Day 9: Blackbirds Singing…

During the previous night, I greeted two new TransAm riders.  Jayden is a lawyer and fitness expert who is riding to bring awareness to eating disorders.  Trystan is a tenured professor in the California State University system with expertise in gender, diversity, and elder issues. The three of us enjoyed some very engaging discussions about biking, diversity, and fraternities and sororities during breakfast today.

I departed a most memorable hostel stay with the goal to attack one major summit climb.  It was drizzly and cold, and I was pushing a stiff wind.  With rested legs, I completed the 6.5 mile climb in less than two hours.

Here’s today’s weather picture:

My best friend asked me if I scrolled through my favorite songs in my mind when climbing mountains.  No, my thoughts under duress are much more primitive.

The mountain plays mind games with you, especially if don’t have familiarity with its features. My strategy is to “avert my gaze,” and avoid looking up the slope hoping to figure out when the climb might end (in almost all cases, there is no such visible evidence, or so it seems). I fix my eyes on the 3-4 feet in front of my front wheel (to ensure that I don’t hit an obstacle or, God forbid, roadkill). I also keep a watchful eye on my rearview mirror, being sure to hug the median when hearing approaching traffic.

In addition to fixing my gaze, I also count numbers (sometimes to 10 or 20) and just repeat the counting sequence, losing myself in an unbounded cadence.

For particularly extreme slopes (six percent and higher: 6% means you climb 6 feet in elevation every 100 feet of horizontal coverage), there are a few things that compel me to stop: 1) being out of breath, 2) exceeding my heart rate threshold, or 3) increasing numbness in my hands making it more difficult to safely grip the handlebars.  Through the first 10 days, I have progressed through each of these conditions. Hand numbness is a normal cycling occurrence solved by wiggling the thumb and fingers, or pumping the arms. These actions are normally performed while biking, except when climbing excessive slopes.

I also study gravity, noticing which way the adjacent stream or river is flowing and how fast.  Flowing against me is bad; flowing with me, good!  Rushing with me, very good!

I save the songs for downhill or flat portions of the ride. My personal favorite thus far is “Blackbird” by the Beatles and sung by Paul McCartney. You know it, “Blackbird singing in the dead of night…” As I ride along (even though I think I am quiet), I often flush out blackbirds, often with their characteristic orange and yellow patterned wings, from the adjacent fence line. More often than not, they take flight and dart behind me, perhaps in defense of their nests. It took me awhile to figure this out.  Their chirping seemed to get mighty close to my ear.  It wasn’t until I saw their shadows close to my head that I discerned what was going on.

Any way, as I climbed today’s long slope, I “enjoyed” my first experience of side stitches, those intense stabbing pains in the side.  As climbing requires fuller engagement of muscles in the solar plexus, this was expected pain. I “gleefully” welcomed my stomach muscles to the party!

Here’s my summit picture:

At the conclusion of the climb, I enjoyed several downhills, dropping over 2000 feet very quickly, with an associated decline in temperature.  There wasn’t much motor traffic, perhaps a car every 5 minutes.  I was riding along what appeared to be a weather frontal boundary, and very hopeful that the sun would emerge.

When I entered the  John Day Fossil Beds National Monument gorge, I was buffeted with 30-40 mph gusts. This required a great deal of concentration and muscle to stay in the track adjacent the passing campers.  There was essentially zero shoulder and large rocks from slides littered the way.

When I reached Dayville, I loaded up on Gatorade and talked to the shop owner, Simon, who ran an adjacent bike maintenance shop.  The weather looked better and I thought I had it made in the shade.  But that frontal boundary roared as an unstable air mass and I was pelted with BB-sized hail.  Thunder cracked in the adjacent slopes but, fortunately, no lightening.

As a bicyclist, there is often nowhere to hide in lightening.   My lightening check list consists of laying the bike down on the side of the road, and laying prone in the closest low lying area I can find.

After getting wet (again) in the hail storm, I was assaulted by a swarm of gnats, many of which adhered to my bare arms.  I was in the midst of storms and pestilence, but I was still cycling strong! And in the midst of misery, I often observed beauty, as with this bouquet of flowers that I send virtually to my loving wife:

And, then, for my last 10 miles the sun came out and I enjoyed a pleasant ride.

