Cycling & Sipping in South Lake Tahoe - the Death Ride ‘Tour of California Alps’

It was just before 5:00 am on a chilly July, Saturday morning in Markleeville, CA. I clicked into my bicycle pedals and asked a volunteer to point me to the starting area. “There’s no startling line,” he said, his headlamp shining in my eyes. “Just start riding.”

I was confused. As long-time competitive endurance athlete, I’ve never started an event without an “official” start and it felt particularly odd for one of America’s most challenging one-day bike rides. I was one of 1,728 participants, from nine countries, taking on the onerous 37th annual Death Ride ‘Tour of California Alps’. The mountainous 129-mile course routes over five of California’s highest mountain passes, between elevations 5,400 to 8,700 feet, totaling over 15,000 feet of climbing.

Clad in a pink Pearl Izumi vest, white arm warmers, sleeveless jersey and my most comfortable shorts, I turned right out of the Turtle Rock Park parking lot and followed a string of small blinking red lights. Under the guise of the shadowy Sierra Nevada Mountains my sleepy legs loosened, as I spun along one of the few flat sections of the closed road course. Other than the “z-z-z” of spinning chains, it was quiet. But as skies brightened riders perked up.

At the start of the first climb, 8-miles, 2,500 ft., up Monitor Pass (8,314 ft.), I chatted with a young energetic software developer from San Francisco, who drove up with his buddies the previous night and camped out. It was his first ride too. Around us, several veteran riders wore Death Ride jerseys from previous years with the signature scull logo. Perhaps, a warning for what was ahead.

As the road turned vertical, my sea level New York City lungs struggled. My brain wanted to move faster than my legs could handle. The only option was to chill out and settle into a steady, smooth pedaling rhythm.

In the distance, sunrise bloomed. The glowing pinkish light illuminated the craggy mountaintop, where a stream of cyclists snaked around twisty switchbacks, near the top of the climb. I audibly gasped, realizing just how long an 8-mile climb actually was. I couldn’t believe how much more I had to go.

While, my training included mile hill repeats in Palisade Park, NJ, just outside Manhattan, and 100-mile rides to Bear Mountain State Park - and back to NYC - it was laughable considering what I’d gotten myself into.

I arrived in Reno late Thursday night, on Jet Blue’s direct flight from JFK and drove an hour to South Lake Tahoe. When I awoke the next morning, birds chirped outside my bedroom in Aston Lakeland Village and the picturesque snowcapped Sierra Nevada’s looked like a painting through my window.

I set out early in search of breakfast at Sprouts Café. The crisp, fresh mountain air was invigorating and welcome change from NYC’s hot, humid summer. In Sprouts’ outdoor cafe, classic rock played in as I munched a crunchy veggie breakfast burrito and savored a much-needed cup of locally roasted coffee. It recharged me for morning standup paddleboarding on glistening Lake Tahoe.

It felt good to stretch out and untangle my travel-worn body, twisting to dipping my long paddle into the clear, cool alpine lake. Overhead, Opsrey’s soared and a yellow hot air balloon floated in the cobalt sky. Dwarfed by the expansive jagged mountains, surrounding the 75-mile shoreline, I exchanged waves with other paddleboarders and kayakers, gliding past bristly Jeffery pines and bright colored beachfront homes.

Before picking up my rental neon yellow Giant TCR Advanced 1 Disc bike from South Shore Bikes - I brought my pedals and saddle - I headed to Blue Angle Café to refuel and fuel-up for the next day’s ultra-marathon ride.

A local favorite for its diverse international beer list and global fare, I went Asian with miso-glazed salmon and nutty quinoa. Other diners nibbled fish tacos, pulled pork sandwich, ketchupy burgers and hand rolled pizza – cooked in a wood-burning oven.

It was getting toasty as I reached the top of Monitor Pass, an hour and twenty minutes after leaving Turtle Rock Park. I briefly stopped for a volunteer to put a blue sticker my number – pinned to the back of my jersey - signifying I reached the top of Monitor. Then, continued down the fast, smooth, winding descent on the backside of Monitor Pass, zooming at 40-something MPH.

Cool air swept in my helmet vents, sending a chill to my core. I zipped up my vest, snugly held the handlebars and tucked low to the top tube. There were sporadic cattle gates across the road and a flock of riders descending, but I managed to safely sneak glimpses of the sprawling bucolic landscape. At the bottom, my hands ached from gripping the brakes, but my adrenaline was cranking.

I got an orange sticker and humped back up Monitor, which was not as long and steep as the front side. This time, I stopped to graze at the well-stocked food table. Adult and kid volunteers filled water bottles, restocked trays of chips, cookies, bananas and fresh melon. I gulped a can of icy cold Pepsi, nibbled a scrumptious Nature’s Bakery Blueberry Fig Bar (gluten free), Honey Stinger Chews and swiped salt tablets for later in the day.

With 58-miles bagged, I cruised down the front side of Monitor and pedaled to the base of Ebbetts Pass (8,730 ft.), the highest and steepest. With the sun beaming on black tarmac, it was hot. I peeled off my arm warmers and vest, tucking them into my overloaded rear jersey pockets.

The precipitous, narrow road zigzagged past fragrant Spruce forests and thick wooded patches, often requiring me to stand and yank up on my pedals to keep in motion – and from tipping over. In the backdrop, the snow-kissed Sierras hovered under bluebird skies.

Whether I was passing someone or someone was passing me, there was a friendly encouraging, “great job!” and zero competitive vibe. It was like a rolling yoga class.

As I came around a tight turn, I pedaled up to a slim woman wearing tall green socks and white sun-protection arm sleeves. We rode side-by-side swapping stories. Halfway up the hill, I discovered that “Melissa, from Santa Monica, CA.,” was friends with one of my former adventure racing teammate and they recently had dinner with my pal Jay from Santa Barbara. The endurance world is six-degrees of separation.

