File under: “Downhill”, Cross-reference: “Volcano”
Maui
Tuesday, January 27,
2004
Steve and I are on the vacation end of a business trip to
Hawaii. I pick up a brochure at the airport advertising a morning bike ride from
the top of Mt Haleakala, the world’s largest dormant volcano, located on Maui. I
momentarily forget that I’ve been mountain biking for all of seven months – this
is way too cool an opportunity to pass up, so we make plans to rent bikes and do
the ride.
We go to the Haleakala Bike Shop to get the details and
rent the bikes. When we find out that the guided tour down the mountain is
entirely on the road and not on any singletrack, we’re disappointed and wonder
if we should even bother. That’s when someone mentions “the spine”. There’s just
a moment of quiet stillness in the shop, like the scene in the saloon where the
tall cowboy at the far end of the bar who has been silently staring into his
whiskey suddenly utters the secret known to all but the greenhorns and a hush
falls on the saloon as the piano player stops playing, and with a crash the
bartender drops the bottle he’s holding. The local rider tells us if we really
want to enjoy a ride down Haleakala, we need to go down the spine. I almost
expect to hear someone say, “Bart, you fool, don’t send them poor people down
there!” When no one says this, I take the bait. “What’s the spine?” I ask.
From
the top of Mt Haleakala, there is a fire road leading to a trail that winds down
the back (the spine) of the volcano. For a cross-country rider with decent
descending skills, this is the only way to go down the mountain; the road ride
would be very disappointing. The bike shop offers guided rides down the road,
but does not advertise nor suggest to tourists the ride down the spine. When I
ask why not, I get blank stares from everyone including my husband. “Oh! What,
‘cause it’s dangerous?” More blank stares. That must be it, I figure. Unfazed, I
turn to the local with the information, “So, we can do this spine trail, right?”
We’re told that if a rider were to be injured, he would be
completely on his own, and we are reminded that tourists are not exactly
encouraged to rent bikes and set off on a trail of pumice and volcanic cinder
that winds down a mountain for 22 miles. But if we were to rent bikes and just
happen to find the trail… no harm in that. The bike shop assistant pretends to
know nothing as we proceed with our rental.
We gather up all the gear we think we’ll need: bikes,
helmets, rain gear, spare tubes, pump, multi-tool, water bottles, snacks, and
camera. We already have our Camelbaks, bike shoes, our pedals, and a wrench to
change out the pedals so we can clip in (my husband just shakes his head when he
realizes I have come to Hawaii carrying my own 15 mm pedal wrench in my
suitcase). We have everything we need to do the Mt Haleakala Downhill Run.
Monday night we ready the bikes at our cousin Scott’s house
in Kihei, and make our plans for the following morning. Steve, Scott and I will
load up in two cars and head to the mountain, parking the rental car at the
base, then piling into Scott’s van with all the bikes and gear and heading to
the top. This way we can ride our bikes from the top, down the trail to the
base, get in a car and go back up to the top to fetch the van.
We prepare our gear. The temperature can change rapidly and
drastically on the mountain, going from a sunny 70° at the base of the mountain
to an overcast 40° at the top. We have to be ready for any condition, so we each
have a large bag of gear and clothing. I get into bed knowing I’ll lie awake for
an hour trying to wind down and trying not to think about tomorrow’s adventure.
Steve is asleep in mere seconds.
Tuesday morning I’m so excited about this ride I’m
annoying. I’m wearing my bright orange crash-test dummy bike jersey with the
large black and yellow circle on it just to taunt fate. I pride myself on being
prepared for any contingency, carrying a pocketknife, mini flashlight, and
compass in my purse at all times. Today, in addition to these items I have a
bike multi-tool, extra energy gels, first aid kit, and whistle (like it’s going
to do us any good on the back side of a volcano). I approach this 4-hour
volcano-mountain trail ride with the ardor of an overly-caffeinated adventure
racer. The only reason that I’m not an ultra-geek is because my little tools
actually come in handy on occasion. So I’m just a nerd.
We arrive at the base of the mountain and park the rental
car. Most of my gear is already in Scott’s van with the rest of our things. I
hop into the back of the van, throwing my clothing bag at my feet. We set off on
the 50-minute trip from the base to the top of Haleakala. On our way up the
mountain I go through my Camelbak making sure I have everything I need, and that
everything I have is needed. I examine my little multi-tool. We have a bigger
one from the bike shop, so I throw mine into my clothing bag. I check my pockets
for things that might fall out. I leave my wallet with ID in my purse, and take
only $10 with me just in case I find a 7-11 there on the mountain.
Once at the top we unload our bikes from the van and decide
what clothing we’ll wear. Although it’s cloudy and cool, we decide to leave the
rain gear in the van and take jackets. I’m wearing long bike tights over my
shorter ones, a short-sleeved jersey and a wind jacket. It will be just enough.
Before we set off on our ride, we walk up the path to the sign at the
observation deck that reads: “Elevation 10,023 feet” for a photo.