I arrived in John Day, OR, wet and caked with road dirt. The bike was worse. After getting a text from Miguel, I decided to get a room at Dreamer’s Lodge. After cleaning up, I enjoyed a delicious open-face roast beef sandwich at Outpost Restaurant, and then joined Miguel and Esteban at the Ugly Truth bar, where they were shooting pool.

I turned in early since I knew that tomorrow would be a 3-summit day.

Day 10: The Longest Day

I was up at 0530. I enjoyed a country omelet (gravy on the side) at Outpost, knowing that I would need every ounce of fuel I could consume. I hit the road with Miguel but quickly zoomed ahead since I had planned a longer journey.

I climbed 3 summits in four hours.  I applied progressive effort to each ordeal, saving my maximum push for the third summit. During the third climb, I was taken by the strength of my legs. By this time, they were pulsating like the muscles of a weightlifter completing her or his third set of heavy weights. The quivering was most evident when I stopped to reanimate my hands. But my legs continued to perform on demand.

The weather was very dynamic: rain, sleet, hail, and sunshine.  Towards the end of the ride, I found some prevailing (pushing) winds.

Here’s some pictures:

Of the first of three summit signs:

Of Painted Gorge:

Of a field of fuschia flowers (another tribute to my awesome wife):

Of the view after descending the last summit:

The only moment of excitement (other than the 1/4 inch sized hail (thank you, helmet!)), was a humongous wind gust that almost blew me off the bike; it was all I could do to muscle the bike to reassert control. I was developing a keen dislike for these unwanted and unanticipated lateral forces. I am so accustomed to racing and commuting bikes, which are low-profile Ferraris compared to the sail area of a touring bike. In other words, riding on a fully loaded touring bike is more like driving a panel truck.

When I got to the Powder River, the journey essentially was all downhill from there.  I had 27 miles to go and the legs were fatigued from the successive climbs. But I was confident that I had sufficient reserve to get me to Baker City.

When I arrived at the Baker City Bike Hostel, I knew that I had expended maximum effort. It had been the longest day; I had been on the road for 10 hours, rode 78 miles, and climbed almost a mile of slopes in less than ideal weather conditions.

I hosed down the bike, hosed myself down, and walked a mile into town for Chinese take-out (kung pao chicken).  There was sufficient food for two but I ate it all.

Day 11: Bike Mechanic in the Making

When I arrived at the hostel on the previous evening, I signaled to the manager, Kim, that I might need another day.  As I greeted the day and prepared the bike for another adventure, I discovered that I had broken a spoke in my rear wheel.  Thanks to Jacob’s advice, I had included 4 spare spokes in my gear.  He gave me a tutorial before I left.  But I knew that this repair would take some effort, potentially including assistance from a bike shop.

I did what every good novice bike mechanic does: I found several helpful YouTube videos.  During my progression through the repair, I found that I had to remove, in addition to the tire and tube, the disc brake rotor and the cassette (it would have to be the rear wheel!).

After expending two hours to complete the repair, I decided to engage a bike shop to true the wheel. I called the only shop in town and received a voicemail. After truing the wheel to an amateur’s satisfaction, I rode into town to the bike shop. The sign said it was open but it was closed.

So I decided to go shopping for freeze-dried food at Bi-Mart (think Walmart). On the way in, I met a gentleman named Skip who told me that he had been assaulted and robbed a few days earlier.  He was medically evacuated to a hospital in another town and sustained serious skull injuries which were evident along with facial scrapes.  Skip is an Army veteran. He didn’t ask for anything; he just wanted to tell me his story and alert me to potential danger. I wished him well and thanked him for his concern.

I went back to the hostel and performed a finer truing of the wheel.  The wheel spins truer than it did before but I would have preferred to receive validation from an expert.

During the late afternoon, a horrendous thunderstorm struck Baker City.  A few moments after the storm passed, there was a knock on the hostel door. As I was the only resident, I answered and it was my new good friend, Trystan.  He asked if there was room at the inn and I said yes.  He handed me the phone and asked me to convince my other new good friend, Jayden, to double back from town and join us.  I did so by noting that this hostel had a washer and dryer, knowing that Jayden must be completely soaked by now.

