Up and over the trip's last big mountains and down to the Pacific Ocean!!

The cycling out of Sisters, OR is staggeringly scenic. Huge, snow-capped peaks ring a high-desert landscape littered with trees, farms, and lava flows. Not far out of town, a long, steady, and somewhat steep 14-mile climb greets cyclists bent on getting to the top of the McKenzie Pass. There I found the "eye of the tiger" and kicked butt up the hillside, loving the lactic burning in my lungs, giddy while gasping for a full breath.

We arrived one-by-one at an observation point about three miles shy of the summit and at this point the view opened up and rewarded our efforts with a HUGE, miles-wide lava flow hundreds, possibly even thousands of feet deep. There was a striking lack of vegetation, except for the lone, hardy tree that occasionally found a way to take root in the cooled lava.

We hung out there for a while and various people came up and asked us the same questions we get everywhere: "Where are you going?", "Where did you start?", "How long have you been riding?", etc. The person that we asked to take the group photo of us turned out to be from Kentucky. Since not one of us liked Kentucky, we didn't have much to say to them. It's like mama always said...if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. It went something like this:

"Hey thanks for taking our picture. So, where are you guys from?"

"Kentucky."

"Oh. Uh...what city?"

"Bowling Green."

"Oh. Uh...is that by Bardstown?"

"Kinda...it's about an hour and a half away."

"Ah. Well, thanks. Have a great trip. Bye."

The ride from the observation point up to the summit of McKenzie Pass was super beautiful, passing through fewer and fewer trees and more and more lava. The road, in fact, snaked right up through the old lava flows to the summit, a treeless and black, jagged landscape more reminiscent somehow of what I'd imagine the moon to be like than Earth. There was a really cool lava rock observation building carved into the barren landscape from which you could see 360° of beautiful, black, rocky, mountainous horizon. We ate lunch there and had a really nice break after a challenging climb.

Then came the 15-mile long, fast descent from 5300' to 1000', which took us through the lava fields, down through the high-desert, to the densely-treed McKenzie River highway. We did have to climb up and over the lava (as you can see in the photo immediately below) before hitting the descent.

The route looked much like that last photo above for quite a while, although the road began to gather more and more traffic. Robin, Tony, Nick, and I stopped at the general store in a little town called McKenzie Bridge and we each bought a portion of what would eventually be turkey sandwiches (one person bought a loaf of bread, one two packs of turkey, one cheese, and one mayonnaise). We voraciously downed all of it, along with some healthy cookies and some big cans of Razzleberry iced tea. Nick decided he wanted to keep riding and bolted on ahead to Eugene while the rest of us decided we were done for the day because wanted to stay for more time along the beautiful McKenzie River. We grabbed a campground for the night, and I topped off the awesome day with a delicious 22 oz. Ninkasi Total Domination IPA, which I cooled in the same VERY cold, two-foot deep river that I laid down in for a makeshift bath before bedtime. Oh my GOD, was that river cold; but if this trip has taught me anything at all, it is that I can tolerate immersing myself in water of nearly any temperature because freezing my testes off is better than going to bed stickyallover after a long day of cycling on my black baby.

The next morning the three of us awoke and began the nice, long, gentle downhill into Eugene along the McKenzie River highway. It was really pretty, but as we got closer to Eugene, it got busier and busier. In all actuality, it was probably one of the most dangerous and scary highway rides that I took throughout the entire country. When we arrived in Springfield, I was relieved that the white-knuckled day was nearly over.

I had arranged a homestay at the Eugene, OR home of a couple named Paul and Monica through an organization called Warmshowers.org. It is an organization for touring cyclists and is similar to couchsurfing.com. Touring cyclists sign up and offer up their homes and various amenities to other touring cyclists passing through their towns. Hosts can offer a bed, a yard to camp in, laundry, food, use of a vehicle, car rides to shopping centers, etc. Paul and Monica had a wonderful renovated apartment next to their home which had a bathroom and a double futon for our use. They also invited us to use their showers and laundry in the main house, as well as giving us directions/assistance in getting around town to eat and do errands. They had four very well-behaved kids, with the craziest, most unique names I've ever heard of: Rainy, Dare, Torrent, and Sanguine. Rainy, the oldest at nine years of age, was like a little adult, flawlessly switching between confidently interacting with adults, playing like a child, and watching over and teaching her little siblings. Little Rainy, in fact, could ride a unicycle! The family did not own a car and had completely shaped their lives around bicycle travel; they rode everywhere for everything, including shopping, visiting friends, going to the river, exercise, and fun. It was really an eye-opening experience to see a family be able to have such a fulfilling and productive life without a vehicle at their disposal because, for some reason, I find it quite a romantic notion to exist without dependence on a car. Unfortunately, I didn't get a photo of Paul and Monica's entire family, but here is a photo of Paul and daughter Rainy on their back deck, along with Robin and Tony in the background:

While in Eugene for that one afternoon and evening, it was a serious culture shock for all of us. Having been on the TransAm route for over two months and spending most of our time in either small, country towns or out in the middle of nowhere, a town the size of Eugene was really quite jarring to our senses. We did enjoy walking and riding around to places like REI, Papa Soul's restaurant, the Ninkasi Brewery, and El Pinche Taco (hilarious...do you KNOW what that means in Spanish?! - "The Fucking Taco"!!), but being around all those people was a little much. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that Paul and Monica live in a very hippie part of Eugene (and it seemed to be more 'dirty, steal-from-your-brother' hippies than 'peace, love, and nature' hippies), I don't know. Anyway, the next morning, it was nice to leave and hit the road again. At this point, I'm wondering if I have forgotten how to (or lost interest in) interacting with the rest of society and only wish to be with other bicycle tourists...

The next morning we all arose very early for our ride from Eugene to Florence, and our first sighting of the Pacific Ocean. We rode together on the bike path to get out of Eugene (thanks, Tony, for the guidance) but Robin and I quickly ended up taking off at a faster pace than Zack and Tony. Robin and I were riding at quite a nice pace through the beginning of the coastal range when all of sudden I felt a sharp pain the back of my right thigh. I immediately thought I'd severely strained a hamstring and I needed to stop. I rubbed and rubbed and stretched, and decided to let Robin go ahead because I needed to take a while to see if I could continue to ride. Right after he left, however, I realized that I'd not pulled a hammy, but instead some kind of bee/wasp/hornet/yellowjacket thing had flown up my shorts and stung me on the leg! I had a huge, painful welt on the back of my leg that didn't feel better or worse with stretching or contracting my hamstring. So, knowing it wasn't an injury, I just climbed back on the bike and rode the rest of the way up the moderately-graded and densely-forested Coast Range hills, through the mountain summit tunnel, down a short but steep descent, and along the length of the beautiful Siuslaw River, pulled to the Pacific coast by the magnet that is Florence, OR.

In cloudy, windy, and cool Florence, Zack, Robin, and I met up for some clam chowder, sandwiches, and pizza (yes, we cyclists will eat anything on the menu and in any combination). After lunch and a run to Safeway for some camping groceries, everyone rendezvoused at Harbor Vista City Park which is near the sand dunes that separate the town from the ocean. We had once again become a group of seven: Robin from PA; Zack from VA; Tony from Portland; me; and Ellen, Dennis, and Marga, the Dutch family of three. We all shared one tiny campsite and it was a bit crowded, but we bicycle tourists know how to travel in a pack and really have no problem cramming a bunch of people into a small campsite or motel room in an effort to both save money as well as socialize with new friends. Shortly after we arrived and set up camp, a few of us made the approximately one-mile trek down from the campsite, up over the dunes, to the chilly waters of the Pacific Ocean, the first time we'd seen salt water since we left the brackish waters of the Chesapeake Bay at Yorktown, Virginia over two and a half months prior!

How cool it would have been to be able to swim in the Pacific, but the coooooooooooooooollllddddd ocean is essentially unswimmable in the Pacific Northwest, save for days during which the air temperature is at least 90 degrees (and, as you can see by the jackets in the photos below, it was nowhere near that warm that day)! Here Marga, Dennis, Robin, and Ellen walk up and over the sand dune to reach the Pacific Ocean:

Dutch Ellen throws her dad Dennis a double-high-five after having dipped her toes in the Pacific for the first time:

That night we all had a great time camping together, as usual. Because it had been a long day, however, and because it was kind of chilly, we all ended up going to bed at dusk. It was no big deal and we'd done this occasionally throughout the trip, but this time we made a big error in forgetting to properly pack away our food. I, fortunately, had put everything into one of my panniers but I erred in leaving the pannier on the picnic table and not putting it back on my bike. In the morning, I found my pannier in the dirt about 20 feet away from the picnic table and covered in claw marks and footprints....RACCOONS! Because the pannier is made of durable Cordura, and because the top lid and the inner double drawstring on my pannier had been tightly closed, the raccoons couldn't open it and access all the food; however, the the little bastards did manage to thread one paw up under the lid and down through the ~ 1.5" diameter center hole into the bag's main compartment and pull out one pack of Skittles, which were left uneaten 20 feet away on the table, the package carefully sliced open by a delicate claw, the candy inside on display as if left behind for me as a gift! The resourceful raccoons did manage to get a lot more from Robin and Zack though. Those guys had absentmindedly left their food out overnight in plastic Safeway bags and the camp was literally littered with the remnants of the raccoons' late-night romp. Who knew that raccoons could open a box of Pop Tarts, pull out one of the two foil-wrapped packages inside, gracefully slice open the top of the foil, and remove and consume the contents within, without tearing the box or leaving behind a crumb? This artistic display of opening a package and eating what's inside, however, was limited to the Skittles and the Pop Tarts. Strewn hastily about in the night was an array of shredded plastic, crumbs from a loaf of bread, various trail mix pieces, and partially-eaten fruit. Zack even saw a raccoon deep in the bushes the next morning, continuing to snack on the results of the previous night's robbery (I think Zack said he swore the little varmint smiled at him and flipped him off when illuminated in Zack's flashlight beam.) Anyway, I learned a valuable camping lesson that day!

Only three more days remained then to ride from Florence to Astoria, OR, the final destination of the TransAmerica adventure. Yes, we'd reached the Pacific coast, but the true endpoint of the TransAm route is Astoria, so that is where we would go...

The next blog installment is coming soon, this time within a few days, honest!!
Dennis

Oregon's fine forests, flagger's finger, rocky canyons, and desolate deserts.

The sleepy town of Richland, OR was where I was when I last left you. At that point, it hadn't really hit me that I'd entered Oregon because the terrain is so different from that which I am used to in the western part of the state where I live. Leaving Richland for Baker City made me feel even further from home because it was so incredibly desolate. Don't get me wrong...it WAS strangely beautiful as the road snaked along a small creek and through narrow canyons hemmed in by small mountains, but it also felt like I was removed from all evidence of civilization, flora, and fauna.

Can a road intersect with itself?! Shit, either I'm completely lost or I know EXACTLY where I am.

Riding from Richland to Baker City was actually a short day, only 48 miles, but it was a crappy one for me. Something felt wrong with the bike, I hadn't eaten well in Richland so I was running low on fuel, and it was really hot that day. I rode with Tony, sort of, but I lagged behind all damn day, unable to keep up consistently. Finally, we began to see green again, as well as mountains in the distance, and I knew we were getting close to Baker City. I limped on into town with Tony and we got money from the ATM, wolfed down a Heath Bar blizzard at Dairy Queen, and ate a delicious grilled chicken salad lunch at a local café, not necessarily in that order! Afterward, I left Tony and went on my own to the local library where I buried myself in my blog for about 3 hours (see what I give of myself for all of you?!). We ended up all getting hotel rooms that night in Baker City and Tony, Nick, and I shared a tiny room. I didn't get a picture for you, so just imagine three dirty, stinky, tired, lazy, hairy, ugly guys without any manners crammed into a teeny tiny room, with two double beds, three loaded bikes, and crap EVERYWHERE. That night I got a little space from when I headed out for a local microbrew with Phyllis, my kick-ass friend from Seattle who's riding the TransAm with Jerry...she and Jerry just happened to have arrived in Baker City that same day and were staying the hotel right across the street from us.

The next morning, Nick, Tony, and I rendesvoused with Robin and the four of us headed out on a beautiful, progressively more wooded ride toward the booming metropolis of Prairie City, OR.

Other than stopping at one point for a group pee (we were well-spaced apart, thank you) a few feet off the road, we rode hard and cut a sleek line through the light wind for an hour or so before Robin and Nick decided to pull away and ride ahead when Tony and I stopped for a snack. Tony and I knew there were three big climbs coming, one after the other, and we decided to be the well-rested and well-fueled tortoises to their hares. I rode strongly through the climbs and Tony stayed along pretty well, never falling too far behind. The two of us pulled into Austin Junction, literally a crossroads in the middle of nowhere after the second of the three climbs, and caught Nick and Robin hungrily fueling up at the one food stop at the junction. When it came time to leave, we let them go ahead again because we were enjoying the slow pace of the day and just wanted to take a chill break before the last hot, steep climb.

