Riding With Eric -- III

MON 8/9 -- Harrisburg to Salmonberry County Park (Alsea OR) (50)

Our next-to-last day of riding(!) took us off the official Trans-Am
route. Here's the big picture for the final two days(!) of the tour:
Instead of taking a straight shot west from the Eugene area to
Florence and the coast, about 70 miles away, we headed NW, toward the
town of Waldport. Waldport is a longer ride away -- 80-some miles --
but offers two benefits: (1) Just down the road from the town is an
easily-accessible beachside state park, called, not surprisingly,
Beachside State Park, for the requisite end-of-ride wheel-dipping(*)
ritual. In Florence, apparently, there's no easy access to the water.
(2) Hitting the Pacific north of Florence will allow us to ride along
the rugged and scenic Oregon coastline for 30-ish miles, from the park
down to Florence. So that's the two-day plan.

Our immediate target, though, is Salmonberry County Park, about 6
miles past the town of Alsea OR, and about 30 miles shy of the coast.
That's where we'll camp for the night, before mounting our final
assault on Tuesday. Note: we're camping out again; we haven't done
that for a while. There's no other option in and around Alsea, is the
main reason -- that and the fact that we've spent down all our money
over the last week or two on motels and dinners out (except for what
we're holding back for our Florence lodgings and fairwell dinner).

So... on Monday morning lad and dad broke our fasts in Harrisburg,
packed our next-to-last lunchmeat-and-tomato-and-cheese sandwiches
(yay!!), and took off toward Alsea. Because we were off-route, we
weren't operating any more from a map -- just a supplementary "cue
sheet" documenting each turn, so I don't have many details to relate
concerning the route itself or the surrounding area. But I don't think
I'm omitting much -- there was really nothing particularly special
about the ride. (Other than the fact that Eric was with me. Did I
mention that I really like riding with my son?) About 30 miles in we
did have one good 3-4 mile climb that required real work -- I assume
that that little stretch took us over the final gasp of the Cascade
Range -- but after that it was all downhill. Really. For about six
weeks now people have been telling me, in all seriousness, that
"X" [whatever the next big uphill climb was] was the last one, and
once I got over that it was all downhill to the coast. Well, they were
wrong. THIS one was the last one; after THIS one it really was all
downhill.

And a lovely, zippy downhill it was for the next few miles. We were
about 35 miles into the day's ride -- break time, en otras palabras --
and there was supposedly a roadside rest area ahead to serve that
purpose about a mile after the crest of whatever it was that we
crested. But neither of us saw it, due I think to the fact that the
planet was slipping very quickly under our wheels at that point. So we
cruised on about 6-7 miles further into the mostly moribund little
town of Alsea, which did have an interesting and seemingly flourishing
"mercantile" (i.e., a little bit of everything) store as its sole node
of economic activity -- a place where you could get a cup of coffee
(which we did), something to eat (yes; ice cream sandwich), and a set
of spark plugs for your ATV (no).

Just a few miles after Alsea we pulled into Salmonberry County Park,
which proved to be a very pleasant spot for our final camping out
experience. I was a little worried that we would have soggy weather,
that close to the coast, but all was clear and dry. (We didn't even
have any dew the next morning!) The only hint of soggy was a
completely different kind -- Jerry announced that while supplies
lasted the beer was free. And there was much rejoicing! Not wanting to
hurt his feelings, I grabbed one last Fat Tire, the official Jeff
Moore's Favorite Beer of the Adventure Cycling 2010 Van-Supported
Trans-Am Tour. Steve, feeling a little nostalgic, perhaps, laid out
all of the six-pack carton sides he'd collected over the summer (which
will soon adorn his college dorm/apartment walls), which, with no
duplicates, numbered well into the 60's (see photo). Eric later
rearranged them into a reasonable approximation of a map of the USA
(lower 48 only). Beer has been very very good to us on the tour...

No cooks had been assigned to this particular evening, because ... I
don't know why, exactly, the system just ran out of steam, I guess. We
had talked about this fact at our map meeting a couple of nights
before, at which point Eric and I said we'd cook the meal if others
would help, and if someone else would do the breakfast/lunch set-up
the next day. Plenty of volunteers emerged -- Michael ("salad is not
optional") took charge of a salad, Kath promised to reprise her
spectacular, you-must-be-21 trifle for pudding, Jerry said that he'd
do pots and pans clean-up, and the Welsh raised their hands for the
next morning's breakfast/lunch duty. Done and done. Eric took the lead
on preparing a great dinner (a fettucini alfredo-like dish with bacon
and peas), including G&T's for the cocktail hour for those interested
(several were), and everyone else came through as promised. A fine
group effort.

A sign of how quickly Eric has integrated into the group: As was the
case fairly often during the tour when we camped out, when evening
fell a small campfire emerged, complete with s'mores building and
consumption (and competition, and trash-talking). I was too tired for
such late-night shenanigans -- it was almost 9:00! -- but Eric joined
the group of about a half dozen of the gang, and I could hear them all
laughing and talking and just having a fine old time deep into the
night. They might have gone on past 10! (I fell asleep, so I can't be
sure.)

---------
(*) Here we'll test whether I'm serious about the threat I've been
making since Kansas: rather than simply dip the wheel, extra-
dramatically throw the whole damn bike in, and never push a pedal again.

Filling in Some Photo Gaps (3 of 3)

[posted on 8/13]

***************
SAT 8/7 -- Redmond to [between McKenzie Bridge and Blue River] (61)
... And of course for me the icing on the cake was having Eric join
the party (see photo 1)...

... Eric was a late entry into the flat competition (see photo #2); he
discovered this one as we were leaving the bakery in Sisters...

... We started the beautiful summer morning ... with a 20-mile, mostly
flat ride to Sisters (pop 969), so named because of the nearby Three
Sisters mountains ... see photos #3 (from the east, before we started
to climb McKenzie Pass) and 4 (from just after the pass). ...
***************

Filling in Some Photo Gaps (2 of 3)

[posted on 7/20]
***************
FRI 7/16 -- Lander to Dubois ("dew-BOYS") WY (76)
... Blah, blah, blah, whine, whine, whine -- the day was very long,
and very hot, and very dry, and very windy, and I was generally
unhappy to be where I was. (Some of the riders who beat the worst of
the wind, and could ride without the top of their head facing forward,
talked about the pretty scenery. Personally, as a head-downer, I
didn't see much of it, but I must have looked around at one point and
agreed, because I did take the one photo shown here.)...
***************

Filling in Some Photo Gaps (1 of 3)

A few of my posts -- I count three -- entered the blogosphere
mysteriously stripped of the photos that were supposed to accompany
them. Operator error, no doubt, but that's not the point. With this
post, and two more to follow shortly, I'm going to correct the record...

[posted on 7/14]
***************
MON 7/12 [HAPPY 30th BIRTHDAY SON!] -- Walden CO to Saratoga WY (66)

Just 20 or so miles into the ride we left Colorado and entered
Wyoming... I got a late start on the ride due to my meal clean-up
responsibilities, so there was no one around to take my picture at the
border crossing. You'll just have to take my word for it that I was
there and took the photo. The two accompanying pics are just random
shots of the typical surroundings along the route (including pretty
roadside flowers)...

***************

[The more astute reader may have noted that while the text clearly
signals a total of three photos, there are only two here. I lost one,
is the simple explanation.]

