Late Arrival | InterVANtion #1

Have you felt it? You know, the feeling that the universe is a little "off" recently? As far as I can tell, it's the only explanation, really, for how this trip got underway. No other phenomenon would explain Monte @Blackdawg showing up before me to kick off an adventure.

I say this because Monte is notorious for showing up late. Even on The De-Tour - the first trip I ever attended with this group of guys I now call good friends - Monte's was the last truck to pull into the parking lot at our meet-up point. The Re-Tour was no different. And even our most recent get together - in Death Valley - he careened in a fully 18 hours after everyone else!

But, this time, it was me who showed up late. Does this mean that Monte has become a more responsible, timely human being as he's gotten older? That I've become less and less reliable as I've aged past my peak? Whatever the answer, it's obviously time to change the topic.

Racing to Camp...

I was out of the house just after 3:30am. Headed east, I hoped to catch Monte and Devin, Mike @Digiratus, and Zane @Speedytech7 before they left camp for the day, just south of Butte, Montana. Unfortunately, speeding along at 62mph - a full 18mph slower than the posted speed limit - I wasn't getting anywhere fast. Just as I stopped for lunch in Missoula, I got a text from Monte, "Going up Sheep Mountain now. Headed up to Lions City after to find camp." And with that, I was a full day late.

Finally on dirt, the smoke was thick as I wound my way into the Pioneer Mountains.

I made a quick stop in Glendale - an old ghost town - but didn't investigate too much, since I wanted to get to camp!

Soon, I was climbing out of the valley and into the trees.

Speeding along the dirt, I wasn't sure exactly where I'd find everyone, but as I passed a particular spur, I thought, "that looks like a place that Mike would like to camp." Not 10 seconds later, as I continued up the hill, I could see the spur open up into a clearing. And in the clearing, a red 1st gen Tacoma was gleaming in the evening glow. It was Mike!

Excited to see the guys, I threw the Tacoma in reverse and careened back down the road, completely forgetting to check my mirrors. Turns out, the gentle righthand curve was a little tighter than I'd remembered, a detail I realized only as I heard the crunch of a branch that somehow managed to wedge itself between my swingout bumper and tailgate.

Yay! Body damage.

Reminding myself that nearly every other body panel already had some sort of damage, I disentangled myself from ... myself, and worked my way - more carefully - into camp. It was 5:00pm the day after the trip had started, and I'd arrived!

At first, I wondered where everyone was, but then I found them clustered around - and under - Zane's truck, trying to diagnose a rear brake issue.

After a good-humored round of hugs accompanied by, "Nice of you to show up," and, "Thanks for joining us," talk turned to the imminent arrival of our final companion. Or, rather, an arrival that would have been imminent had Ben @m3bassman been driving his 1st gen Tacoma.

Instead, Ben would be in his extra-long elephant - err, Sportsmobile - which we'd discover to have a top speed of approximately zero miles per hour on dirt roads. As such it was a couple hours before he finally pulled into camp, where we immediately noticed that a large electrical cable was dangerously dangling down from the front bumper.

Ben being swallowed by his truck, wondering, "where does that huge wire connect, anyway?"
Note: we never figured it out and just left it - the ground wire for his underpowered winch - disconnected for the remainder of the trip.

While it's been two-and-a-half years since I've been on a trip with Monte, I haven't been on a trip that included both Monte and Ben in seven (!) years, so it was awesome that the stars seemed to align for this adventure. In fact, this was a reunion of sorts; the first time we'd have nearly the entire cast of The De-Tour out on the trail together since 2017!

With camp finally full, it was time for a campfire. And of course, for a big dose of Mike's famous salsa.

Four Plus One...

Our - or I suppose, my - first morning in camp was the only time that I got up before sunrise. Even then, it was only moments before the fiery ball rose above the horizon, and by the time I'd launched my replacement drone into the air, first light was already streaking across the distant ridges of the Pioneer Mountains.

Camp in a land of old mines.

Climbing back into bed for a couple more hours of light sleep and reading, it wasn't until 8:00am that I heard the sounds of coffee being made by Mike and Ben, prompting the rest of us to wander our way into the mid-morning sun.