When we left, we immediately hit the base of the last big climb of the day and up in the distance we saw a flagger and the orange evidence of a road construction site. As we approached, the bad-ass, bearded flagger sporting mirrored "cop" shades waved his stop sign for us and, as we slowed to a stop, he started walking toward the back of a nearby car. A few seconds later he emerged with two ice-cold bottles of water for us, his generous contribution to us getting over the upcoming hill in the 100 degree heat. We chatted with him for a few minutes and I asked him to pose for a picture, to which he readily agreed. After the shutter clicked, he said he was surprised I hadn't asked him to flip off the camera, which apparently other bicyclists have asked him to do. I didn't want to disappoint him, so:

Me, topping the final climb of the day, still smiling:

When we arrived in Prairie City, Tony and I were feeling great and it was still relatively early in the day so, after a delicious lunch at the Oxbow Saloon and Cafe, we pushed on. Before I go on, check out this sweet photo (that was on the wall at the cafe) of a cattle drive run right through the middle of town a few years back:

We knew there was a great bicyclists' hostel in Mt Vernon, OR and we didn't really want to deal with the chaos of camping with 8 other cyclists in the city park that night. The rest of the day's ride was blissful...a long, steep descent (shown here),

followed by a very slight downhill for miles and miles and miles and miles with a slight tailwind assist. By the time we passed through John Day (stopping at the grocery store for some supplies) and ended up in the tiny town of Mt. Vernon, we were at 88.5 miles and felt like we could easily go another 20. The only reason we actually stopped was because a) there wasn't a town 20 miles away, and b) we knew the Bike Inn in Mt Vernon would be awesome.

The Bike Inn WAS awesome. Christy and her daughter run it, and it's just a small, remodeled building next to their home that they open for cyclists passing through. It's all done very informally, with the door left unlocked so cyclists can come and go at any time, and there is no set charge because they only ask cyclists to leave whatever donation they feel is appropriate. There were chickens and goats out behind the house, and inside the refrigerator held fresh eggs as well as free cheese, salsa, and other items left behind by other cyclists who'd recently stayed there. The place was spotless and there was a full queen-sized bed and a pullout double futon on which we could sleep. It was a nice little oasis in the middle of the dry accommodation desert! Christy and her daughter were gone for the weekend so we had the entire place to ourselves for the night!

Tony and I arose early in the a.m. for the ride to Mitchell, OR, the only real town that was anywhere near the appropriate amount of riding miles away (62) from the Bike Inn. It was quite a lovely day of riding, initially downhill, with little to no wind, winding early in the morning through rolling hills of green and brown farmland, and in the afternoon the monotony broken up by a 25-mile climb through the steep, tight canyons of the John Day fossil beds.

(Wanna go for a swim?)

Tony found this sign randomly on the road...a bad omen, perhaps? I guess not, because nothing bad ever happened!

We arrived at Mitchell City Park in the early day. Mitchell is, you guessed it, another tiny little nowhere town...population 137. I have grown so tired of dying (or dead) little towns in nowhere America, yet there was something kind of cool about Mitchell. The park had a great shaded pavilion for hanging out, no bugs, great green grass to lounge on, and fresh water to drink. About 50 yards away was the Little Pine Cafe which served up a sweet chicken salad and basket of fries and had a friendly bartender/waitress who encouraged us to come back after hours to hang out. See, there is literally NOTHING going on in Mitchell. The cafe is the only place that was open that afternoon and the bartender clearly enjoyed the fact that there were strangers in town that were going to actually stay the night! Nick/Robin/Tony and I all headed back at eight o'clock when the cafe closed and the bartender and her boss locked us inside, where we drank free beer and played free pool and darts for several hours! Dawanna and Marie were excellent hostesses for the town of Mitchell.

The group took off shortly after sunrise the next morning, surprisingly not hungover at all and ready to ride. It was cool, dry, and downhill, a delicious way to start what would prove to be quite a long, hot 89-mile ride to Sisters, OR. We passed through a number of microclimates over the course of the long day: flat and deserty-type terrain, rocky hills, lusciously-treed mountains, and ultimately into a sparsely-treed, high-desert landscape with as many as NINE snow-capped peaks looming large in the distance. At one point, I could see Mt Hood, the Three Sisters, Mt Jefferson, Mt Bachelor, Three-Fingered Jack, Black Butte, and Broken Top at the same time (unfortunately it was too dark/cloudy to get a good photo, so the last shot below is of just the Three Sisters and Broken Top, taken the next morning as we left)!!