At the top Ebbetts, I got a lime green sticker and then a hot pink sticker at the bottom, before climbing back to the top. After a quick stop to fill fluids and grab food, I headed down the front of Ebbetts.

With nearly seven hour in the saddle, I began to mentally check out. I started daydreaming about my next day’s plans to sip wine, while cruising around Emerald Bay - a designated National Natural Landmark in 1969. The two-hour voyage on the Golden Rose – a fully restored 1953 Chris Craft Double Cabin Fly Bridge Cruiser – includes tastes of eight wines from local boutique wineries, poured and explained by Diondra Colquhoun, co-owner Tahoe Tastings. While, her husband and biz partner Shane, a Master Captain, navigates past lush wilderness and ancient glacier carved granite rock sprouting out of the deep blue water.

When I hit a sharp turn with scree coming down Ebbetts, I snapped back into focus, feathering my brakes to cut speed. “Slow,” “Slower,” “Slowest” noted warning signs.

As I zoomed past Turtle Rock Park, heading toward the base Carson’s Pass, the final climb, it seemed like days ago I woke up at 3:00am in the Carson Valley Inn Casino and drove to the start.

The wind pounded, slowing my pace, and I was relieved when a small group of riders passed me. I jumped on the back of their paceline, sitting in the draft to hide from the wind and get speed assistance.

By the last aid station, I was pretty wonky from a full day in the saddle, elevation and 95-degree heat. I shook my half empty bottle and put it back in the water bottle cage. Thankfully, a volunteer saw me. "Honey, I think you need to fill that up." She said, stuffing it with ice and water. She then filled my other bottle with ice and Gatorade.

Relentless headwinds and pushy, gusty side winds knocked me around like a rag doll on the slow slog up Carson Pass. Indeed, it was a death march.

The road was completely exposed and there was no place to hide from the baking sun. Everyone was salty, sweaty and suffering. Some riders were stopped along the side of the road, humped over their handlebars.

“You’re almost there and there’s ice cream at the top!” cheered, a woman on the side of the road, just past the 8,000 ft. sign. Behind her, a guy and two women were in a heated snowball fight on a carpet of snow remaining from California’s extraordinary snowy winter.

With tired legs, rashed bottom and broad smile, at 2:39 pm, nine and half-hours after leaving Turtle Rock Park, I pumped my fist as I reached the top of Carson Pass (8,580 ft.). A volunteer stuck the final - neon yellow – sticker to my number and stuffed a “5-Pass Finisher” pin into my back pocket.

I bee-lined to the ice cream table. And, with a sigh of relief, I delighted with a victorious Fudgsicle payoff!

After a much-needed shower at the Ridge Tahoe, I was ready for something stronger than frozen dessert. We headed to dinner on the patio of Bistro Edgewood, in the newly opened Lodge at Edgewood – where they were setting up for Celebrity Golf Tournament, happening the next week.

After a brutally hot day, the breezy 70-degree evening was a treat. As was the spicy Russian River, CA, Pinot Noir I sipped with a zesty Togarashi crusted Ahi atop Shiitake salad. As the sun set in the magenta sky - reflecting on shimmering Lake Tahoe - we toasted a fun, toasty and very long day in the saddle.

The next morning, I was feeling pretty beat up. But, on our way to Emerald Bay, a stop at Tahoe Keys Café’ at Camp Richardson, was just what I needed. The creamy Acai Bowl pleased with fresh, bright blueberries, raspberries, banana and crunchy flax seeds. And, the crispy lemon and sunflower seed bread (gluten free) left me wanting more.

Later that day, I wrapped up my trip with a fabulous dinner at the Lake House Restaurant. The minimalist exterior didn’t prepare me for the exquisite dining experience awaiting me inside. Adorned with chandeliers and high stools, the warmly lit bar was my first indication this was no Mom & Pop shop – though, its owned by Misty and Jeff Sparrow.

“We envisioned upscale, down to earth dining,” said Jeff, who has deep roots in the food and beverage industry. Jeff and Misty started planning their dream restaurant during a seven-month sailing trip. Upon returning to dry land, their dreams became reality with the help of an interior design friend.

I followed Misty to the rustic, yet elegant dining room and sipped a crisp French bubbly, while perusing the eclectic menu. The mix of homey and chic offerings was intriguing. There was Baba Ganoush, Beef Tartare, Mint Crusted Seared Tofu, Lamb Chops and Duck Two Ways.

The zingy Mint and Pea Soup sung with refreshing luster, while the buttery Hamachi Ceviche was beautifully balanced with fiery jalapeño and cooling whipped avocado. A snappy Albariño from Rias Baixas, Spain amplified the party in my mouth.

With finer wines offered by the glass via a Corvain, I indulged in a polished Sonoma, CA, Pinot Noir with juicy pan roasted steelhead trout. The wine’s seductive dark cherry and subtle earthiness popped with the roasty fish, sautéed mushrooms and eggplant puree.

The chef Jimi Nakamatsu, plucked from San Francisco, is the star of this culinary gem. His magic in the kitchen goes beyond sensational deep flavors and textures. Each plate is presented like a piece of art and there’s a splash of his soul on every dish.

After devouring gooey dark flourless Death by Chocolate with velvety chocolate gelato and crunchy hazelnuts, it was time to go home. With a stuffed belly, sensory overload and my stinky cycling clothes stuffed into an airtight Eagle Creek Packet-It pouch, I hopped the Airporter bus and caught a redeye to NYC. As I drifted off to sleep to the hum of the plane’s engines, I was dreaming about my next detox to retox adventure.