Riding with Eric -- Vol. II

SUN 8/8 -- McKenzie Bridge/Blue River to Harrisburg (64)

Here we are, almost at the end of the ride, and I believe I did
something for the first time this morning -- I had breakfast "out."
Must be my son's evil influence. We wandered over to the [whatever]
Skillet restaurant right next door to our motel, where I had an
actual, honest-to-goodness breakfast, and Eric executed his plan from
the night before -- pie(*). I resisted the siren song of temptation; I
eschewed(**) the pie. Vittled up sufficiently -- beyond sufficiently,
arguably -- we headed off down the road.

Despite the morning's heavy cloud cover -- a very rare circumstance on
the tour, especially these last few weeks -- we had an excellent and
beautiful 20-mile ride to Vida, downstream along the McKenzie River.
"Vida" means "life," of course, which got me thinking about what a
marvelous and astounding thing life is, which got me thinking about
the amazing intricacies of the human body, which got me thinking that
I'd really like to get some pie inside mine, right now. And there it
was -- the Vida Cafe. Blackberry, with ice cream and coffee;
excellent. Eric had a plateful of bacon. (What's *wrong* with the boy?)

After Vida the traffic got pretty heavy, especially as we got closer
to Eugene, which is the biggest city anywhere on the Trans-Am route, I
do believe(***). Other than the fact that I was riding with my lad
(one of life's great joys), there was not much that was notable about
the rest of the day's ride -- kinda heavy traffic to contend with, and
not much in the way of compensating scenic beauty.

We did have a nice, blogworthy denoument [sp?] to the day, though.
Our original accommodations plan was a truck stop in Coburg, a little
town to the north of Eugene, and a mere 51 miles from the day's
starting point. It seemed like kind of a sketchy proposition from the
get-go -- a truck stop, with a bunch of single rooms, and no
reservations accepted. So the plan was that Steve (driving the van
this day) would try to get there early to make sure we got in. Not
surprisingly, the advance team, Steve and Mike (always the first one
of us to arrive anywhere by bike), determined that the truck stop was,
to put a positive spin on the matter, a "piece of crap." Apparently,
even the manager of the place recommended against our staying there.
Steve and Mike set up a caucus zone on the front porch of a coffee
shop that everyone had to pass by, and posed the following question to
each successive arrival: do you prefer (a) loud/dingy/small/tobacco-
scented truck stop rooms, (b) camping at a KOA campground between the
truck stop and the freeway, or (c) riding an additional 12 miles (on
the route we'd otherwise travel tomorrow anyway) to Harrisburg, and
staying at the almost-brand-new River Bend Resort, with its nice, big
rooms, swimming pool, and hot tub? "Hmmmmm," we each pondered for a
period of time too brief to be measured by the finest of instruments.
The vote was unanimous -- on to Harrisburg.

Eric and I were among the first to arrive at the resort, and the first
to inaugurate the pool and the gi-normous hot tub. (BTW, because we
are so deserving, in the afternoon the clouds parted and the sun came
out.) It didn't take long to draw a crowd, but before anyone else got
there we were treated to a bald eagle fly-over -- my first (and only)
of the trip, although others saw an eagle on the Snake River rafting
excursion. The pool was right next to a river -- the McKenzie, maybe?
-- which also yielded several osprey sightings. Once a football and a
critical mass of people arrived it didn't take long for a synchronized
jump-catch-throw exhibition to evolve -- person A, standing in the
shallow end, throws the ball to person B, standing on the side of the
pool, who jumps in to catch the ball and, mid-flight, throws it to
person C, standing on the other side, who jumps-catches-throws to
person D. Etc. There's no theoretical limit to the number of rounds,
although in the real world the quad (4 jumpers) is the highest
verified level ever achieved(****). We started inauspiciously -- in
our first several attempts the ball never got close to person C -- but
eventually Hugh, Eric, Dennis, and I pulled off a triple. In front of
witnesses, it should be noted, including at least one girl. Girls
aren't the only reason for boys to do stupid stuff, but they certainly
are *a* reason.

Dinner proved to be a little problematic -- the night before we had
decided we would eat out, but that plan assumed we'd be in Coburg, and
a quick scan of our Harrisburg surroundings didn't identify any "out"
to eat at. The only evidence of civilization nearby was a pre-stressed
concrete facility about a half mile away (where I gather they take
calm, relaxed concrete and give it something to worry about), which
did not seem like it was going to meet anyone's food needs. When the
grocery expedition returned, however, they carried reports of a
promising nearby Mexican restaurant, which proved to be muy bueno
indeed.

----------
(*) For breakfast, if you can imagine such a thing! Who puts such
crazy ideas into kids' heads these days, I wonder?

(**) Possibly my first use ever of the word "eschewed" in written
form. Interesting, how it's got the word "chew" right inside it. Makes
me think about pie.

(***) If only there were a government agency whose mission was to keep
tabs on stuff like this, then I wouldn't have to speculate -- I'd have
definitive data.

(****) Like all major sports these days, it seems, the jump-catch-
throw world is rife with allegations of drug use. Unlike other sports,
however, j-c-t athletes seem drawn to performance-*diminishing*
substances, such as beer. This probably explains why anything beyond a
triple is almost unheard of, and why, in fact, the whole thing often
falls apart at the A-->B stage.

(Sent from my iPhone)

The Best

SAT 8/7 -- Redmond to [between McKenzie Bridge and Blue River] (61)

Wow. And again I say, wow. By universal acclaim -- and I am in complete agreement with this judgment -- this was the best ride of the tour. My son Eric picked a fantastic day to start riding with us for a few days(*). Why? Spectacularly beautiful summer day. Spectacular forested mountain scenery. Excellent road, good shoulder, low traffic. Excellent bakery in the town of Sisters, a little shy of 20 miles into the ride(**), to power us along -- a *really* excellent bakery, of which we've seen very few along the route. (How do people LIVE without access to good bread?!?)

And of course for me the icing on the cake was having Eric join the party (see photo 1). Woo-hooooo! Eric, to the small gaggle of riders we happened to head out with, about 200 yards into the ride: "Sheesh, don't you guys EVER take a break?!?"

We started the beautiful summer morning -- of which we've had an amazing number on this tour -- with a 20-mile, mostly flat ride to the charming little town of Sisters (pop 969), so named because of the nearby Three Sisters mountains(***) --

see photos #3 (from the east, before we started to climb McKenzie Pass) and 4 (from just after the pass). There was a lot of activity in and around Sisters in part because of a nearby forest fire. We rode past the firefighters' camp, and we could see where the smoke was originating, to the south of us by several miles. In fact, we'd noticed the haze all the way back before we even got to Redmond. Which was a good thing for the quality of our ride through the area, because it meant that the smoke was blowing away from the mountains, and wouldn't obscure them. 

From Sisters we climbed steeply (2000') for the next 10 or so miles through beautiful forest up to McKenzie Pass, at just over a mile above sea level. Near the top of the pass the landscape changes very dramatically, to mile after mile of barren volcanic rubble. Because there is so little vegetation, it looks like the result of a recent event, but the eruption that caused it all happened about 2,000 years ago -- which, when you think about it, IS a very recent event, in geological terms.