It was nice to have roommates again.  Jayden told me that they were forced to sleep in a bathroom the night before because their campground was getting pummeled by storms. I was glad for the broken spoke.  It was an ironic twist of good fortune.

Dinner saw my return to the Chinese restaurant, Mulan Garden, where I enjoyed the Szechuan beef, again a double portion consumed.

You gotta love the diversity of the experiences to date.  Good weather is forecast for tomorrow…

Bloggers Note: Due to slow WiFi, I was restricted in my ability to add pictures, and potentially video, to this entry. I will add more as a supplement when I can.

Day 5 Continued: A Bitterly Challenging End to the Day

As I prepared for the next day’s ride, I first checked the weather and discovered that the temperatures that night would dip into freezing. The locals told me that this was very unusual weather for this late in the year.  While I had planned to camp in conditions down to 40 degrees, I figured that I could gut out this anomaly, even though experienced cycle tourists had consistently shared that freezing through the night in a tent is one of the worst things they had experienced on the road.  I took extra precautions to prepare for a 32 degree night such as by putting on multiple layers of clothing and emptying water bottles to prevent them from freezing.  I was very anxious about the temperature drop.

Second, I prepared the bicycle for the next day’s ride and discovered that pressure in one of my tires had dropped significantly. I’d seen this movie before and knew that either something was wrong with the tire, the tube, or the valve. As I pumped air into the tire, sure enough, the stem snapped off! The resulting sound not only instantly deflates the tire, it deflates a biker’s spirit.

But that’s why I carried two spare tubes.  I dutifully changed the tube and begin pumping air into the tire. This time, the valve on the new tube detached (never had that happen before!). And, again, I heard that dreaded hissing sound!  Oh no, Mr. Bill!  I had two choices: use my last “spare” tube and hope for the best or try to find more tubes.

By this time, I knew that this small Oregon town was starting to roll up.  There are two bike shops in town. I called the first and it was closed!  I called the second, Eurosports, and Paula told me that they were open with plenty of time to spare.  And they had countless tubes in supply.

Since daylight was burning, I quickly walked a few blocks to Eurosports and was warmly greeted by Paula and Jimmy. Paula escorted me to their impressive display of tubes. Jimmy shared some tire inflation tips to mitigate future mishaps of the type I had experienced. To be clear, he convinced me that my two blow-outs, low tire pressure aside, were caused by what we in the Coast Guard affectionately refer to as “operator-error” because of the way that I was using my portable air pumps. Ever cautious, I purchased three tubes and a CO2 canister for my emergency inflator.

As I walked out of the shop after expressing a heartfelt word of thanks, I asked Jimmy if he had any dinner recommendations. He told me that the bike shop had a food courtyard and that at least one of the vendors was still open. This was most fortuitous since there wasn’t sufficient daylight for me to fix my tire and get dinner before the cold began to set in.

I found one open place, a health food shack called New Public Cafe. If you’ve been tracking my culinary selections to date, you can guess that I am not the health food type.  But I was out of necessity a health food proponent that night and purchased an organic sandwich and carrot sticks to go.

Upon return to the campsite, I quickly fixed the tire and inflated it to the desired 80 psi using Jimmy’s tips. I then ate what was a shockingly good organic sandwich and carrot sticks. After stowing my gear and adding clothing  layers, I crawled into my tent. Initially, I was as snug as a bug in a rug.

Here’s a shot of my campsite before the freeze:

Day 6: Coming Out of Hibernation 

I awoke to the sounds of chirping birds and the opening day’s breaking rays at 0520.  I checked my phone and it showed a temperature of 33 degrees. Brrrr! I went back to sleep until well after 7 am when the temperature had risen to a balmy 37 degrees. I had survived my first environmental crisis of the trip.

The first thing I did was to check the tires on the bike; the pressure was holding nicely so that crisis also had been put to rest.

As I stowed camp and loaded the bike, I felt extremely sluggish, more mentally than physically. I thought that this feeling is like what a bear must feel like coming out of hibernation. Eerily enough, I wasn’t particularly concerned about the 93 miles that lay ahead that day. I decided ride over to Sister’s Coffee Company to get coffee and breakfast.

