This past weekend, I was hip deep in my Honey-Do List. I was experiencing a grim satisfaction in getting things done, when my wife informed me that there was a proverbial snowball alive and well in proverbial hell. She said, "The kids and I just got invited to a birthday party. We'll be back at 5:00. You can do whatever you want." After the shock wore off, I dropped my bucket of tools and studied her face to see if she was playing a cruel joke on me. Satisfied that the snowball was, indeed, surviving, I pretended to clean up while digging through my mental files for short outing possibilities. It needed to be quick and dirty.
I dressed for success, shoved my phone in my pocket and headed for the garage, leaving food, water, maps (and anything else that would be a good idea) behind. I straddled my hard-tail and headed up Brender Canyon Road feeling like an escapee from domestic life. At the junction with the Camas Road, I remembered a neighbor mentioning the old road at the end of Brender Canyon Road, so instead of going up to Camas, I headed for the end of the pavement. At the end, I ducked under the gate next to the washed out, old sign (threatening bodily harm to trespassers), and pedaled up a beautiful trail through a ponderosa and maple forest. After a mile or two of climbing, the old road pops out into bitter brush meadows, sage brush hillsides, and ridges dotted with ponderosas and occasional doug firs. The road turns into a network of smooth, intermediate runs crisscrossing the hillsides and spiderwebbing out toward Camas, Hwy 2, and the ridges overlooking Dryden. I had landed in mountain biking bliss.
I made it home before 5:00 and had just enough time to look busy again before my wife and kids came rolling in. She didn't have to ask why I was so happy to be putting in fence posts. She can spot helmet hair a mile away.
I checked with some other bikers and no one knew about the ownership of the road. I asked an old-time local today at work about the area, and he replied, "I'm surprised you didn't get shot by Taber himself!"
So, now the question is; did I find my mountain biking forbidden fruit, or is it possible that there is a pair of snowballs down there?
Does anyone know the story or ownership of that road system? After the gate, there are no houses for miles, no signs, markers, or boundary plates that I could find... just pure, fat tire fun.
Happy Riding,
Jeff