICES: winthrop, MAZAMA. filter recommended.
FULL RIDE WITH GPS ROUTE + TCX FILE
BANKER PASS > MAZAMA STANDALONE LOOP
Even without the Hart’s Pass climb, Banker Pass to Mazama and back is a solid loop in its own right. For those who are already familiar with Hart’s Pass but are looking to explore the area a bit deeper, this alt option is identical the route above but without the actual 40-mile Slate/Hart’s out-n-back portion.
46.4 miles
3719 feet
ROUTE FORMAT: LOOP
SURFACE: 60% maintained gravel, 20% SINGLETRACK, 20% TARMAC
TIRES: 38c - 2”
BIKE: cyclocross/gravel/adventure/jazzbike
WATER/SERVICES: winthrop, MAZAMA. filter recommended.
FULL RIDE WITH GPS ROUTE + TCX FILE