As I pulled up with my loaded bike, I was engaged by Bill and a group of locals who were interested in my intended journey. It was yet another pleasant exchange. I met a fellow cyclist, an older gentlemen, who shared his story of recently being hit, almost killed, by a truck while cycling. I was astonished that, in a matter of months, his recovery had progressed to only wearing a knee brace, and that he was riding again. Such is the resilience of the human spirit (some call it insanity) that cycling attracts!

After sitting awhile to chat with the locals, I waited patiently in the relatively long  line and ordered my food to-go.  I rode back to the campground; it was quite a feat to ride a fully loaded touring bike with a full coffee cup in one hand.  The locals almost applauded in awe as I pulled out of the entrance. I probably looked like a circus act, but I pulled it off!

By the time I departed Sisters, it was 10:30 am, clearly two hours later than intended.

On the ride, my legs felt as strong as ever. I was biking in 2 layers of clothing which slowed my pace a bit. The good news was that my now properly inflated tires decreased my rolling resistance in noticeable ways.  The bad news is that I was again battling a headwind.

I experienced a steady climb out of Sisters during which time I was confident I could make the journey. After a few miles, I saw a touring cyclist in front of me.  I sped up to catch up and it was my good friend, Miguel.  We rendezvoused with his dad, Esteban, and discussed the day’s plans.  I rode on.  On two other occasions during breaks and photo stops, we intersected again. They told me that they intended to stop at  a campground at Ochoco Lake and expressed concern that I would have to conduct some night riding to make the last 40 miles to Mitchell.  I pressed on.

I felt very good on this ride even though I was climbing for most of the day.  At some point, I estimated that I wouldn’t arrive in Mitchell until after 10 pm.  I decided to press on while continually assessing the situation.  When I arrived at Ochoco Lake, I called the Spok’n Hostel in Mitchell and talked to the co-owner, Jalet.  I told her that I would be arriving late and asked for her assessment of my situation. I told her that I didn’t want to come if it would be an inconvenience to the other hostel residents or the hosts. She wisely advised me to avoid the climb to Ochoco Pass in darkness if at all possible. She agreed to slide my reservations another day. Keeping my wife’s admonishment to “not push it” in mind, I decided to truncate the day’s ride.

As luck would have it, I found a state campsite at the end of Ochocho Lake. The camp host informed me that the fee for bicycle campers was $5. It was an enchanting site overlooking the lake and I was the only cyclist camping in the bicycle area. And the temperature was forecast to only go down to 44 degrees.

Once I set up camp (amidst an underground family of very large gray chipmunks) and got cleaned up, I ran into a gentleman who happened to be African-American. We each gave the other a double-take look, and I introduced myself.  Melvin was from Illinois and had come out to Oregon 10 years ago,  He loved camping in Oregon. He is a disabled union worker after an industrial accident that occurred when he was 23. More recently, he’s been dealing with the delayed effects of asbestos exposure. We discussed the politics of the day (a first for me during this trip).  We deeply appreciated the opportunity to share a moment of humanity and wished each other well.

Knowing that I had a relatively short day planned next, I charged up my devices and turned in.

Day 7: Getting Into The Zone 

The night on the lake shore was totally quiet save an occasional passing vehicle on the highway in the distance.

I was awakened at 0620 by the cawing of ravens in the trees.  As I was breaking camp, I could hear the howls of coyotes or wolves in the distant mountains.

When I returned to the road, I passed an RV campground across the highway and saw Miguel and Esteban breaking camp. They were glad that I had made the decision to stop short of Mitchell. I told Miguel that I expected a relatively easy 5-hour ride to Mitchell and we agreed to meet there.

It was a relatively easy day peppered with only a few difficult climbs.  It quickly became hot and I stopped to strip off layers, wearing my international orange Coast Guard tee-shirt.

When I stopped at a rest area in search of water, I was engaged by a Navy veteran who was heading East to attend his grandson’s high school graduation.  But I was too proud to ask a Navy man for water!  I pressed on…

And made it with relative ease to Ochoco Pass, my second summit:

After topping Ochoco Pass,, I enjoyed about a 6-mile decline. There was minimal shoulder on the road, often littered with earth and rock slides. This observation, as well as the turns and twists in the road, validated the wise advice that Jalet had given to me the night before.  Traversing this road at night would have invited potential disaster!