After we crested the pass -- and after a few false starts -- we began a long, 20-mile descent that dropped us down about 3,500' through a gorgeous, green and lush and sun-dappled pine forest. The road surface was perfect (****), and there was surprisingly little traffic, so even I, Mr. Uber-Cautious, was able to manage some high speed coasting. About 3/4 of the way down Eric and I pulled off the highway and walked our bikes a quarter mile down a little side road until it ended at a campsite beside a beautiful feeder stream to the McKenzie River, where we stopped and ate lunch. Lovely.

The day could hardly get any better, I thought. Wrong. After lunch we continued our way down the mountain -- we still had another 500' of descent -- alongside the McKenzie River, with our destination still about 10 miles away. As we drew close, maybe 3-4 miles from the end, we started to see some intriguing hand-drawn signs by the side of the road: "ice cream social," they said, and "everyone welcome," and, better still, "8/7, 1-7pm." Well -- (a) I like ice cream, and (b) I qualify as a member of the select and specifically welcomed group ("everyone"), and (c) 8/7 is today, and (d) the time is about 2:30, which is ... let's see ... after 1 and before 7. Bingo. We pulled off the road, following an arrow on an "ice cream social this way" sign.

The side road we turned onto was a beautiful little 3-4 mile stretch of the official Trans-Am route that we were supposed to skip because our lodgings were out on the parallel main highway. But I'm very glad we took this little road, off the highway, right next to the river (including access to an old covered bridge), on which we encountered one vehicle, I think, maybe two. And right near the end of the road, just before it reconnected with the main highway, was the McKenzie Community Center, site of the area's annual ice cream social, which just happened to be scheduled at the intersection of two unique events in the history of the world: (a) the most beautiful summer afternoon ever, and (b) Eric's and my visit to this part of the planet. To the sounds of, first, a guitar player, and second, a harpist, we settled in at the red-checked-tablecloth-covered picnic tables and dug into a cheeseburger and corn-on-the-cob (Eric) and a tied-for-the-best-ever mixed berry (blue, marion, and black) cobbler, with ice cream, I've ever tasted (me, obviously). The other tied-for-first cobbler? The encore serving I had just seconds after I made the first one disappear. The only imperfect aspect of the entire day was my table selection. I was hoping to chat with some of the locals while we noshed, but alas I picked Duane's table, where we got chatted at incessantly by a man who Eric and I both suspected was a little off-plumb, if you catch my drift. Duane's blathering filled a much-needed gap, as someone cleverer than me once said.

Eventually we extricated ourselves from the Duane encounter -- on the plus side: no awkward silences! -- waddled on down to the end of the side road where it reconnected to the main highway, and doubled back about a mile to our lodgings for the evening, Harbick's Country Inn, where we found that the wonders of the day still weren't over. Hugh, Eric, and I scored a BIG room, with 3 double beds -- i.e., no sleeping on the floor for the Trans-Am interloper. Dinner out was at the [something] Skillet Restaurant next door, where we were attended to by a waitress named... Sage! There's more than one!

----------

(*) Thank you, Gary and Carly, for inviting Eric to your perfectly timed wedding (next Saturday) in a perfectly positioned location (Redmond).

(**) Eric was a late entry in the flat competition (see photo #2);  he discovered this one as we were leaving the bakery in Sisters. Barring a truly epic next couple of days, I think it's gonna be tough for him to contend for the main crown, which Hugh has all but locked up. But it is the case that with this one stroke Eric vaulted into the lead in terms of flats-per-mile -- about .05 at the time of the photograph. Hugh would need approximately 47-1/2 flats each day for the last four days of riding in order to match that rate, and I don't think even he can do that. (Eric's flat rate was down substantially by the end of the day, to a much more modest .0167 per mile.)

(***) In truth I have no idea whether this explains the town's name, but it makes LOTS of sense.

(****) Near-perfect; about midway down I hit a big... I don't know, a hole of some kind, which came out of nowhere, and really rattled the old bones. Eric hit it, too. Later in the day when we were all hanging out and talking about the ride, it became clear that everybody hit the phantom bump. Must have been some sort of ditch across the road; we couldn't all have ridden across the exact same patch of pavement.

(Sent from my iPhone)

Notes and Annotations

FRI 8/6 -- Mitchell to Redmond (67)
Sometimes at the end of the day I just jot down a few quick notes to
help me remember the day's events, and then I go back later and write
it up all punctuated and complete-sentence-y and proper-like. Here are
my notes for Friday; some are pretty obvious, others require a little
explanation:

"a.m. food scrounge (Lucille and I were food police; worked
exceptionally well)"
=====
People were *very* well-behaved at the morning food scrounge (made
necessary by the lack of groceries the day before -- for details see
the post for Thursday). The official eat-breakfast-prepare-lunch hour
was 6-7, and we enforced a strict, no-starting-before-6 rule (the Phil
Law). We cut the 5 apples in half and told people they could have
either a half apple or one of the 4 fruit cups. Two oatmeal packs per
person, max, and the same on granola bars. I cut two tomatoes into
about a dozen slices for sandwiches and set those out. Unlimited
peanut butter; limited cream cheese; take it easy on the jam; who
wants *the* bagel; etc., etc., etc. Everyone was very pro-social and
careful, so much so that we ended up with leftovers of some of the
stuff that we had the least of. And there was plenty for everybody.

"downhill for 10 miles then big uphill (7 miles; 2000') to Ochoco Pass"
=====
[self-explanatory -- the downhill was beautiful, and so was the climb
(but tough)]

"trying to catch Hugh the whole way -- tomatoes -- finally got him at
top of pass"
=====
One of the excess lunch items, it turned out, was tomatoes, despite
the fact that we started with fewer than we typically have. Hugh likes
tomatoes (with his canned sardines(!)) for lunch, so when I found them
on the table during the BLCUO (breakfast-lunch clean-up operation) I
grabbed them and ziploc-bagged them up. Because I was on breakfast
duty, he got a good jump on me, so I had to work hard to reel him in.
Which I eventually did, right at the top of the pass. "Hugh -- the
good news is that you're at the top of the climb. The better news is:
tomatoes! And the best news of all? I'm here to ride with you!" It
wasn't clear to me whether he agreed with my rankings.

"don't eat that"
=====
I had Hugh in my sights, maybe 100 yards ahead of/above me, when Mike
caught me from behind. Just as he passed me there was a major cow pie
on the road. He pointed to it and said, very seriously, "Don't eat
that." I didn't get any closer to Hugh for quite a while. It is very
hard to keep moving forward on a major climb when you're laughing your
head off.

"then downhill for 25"
=====
... into Prineville, where I...

"attempted food rut breakout in Prineville (Mexican bakery) -- no
good; Hugh & Dennis went off on search of more standard fare; I went on"
=====
Of course, I was looking for a pie opportunity in Prineville, but the
ride through town yielded nothing -- not a single worthy cafe. On the
far side of town I saw a Mexican bakery, and thought we (Hugh and
Dennis were with me) should give it a try. Dennis demurred (wisely, as
it turned out); Hugh was doubtful, but willing to consider a radical
expansion of his horizons, so the two of us plunged in. The owner
greeted us and proudly told us all about his various baked treats. We
bought a couple -- a cookie in the shape of what I'm pretty sure was a
pig, and a cream-filled... something. The cookie was not very good,
and the cream thing was inedible(*). I had let the lads down! Hugh and
Dennis headed back into town in search of something good to eat. I put
my tail between my legs and headed on down the road toward Redmond.
But not before doubling back a block to a fresh fruit stand I'd
spotted on the way in where I traded the half-eaten cream thing(**),
plus a dollop of cash money, for a bag of delicious cherries.

