The dirt refused as the tire spun. I hear a familiar click as I pull my foot out to catch the fall. The wind chills the sweat on my back as I take a few breaths. Sixty degrees feels warm in November...
The trail keeps sliding out as we climb. We cross dry streams and try to dig the nubs of our tires into a ground that has nothing to give. Our panting and moisture carry us up the hill. The sun and earth willingly take it from us. The chaparral claw at our feet and drag along our skin.
The Caughlin single track lies on the transition of Reno to the Eastern Sierra, a climb that starts on the edge of a suburb and transition to harsh desert. I look back at Reno as we pull away and wonder where all the water comes from to feed this town...
The switchbacks lure us into comfort, into reflection almost. We are in the wild. A hairpin turn later The Nugget's monstrous tower snaps you back. You are not in the desert, you are in suburbia. Amusing, really; we carve a twelve inch wide path and try to find salvation there, civilization ominous and looming. We get away for a moment only to be faced with it once again. We can only have our backs to the world for so long before we have to face it again...