The remaining distance to Mitchell was a gradual incline. At some point, Miguel caught up with me and said that he had tried to catch me on the downhill. We enjoyed a pleasant entry together into the town of Mitchell, population 135. We were even greeted a few miles before our entry by a very pleasant school bus driver, who we later learned was the hostel co-host, Patrick. I estimated a riding time of 5 hours; it only took me 4-1/2!

When we arrived at the Spok’n Hostel, we were greeted by Jalet.  We were able to roll our bikes right into the building and “park” them next to the bunks.

After a quick, hot shower, we met a handful of TransAmerica racers who were resting at the hostel for various reasons (sprains, viral attacks, etc.). They all had departed Astoria, OR, about three days earlier.  They were from diverse locations such as Denver, Canada, and the Netherlands. This year, about 130 athletes from around the world are racing along the TransAmerica Trail in as short as 12 days.  It was a special treat to hang out with world-class cyclists to discuss topics ranging from equipment and breathing techniques, to family and life in general.  I took a great deal away from the experience, as well as a couple of new biking friends and mentors.

I enjoyed some reading time, wherein I dove into one of the many books at the hostel, specifically the New York Time bestseller, Wheelmen, about the rise and fall of Lance Armstrong.

Later, Miguel, Esteban and I went to dinner at the Lone Pine Cafe, where I wolfed down a very large burger and fries.  We enjoyed a cool beer afterwards.

Since I had previously made plans to stay at the hostel for 2 nights, and because Jalet and Patrick Farrell were such gracious hosts, I decided to stay a second night even though I was feeling marvelous. It was a treat not to have to begin the battle rhythm of preparations that proceed each day’s ride.

Before turning in, I bid farewell to the racers who planned to resume their race in the middle of the night (to avoid the day’s heat).  Tonight would become the first night of the trip where I would sleep totally uninterrupted. I was now entering the biking zone!

Day 8: A Most Tranquil Day!

I rose to find a new hostel-mate, a gentleman named Tom, in the kitchen.  He is an intrepid TranAm racer who arrived late in the night.  He was getting ready to return to the race.  Tom is an ER doctor.

As I was talking to Tom, one of the racers who planned to depart the previous night entered the room to my surprise. This racer had spent the previous day nursing a  golf ball-sized swelling in his Achilles tendon, but fully intended to resume racing. He said that he reconsidered when he stepped to the floor at 4 am. I suggested that Tom might want to offer some free medical advice. He obliged but the news wasn’t encouraging. The injured racer took it with the greatest of grace and dignity… one of the many admirable characters I’ve meet thus far!

I enjoyed a low-stress day: eating a couple of good meals at the Lone Pine Cafe, greeting new riders entering the hostel, cleaning the bike (yes, again), and updating this blog.

Today is what a break day during bicycle touring should feel like, thanks to the remarkable team at Spok’n Hostel!

As I assessed my progress to date, I am two days and 140 miles behind my originally planned track. No plan survives first contact!  I intend to press on but take time to continue to enjoy this incredible journey!

I am writing this post from Sister’s Coffee Company in Sisters, OR. They have everything I need: plenty of coffee, a delicious breakfast sandwich, a bike rack, power outlets, and WiFi.

GETTING THERE: It’s All About logistics!

On May 30, 2017, I flew with my bike and gear to Portland, OR.

Beforehand, my wife and I, and a very close friend from NOAA (and owner of a very nice truck) met at my local bike shop. Since I had purchased my bike at Bikenetic in Falls Church, VA, from a seasoned cycling professional named Jacob, I asked him to crate the bike for transport on the plane as checked baggage.

I can’t say enough about how fabulous Bikenetic is in terms of professionalism and customer service!  I purchased a Kona Sutra (cool black cherry red color) based on Jacob’s recommendation.  I also appreciate his maintenance tips so I could be self-sufficient on the road. Here’s a selfie of me, store owner Jan, and Jacob (and, yes, this is a ringing endorsement for the shop!):

My wife, friend, and I proceeded to Reagan National Airport so that I could check in the bike 4 hours before the flight.  Alaska Airlines has one of the most bike-friendly baggage rules and the check in process was extremely customer friendly. After check in, we enjoyed a very nice lunch at the airport.