"alt route out of Prineville to Redmond (supposedly new wide shoulder
& less traffic)"
=====
There's now a new official Trans-Am route section from Prineville to
Redmond, and we were advised to take it rather than the road marked on
our maps. Well, the old road must be really bad, because there
certainly wasn't anything else to recommend the new one. Yes, it was
newly-paved and had a wide(ish) shoulder, but it was bone-jarringly
rough for long stretches -- almost unrideable, in fact -- and filled
with fast-moving car and truck traffic, and offered nothing of note
scenery-wise.

"Eric arrives"
=====
My son, Eric, flew into Redmond from Anchorage (via Portland) to join
the ride for the last four days. Woo-hooo -- riding with my boy! His
old Williams College buddy, Gary, is getting married in Redmond, in a
week, and Eric is part of the wedding party. So the timing of the two
events is perfect. He'll ride with us (on a rented bike, using a
borrowed tent, or a sleeping pad on the floor when we motel it for the
night) to the coast, then get picked up by a friend in Portland who's
also invited to the wedding, and the two of them will drive back to
Redmond for the festivities. Gary delivered him to...

"Vill squire"
=====
... our modest accommodations in Redmond, the Village Squire Motel, a
little before the dinner hour. He paid into the $16/day food plan,
which gives him the right to belly up to the tour's breakfast-lunch
food table in the morning, and ditto any restaurants we go out to for
group dinners such as ...

"dinner out at 7th St Brew Pub"
=====
... the one we were going to that very evening, a local brew pub
(Jerry being one of today's designated "cooks"). I told him we were
headed to a place just a couple of blocks from the motel, and he said,
"Is it the 7th Street Brew Pub? That place has some great beer." So
things started well for the lad, food-wise.

----------
(*)"... to our Anglo taste buds," I should add. The place was filled
to the rafters with baked items, and the kitchen staff (the missus, I
guessed) was busy making more. This was clearly a place that sells
*lots* of stuff to the right clientele. We were not the right clientele.

(**) I didn't want to be so rude as to throw away the bakery items
within sight of the bakery.

(Sent from my iPhone)

Moving Across Oregon

THU 8/5 -- John Day to Mitchell (74)
When I wrote about Wednesday I was wrong to suggest that we were back
in the pine forests -- apparently, that was just a feature of the high
passes we went over, which were in national forests. Down at lower
elevations this ride was still in a mostly arid land. Although there
are still more trees lurking around here and there than there were a
couple days ago -- a hint of things to come.

We started the ride out of the town of John Day with a looooong slide
downstream alongside the John Day River. The river makes agriculture
possible in the small valley, but the surrounding hills are still
quite desert-y. It was a great way to start the day. We (I was riding
with Hugh) clipped along at about 18-20 mph on a smooth, almost empty
road, with wide shoulder, for a little over 30 miles, all the way into
Dayville (pop 138), where we stopped at a perfect small-town cafe --
the sensibly-named Dayville Cafe -- on a perfect summer morning. The
effervescent Tiffany served us up some tasty apple pie a la mode and
coffee (me) and an eggs and hash browns breakfast (Hugh), which we sat
outside and ate on the cozy front porch. It got very cozy -- at
various points Mike, Dennis, Clive, and Robin and Lucille all joined
in the fun around the small table, as did Lily, a young (23? 24?)
woman we had passed on the road a little while earlier who was on a
solo self-contained ride. (Not the whole Trans-Am, but still...) It
was a nice little spontaneous gathering. And cozy.

Once I learned that Lily was a math major I posed the question to her
that had been bugging me ever since the 45th parallel sign just
outside of New Meadows. When I blogged about that I wanted to make a
smart-ass comment along the lines of: so now you know a lot of places
where I'm NOT, and you can narrow down where I am as being somewhere
along that XX,000 mile line. Only I wasn't smart enough to fill in the
blank. So I asked her: If you assume that the earth is a perfect
sphere with a radius of 4,000 miles (that's close enough, I think),
how would you calculate the circumference at the 45th parallel? She
pondered (or seemed to -- possibly she was just being polite to an old
man), but didn't offer a solution, although she said she was sure
there was one.

A few miles outside of Dayville we rode into Picture Gorge, so named,
I think, because you have to take a picture there -- which I did (see
photo of Hugh riding into the Gorge). Picture Gorge is a beautiful,
deeply-cut canyon that runs for several miles along the John Day
River, just before the turn-off to the John Day Fossil Beds National
Monument, where we stopped and saw many interesting things, including
a life-size replica of the John Day sabertooth tiger. John Day (the
town), Dayville, the John Day River, the John Day Fossil Beds,
ThursDAY -- dude's even got an ancient beast named after him. As far
as I could tell he was just an early settler in the region, but
clearly he also had a top-notch PR team working their tails off for him.

All throughout this tour I've been conflicted about side trips like
the one to the fossil beds, which was off-route by 2 miles, and where
I spent about an hour of non-riding time. On the one hand, you're in
places with interesting things to see, and you may never be there
again, so you should stop and see what there is to see. On the other
hand, side trips add extra miles to what may already be a long day in
the saddle, and -- and this is the factor that causes me the most
trouble -- they extend the riding hours deeper into the afternoon
heat. In the heat I tend to wilt, and lose all my ooomph on the bike.
I enjoyed stopping off at the fossil beds, but by the time we left --
maybe noon or so -- it was uncomfortably hot, and cranking up for
more. Not only that, but we still faced most of a big climb (up 2000'
from Dayville) and over 30 miles of riding to reach our target. Insta-
regret. And, as expected, the afternoon was kind of a difficult slog.
But I made it, aided in no small part by the fact that the last few
miles were a long descent into Mitchell (pop 170).

Our accommodations were at the almost-adequate Sky Hook Motel, where
we took over all 6 of the motel's (un-air-conditioned) rooms for the
night. I shouldn't speak ill of the Sky Hook -- it had what we needed
(beds, walls & ceilings, running water), it was high on a hill to
catch the lovely evening breeze, it was better than camping in the no-
shower, walk-across-the-road-to-a-latrine public park we could see
below us, and basically, to anyone who's ever stayed at the Top Hat
Motel in Jeffrey City WY, it was The Ritz.

One of Mitchell's surprises was that there was no grocery store --
there had been one, but it closed its doors a month or so ago. And it
was 45 miles to the closest town where we could find groceries.
Lucille and I were on cooking duty -- not for that night's dinner (we
had already opted for eating out), but we were responsible for the
next day's breakfast and lunch. We did a thorough inventory of the
food bins and determined that we had plenty of food on hand for both a
morning meal of reasonably healthy food (if not necessarily all the
types of food one would want for breakfast) and a pared-down lunch
(e.g., bread, lunch meat, and cheese for sandwiches, but not a lot of
tomatoes, and virtually no fruit). But breakfast was the key; if we
could get bellies sufficiently full in the morning, that would power
everyone through the 45 miles to the town with food. So we recommended
a "food scrounge" for breakfast -- we'd just put everything out on the
tables and count on everyone to be reasonable and circumspect in what
they took. A bold and slightly risky plan, but the best option under
the circumstances, we thought, and we had confidence it would work. We
discussed the plan at the map meeting, and everyone said ok.