We all rendesvoused in the stupid Sisters City Park that night...me, Nick, Zack, Robin, and Tony. We were directed to camp on a patch of super dry dirt when there was beautiful, luscious, green grass all around because the campground host said the grass was only for looking at, not for camping on. "Camping ruins the grass", we were told. What?! It's an effin' campground, dude, not the botanical gardens. I was pissed, but since I was already covered in dirt and sweat so I suppose it didn't really matter too much. Anyway, they did have showers.

Coming soon to a blog near you....the rest of the trip.

D

Mountains, wilderness, 3 more states, and two bear-y interesting encounters!

The next morning our oft-together traveling gang hit the road for 78 miles from Jackson to Darby, MT. Climbing about 2500' vertical feet up and over Chief Joseph Pass was the highlight of the morning. The Dutch (and the rest of the boys, who'd camped in a different park the night before) ended up taking an alternate (dirt) road over a different pass, thinking they were saving time and effort because it was 3 miles shorter and 300' less elevation at the pass. Boy were they wrong, however, as they all limped into Darby several hours after I did, having endured a very rocky, treacherous, white-knuckled descent. Robin, Zack, and Tony actually took a wrong turn and climbed up over the 8000' mark on an even worse road and had to turn around and backtrack several miles once they figured it out. Robin had 2 crashes and two tire blowouts on the rocky terrain, and from what they said, they were very lucky to have made it back in as good of shape as they did. I, on the other hand, rode the regular road up over Chief Joseph Pass, not the alternate, and was blessed with the smoothest new pavement ever, with nearly zero traffic, on both the long, challenging climb and the long, delicious descent. Here is the pass and part of the descent:

Darby was a cool, little town and time there involved using the internet at the public library, hitting the local laundromat, camping at an RV park, grocery shopping, and sleeping with the Dutch folks. Wait...that came out wrong. I camped with them! And, I had a random conversation with Dan the Motorcycle Man on the streets of Darby for about half an hour. He had driven across the country as an 18-year old kid and was really interested in hearing about my experiences on this bike journey. He was a super cool and super interesting guy. Here is a shot of Dan and me:

And here is a ridiculously named Darby Physical Therapy clinic/gym:

The ride from Darby to Missoula, MT was a solo one because I slept in longer than the Dutch but left before all the other guys. It was an easy day of mostly downhill and little wind, with a perfect temperture of around 80 degrees. I cruised and headed straight to the ACA when I got into town.

The headquarters for the Adventure Cycling Association (whose maps we're following) is in Missoula and they offer free ice cream, internet, and soda to touring cyclists passing through town. They took my photo and put it up on the wall along with everyone else that has toured through town in 2010. It was interesting to look up on the board and see faces of people that I've met throughout the country. After an hour or so, RobinNickZackTony arrived and we spent some time just talking to the ACA staff about our trips. We had our photo taken as a group and tacked up on the wall. Then one of the original founders of the ACA thought it was interesting how we all had started as solo tourists but somewhere along the line had become a group of five, so he took some more photos of us and asked us a lot of questions about our trip. Apparently our story may end up in either one of the monthly ACA magazines or in some kind of photo exhibit at some time in the future. I'm not sure why the five of us starting solo and riding together would be all that interesting - I imagine people meet and ride together all the time on the TransAm trail. Maybe it was a slow day and the guy needed something to do....hahahaha.

In Missoula, the Dutch went to the Motel 6, the boys and I went to a bike hostel, and Jerry and Phyllis were at the Red Lion. We boys decided to take a full rest day in Missoula which we spent using the internet, sending things home from the post office, lounging around, walking around town, eating, napping, getting bike supplies, and listening to live music in the park. The others decided to also take a rest day in Missoula; it is a cool little town and you should definitely go there if you haven't been. It's got a good vibe and a lot of things to do.
Well-rested after a day off in Missoula, everyone hit the road in various groups toward the next destination, Lochsa Lodge, about 60 miles away. The morning portion of the ride was a long, gradual climb and we had a nice paceline going for much of it. True to form, Robin blasted ahead and none of us wanted to try to hang with him; then, true to form, a while later I blasted ahead and no one tried to hang with me. We crossed the border from Montana into Idaho at Lolo Pass (5300'), in the same area where the men of the Lewis and Clark expedition nearly died of starvation just over 200 years ago. The terrain in that area is really densely wooded and is comprised mostly of really steep hillsides; though I was just pedaling up and down hill on US Highway 12, I really gained an appreciation for what those men endured in their quest to find the West. This is the climb up toward Lolo Pass:

The pass itself:

It was a nice, gradual, and yes, winding downhill to Lochsa Lodge in Powell, ID. There were some very tall cedar trees as well:

I ended up sharing a cabin at Lochsa Lodge with the three Dutch folks and Phyllis and Jerry. They all had beds, but they offered to let me roll out my sleeping pad on the floor so that I didn't have to set up my tent that night - for that I was grateful because on a trip like this it's always nice to have a dry, covered place to sleep that doesn't involve getting your tent wet! The cabin:

I rode alone the next morning because I got out of Lochsa late for two reasons. First, I lost my camera (luckily the owner found it wedged in the slats between the seat and the backrest of a log chair I'd sat in in the lodge), and second, I met and talked to two really nice (and cute) touring cyclists. These girls were on their way from Portland, OR to somewhere in Maine and we had all kinds of things to talk about. Here are the store (see the chair that tried to swallow my camera) and Jess/Alexa/me having a great time getting to know each other at roadside before leaving Lochsa:

Once I got on the road, it turned out that it was good that I'd left late because the weather had gotten quite hot and I was passing some REALLY GOOD swimming holes on the Lochsa River. In one very private hole, I skinny-dipped and ate lunch on the riverbank boulders. Another hole was right alongside the road at a spot where most of the current funneled between two very large boulders into a strong but very narrow center current only about 10' wide, while the water at the river's edges was nearly slack and quite deep. So, you could swim around lazily on the either side of the river and then to get to the other side you only had to brave a swift current for a very short time. I did just that, and was rewarded at the other side of the river with a white sand beach with a couple of really big, beautiful evergreen trees growing straight up out of the sand. Best of all, I was alone in this magnificent place. I swam and swam, back and forth from one side to the other, cooling down from a hot day of cycling. I just kept waiting for some other cyclists to pass by, to show them what a sweet spot I'd found, but I had the place to myself for almost an hour before I decided to leave.

At the end of that 68-mile day was the town of Lowell, ID, and Phyllis and Jerry were in the town's one restaurant when I got there. Fortuitously, I walked in a mere few seconds after a group of guys they'd been talking to had invited them to stay at their REALLY nice home just up the road rather than camping or getting a hotel. Phyllis and Jerry were thoughtful enough to ask the guys if I would be welcome to come up to the house as well and they said "the more the merrier".

The man that owns the place is a contractor from near Seattle, WA named Rick Sutter and he built the home as a getaway cabin where he and his friends could stay when coming up to hunt in the Idaho wilderness. When we rode across the beautiful bridge and up the steep driveway to the hillside home, we were all taken by how nice the place was. We were further taken aback when Rick invited us inside and showed us around. Rick, it turns out, is not just any ordinary hunter - he is a very dedicated, very accomplished hunter. There were game "trophies" literally THROUGHOUT THE ENTIRE HOUSE. There were autographed photos of famous hunter dudes from the Outdoor Channel. Some the animals I can remember him having in the house were a large brown bear/grizzly, mountain lion, bull moose, elk, beaver, wild turkey, bobcat, raccoon, fox, pronghorn, and deer. There had to have been a hundred different animals mounted and on display. This guy definitely keeps the local taxidermist in business and, while I'm not a hunter at all, it was really quite interesting to listen to Rick tell stories of Idaho life and hunting life in general. When he showed us to where we would sleep, we were all giddy as he gave us the full run of a gorgeous and fully furnished apartment above the garage next to the house; it had two bedrooms, 5 beds, a kitchen, satellite television, and a full bathroom. After spending so much time in tents, crappy hotels, and under pavilions in city parks swarming with mosquitos, this place seemed like paradise. The rushing river which was only 50 yards away was audible even with all the windows closed. Then, in a move that REALLY did seem too good to be true, Rick invited all three of us down for a steak dinner, complete with garlic bread, salad, and beer, as well as pie for dessert. What generosity!!! Here are some photos of where Rick's house sits near the river, as well as of some of the animals he has inside the house.

