White Punks on Dope
14 May 2020
Ting and I completed a trip I’d been dreaming about all winter — a bike tour approach of White Punks in the Needles. It’s something we’d heard about other people doing, just not anyone we knew, and so it remained very much an abstract concept — until the moment rubber hit pavement.
First some geographical details. The following figure denotes the location of the gate on Lloyd Meadows Road. It was our understanding that this gate remains closed until around Memorial Day most years even though the road melts out and conditions turn prime well before this, owing to the sunny aspect and relatively low elevation of the greater Voodoo area. (Side note: we gave a friendly wave to a caravan of Forest Service work trucks on the bike ride in, so it seems they’re welcoming to folks travelling via human-powered modes beyond the gate.)
We arrived in the afternoon, racked up, and left our cars in a big gravel turnout on the right side of the road. This would also be a good bivy spot if so needed.
The ride to Needlerock Creek is ONLY about 10 miles and ~1,000 feet of elevation gain on a nice paved road! (On the way back, there is only ~300 feet of gain owing to a few rollers, but it’s almost entirely downhill.) We went through a few waves of emotions, from goofy incredulity we were actually rolling with it, to some nerves at the first big uphill (BREATHE!), and sweet satisfaction upon sighting the Needles looming ever closer as the sun dipped toward the horizon.
Simply put, we did not have the appropriate bike touring equipment. I rode a carbon road bike with all my gear on my back, which was aching quite a lot until I cinched the shoulder straps very tight. This may seem counter-intuitive comfort-wise, but when the body is positioned forward on the bike, there’s no way to get the pack weight on your hips. I found the riding to be much more enjoyable with all the weight on my shoulders. Meanwhile Ting rode my landlord’s commuter bike, which did have two saddlebags, but was woefully too large a frame for her. We lowered the seat all the way down and she mastered a sort of rolling start and rode like a champion.
It would be possible to do this in a long day with daypacks, but we opted for a more casual three-day trip, establishing a posh basecamp at Needlerock Creek. There was a nice flat dispersed campsite here and the creek was running well with water. And the informal trailhead to the dome is just a short walk (north) up the road.
By this point, Ting and I had put in a lot of mileage in establishing a super strong climbing partnership. Many combined days between all the usual Cali haunts, from Lovers Leap to Joshua Tree. And we had already done a pair of climbs similar in nature to this one — Royal Arches in Yosemite and a jaunt up Solar Slab in Red Rock — long adventurous climbs requiring smooth transitions and rewarding especially an appreciation of one’s surroundings.
So what does a strong climbing partnership look like? Probably it is best qualified as being attuned to your partner’s attitudes and emotions in an intuitive effortless sort of way. This is manifest in many little things. Like sorting the provisions for the climb ahead of time. Pacing on the trail to catch our breath and find the right way, instead of storming wildly through the brush. And giving some encouragement when needed — for myself, pulling the arch move at the start of the 2nd pitch, and for Ting, vision questing up the slab on the 5th pitch. “I see the next bolt!” “Off to the right I think!” “Yeah, there’s a water groove over there, it looks good!” Ting led this pitch at a critical juncture of the climb, when the clouds thickened, the wind kicked up, and things became decidedly more “alpine”. I’d caught a chill at the belay and would have been a real mess out on the slabs! It’s a moment of silence on top of the dome and looking over the great Kern River Valley as the sun rays shine through the clouds once again, instead of rushing to get down. A strong climbing partnership is … hard to define and write about, but you know it when you have it. It is an absence of some other things too. An absence of negativity when the going gets tough. An absence of distraction which allows for presence in the moment, where all the background noise of everyday life totally fades away. An absence of judgment when those challenging moments peel back the protective layers and show us at our most vulnerable.
The climbing was so so good. The wave dihedral is the single greatest pitch I’ve done at the 5.8 grade. Bishop’s Terrace in Yosemite and Upper Royal’s Arch at Tahquitz would be the next closest contenders. The wave slowly washes over you and goes on and on for days, culminating in a secure lieback run up to the belay. Instead of liebacking the bulk of the dihedral, I sat my left hip against the face and scoot-scooted up step by step. As with any classic pitch, it felt like I couldn’t possibly fall off. What takes the climb to the next level is the variety, every pitch dishing up something new to puzzle through.
We rode out the next day feeling totally whole and satisfied. A victory lap up Tree Route seemed in order. I had never done it before. Ting let me lead the whole thing and it was so sweet. This is definitely one of those trips I’ll remember forever. People will say, ‘What did you do in 2020 when everything went to shit?!” And I’ll say, “Ting and I went to the Needles, and all that awful stuff faded away, if only for a little while!”
