After some further research, I found that the mountain in question, White Mountain Peak, is a natural wonder in and of itself. In contrast to the nearby Sierra Nevada, there are swathes of dolomitic soil, and with the exception of the knife-edge ridges north of White Mountain Peak, the crest of the range is gently rolling. It’s home to all kinds of endemic plant species, from the beautiful maroon flowers of the White Mountain Buckwheat (Eriogonum gracilipes) to forests of Great Basin Bristlecone Pines (Pinus longaeva), which stand as the world’s oldest trees.

7 grueling months of high school later, I found I finally had a chance to meet the White Mountains. It was the first time in my life I was actually about to realize something I'd been dreaming of, and I was over the moon.

To make a long story short, 2015 hadn't been great for me up to that point. Four years of high school drama, busywork, and generally being on the fringe of things due to my different tastes, values, and interests had taken its toll. My race season up to that point was of great disappointment to me as well. As if life hadn't been enough of a letdown, and my best friend had moved all the way across the country.

The bad feelings ended when I was up in Mammoth with my mom for MTB Nationals. Mammoth is only about an hour and a half away from the access point to the White Mountains. So, the day after my race, I tried to convince my mom to drive me up into the White Mountains as an early 18th birthday present. When she agreed I could hardly contain myself. Even though I realized I couldn't do the whole ascent in one go for the sake of time (I didn't have access to a car at that point and was reliant on her for transportation) I was still incredibly excited.

We left Mammoth at 9 am, got onto Highway 395 and started heading south to Big Pine. From there, we turned left towards State Highway 168, and started driving across the Owens Valley into the White Mountains.

Instead of continuing east over Westgard pass and into Deep Springs Valley, we turned again and continued our ascent up White Mountain Road. At around 9,000 feet we pulled over to get out and look at some bristlecone pines by the side of the road. After a few minutes of taking in the trees, we continued onward to the dirt.

Since the decision to head into the White Mountains was effectively spur of the moment, I was only comfortably prepared and able to do about three hours of riding. I had filled a tall bottle of water and a couple of extras in the car and was pre-hydrating before I got out.