Speaking of food, there was also a slight hitch in the dinner out
plan: (a) Mitchell had only one place to eat -- a grungy little cafe/
bar called the Little Pines; (b) the Little Pines kitchen was too
small to handle a crowd of 14 all at once -- we'd have to go there and
eat in waves; and (c) the Little Pines was closing early that night,
so we'd have to be completely in and out by 7:00. Well, we've overcome
many challenges on the tour, and we overcame this one, too.

But what about the breakfast and lunch "food scrounge" the next day,
you ask? Tune in tomorrow for the next exciting food-related adventure
of the 2010 van-supported Trans-Am tour as it eats its way across the
USA.

(Sent from my iPhone)

Back in the saddle for the final week

WED 8/4 -- Baker City to John Day OR (80)
All right; here we go; no more rest days; the last week of riding;
heading across Oregon to the Pacific coast. And we're starting the
home stretch of the tour with a bang -- an 80-mile(*) ride featuring 3
major passes at about 30, 45, and 60 miles. Each pass -- Sumpter,
Tipton, and Dixie, by name -- is up at a little over 5,000 feet, so
that means a 1500' climb out of Baker City up to Sumpter, and then
about 1000' of climbing for each of the others.

And you know what? It was a beautiful ride, on another picture perfect
summer day. For one thing, we started to get out of the bleak and
barren, desert-like zone we've been in for -- I don't know, a long
time, two weeks? a year? somebody check my blog -- and back into pine
forests. (The photo is from a "scenic viewpoint" just over the crest
of the first pass, which was still a little before the pines started
to reappear.) For another, three big climbs also means three big
descents, so for a lot of the miles gravity was our friend, including
the final 22 from the top of Dixie Pass down into John Day.

The only negative to the day was that we had to deal with several
stretches of road work, which was essentially a lot of gravel dumped
on a bed of fresh tar. Gravel does NOT make for a good road surface
for skinny-tire bikes, especially on a descent, which is what we had
for some of the way up and all 8 miles of the way down the 2nd of our
three passes, Tipton. So what could have been a really lovely trip
down the mountain was a little more unpleasant and harrowing than it
could have been. On the other hand, the gravel surface wasn't fresh-
fresh, which meant that it was often possible to ride in the track
pressed down by cars' right wheels, avoiding lots of the loosest
stuff. Of course, that strategy was problematic when cars coming up
from behind wanted to use that track, but traffic was pretty light all
day, including through the construction-repair zones, and mostly they
just let me be and went wide around me to the left.

And speaking of the construction zones, as we were about to head up to
the last pass, I ran into Crazy Nazi Pilot Car Lady. ("Ran into"
figuratively, as in "encountered," although I wish it had been in the
literal sense.) I was riding along, minding my own business, when I
came upon a line of 10 or 12 stopped vehicles, behind your basic road
crew guy holding a "stop"-on-one-side-"slow"-on-the-other sign, with
"stop" facing our direction. They were letting just one lane of
traffic at a time through this particular work area. Fine; I pulled up
even with the front of the line, staying on the shoulder, and waited
for 10 minutes or so. Finally a line of cars came through from the
other direction, led by a pilot car, and everybody waiting in my line
climbed back in their vehicle and got ready for our turn.

The pilot car moved over to the side of the road with the waiting
line, and came to an abrupt stop about 10 feet in front of me. Fine; I
wasn't going anywhere yet; the sign still said "stop." The driver
jumped out of the car and walked quickly toward me, wagging her finger
at me, and shouting about how I was going to get her crew killed, I
think by riding on the side of the road, and forcing vehicles to pass
around me. I'm stll not clear where the death part was going to enter
the picture. She was in full rant mode. She turned to go back to her
car, and I said something to the effect that I was trying very hard to
avoid getting hurt myself and to avoid getting in anyone's way. Well,
I guess that was quite provocative. She turned on her heels and came
rushing back toward me, wagging her finger in the air and sputtering
the same nonsense about how "you bikers" cause all sorts of trouble,
and are a menace to the safety of her crew, and telling me to just
wait where I was until all the cars in line behind me went ahead
(which was my plan anyway). The whole time this hysteria was on
display, sign guy kept slowly creeping further out into the middle of
the road, away from the madness. When she was finally finished, and
drove away, I said to sign guy, "Yowzah," and he just looked at me and
rolled his eyes. The cars in line went by, and I fell in line behind
them.

All the way up that stretch of road -- which was maybe 5-6 miles -- I
was on the lookout for Crazy Nazi ... Lady, because once I got beyond
my speechless shock I had a few things I wanted to say to her. Never
saw her again, unfortunately. What I did see were dozens of road
workers, many driving the very trucks that I was supposedly at risk of
sending hurting off the side of the road, virtually all of whom gave
me a friendly wave as I went by.

----------
(*) We have only ourselves to blame (if that's the right verb) for the
length of the ride -- as a group, we opted to make today an 80-miler.
It was originally scheduled to end 13 miles up the road, in Prairie
City. But we would have had to camp out there, because PC has no
indoor lodging options(**), so we voted to extend to John Day, which
does. (I'm writing this from the Little Pine Motel, in JD.) This is
all part of the plan to spend down our money (emphasis on "our") so we
have a zero dollar balance at the end of the ride. So -- more nights
in motels, more dinners out.

(**) Prairie City did yield Chuck's Little Diner, which served up a
mighty fine slice of blackberry pie -- although sans ice cream, alas.

Monday, Monday (and Tuesday, Tuesday)

MON 8/2 -- Halfway to Baker City (53)
and
TUE 8/3 [rest day in Baker City]
Monday was kind of a hard day on the road for me -- not so much
physically, although there were lots of ups and downs, but more
mentally. We rode all day through an unchanging, somewhat bleak
landscape (see photo for what the view was like for just about the
entire ride) that I found, especially after the first 20 miles or so,
more than a little boring. Just mile after mile after mile of very
arid range land, chock full of pretty much nothing, leading to a ride
that at times felt like it was never going to end.

But end it did. And speaking of end, near the end of the ride was an
opportunity to visit the National Historic Oregon Trail Interpretive
Center, which had gotten some good reviews from earlier riders -- the
Oregon Trail was a pretty interesting historical phenomenon, after
all. Unfortunately, the NHOTIC is almost completely inaccessible to
bicycles, stuck at the top of a ridiculously long and steep side road,
and at that point I just didn't feel like scaling K2. Dennis and Hugh
braved the ascent, and said the ride up was miserable but the place
itself pretty interesting. One fact that stuck out; along the whole
2000 mile length of the trail, Dennis said, there's a grave every 80
(feet? yards? whatever; a lot of people never made it), on average.
People were either that desperate for a better life, or they had no
idea what they were in for.

Our lodgings in Baker City are in the Oregon Trail Motel, hard by the
swift-flowing (right outside my window, actually) Powder River. We had
a fine dinner out on Monday night -- courtesy, in large part, of John,
Dawn, and Mike -- at [somebody] Brown's Brew Pub. Spotty service --
Barry was new on the job; Robin (again! the man is cursed!) didn't get
his meal until most of us were almost done eating -- but tasty food
(eggplant parmesan), and some tasty beer, too(*).

----------
And at least one, "Hot Blonde," that wad a real mistake. (I ordered
the 7-beer sampler to start, so I tasted everything that was
available.) There is simply no reason to infuse a beer with jalapeño
peppers -- it's every bit as bad an idea as it sounds.

