This was listed as an “alternate” route on the map. It was listed as “gravel.” The other choice was US 97, and I have become a non-fan of these.
After thirteen miles of washboard, the road to the pass turned right. A mere ten miles. The washboard became smooth. “Sweet!” I said.
Then it became soft, sandy dirt. “Not really all that sweet,” I said.
The temperature spiked into the 90s. I sipped water thriftily, maybe turning out 5mph. I was delirious with thirst when I got to the top, so much so that I imagined there were 50 ten-gallon jugs of water on the desolate roadside. I stopped to drink in the mirage, which was replete with a thirsty hiker filling a water bottle.
“Who are these for?” I asked the mirage.
I began to take it seriously when the mirage replied, “PCT hikers. The trail angels put them here.”
“Can I have some?”
“Don’t see why not,” the mirage said.
I drank four water bottles worth of water and continued on. the descent was better than the climb but still horrible. My bags fit on the rack okay unless I’m off-road. Then the bottom latch shakes loose and I have to get off and reattach them. Also, the rack wasn’t made for off-road abuse and the pounding had me continually in fear of a catastrophic failure.
Fortunately every hour or so a truck would pass and cover me in a new layer of dirt. I was descending at about 10-15 mph, and missed the turn that would have put me back on pavement. Instead I continued on gravel, only it was going up again.
I passed a stream where a man was peacefully seated under a shade tree. “How far to pavement?” I whimpered.
“You’re almost there! Five or six miles, tops!”
For motorists distance is so meaningless. Six miles, tops! Yay. I parked my bike and waded into the icy stream, getting out only when my feet had become completely numb. I rode in bits, only looking as far as my front wheel to reign in the depression. In minutes I’d dried out and was again sweltering.
I reached the highway. Only eight more miles to the campground at Diamond Lake. Yay. And it was all uphill. Yay. And would likely be full for the big weekend. Yay.
I got to the campground, three more miles after the eight. Yay. It was full. Yay. But one reserved spot was empty so I took it. “I’ll leave if they come,” I thought.
They didn’t.
Yay.
END
Haven’t subscribed yet? Maybe it’s time! Your $2.99/month keeps the pedals turning, the shutter snapping, and the pedals cranking. Please Go ahead and hit this “subscribe” link. Thank you!

Desolationville looks heavenly.
Long as you like 30 rpm, 5 mph, 98 degrees!
Desolation looks like desert with snags. But Diamond Lake looks pretty sweet. You earned it.
It was sweet!
Reserved-by-others campsites are the best! Yay.
So. Much. Character. (Too much?)
Yah … !