Before proceeding through security, I assured my wife that I would be fine. In our 35+ years of marriage, we’ve only been separated for a period of months once before, when I deployed to Iraq in 2004.  This occasion wasn’t quite as dramatic but our parting reminded me of that anxious time.

Because of TSA flight rules, my carry on baggage contained lots of battery and lithium battery powered devices and spares. These items made it through screening without concern.  Interestingly enough, my freeze-dried camp food did attract secondary screening.

The plane ride was superb. Being one who normally is asleep before wheels up, I decided to stay awake to accelerate my adjustment to the 3-hour time change. I had a very nice conversation with an Oregonian, a Navy veteran, in the adjacent seat.  The flight arrived 30 minutes early (way to go, Alaska Airlines)!

My original plan was to assemble the bike and my gear, dump the bike box and luggage at the airport, and cycle to the hotel. I later noticed that the hotel had a free shuttle, and I called and found that they could handle my boxed bike with ease. The shuttle driver’s name was Craig and he was terrific.  And the hotel (Red Lion Hotel Portland Airport) accommodated my request for a first floor room for easy bike access.

By the time I got checked into my room, the effects of the time change started to kick in.  It was all I could do to uncrate the bike, assemble the major components, and check everything for proper operation. Thanks to Jacob, the bike made the journey in perfect condition (and I appreciated the encouraging note he placed in an empty water bottle). I dashed off to the Sky Jockey Lounge for a quick bite to eat, and then crashed (in the bed, not on the bike!).

I awoke at 0330 Pacific Daylight Time (3:30 am for my civilian friends). I completed assembly of the bike, packed and loaded my gear, disposed of the bike box in the dumpster, and donated in my empty luggage to an eager receptionist at the hotel front desk. My test ride in the parking lot was most satisfactory.

Day 1: A Great Start!

My goal for the day was to bike south to connect to the TransAmerica Trail Map in Rickreall. The first 10 miles or so were in Portland city traffic.  I stopped by Walmart to purchase camp fuel and waterproof matches.  Biking conditions were safe enough; let’s just say that I am glad that I have a rear view mirror! The vast majority of drivers were very accommodating, but I have to note the few jerks who yelled unkind words or burned rubber while passing. Such is the bane of bicyclists, probably everywhere!

It was an interesting ride.  A very large raccoon crossed my path on a busy city street, dashing towards the safe haven of a tire shop. I was amazed by the number of cannabis stores that I passed along the way.

Since I was riding “off the map,” I relied on Google Maps to route me. Google Maps has a useful function for bikers but their routes didn’t minimize the elevation climbs for me, particularly in Oregon City. These climbs were just a mild taste of what was to come!

Because I was using my phone to navigate, I had to monitor battery consumption, and ended up hooking my phone up to a 10000 mAh power charger.  Next to water (and probably food), electrical power is a modern biker’s most useful commodity (phone, bike computer, heart rate monitor, etc).

Oregon is very bike friendly state. In towns and neighborhoods along the way, I came across bike stations complete with tire pumps and tools, like this one in Canby, OR:

Once I left the city, Mount Hood was in my rear view mirror. My legs felt strong and full of stamina but I decided on a “cruiser speed” pace, a departure from my “go fast as you can” training regimen.  The weather was clear and temperature “biker cool.” I battled a headwind (southerly) but didn’t mind because of the scenes of rivers, streams, and crops (mostly hops I’m told).

During a water stop along the way, I decided to modify the plan and bike a little further to a biking camp in Independence, OR. My thought was that it was be most appropriate for my first stop of the journey to be in a place called Independence.

Day 1 ended at a total of 72 miles.  Here’s the signage at the bike/boater camp, which is located on the banks of the Willamette River:

Once I stopped, I was beset with a severe attack of hay fever, an obvious reaction to the steady stream of pollen that I rode through and the sudden change of venue. I hadn’t experienced the degree of puffy and red eyes since I was a child, and later as an Academy cadet aboard the Coast Guard Barque Eagle while sailing through dust storms coming off the African continent.