Let the Oregon days begin

SUN 8/1 -- Cambridge ID to Halfway OR (58)
The first photo should help narrow down the possibilities for those
who keep asking the question: Jeff, where the heck are you? I actually
encountered this sign the day before, a few miles outside of New
Meadows, but since we took a U-shaped route -- south, then west, then
north -- to get from there to Halfway, I suspect it applies to today's
ride, too(*).

The day started with a big climb out of Cambridge which took us up
from 2700' to about 4200', and then dropped us down a long, winding
(and smooth, and light trafficked) road to the Brownlee Reservoir, an
artificial lake formed out of the Snake River, on the ID/OR border.
For a Minnesota boy, these western artificial lakes are a very odd-
looking breed. I'm used to lakes nestled in the trees, and surrounded
by green. The Brownlee is surrounded by brown, mountainous desert,
without a hint of green anywhere, even right down at the water's edge.
To me they look bleak and not very appealing.

When we crossed the river, just north of the Brownlee Dam, we entered
Oregon, our final state ("non-funereally speaking," as my friend Jack
cheerfully put it). See second photo. So long Idaho which, mile-for-
mile, has provided the best/most beautiful biking on the whole trip so
far, IMHO. You've got your work cut out for you, Oregon.

In Oregon we continued to ride north along the Snake River for about
10 miles, but it was an unexciting Snake River -- more a long lake,
actually, formed by the Oxbow Dam. Below (north of) the dam is where
the famous Hell's Canyon wilderness area starts, but our route turned
south at that point, so officially we missed it. Our route was still
pretty wild and canyon-y though, with signs indicating that we were in
big horn sheep territory. I barely took my eyes off the hills and
ridges all day -- saw a number of deer, but no sheep.

A few miles after the dam I turned in at Scotty's store/gas station
(which was about the only place to stop on the whole ride) for a
coffee and whatever break, where a by now very familiar scene played
out. Two young couples were in the store buying some supplies for
their outing:
Guy #1: "Hey, man, how's your ride today?"
Me: "Excellent, thanks; it's a beautiful day."
Guy #1: "It is that. Where you coming from?"
Me: "Well, Cambridge this morning..."
Guy #1: "Wow, nice..."
Me: "... but originally, two months ago, I started in Yorktown
Virginia."
Guy #1 [pause while he looks at me more carefully]: "What? Get out!
Virginia?!?"
Me: "It's true. I'm with a bunch of people..."
Guy #1: "Hey Jimmy -- dude's ridden a bicycle here from Virginia!"
Jimmy [also gives me a careful look, as does his accompanying female]:
"Whoa! That's insane, man!"
Me: "Yeah, a little."

In Halfway we stayed at the sensibly-named Halfway Motel(**) and had a
group dinner out, featuring eminently forgettable food-like fare, at
the Stockmen's Cafe. Naturally there was interest in a pudding course,
and by this point in the trip there's getting to be substantial
interest, beyond just my own, in having pie for pudding. One of the
pie options was marionberry, which is, I hasten to assure all you DC-
ites out there, a real fruit -- sort of a cross between a raspberry
and a blackberry -- and which can make an excellent pie. I believe
there were 7 orders for marionberry, including mine, but it turned out
there were only 4 slices left. "Jeff has to have the marionberry,"
Steve said. "It's for his foot."

Final story of the day -- it's Hugh-related, and speaks volumes about
his world-class abilities as a flat-getter. We're back in our room,
and just about ready for lights out, when he glances at his bike, and
observes, in quite colorful language, that his back tire is flat. The
man scores a flat IN A MOTEL ROOM, a place where a pretender like
Dennis, and the rest of us mere mortals, wouldn't even think to try.
But Hugh's game is really at a different level. He fixes the flat
before hitting the sack, even though, as he observed, he could
probably have done it in his sleep by now.

BTW, the "fixed" tire was flat again in the morning. The man is that
GOOD.

----------
(*) Maybe that's why it's called Halfway? Although that wasn't the
explanation Mike got from a local, which was something about how the
town was midway between two important points in the wilderness way
back when. But he also said there were about six different stories, so
maybe the latitude thing is one of them.

(**) Sensible, yes, but also a missed opportunity -- they could have
called it the Halfway House.

Apocalypse Some Other Time

SAT 7/31 -- New Meadows to Cambridge (52)
A pretty uneventful ride, and short; we're at the point in our tour
where when we talk about a ride of this length we preface the distance
with an "only," as in "only 52 miles," and where the night before we
discuss pushing the breakfast hour back, and sleeping in a little,
because the ride is so short.

What was most interesting to me about the ride was the change in
terrain/scenery between the first and second halves. The first part of
the ride, once we got past the town of New Meadows, reminded me a lot
of northern Minnesota, with just a little more mountain in the
background -- we were on a twisty, up and down road through beautiful
pine forest and alongside a pristine river. (Dawn said she had the
same thought.) The second half, after a not-too-steep climb over a
ridge (and a *great* several-miles-long descent into the town of
Council(*)) was unforested, semi-arid range land.

The rest of the ride, about 20 more miles into Cambridge (pop 360),
was pleasant enough, but pretty unremarkable. We camped in the back
yard of the Frontier Motel and RV Park, which was notable mostly for
the yapper-crapper dog (one of three!) belonging to our RV-residing
neighbor. When unleashed this dog roamed freely throughout our tent
area, demonstrating beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had a healthy,
working digestive system. The young boy of the family was outside
maintaining dog B or C on a leash, so I approached him and asked him
to please clean up after dog A, which he promptly did. This led to his
(i.e., dog A's) being tethered [good!] when the family was around, or,
when they weren't, to being confined, alone, inside the RV, where he
(?) barked constantly [not so good]. An upside: Robin was able to
confirm, multiple times, that his dog zapper was still functional.

After dinner Hugh gave me the international signal for "you wanna go
get some ice cream?"(**) In return I signalled "you're on, dude"(***).
We did a little research to find a venue ("the" Cambridge venue, in
fact), and I went back to tent city to see whether anyone else was
interested. Virtually EVERYone was interested, it turned out, so a
group of 10 headed over to Mrs G's Restaurant for some SPPP
(supplemental post-pudding pudding).

Mrs G turned out to have not just ice cream, but an array of pie
options for use as an ice cream underpinning. Nice. Many in the group
switched gears and went that route, me included. (Walnut; interesting;
good; but not as good as a good quality pecan, such as my own, for
instance.) Others stayed the cone or bowl course. Alas, in addition to
pie, Mrs G also had possibly the worst service of any restaurant I've
been to in a long time -- cheerful, friendly, but incredibly,
unbelievably, astoundingly S......L......O......W. The most
complicated item we ordered was pie with ice cream, unless you think
that an ice cream cone is more complicated than that. No, wait --
Jerry ordered a root beer float. Anyway, you get the picture: these
were not dishes which required consulting a recipe. Pretty much
everyone in the restaurant biz has to know that you put the ice cream
IN the cone and deliver it cone-side down. Our group's order took
about 30 minutes to be delivered, piece by painfully slow piece.
Service was so slow and sporadic that Jerry ordered another root beer
float, just so he'd have something to do while waiting for others to
finish up. Of course the float was delivered well before some people
had their initial cone order. Why was Jerry able to get a second float
before Robin got his huckleberry cone?, someone asked. The vanilla is
just a lot easier to scoop, was the answer. Of course! That explains
it! Eventually we all got fed -- before Jerry had to order a third
float, thank goodness -- and we all waddled back to camp.

