Riding Down the Largest Dormant Volcano in the World

By George Medovoy, Editor

It’s 5 a.m. on the edge of the Haleakala crater. A sea of stars fills the sky’s black canvas. At the summit --10,023 feet -- it’s one of the clearest spots on planet earth.

In the pre-dawn stillness, about 75 sleepy souls stand in 35-degree weather, bundled in layered clothing, most of us clutching cameras, all of us waiting for the sun to rise over the largest dormant volcano in the world, the place where Ronald Reagan’s Strategic Defense Initiative lasers were based.

(The moon-like summit of Haleakala, the largest dormant volcano in the world).

But long before "Star Wars," the Polynesian god Maui used his superhuman strength, so the story goes, to lasso the sun, slowing its progress across the sky to that humans could have more sunshine.

For us humans, the first rays of light appear an hour before sunrise in breathtaking installments of amber, rose and jade, revealing the outlines of Haleakala’s massive crater -- a vast crevasse 3,000 feet deep and 21 miles around, large enough to swallow the island of Manhattan.

Once fully exposed to light, however, the crater is bleak and moon-like, a reminder of the American astronauts who left their footprints here in training exercises to simulate a moon walk.

Seeing the sun come up on Haleakala, "House of the Sun," is adventure enough, but I’ve come here for yet another quest: a 38-mile bike ride down the volcano’s dizzying edge, all the way to the seashore at the old plantation town of Paia (pah-ee-ah).

Except for about 400 yards, it’s all downhill. Mountain Riders Bike Tours, the Maui company with which I’ve signed up, collects me at my bed-and-breakfast in sunny Kihei, a Maui suburb, at 2:30 a.m. for the hour-and-a-half ride in their van to the volcano’s summit, in Haleakala National Park.

I wait outside, as palm trees sway in the gentle breezes, but I feel a bit out of place...as if I’m off to the mountains in the dead of winter.

Advised to wear layered clothing, I’ve wrapped myself in thermal underwear, Levis, long-sleeved shirt, sweater, heavy leather jacket, with a woolen cap stuffed into my pocket.

This is Maui?

(Palm trees sway in the gentle breeze on the island of Maui)

The van arrives on time, and I climb in, awkwardly introducing myself to nine sleepy tourists.

The only people wide awake are Brook Starr, our driver, and cruise leader Daniel A. Bracken, "the guy out there on the bike," as he likes to say, because he rides side-saddle, looking back at us from the head of the line.

Little did the Star Wars scientists know that by modernizing the road up to the top of Haleakala, they would also set the stage for bikers to have a safe ride down.

About half an hour up the twisting road, formal introductions begin. Our group hails from California, Utah, and Florida.

"When was the last time each of you rode a bike?" Daniel asks.
The answers from our lively group range from "I stumbled over my son’s bike last week," to "Does a Harley count?"

Still laughing, we reach the Haleakala parking lot and have breakfast in the warm van -- hot coffee, juice and muffins. We’re fourth in line among seven other vans.

The oldest riders? Daniel remembers an 86-year-old couple, and the youngest, a 12-year-old kid.

Our hybrid bikes weigh 55 pounds and have big wide tires, wide handlebars, and hand brakes with specially-designed drums to induce skidding and make the bike come to a rolling stop.

"We’ll go no slower than 18 miles and hour and no faster than 25," says Daniel.

"We like to slow down when we head into those hairpin turns. As long as you focus on riding a bike and not looking around, you’ll be fine."

The first rule of the road, he tells us, is illustrated with a Hawaiian word, ‘ohana,’ meaning extended family. "So that’s exactly what we’re going to be today all day long," he says. "No matter how functional or dysfunctional some of us prove to be on those bikes, I just want you to remember a nice, happy, loving attitude all day long, okay?"

Everyone agrees.

(A rainbow illuminates the sky above Upcountry Maui)

Daniel then advises us to stay away from the center yellow line, and to stay single file about 30 feet behind the rider in front of us -- or about three road reflectors apart. As for braking: "It’s kind of like a car -- you let it roll, you start getting up to your higher-end speed to maintain your 30 feet, then you want to just kind of touch on the hand brakes every so often. Let it roll...brake...let it roll."

There’s a question about volcanic eruptions, since the news of the day is that the Kilauwea volcano on the island of Hawaii has just erupted.

"The last time Haleakala erupted was in 1791," Daniel says. "But if you hear a rumble, it’s called a ‘Red Flash Phenomenon.’"

Everyone gets serious.

"This means our red Mountain Riders van going by at 90 miles an hour. The bikes will be a gift to you...and it will no longer be a guided tour. We’ll see you down at the airport!"

Darn! We’ve all been taken in again by Daniel’s jocularity, but what if...well, no matter. We brave souls get on our bikes -- after trying them out in the oxygen-depleted altitude -- and get into our appointed places in line.

Wearing colored rain gear over our clothing, ski gloves and big motorcycle helmets (all provided by Mountain Riders), we push off down the volcano’s edge into an eerie silence.

Under a clear sky, the wind rushes into the little spaces between my face and my helmet. I whisper to myself to lean into the turns and wonder how fast we’re going. The record top-to-bottom speed is 57 minutes, but we’ll do it in three hours, including breakfast.

(A couple takes a break high atop the volcano's edge. Just in case you're wondering, they were both riding separate bikes on the way down)

From views of black lava flow, the landscape soon changes into classic Upcountry Maui -- backroads meandering through green rolling hills, small, forgotten towns, and cattle ranches worked by paniolos, Hawaii’s very own cowboys.

By 8:30 a.m., we pull into Kula, a tiny town at the 3,000-feet elevation, and stop at the Sunrise protea flower market, where Daniel radios ahead to the restaurant to start fixing our big breakfast.

The air is filled with the delicious scent of flowers. It’s also getting sunny and warm, so off comes the rain gear and heavy clothes...but then there’s a radio message that it’s raining up ahead. The rain gear goes back on, and we’re off again, spooking some cows on nearby Haleakala Ranch.

A fine rain hits my face like a million tiny pin pricks.

(The ride on the lower elevations brings us close to a slice of Maui that features paniolo cowboys and cattle country)

One of the real surprises on the ride is Makawao, which is something right out of the Wild West. Makawao is one of Hawaii’s last paniolo cowboy towns, a place with mostly one street where the building code requires storefronts to have a Western facade. Makawao, or "edge of the rain forest," boasts specialties like cream puffs and Portuguese Sweet Bread.

But for hungry bikers, the specialty is the big breakfast at Cassanova’s, a cavernous Italian restaurant with a big western bar where my giant French toast is a meal fit for a king of the road.

Paia, on Maui’s north shore, is no more than 15 minutes away.

The rain has let up, and by now, all of Daniel’s strict rules of the road have disappeared -- at least none of the riders seems to bother about them anymore. A couple ahead of me alternatively holds outstretched arms and then rides with no hands at all.

All of a sudden, we’re at the ocean, where the ride comes to a rather unceremonious end at the edge of a sugar cane field.

There’s lots of picture-taking and congratulations, since, after all, we’ve all just coasted down the steepest paved road on the planet.

And you know what? I know that I’ll be back to do it again!

IF YOU GO…
For more information, call 1-800-706-7700 or visit www.mountainriders.com.

For Maui information, visit www.gohawaii.com.