Planning for this year’s summer solstice began even before the previous winter solstice occurred – in October of 2023. As with many of life’s most cherished affairs, the outing began as an email thread. This grew into a monthslong chain, blossoming into a veritable symposium of some of the best route makers in the Northwest.

Included were Ben Rainbow, Garrett Berkey of Mercator Films, Abe Al-khamees, and Ron Lewis. I was stoked to be in such company, virtually threading the needle to stitch together the ultimate plan – a deep destination weekend of solstice riding, camping, swimming, and hard chilling.

We set our sights on Green River Horse Camp, just north of Lawetlat’la, also known as Mount St. Helens, as a base for the weekend. In doing so, we decided to forgo the traditional solstice campout format of riding to a destination, camping, and then riding home; instead, we would set up a basecamp for the weekend and ride a variety of mixed terrain loops in the area over 2 or 3 days. The Green River valley and complimenting ridgelines contain a rich tapestry of backcountry singletracks, tarmac aged by harsh winters, and gravel roads that see varying degrees of use and maintenance. As a parent of a young child, I don’t get out much for rides far from home these days, so this was a rare opportunity for me and as the emails piled up and months went by, excitement was building. 

Fast forward to June of this year, and after a few “we still doing this?” emails, we settled on some finalized routes for the weekend: Strawberry Ridge, Goat Mountain, and Ape Canyon were all on deck. Plans were solidified, legs were feeling strong, bikes were looking good, then we looked at the snow levels and those weren’t so good. According to the Forest Service, each of the areas we were planning to ride had patches of significant snow cover- meaning anywhere from 4 to 40 inches still on the ground. After some slight panic, Ben came across a trail report from that very day saying the Strawberry Ridge trail was rideable and snow was minimal to non-existent. A collective “hell yeah” was quietly shared and our plans were back on. The plan was for some of our party to arrive at the campsite on Friday afternoon, establish camp and do a short shakeout ride, and others would come and go as their schedule allowed, some staying as late as Monday. 

I arrived on Friday night, driving the 2.5 hours from Olympia after putting my kid to bed. The hardest part of these sorts of rides isn’t the actual riding, it’s being away from my family. The balance of family and adventure cycling is incredibly delicate and there is a lot of guilt that I feel when I leave my family to pursue my own interests, even for relatively short periods of time. However, I also try to recognize that we all deserve time for ourselves and it’s imperative to being a good dad and partner that I take time to do what makes me feel most alive, even if it’s only once or twice per year. I got to camp well after dark, winding my way up NF-26, dodging potholes and downed trees alike, thinking to myself the whole time, “I’d love to climb this road on a bike.” Well, I’d get my chance the next day. After greeting Garrett, Kevin, and Ben with a round of hugs, I called it a night around 12am. 

Morning came fast, as did the call of nature. I am delighted to report that the facilities at Green River Horse Camp are among the finest of all campground facilities. Truly idyllic and a joy to use. After taking care of business, I saw that my companions were stirring and beginning to get ready for the day. Ron was slated to meet us at 0730 and we were hoping to have wheels down shortly thereafter, but we all took our time making breakfast and getting dressed, meanwhile Ron was running a few minutes behind schedule. 

At 9:00 on the dot, with our crew fully assembled, we set out from camp and immediately began our climb out of the Green River Valley. A short stint on the Green River Trail led us to Forest Road 26 which took us over Norway Pass, around Bismark Mountain, and onto Forest Road 99. It was here, on FR 99, that the views opened and we saw the enormity of what the 1982 Lawetlat’la eruption left in its wake. The magnitude of the blast can still be seen in the geological landscape, with huge swaths of rock face left barren of trees and carved by what was the equivalent of 26 megatons of TNT. Monumentous wave-shaped forms cresting over the valley floor hundreds of feet below. Mega gnarly but breathtakingly beautiful. The immersive views were made better by the fact that both FR 26 and 99 were still closed to cars for the season, which meant we could really take our time and stop as we pleased to admire without fear of being run off the ridgeline. 

Finally we made it to the focal point of the day’s ride: Boundary Trail to Strawberry Mountain. The first few hundred yards felt promising. After a few minutes of climbing we encountered snow and quickly realized the area had not seen much direct sunlight. The snow was abundant, deep, and everywhere. Even with temps well into the 80s. The decision was made to keep going and we did our best to convince ourselves that we would eventually make it through the snow fields once we reached the top of the ridgeline. Going was slow but serene, birdsong filled the air, water rushing in the distance, like being in The Sound of Music before the intermission.

After about an hour of pushing up, over and through massive snow banks, we regrouped, collectively deciding to turn back; the snow was only intensifying and according to topo maps, there was easily another hour of pushing. Our decision also factored in increasingly treacherous trail conditions and traversal of 45-degree snow fields, escalating the risk of a serious fall.

We scrambled back down the trail, sliding down snowy embankments, using our bikes as ice-picks until we got back to the snow line, then blasted down the short section of trail that was rideable until again reaching FR 99. In what seemed like no time, we made it back to our basecamp to regroup and refuel, all while trying to figure out how to salvage the daylight we had left. I was feeling some disappointment about not being able to ride Strawberry Mountain, especially after so much planning and preparation, and not knowing when I’ll get another chance to go back. Sure, those trails are probably not going anywhere anytime soon, but when you’re a parent it takes a lot of planning and coordination to get out on a trip like this, and I was feeling like I didn’t get to make the most of my time away. That’s not a great feeling when you know you could be spending that time with your kid. That said, I was enjoying the day and just being outside in a place that was new to me with some of the best riding homies. 

After some discussion we decided to head northwest on the Green River Trail from the campground, along the river to some stands of deep old growth. This trail made up for any disappointment that the group had for not getting to ride Strawberry Mountain - a swoopy, undulating woodsportal into a Tolkienesque paradise of pools filled with glacial snowmelt surrounded by ancient trees. It was the perfect way to end the day. All in all, we rode just over 30 miles and accumulated about 4,000 ft of elevation. It was a solid reminder that adventure cycling doesn’t always have to be high-mileage, brutally intense efforts of endurance. Sometimes you just go until you hit snow, turn around, and do something else.

Ben Everett is an Olympia, WA-based route planner, race coordinator, founder, and creative force behind the Dark Divide 300 and Evergreen Gravel Racing, whose marquis gravel event stages out of Olympia's Capitol State Forest each December.
For a deeper dive, be sure to check out the Dark Divide film, which was released in December, 2022 as a collaborative effort between Evergreen Gravel Racing and Mercator Films. Directed by Garrett Berkey, the film documents their time scouting the route and incorporates interviews with local tribal leaders to provide insight on the land, their history, and what the adventure cycling community can do to become better stewards of the lands through which we ride.