The host at the Independence Bike Park was a very kind gentleman named Con.  I set up camp, took a nap to allow my swollen eyes to recover, and proceeded to Mangiare Restaurant for a meal of lasagna and lime sherbet.

I slept like a baby, noting only the occasional rain. I must say that the fabulous one-person tent (Eureka Amari Pass Solo Tent) kept me and my stuff dry.  The bike was outside the tent but it weathered the storms quite nicely.

Day 2: Water, Water Every Where; Nor Any Drop To Drink!

Since I was a bit ahead of my intended schedule, I again changed my plans to bike to Eugene, OR.  My eyes were still a bit puffy but I felt good enough to proceed with the journey.

As I was leaving Independence, I saw a most curious sight: a white rabbit with iridescent red eyes grazing within feet of the road in an unfenced yard. I couldn’t help but think of the plethora of roadkill that I encountered. I exchanged pleasant greetings with the wayward bunny and continued along my way.

I stopped at McDonald’s for coffee and breakfast. This was the first time that I noticed a significant loss of appetite, a condition that would last for 3-4 days. Food powers cyclists so I essentially ate by forced feeding to work through this period. I attributed this temporary loss of appetite to the time change.

Once clear of Independence, I was treated to beautiful Oregon rolling hills and fields of goats, horses and a few cows. Crops included grass seed, hops, and blueberries. I endured a stiff wind off my starboard beam for most of the ride.

Bikers live for water stops.  At every opportunity, I top off my water bottles. I carry emergency water as a contingency.  During this ride, I experienced my first disconcerting “no water zone” while on Peoria Road.  I couldn’t help but look over at the streams and rivers along the way and think of the emergency water filter that I packed in my gear as a final option.

The McKenzie River was my near constant companion for the day:

And I marveled at the beauty of Oregon’s covered bridges (this is the Goodpasture Bridge):

My water anxiety was alleviated when I ran across a convenience mart.  I topped off my water and consumed Gatorade and a Snickers bar as a supplement. During this stop, I made calls to firm up my sleeping arrangements, deciding to reserve a room at a hotel to dry out my camping gear. This ended up being a wise choice.

When I arrived in Eugene, OR, I experienced some confused routing using Google Maps while trying to find the hotel. My paper maps are a handy backup, along with my trained sailor’s eye. I must admit to navigating by the sun on more than one occasion thus far.

I arrived at the hotel and was warmly greeted by the receptionist, Shannon.  The room was sufficiently large to lay out my camping gear to dry.  I washed laundry in the sink. After getting cleaned up, and putting eye drops in my puffy eyes, I walked down the street to Papa’s Soul Food Kitchen to eat a Soul Food burger and fries. Still not hungry but it was delicious!

Again, I enjoyed a very restful sleep.

Day 3: Now The Hard Part Begins

I awoke at 0630 (consistently alarm unaided). I was amazed that my all of my gear, including laundry, was completely dry. This was going to be a good day.

Shannon and the hotel surprised me by having coffee, bananas, and danish available for guests in the lobby. Once fortified for the journey, I embarked on a relatively shorter, but steeper ride to McKenzie Bridge, OR. The journey was a gradual climb, and the trees made for lighter winds.

Early in the journey, I enjoyed my first encounter with fellow touring cyclists, Miguel and an older gentleman. They were on their first day of cycling and their somewhat tentative comments to me reflected the anxiety that I felt on my first day. We took a bit of a detour together and at some point, I opted for a faster pace and zoomed ahead.

Later in the journey, two touring cyclists from Colorado caught up to me.  In our very brief conversation, we shared that we were heading to the same destination. They were much younger and more fit; I thought to myself, “Now those were the days.” As they zoomed away, and as is characteristic for many cyclists, one of the Coloradans took note that we were riding the same rig, Kona Sutra. Cyclists frequently check out each other’s gear; this is a trait that I abandoned many years ago. I am now much more into function over form!

As I progressed upward along the McKenzie River, the scenery was breathtaking. This was the first day that I glimpsed snow capped peaks in the distance (this scene freaked me out a bit). Farms were populated with goats, sheep, and alpaca. They were my companions for much of the journey.