We’re not sure where the trail begins, so we head down to
the ranger station to ask and take a final bathroom break. Steve sees a mountain
bike tour group and goes to ask the guide if he knows where the trail down the
spine begins. The guide gives Steve a warning look and tells him that he’d
better be careful, that there is no proper trail other than the road, and that
if you take your bike in unauthorized areas on Haleakala, the park ranger will
confiscate your bike and fine you, like, a thousand dollars. (This must be the
one missing from the bike shop yesterday who would have said, “Stranger, you go
down that spine, you’ll regret it.”)
After hearing this, I tell the guys I’ll ask in the gift
shop and get the real story. The park ranger behind the counter is very helpful,
and when I ask about the spine, he clarifies, “You mean the Skyline Trail?” and
pulls out a map from a little newspaper. I verify that we are permitted to ride
down it, and note the directions he gives for finding the trail head. I thank
him kindly and meet the guys back in the parking lot. Steve hears the news and
glances over at the mountain bike tour guide with the overly-active imagination
and sneers quietly, “They confiscate your bike and fine you, like, a thousand
dollars… thanks, buddy. What a knucklehead.”
We head for the trail. The ground is all reddish brown
cinder and fine volcanic rock that slips away from under your bike tires and
makes you work for every foot of ground you cover. I feel unsteady on the bike,
like I’m going to fall every second, and then I remember the trick to riding on
this kind of terrain: relax. It’s somewhat counter-intuitive, relaxing your body
so that you’ll have greater control. I relax my arms and my grip on the
handlebars, and the going becomes a bit smoother. I remember what I’ve been
taught about riding: keep your shoulders square to where you want to go, look as
far ahead on the trail as you can, stand on the pedals with the pedals level and
your weight over the seat or even further back. Relax. I fall twice in the first
5 minutes of the ride before I get the hang of riding on cinders and cornering
on fine loose gravel, and then become more comfortable and have no problem.
Scott is riding behind me. When I take the first fall, I
simply begin to wash out on a curve, overcorrect, then decide to bail off the
bike and roll. I stand immediately as Scott looks on in horror, “Are you OK?!”
he asks. “Oh, sure,” I tell him, brushing rock cinders from my arm and leg. No
skin is broken. Scott evidently never falls, while I am rather proficient at it.
After all, I practiced all last summer.
When Steve takes a fall about 10 minutes into the ride, he
is not so fortunate. He hits a V-dip and is propelled forward landing on the
handlebars, leaving him with a severely bruised (if not lightly cracked) rib and
road rash on his leg. He takes a couple minutes to recover and catch his breath,
then gets back on the bike and continues the journey down the mountain.
The sky is clear in front of us as we stop for a moment to
look out over the southwestern Maui coastline. We see the white capped surf
crashing on the shore, the green of the island below us, the light sand of the
shore, the blue of the ocean complimenting the blue of the sky above. It’s a
symphony of color in a moment where you want to linger.
For the first 15 minutes of the ride, we’ll be on
reddish-brown volcanic rock that forms the trail, until the cinder gives way to
dirt and vegetation. When we get down to the treeline, Scott points out a herd
of goats grazing on the hillside in the distance. All is quiet up here; you only
hear the wind.
The Skyline Trail winds down in a path that cuts across the
mountain diagonally, then returns in switchbacks that snake downward. We come to
the end of the singletrack and emerge onto a fire road that continues for
another mile or so, stops at a gate, then continues on the other side. We stop
at the gate for snacks and photos before continuing along the fire road.
As
we descend the vegetation gets denser on either side of the fire road, and we
almost miss the first turn at the Marmane trail. Scott was here before several
years ago, and thankfully remembers to look for it. The Marmane trail takes us
off the fire road and into the forest where our challenge is no longer fine
cinder on a wide open downhill, but tight singletrack peppered with roots and
rocks winding among evergreens. This ride has a bit of everything.
We ride another couple miles through the forest on
singletrack before coming out onto another fire road. We’ve been riding for over
an hour and we’re still descending. We’re still at about 6500 feet elevation
when we finally reach the paved road that will take us to the base of the
mountain.
The three of us coast down the paved road as fast as our
nerve and braking skills will allow us, keeping far to the right, watching for
the cars we can’t see coming up the hill as we descend, knowing that the cars
won’t see us until we’re right upon each other. We finally make it down to the
rental car, tired but still feeling the adrenaline rush from a great ride down
the mountain. Twenty-two miles of downhill. Pretty cool.
When we take the bikes back to the shop, we give the report
of our great adventure down the spine. The shopkeeper is eager to hear about it,
and pleased that our morning went so well. I ask her for one of the T-shirts on
display: Mt Haleakala, Downhill Survivor. While I am brazen enough to wear my
crash-test-dummy bike jersey on the downhill run, I couldn’t bring myself to buy
this T-shirt before actually I made it back to sea level.
Clipless pedals and a 15mm pedal wrench. Don’t leave home
without them.
Ride report by Laura Drexler.