But the REAL excitement occurred way back at Zims, in the wee hours of
the morning, long before the ride or any of the other adventures of
the day. When 9:00 rolled around -- 9:30, tops -- and we'd all retired
for the night, the sky was perfectly clear, so clear that the more
brash among us had pondered aloud [OMINOUS EVENT #1] whether to just
sleep out under the stars, or at any rate to not bother deploying
their tent's rain fly. The gods punish such hubris, so naturally at
about 2 a.m. [OMINOUS EVENT #2] I awoke to the definite sound of
thunder. And [OMINOUS EVENT #3] the sound of cows, mooing. At 2 in the
morning, people! That can't mean anything good. I poked my head out of
the tent and saw [OE #4] a greenish sky filled with roiling [that's a
word, right?] and rolling clouds, even though [OE #5] there wasn't any
wind, and saw [OE #6] the sky to the east repeatedly lit with
lightning, and heard rumbles of thunder. And the mooing of cows. And
not just ordinary mooing; I was sure I could detect [OE #7] a clear
note of anguish in those moos. You know how animals supposedly behave
oddly just before an earthquake or a volcanic eruption? Well I figured
that the same sort of thing was happening with the cows. They *knew,*
with their keen bovine acumen and perceptiveness, that this wasn't
just any old rainstorm that was brewing, but rather a killer
thunderstorm of biblical proportions.

Side note, possibly obvious by this point: when it comes to being in a
tent in bad weather I am a world-class wimp. I hate it. The fact that
there are people who can actually sleep through a storm while camping
out is amazing to me. Sleep?!? When death is imminent?!? I don't think
so. One manifestation of this wimpitude is a tendency for even small
indications of weather trouble to stimulate in me a healthy dose of
paranoia. And what we had here was anything but "small indications" --
nosiree bob. We had thunder! We had lightning! We had strange skies!
We had no wind whatsoever! We had cows mooing their anguished warnings
of IMPENDING DOOM AND DESTRUCTION!!!!!!

I took immediate and decisive action, of the type you would expect
from a groggily semi-asleep and delusional-with-terror individual: (1)
It wasn't raining yet, so I went out to the latrine and peed. Duh --
one doesn't want to meet one's maker with a full bladder. (2a) I got
dressed, in case I needed to make a run for it ["it"=?????], including
(2b) the application of deodorant, because that's what you do when you
get dressed. (3) I let the air out of my thermarests. I can't recreate
my logic here. Possibly this was so I could more quickly grab them and
go, if necessary. But why would I want to grab them? And where was I
going to go? Unclear. Also, it should be noted that when you're lying
on a thermarest, deflation takes about a millisecond, so taking this
completely unnecessary precaution in advance wasn't really buying me a
lot of extra time. (4) I grabbed a flashlight, put it in a secure
location, and then promptly forgot where I put it. (5) I located
another flashlight. (6) I found the first flashlight by stepping on
it. There! Now I was fully prepared. And just in time, because here
comes the rain...

...Very, very gently, for about.... oh, maybe 2 minutes max, the
barest of sprinkles. After a while I became convinced that I might
survive the night, so I put away the flashlights, and reinserted my
clothed, sweet-smelling, empty-bladdered body into my sleeping bag
(now free of that pesky cushion of air between me and the hard
ground), and went to sleep. The morning dawned completely clear, and,
miraculously, everyone else had survived, too.

----------
(*) Site of a coffee and muffin stop at an excellent coffee shop
featuring an attractive display of black-and-white portraits,
photographs, of some of Council's finest citizens. Very interesting
studies of some of the faces. Included in the array were two people in
the shop -- the young woman behind the counter, and a guy sitting back
in the corner doing some e-work on the available-to-the-public computer.

(**) Spooning-into-the-mouth motion with one hand, from the other hand
formed into the shape of a bowl, while simultaneously saying, "You
wanna go get some ice cream?"

(***) [Sorry; this signal is proprietary, and I am not at liberty to
reveal it.]

(Sent from my iPhone)

August Itinerary -- UPDATED

We've made a few minor adjustments to the itinerary, primarily in the interests of staying in motels as often as possible down the home stretch. Here's the updated plan:

S 1 -- Cambridge ID to Halfway OR (58)
M 2 -- Halfway to Baker City OR (53)
Tu 3 -- [Layover day in Baker City]

W 4 -- NEW DESTINATION: Baker City to John Day OR (80)
Th 5 -- NEW STARTING POINT: John Day to Mitchell OR (70)

F 6 -- Mitchell to Redmond OR (68)

Sa 7 -- NEW DESTINATION: Redmond to Blue River OR (70)
Su 8 -- NEW STARTING POINT: Blue River to Coburg OR (46) (4000 miles total)

M 9 -- Coburg to Salmonberry Park (Alsea Valley) OR (60)
Tu 10 -- Alsea Valley to Florence OR (THE PACIFIC!!) (76)
W 11 -- Florence to Eugene OR (by van)

And yet another fine Idaho ride

FRI 7/30 -- White Bird to New Meadows (almost; 62)
This was the originally-scheduled 80+ mile ride that we truncated to
just over 60 by carrying the previous day's ride an extra 20 miles, to
White Bird. And a good thing, too -- it was hot at the end of the day
(upper 90's again), and I'm not sure I had another 20 miles in me.

For the first 30 miles we rode south, upstream along the Salmon River,
through some wild and amazing canyons -- not quite the Hell's Canyon
of the nearby Snake River (so I'm told), but pretty spectacular in
their own right (see yet another inadequate photo; you can maybe make
out some of the riders in the distance).

Other than the beautiful scenery, a highlight of the morning's ride
was a great fruit stand about 25 miles in -- delicious cherries,
especially, but also peaches, blackberries, and melon. We (I was
riding with Hugh) loaded up, gorged ourselves on the spot, and packed
in some for later. There wasn't a trace left by the end of the day.

Shortly after the fruit bonanza, we left the Salmon -- or, more
accurately, we continued south and it left us by veering 90 degrees
east -- and continued on up the Little Salmon. Also a lovely ride. And
much easier than anticipated -- the elevation profile made it look
like we had some big climbs, but they never materialized.

All morning I had been planning a coffee/food stop about 40 miles into
the ride, mostly because the other stop possibilities were either too
early or too late. And there it was at mile 41, 4 miles past the town
of Pollock, in the middle of nowhere, just as indicated on the
Adventure Cycling map by a little knife-and-fork-on-a-plate symbol (a
symbol to which we've all become highly attuned) -- the Pinehurst
Trading Post, a motel/resort with a restaurant. So we pulled in. Hugh
decided to eat his lunch outside, with Kath and Clive; I went in. The
waitress said the pie was apple raisin. "Is it with fresh apples, or
out of a can?" "Well I don't know -- all I know is that my dad made it
this morning." Sold. I don't believe I've had apple raisin pie before.
I might again, though -- it was very good (even though it was obvious
that the apples weren't fresh).