I had little success in making sleeping arrangements on the road; I even made a panicked call to a cabin facility but they were all booked.  I decided to go to the McKenzie River Camping Station, a federal facility with minimalist camping accommodations.  There was no electrical power.  The potable water was provided via well. And the restroom was a building-encased outhouse with no sink.  For what I needed, this was perfect!

As I approached McKenzie Bridge, I didn’t notice that I had lost phone service.  I knew that by pressing the “Mission Complete” button on my satellite GPS, that my wife would know that I made it safely to today’s destination.

Dinner was freeze-dried beef stroganoff brought back to edibility by hot water.  It was actually pretty good and I noticed that my appetite had returned a bit.

Day 4: OK, Marines, Pain is Weakness Leaving the Body- But Come On!

I awoke at 0520 to be greeted by a briskly cold mountain morning.  I enjoyed a meal of freeze-dried breakfast combo: potatoes, eggs, and sausage.  It was as delicious as dinner.  I also enjoyed a cup of freeze-dried coffee, my first instant coffee in many years.  The last time that I enjoyed camp meals like this was as a Boy Scout, and later Assistant Scoutmaster for our three sons. I felt like an old hand at camping and appreciate all the training and mentoring shared by my Scoutmaster in DC, the late James Queen.

As I began the day’s ride, I was fixated on getting through my first mountain pass.  After reflecting on those snow-capped peaks, and running across the following sign, I chose to add 20 miles to my journey by taking a detour that cut a not-so-meager 500 feet off my climb.

My first sign of progress was the following elevation sign.

The climb to 2000 feet was relatively easy.  The next 2,800 feet to the pass- not so!

It ended up being a day of relatively steady and hard climbing.  The legs were good for the journey but I had to be sparing with water use since I was sweating profusely, even in cool temperatures, and there were no facilities between me and my intended destination. My body was like a hot-running motor but I found the cool mountain breezes to be most welcome.

This was the challenge that I was seeking… to push myself physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually… all while seeing this nation from the perspective of a cyclist.

My spirits were uplifted as I approached the Santiam Mountain Pass. Here is a view from one of my numerous breaks taken near the top of the summit:

As I approached the top, my cell service returned.  I called my wife (she had been tracking my progress).  And I made camping arrangements since I didn’t want to experience any “where am I going to sleep” anxiety after a hard day’s ride. This was after I was quoted an exorbitant price to stay at a local motor lodge.

And I celebrated getting to the top, 4,800 feet, though I was disappointed not to come across a marker to help me record the achievement.  In any event, I was rewarded with a downhill run of 6 to 7 miles where I effortlessly achieved speeds topping 30 mph.  At the end, I had a relatively easy 10 mile ride into Sisters.  By that time, my main water supply was depleted so I decided to stop at McDonalds.  Low and behold, I was ravenously hungry, as biker’s are more accustomed to be,  so I decided to call it dinner.

When I arrived at the Sister’s Creek Campground, I was greeted by Cynthia, the camp host.  After a day of challenging riding, I made the instant call to stay overnight for two nights. The next planned ride approaches 100 miles and includes some climbing and I want to have relatively fresh legs.

Once at camp, I met a father and son, Carl and Ben, who were on Day 6 of their ride from Astoria OR.  They were both riding Kona Sutra’s and we chatted about how great the bicycles are.  We also compared notes about what’s ahead in the journey. Carl expressed some anxiety about the next day’s ride.  His fit and trim 18-year old son, who had just graduated high school, seemed most unfazed about the upcoming challenge. I’m with Carl on this one!

After setting up camp and getting cleaned up (I appreciated the 2-minute shower for 4 quarters), I enjoyed a great night’s sleep. Sister Creek Campground facilities are first rate!

Day 5: Out of An Abundance of Caution

I awoke at 0730 and felt as if I had aggressively biked for four days.  I was delighted with my decision to take a break, out of an abundance of caution.

My first stop of the day was Sister’s Coffee Company, where I took up residence for a few hours to catch up on email and write this blog post. As I complete this passage, I am starting to feel like a million bucks, again!

Here’s hoping for stronger, faster, and better days ahead!