Usually weather.gov is pretty accurate - today, it screwed me. And lately I've been too pig-headed to to give up halfway through something.
The Corbett, OR area was supposed to be 65 degrees and partly sunny. It was apparent driving through the Gorge that I was ill-prepared with my summer gear, but that nagging voice in the back of my head as I pulled up at the bottom of Larch Mountain wasn't as loud as the one that was saying "Just do it, asshole!" With STP and the Chris King ride only a month or so away, I wasn't about to drive back to Portland and start studying for finals just yet.
I was having a fine ride, even though the riders coming down looked like hell. One of them warned me that it was "Real, REAL cold up there." I scoffed. Then it started to rain. Visibility became crap around mile marker 11. Pressing on until I hit slush at the top, I barely even saw the sign at the parking lot until it was in front of my face. Great. No view, and I'm wet, all because I'm the human equivalent of a stubborn-ass mule. I hightailed it out of there, riding the brakes hard, teeth chattering, grimacing like a freak. I saw some hikers loading up the car, and as I zoomed past them I fantasized about them covering me in down jackets in the back of their SUV and offering me hot tea. I thought about every frostbite photo I have ever seen, and every blizzard scene in every movie ever watched.
Twenty minutes later I was back at my car and stripping out of soggy lycra on the roadside. Fingers and toes in tact. Crisis averted. All in all, successful day.
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