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!