I left Hugh and took off from the restaurant pretty much on my own,
because, as I mentioned, the elevation map suggested that we had some
steep climbing to do over the last 20 miles -- 2000' of climbing, in
fact -- and among Hugh's many many strengths climbing hills on a bike
is not one. He gets there, but at a pace that is ... let's just say at
a pace I'm not comfortable with(*). We'll just leave it at that;
there's no need for any value judgment.

But my zipping away was all for naught, or at the least unnecessary,
hill-wise -- the big climb simply wasn't there. The route just
continued to head pretty gently up the Little Salmon valley,
eventually emerging onto a high plain, where we found our lodgings
(tent space, actually) for the evening at Zim's Hot Springs, a few
miles shy of New Meadows. Zim's was serious about their hot springs --
*all* the water was hot, including that which emerged from the faucets
marked "cold," and that used for flushing purposes. The range of
temperature possibilities in the showers was: hot. Even though it was
a hot afternoon, and hot wasn't really what I was after, I partook of
the *actual* hot springs, which were more like (a) a very hot wading
pool (about 3 minutes max, for me), next to (b) a body-temperature
swimming pool, in which I could languish, and did, quite pleasureably,
for an hour or so.

----------
(*) I.e., TOO DAMN SLOW! HOLY CRAP IS HE SLOW UP HILLS! YOU COULD TIME
HIS PROGRESS WITH A [level c] CALENDAR! TO CALL IT "GLACIAL" WOULD BE
KIND! HIS BEARD IS NOTICEABLY LONGER AT THE TOP OF A HILL THAN IT WAS
AT THE BOTTOM! Pace on a long bike ride is surprisingly important.
Everyone has a zone that they're comfortable in, and it's hard to
spend a lot of time outside that zone. Of course, on the faster/harder
end of the continuum it's *physically* hard to ride outside your zone;
on the slower/gentler end the difficulty is more mental -- it's
uncomfortable, it just doesn't feel right. (Another issue for me,
personally, is: for a laid-back kinda guy in general, I'm pretty
impatient when I've got two wheels under me. I need to MOVE.) There
are other factors that influence who rides with whom, of course, but a
reasonably matched pace is a big one. Hugh and I are pretty
compatible, except when there are significant "ups" to contend with.

Another great ride

THU 7/29 -- Syringa to White Bird (63)
This ride was supposed to stop at Grangeville, which would have been
only a 40+ mile day, with the following day's ride at over 80 miles.
Don't know why it was planned that way, unless it was a misguided
attempt to save us from having to do all of a 2800' climb on one day
(Grangeville is about the midpoint). Hah! The Adventure Cycling 2010
Van-Supported Trans-Am Tour collectively sneers at a paltry, bump-in-
the-road 2800' climb; that is nothing to us; we eat those for
breakfast. So, anyway, after confirming that there was a place where
we could stay, the group decided at the Wednesday map meeting to even
out the two days by extending today's ride another 20 or so miles, to
the little town of White Bird (pop 106). Good call; 40 would've been
too short and 80 the next day too long. And everyone made the climb
just fine.

And it was another spectacular day of riding, big climb and all. We
started the ride the way we'd ended the previous day, by following the
middle fork of the Clearwater River downstream to Kooskia for about 15
miles. At Kooskia we turned south and worked our way gradually
upstream, for another 15 miles, along the river's south fork, through
a long and beautiful canyon, even more spectacular for being lit by
the morning sun. Then finally we left the river valleys, and began a
10-mile, heavily-switchbacked ascent up to Grangeville, which included
some incredible vistas of the surrounding countryside.

40+ miles of riding; it's 11:00; I haven't had my usual 30-35 mile
snack break (banana, Gatorade, granola bar, maybe some trail mix) for
some reason, probably having to do with: I don't like to stop on an
uphill, and that's all there's been for a while. To wit: I'm hungry.
And, as I wend my way through downtown Grangeville, what do my eyes
behold? Bishop's Bistro, boldly proclaiming the availability, and,
beyond that, the *quality* of their food(*). We'll see about THAT. A
plan forms in my head. After confirming with Bishop's staff that they
operated under the standard rules of exchange for such establishments
-- they would give me food, and I would give them money -- I sat down.
I was beyond pie-hungry, so I broke with my usual pattern and had a
meal, Bishop's famous 2+2+2 -- (2 eggs, 2 sausages, 2 pieces of French
toast). Mmmmmm; perfect. And *then* I had the pie (cherry, from a can,
but pretty good) and ice cream. It was the loaves and fishes miracle,
only in reverse -- one man eating food that could have served
multitudes.

Thus fortified -- possibly a little over fortified, in fact -- I set
off to finish the last 10 miles of climbing, after which I was
counting on gravity to do most of the final 10 miles of work to get me
to White Bird. And what a great climb it was, on a little, winding,
virtually empty country road off the main highway called Old White
Bird Hill (4 parts to its name!) Road. And then gravity did, indeed,
pretty much take over. The descent was equally scenic, with some
spectacular views (see inadequate photo), but a little too gravelly,
due to some ill-timed (from my perspective) road repair work. It was
still preferable to the main highway, I thought, with its noise and
truck-intensive traffic.

I arrived in White Bird at around 1:00, just about the same time as
Mike, but before the van. We couldn't really go anywhere, because at
that point we didn't know where we were staying. It was also very hot
outside -- upper 90's -- and we both needed to hydrate. So, there was
really only one possible course of action: the Silver Dollar Bar &
Cafe. From the outside it was the perfect small-town western bar -- a
weathered wood siding, kinda run-down and bedraggled old building,
with a hitching rail in the front -- and the inside certainly didn't
disappoint. We had a couple of beers ($1.25 for a Bud; $2.25 for
something fancy on draft) and conversed with the local regulars and
staff. The former were *very* interested in directing us the best way
to the Oregon coast, and couldn't seem to comprehend, no matter how
many times and how many ways we tried to tell them, that (a) the best
way by car might not be the best way by bike, and (b) the route was
pretty much pre-set, and not anything that we had a lot of control
over. So their advice, and their maps, were of absolutely no use to
us, but it was still kind of charming and heartwarming how eager they
were to be helpful.

We also had some fun with the barkeep, a gruff (on the surface) but
charming older woman. She said she and her husband moved to the area X-
ty years ago, and she was going do nothing but got bored, so she took
the bar job. Now she wanted to quit, but her husband wouldn't let her,
so when he came in could I try to get her fired? Sure; no problem.
Soon her husband -- also the bar owner, also the mayor -- arrived, and
I started complaining bitterly and loudly about the rude and inept
service, and the number of potential customers driven away, and the
need to get the lady out of the hospitality business entirely and into
something more appropriate, like prison guard. He wasn't buying any of
it.

She showed us a book written a few years ago by a cross-country biker
which evaluated all the bars he'd been to along the way, and read us
the description of the Silver Dollar -- a "dive," he had called it.
Idiot. What was he looking for -- Starbucks? It was absolute perfection.

We camped out at a private campground just outside of town. I was
sorry I couldn't get back to the Silver Dollar, but I was on dinner
duty (stroganoff; pretty good). Lots of the gang found it, though, and
enjoyed it perhaps just a tad beyond thoroughly, before rolling into
camp very loudly just before dinner. Jerry, especially, put on an
entertaining show pitching his tent, and eventually did manage to get
the correct side down.

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(*) Thanks to my advanced education, I know that lack of food is a
leading cause of hunger, according to the latest scientific studies.

(Sent from my iPhone)