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.
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