Sometimes battling the hi-lift beats stacking rocks "just so."

It was right around 10:00am when Monte led the way out of camp, with Mike and Zane hot on his tail. Behind them, Ben slowly executed a 5-point turn before lumbering up the road, and I followed in the tail-gunner position, so we could ensure a vehicle-mounted Ham radio on each end of our group.

This positioning was something we'd discussed the previous evening around the campfire. In fact, I'm usually a fan of running in the rear-most position, since it allows me to stop for photos, hang back out of the dust, and generally proceed at whatever pace suits my taste. However, I'd been warned - mostly by Mike, who'd run in this position on a couple previous trips with Ben's van that I'd not been able to attend - that running behind the van was an exercise in patience.

Surely it couldn't be that bad, I thought.

As if reading my mind - which is often betrayed by my face - they assured me that it really was that bad.

At any rate, as Ben and I plodded up the road, the whole scheme seemed to be working splendidly. I was able to hear the radios at the front and they were able to hear me. Likewise, I could communicate with Ben, and though he couldn't communicate with the radios at the front, I was able to relay everything that was said, which mostly amounted to keeping him abreast of how far behind we were.

By the time Ben and I stopped at an old mining structure, everyone else had continued on.

Next, we checked out an old mill at the Lion City Ghost Town.

As we were checking out the lower elevation remnants of the once-active mining community, three Tacomas were making their way up the face of Keokirk Mountain. Realizing that I was keen to follow, but not wanting to push the van through some of the steep, narrow grades, Ben decided to wait at the bottom while I hoofed it to catch up.

My "hoofing it" does not preclude photo stops.

By the time I got to the top, everyone else looked like they were ready to go.

Yep, ready to go!

Determined not to be in too much of a rush, I poked around on the top for a bit, taking in the views and poking around a few mining remains that have long surrendered to the harsh winters that pile dozens of feet of snow as far as the eye can see. I can only imagine what it must have been like to work here, chipping away at the stone, hoping to hit the motherload.

At least - after a hard day's work - the views were ...acceptable.

Eventually, I made extensive use of the skinny pedal and followed everyone back down from the saddle.

Back down the mountain and on the main road, we hooked up with our newly minted van-lifer, who'd been lounging on his couch reading a book. Not a bad life, I must admit. Once again a party of five, our next destination - as were all our destinations on this trip - a lake nestled into the higher elevations of the Pioneer Mountains.

I think we're running low on antennas.

More "mature" (ok, old) than I used to be, I noticed Ben had his camera out as I came to this small water crossing, so I put on a bit of speed for what I thought was a good show. Even so, his reaction was, "I expected more from you." Perhaps I set expectations inappropriately with him on a trip to Idaho.

We'd never make it to Cherry Lake. This wasn't a total surprise. Monte had mapped these roads using topo maps with the occasional assist from satellite imagery, and we all know how quickly nature can reclaim trails that are rarely used. In this particular case, the trail still existed, but rockfall impeded the progress of anything larger than a school bus, so we had to turn around.

The trip toward Cherry Lake wasn't a total bust, however. We did find a nice little spot nestled into the trees to enjoy a quick lunch and for Ben to show off another advantage of his new lifestyle. Just as we were settling down to eat our sandwiches and cereal, enormous drops of rain began to fall. In less than a minute, Ben's awning was out and as he lounged - again, on his couch - the rest of us stayed nice an dry as the utterly drenching thunderstorm passed overhead.

Maybe this van thing isn't so bad after all. Or, more likely, maybe I just need an awning.

With Ben chewing our ears off about how great his awning set up and tear down times were - and us reminding him that those benefits came attached to a planet-sized boat - we pointed ourselves to the next lake on the list, Lake Agnes, and began the climb up and over Storm Peak.

Whether appropriate or ominous, we were climbing Storm Peak in the rain.

Amazing how a little water really does make the color of the landscape pop!

Climbing towards and intermediate ridge, I managed to avoid the lightning as I snapped a shot with the flying camera.

