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…