The next morning, Phyllis and Jerry left really early but I stayed to watch the Tour de France on the satellite TV. When Rick and his buddies left that morning to go back to Seattle, they left me in the house, saying to stay as long as I wanted and to just lock the door when I left. Amazing. Oh, and when I left, I had gotten about 2 miles down the road when Rick and his buddies drove by in their big, white Dodge diesel pickup truck, swinging wide into the other lane to give me plenty of room, and yelling words of encouragement at me to spur me on. And, to top it off, when I got literally around the next bend in the highway, what did I see on the "Adopt-A-Highway" sign? This two-mile stretch of highway had been adopted by none other than.......the Rick Sutter family.

The ride from Lowell to Grangeville, ID continued downhill along the Clearwater River. This stretch of riding after Lolo Pass has proven to be the easiest of the entire country, with little wind and a consistent downhill grade.

Ultimately I had to climb hard, then moderately, again to get into Grangeville and I had traded the dense forest for some high-plain farmland with severely rolling hills, the kind that look easy to ride but in fact are more challenging than one would think.

In Grangeville...voila...I met up again with all 8 other people and we camped free in the city park. The public pool in town lets cyclists come in and use the pool and take a shower for just $3, so several of us enjoyed the lovely sunny day by cooling down in the pool after a really hot, shadeless ride. And, as I've seen in various states throughout the country (Kentucky, Kansas, and Idaho in particular), there were more signs warning of the dangers of methamphetmine usage. It must be boredom that drives meth usage.

The boys and I got up at sunrise and quickly packed to hit the road, both to avoid the heat and to get a head start on the big climb that presented itself first thing that morning. The climb was average...5-7%...and about 8 miles long...but the best part was the incredibly delicious descent from the summit. It was far and away the best riding of the entire trip. There was very little traffic, the roads were smooth, the views of the White Bird valley were huge and panoramic, and it was an Energizer Bunny descent - it just went on, and on, and on, and on...... Honestly, it was the most exhilarating bike ride I've ever taken, even better than the descent of Haleakala, because I never had to apply the brakes during a 10-mile descent and I maintained a consistent speed of 35-45 mph!!! This is the bridge at the bottom of the glorious descent, taken from the deck at the White Bird coffeehouse (I wasn't willing to pull out my camera while riding that fast!):

After an extended coffee and scenery break at the White Bird, MT coffeehouse, the group of us hit the road and immediately formed a five-man peloton, a fast paceline that enabled us to cut the wind and travel at a much higher speed. For several hours and close to 50 miles we raced on Highway 12 along the beautiful Salmon River, gracefully slicing our way to Pollack, ID. At one point we stopped at a white sandy beach along the way for some river swimming and a rock skipping contest (I won because no one can hang with me when it comes to rock skipping...boo ya!!).

That afternoon, after a really crappy lunch with really crappy service from a snarky waitress in Riggins, ID, we rolled into Pollack. There is nothing in this little village save for a few homes and a small lodge/rafting company. We stopped at the lodge for some shelter from the late mid-day 95-degree sun and the nice kid at the front desk gave the five of us two huge pitchers of ice water and a big bowl of grapes. He also let us hang around in the lounge on the couches to watch a movie, take a nap, read a book, or use the lodge's WiFi connection. While we were chilling out there, a man who we later learned is Jimmy Smith came and introduced himself, saying he is a cyclist as well and wanting to know more about our trip. A couple of hours and many bike stories later, Jimmy told us he was the lodge's cook and caretaker and he invited us to camp out in his yard at the end of the lodge and eat a home-cooked meal. Not long thereafter we were pitching our tents on the grass near the loudly tumbling Rapid River; eating appetizers of chips and salsa, Clementine oranges, and cherries from the tree across the street brought out by Jimmy's sweetheart Julianne; drinking cans (yes, cans) of a really hoppy microbrewed IPA; hungrily devouring piled-high plates of Jimmy's pasta with bison meat and spicy tomato sauce ; and finally, very contentedly, savoring a delicious pineapple upside down cake freshly-baked by the lodge's intern, Joy. That night I slept as well as I have in a very long time. Some pics from Jimmy's place:

Rising early again, this time at 6 a.m., Tony and I took off alone before the other guys, this time on our way to Cambridge, ID. It was another fairly easy day, with some moderate climbing and a lot of long, gradual descending. We stopped a couple of times for coffee or food, and rolled into Cambridge 75 miles later the very very hot late afternoon. Arriving in the city park where we planned to camp, we happened upon our Dutch friends, as well as Zach and Robin who'd passed us earlier. Nick, Jerry, and Phyllis arrived later and we once again had our 9-person group intact. Zach and Robin decided to, instead of waiting for the next morning's light, leave the city park at 10:00 pm and ride through the night to the next day's destination in order to avoid heat, wind, and camp boredom. They invited me, but I chose not to go because, while I thought it would be really fun, the ride was going through Hell's Canyon (on the Oregon/Idaho border) and I really had been wanting to see that country by the light of day. I can see riding through some ugly, desolate country at night (say Kansas, or parts of Wyoming or Colorado), but there was no way I was going to give up seeing some really beautiful mountains and canyons just to get to the next destination a little quicker.