Normally, the trail up to Storm Peak wouldn't warrant much of a mention. A few football-sized rocks here and there, the most notable feature of the tail was how it wound its way through the trees as it slowly gained elevation. Normally, the seven-mile jaunt to 9,400 feet above sea level would have taken us under an hour.

Today however, it took us nearly three. What were inconsequential corners for those of us in small, narrow, purpose-built Tacomas, turned out to be major obstacles for a van weighing in at twice the size and nearly two feet wider. I started to see why the guys - Ben included - had warned me about my position as tail gunner. At an average of three miles per hour, I could have hiked faster!

After several attempts at navigating an 8-inch root in the trail, Monte and Zane decided it'd be best to just stack rocks for the elephant.

With plenty of time to send up the drone, I was lucky enough to catch a few sunbreaks every now and then.

I may have been stuck at the back, but that didn't mean the guys up front were averaging faster speeds. They would regularly stop to wait for Ben and I to catch up. Here, just below the summit of Storm Peak.

From the summit, we had another couple of miles to Lake Agnes, where - given the time of day - we now planned to find camp. And so, we set off along the grassy ridge, the leading Tacomas soon pulling away from the van on the first gradual ascent.

It may seem that the van is keeping up, but I may have radioed the lead group to pause for a few minutes so I could grab a shot.

As we crested the next ridge, I took a quick look at the map. Temperatures so far had been quite warm - in the mid-80s °F, and I could see that we'd lose a couple thousand feet of elevation - the equivalent of about 10°F temperature change - if we continued to Lake Agnes. Additionally, the trail - or at least the GPS track - showed several tight switchbacks, much tighter than anything we'd navigated on the way up - suggesting to me that the route down could consume several hours for one of us.

So, I grabbed the mic for the radio and suggested that we camp a few dozen feet off the road. Here, I suggested, folks could opt for shelter or a view, and we'd be more comfortable around the campfire. A few minutes later, we were settled.

Ben's first order of business - clean the trail off the top of his rig!

While most opted for a sheltered spot closer to the fire ring, I assumed my usual position, along the edge of the ridge.

With that, it was time to settle down to one of the most pleasant evenings of the trip. Tents were deployed, chairs were retrieved from the beds and arranged in a circle, and conversation flowed easily from one topic to the next.

Though we don't get together frequently, it's as though no time has passed each time we do. Except we're all getting a little heavier. And slower. And maybe we don't remember quite as well as we used to. Or maybe that's just me. Whatever.

Monte (top left), Devin (top right), Ben's dog Venice (bottom left) and Mike (bottom right).

Between conversations, each of us would wander off for one thing or another. Mike, to make guacamole - which, I must report, was abhorrently withheld on this particular evening until Devin and Monte completed preparation of carnitas tacos, Ben to exercise his new, amazing human-size, 600mm lens, Zane to endlessly throw a frisbee for the pups, and me - I suppose - to grab a tub of homemade chocolate-chip cookies for everyone to enjoy.

Just so there's no confusion, Ben is on the left and the lens is on the right. That thing is a monster!

As the light got longer, I made a few trips over to the Tacoma to capture the color.

Golden.

Rays.

Purple twilight.

Eventually, the fire started, chairs we shared between two- and four-footed friends, and Zane snuck in a "Peoples Eyebrow."

The highlight of the night was not the tub of chocolate chip cookies. In an amazing upset - this coming from a guy who can't ever get enough avocado - wasn't even Mike's guac. It was the carnitas tacos. They were - dare I say - the best we've ever eaten on the trail, possibly beating out those that Mike has assembled for us in the past.

Heaven.

I suppose I'd need to try Mike's again - a few times - and then Monte's - just to refresh my memory - to really call a winner. Or, at least to narrow it down to the top two in preparation for a 7-dinner plate off. It's a task I'd not-at-all-begrudgingly agree to, were I presented with the opportunity.

By 10:00pm, it was time to call it a night. This - perhaps more than anything else - was an indicator of how time marches on. Seven years ago - no matter the pouring rain or temperatures below freezing - I can't remember a fire breaking up before midnight. Now, I think we're all grateful when someone starts to yawn around 9:45pm.

A final shot of the cloudy skies.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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