Losing the weather lottery, this nitwit won’t quit.
“What’s the temperature,” I asked Nicki, as the rain pounding on the car roof got louder. I was starting to feel chilly, so I figured it had dipped into the fifties from about seventy a couple hours earlier.
She glanced at the instrument panel: “Forty-one.”
Okay then. She helped me on with my flimsy plastic rain poncho, and I snapped my helmet back on over its hood. I stepped out of the warm car, back into the driving rain, and began to pedal again. I had 11 miles and 3,000 feet to climb to the top of Haleakala, having already climbed about 7,000 feet in the previous 25 miles.
For years – decades, really – I had been dreaming about this bike ride. And while I was drenched only in the warm sun in every one of those dreams, I wasn’t about to let a little unusually disappointing weather derail me.
Despite the fact that I’d been riding uphill in an off-and-on light rain for a few hours, I was in a good mood, doing my best to enjoy the glimpses of views both up to the peak and down to the ocean as the clouds raced around the hulking volcano while I climbed the switchbacks.
Despite the fact that I’d been riding uphill in an off-and-on light rain for a few hours, I was in a good mood, doing my best to enjoy the glimpses of views both up to the peak and down to the ocean as the clouds raced around the hulking volcano while I climbed the switchbacks.
But as I climbed, the wind and rain picked up as the temperature dropped and the altitude increased. A couple miles later, well above the treeline, a helpful Haleakalā National Park ranger warned me that I was riding in “hypothermic conditions,” that help might not be immediately available, and I was responsible for my own safety. I cheerfully replied that my wife was driving nearby and would ferry me to the bottom after I summited, and she drove off with a shake of her head.
Again, in no version of the ride I’d ever envisioned over the years did I forgo the joyful, effortless, thrilling coast back down the mountain. But while my exertions were keeping me warm(ish) while going eight miles per hour uphill, a thirty mph roll down in these conditions would surely freeze me to death.
With a few miles still to go, the rain stopped. Unfortunately, the snow began. I was getting pelted with snowflakes on Maui. I could only chuckle. The rocky, volcanic scenery was still wonderful and the top got closer with every pedal stroke.
With less than a mile to go to the very top, the road was closed to cars. I rode around the barriers and continued the last little bit toward the summit. The snow was now sticking on the landscape and making a light slush on the road, but the tires of my rented bike were gripping nicely. With only a couple hundred meters to the top, the park ranger reappeared, blocking my progress. “This road is closed to vehicles. You can walk up if you like.” Who knew that rangers on Maui were issued parkas and insulated hats?
“Close enough, I guess,” I replied with a smile and a wave, and turned to head back down to the car. As I gained a little speed, my tires threw up a rooster tail of slush.
At the visitor center lot alongside the top of the crater, I tossed the bike in the back and climbed into the warm car. No longer exerting myself, my body temperature plunged. I began to shiver violently, even after peeling off my wet cycling duds and donning a sweatshirt and jeans. I spasmed even as I enjoyed the toasty ride and the lovely scenery outside the windows. After about twenty minutes, the warmth of achieving my goal overcame my chill and I relaxed into a happy stupor, and then into a cozy nap.
Many thanks to Krank Cycles for the excellent rental bike, the friendly service, and the kind words when I boasted of my epic ride.
Visiting the park at a time when there weren’t many others there was part of a successful trip of treading lightly on Maui and experiencing the local culture.
