Way up in the North Cascades, twenty miles from the Canadian border, is a road that carves its way through the jagged, granite peaks that crown the state of Washington. This is Highway 20, and it’s where I’ve done some of my favorite summer alpine rock climbing. Every winter, WSDOT closes this road (as well as others at high elevation) and in the spring, there’s a massive effort to clear a path over the mountains.

WSDOT’s goal is to open the road as quickly as possible to cars. The entire process takes about 6-8 weeks depending on snowfall. Crews from the east and west work to plow through 7-8 feet of snow and manage avalanches along the way. Last year, I learned that cyclists could enjoy the road without having to share the road with any cars. Immediately I began to count down the days.

The key is to head up when the most amount of road has been cleared, but just before they’ve opened it up to cars. It’s only open for recreation between Fridays and Sundays so you have to hope that the weather is clear enough to see the summits and you don’t already have plans when it all lines up.

I got lucky this year and on Sunday, May 1st I drove two hours from Seattle to experience what I’d been waiting the better half of a year for. The forecast was sunny and 70°F. There was still some more snow left to plow, so I couldn’t ride over to the other side of the pass though.

The overwhelming majority of people making the pilgrimage to Highway 20 drive as far as they can before they’re blocked by a gate, where they start their pedaling. I decided instead to start riding from the last small Seattle City Light company town on the western side of Washington Pass called Newhalem. By starting here, I’d be adding ~3,000ft more of elevation over roughly 30 additional miles. I stubbornly figured I was strong enough for this and didn’t think twice. I was a bit surprised though when I found no one else that morning at the Newhalem parking lot.

As cars skirted past me uphill, bike racks fully loaded, I pitied them for missing out. The small foothills gradually grew to rounded mountain tops flanking the man-made reservoirs of Gorge Lake, Diablo Lake, and Ross Lake. I usually find dams obnoxious but I had to admit that these were stunning.

The clouds hadn’t broken up yet, and I began to question whether I’d get my forecasted sunshine. The higher up I went, the more it felt like stepping into a freezer. I questioned my decision to bring just a windbreaker and skip the full-finger gloves. I decided not to check my phone's map; it was a weird feeling not knowing how close I was to the gate where everyone was parked. My hamstrings began to cramp, and I wasn't even at the "regular" start. Doubts were creeping in on whether I was in shape to do the bigger rides I had signed up for. My bouts of negative self talk were broken by spectacular vistas, but only momentarily.

I brought my clunky DSLR/lens along, which meant I was slowed down by the weight but also by stopping, assembling it, and disassembling it whenever I thought to take a photo. I finally made it to the gate where everyone else was starting. It was a packed parking lot; cars were lining up on the shoulder. I intentionally had a late start to the day so I'd be out in the sun for longer. For every 1 person heading up, there were 30 zooming back down at this hour.

In addition to not looking at my phone, I decided not to listen to any music or podcasts. Occasionally I'd hear a few birds, sometimes the rush of a creek, the sound of my breathing, and many times what sounded like a car behind me. It was always the breeze in the forest, but it startled me at least a few times every hour.

Of course, everyone I saw was in a great mood. We all felt like we won the lottery that day. As hard as it was sometimes with the cramp in my hamstring getting worse, I wouldn't have it any other way. I was savoring the challenge. The thought of speeding down it all would be a sweet reward. I saw a few cyclists with skis coming down. They biked to where the snow line was and then skinned up. They were moving too fast for me to ask them to be my friend. #goals

Little by little, the uphill grind would be rewarded with more craggy peaks flanking me on either side. The occasional clumps of unmelted slush lingering on the side of the road were soon replaced by walls of white snow. I knew I was close, but I chose not to look at my map and also chose not to let the cramp in my legs slow me down too much.

Once I got to the snow line, I kicked off my shoes and laid down for a long time. I ate half of my stash of chocolate, chips, and candy within a few minutes. I also made sure to soak in the mountain views while stretching every muscle I had. I've seen these peaks before, but always from a car. It's entirely different when you earn it.

The descent started out fine, but then came the headwinds. I was expecting to hurtle down at over 35-40mph but I'd top out at 25mph. It was still fast but I had to pedal hard to get any real speed. Even heading back, there were a few soft hills that would seem to stretch on forever. The wind slowed me down to a crawl, 3mph. I was running on fumes.

This is the moment where I started to loudly tell myself not to give up and keep pressing on. I was one of a handful of people still left on the road, but I didn't see anyone for miles. When I made it to the gate, I didn't even glance at the folks partying and barbecuing tailgate party-style. I just kept pedaling. 15 more miles for me. I considered asking someone if I could hitch a ride, but knew I'd be disappointed in myself for taking the easy way out.

So I pedaled hard and fast. I was whooping for joy when I made it back to Newhalem. Again, no one was around because I'm not sure anyone else started this far behind. On the two hour drive back to Seattle, I kept wondering if the day lived up to my expectations. In hindsight, it absolutely did. In the moment though, I felt like I got my ass handed to me and couldn't get over that.

It was a wakeup call that I need to get in proper shape if I want to do the big Seattle-to-Portland in a day and Ride-around-Mt-Rainier rides. That headspace, running on fumes desperately searching for an ounce of strength, is probably one I'm going to become quite familiar with in the next few months.