That night, I made a terrible decision to sleep without my tent. The mosquitos were not so bad initially but they got worse as the night went along so I had to wrap up tighter and tighter in my sleeping bag; the problem was that it was 70 degrees outside and I had a 30-degree bag so I spent the night sweating, sleeping, awakening to apply bug spray or swat bugs away from my face, and basically just being miserable. The Dutch had set their alarms for 3:00 a.m. so they could get an early start on the climb and then arrive in Hell's Canyon by daylight, and while I had previously thought I'd never get up at 3:00 to ride, this morning I couldn't get up quickly enough and get the hell out of there. It turned out to be TOTALLY worth it because the climbing in darkness while gazing at a cloudless sky full of stars was epic, and we arrived in the canyon at the perfect time. The descent was dimly lit and cool, and the shadows on the mountains as the sun rose was quite spectacular. It was one of the coolest and most beautiful scenes I've seen on this entire trip and the pictures don't do it justice. Tony and I rode on and off with the Dutch in the early morning darkness and light before splitting off on our own and taking our time to begin the trek through rural eastern Oregon. Here are photos from that early morning ride:

Finally....after 2.5 months....I'm back in Oregon again, and it feels weird!

Riding through Hell's Canyon on the way toward Richland, OR was a not all that difficult and it was quite pretty. In fact, ironically, when my camera memory card filled up and we stopped for me to swap it out for an empty one, that was the exact moment that a bear, (the only bear I've seen on this trip, even including throughout all of Yellowstone National Park) walked right in front of us, only about 150 feet away! It stopped, put its nose in the air, licked it, and turned to stare right at us. We didn't want to hang around because it could have caught us in an instant, so we slowly backed away and only took one quick photo...sorry it's blurry.

Throughout Hell's Canyon, the heat just kept climbing somewhat mercilessly. By the time we caught up with the Dutch on a big climb near the end of our riding day at around 1:00 pm, it was already over 100 degrees. Here's Tony and I topping the last mountain of the day:

We all dropped down the other side of the climb, a steep 7% descent, into the fertile oasis of Richland, OR together ready for some cool air-conditioning and some food.

After some delicious lunch and some lazy library time, Tony and I decided to grab a hotel room and that is where I currently sit, while the Dutch decided to camp. (Tony and I could think of nothing less pleasant at that moment than sitting outside in the 100+ degree heat with minimal shade in a crappy city park without bathrooms.) We had some really crappy dinner at a local crappy restaurant, we met up with Nick (who arrived and happened to rent the motel room next door), and we just generally have been lazy, lazy, lazy after our pretty leisurely 69-mile jaunt today.

It's kind of surprising and amazing that I can now call any 69-mile ride a leisurely jaunt, but things have really changed after all this time and effort expended on my bike recently. I have a much greater sense of ability, as well as my limits, and I have a much different concept of endurance, which I have begun to measure now in hours rather than in minutes and seconds.

Oh, and by the way, I kind of lied earlier. We HAVE, in fact, seen another bear on this trip. We saw a bear in the mountains in Idaho that had just been hit by an RV or car; it was writing in pain in the ditch and wasn't dead yet. We all stopped because we couldn't believe what we were seeing, and then we realized that stopping right next to an injured bear might not be the best idea. This dying bear was small and we didn't know if it was Mama Bear or a cub, and we didn't stick around to find out or to even take a photo. One thing we DID discuss was how difficult it was to watch that bear dying painfully and writhing around in a pool of its own blood, and that we wished we had some kind of weapon that we could use to kill it and quickly put it out of its misery. However, since the only thing any of us had was a small knife, AND since none of us were willing to step close enough to try to accurately plunge a knife into a pissed off bear, we solemnly left and continued pedaling down the hill.

I can't believe it's only going to be a couple of weeks or less until I arrive home. Whatever will I do then, when I don't have to ride a bike for 5-7 hours every single day? Get a job? Now that's a scary proposition. :)