|
Journal
August 1-13
Click here to return to the main journal
page
Friday, August 1, 2003
Another early morning on the road to beat the morning rush
hour of Great Falls. Uneventful until I started zigzagging
in and out of the buttes outside the city. Thirty miles into
the day and two months into the ride and I finally caught
a view of the Rockies. For the past few days they've been
obscured by other lesser mountain ranges (Bear paws, Highwoods,
etc.). I found it kind of ironic that the first day that I
site the Rockies, I also cross the continental divide (Roger’s
Pass - 5600 feet). It was into the mid-90's today, which made
all the climbing a little tedious. All the excuse I needed
to stop by one of the many mountains streams and cool down.
After so many weeks of the plains, it is nice to be back among
the trees with abundant spruce, pine and cedar. The smell
was invigorating. After ninety miles and one mountain pass,
I splurged and bedded down in a hotel in Lincoln, MT. It the
wind works in my favor, tomorrow is Missoula - one of my favorite
cities in the states.
Saturday, August 2, 2003
It was cold this morning. I departed Lincoln, MT early and
was forced to don most of the cycling gear I have. I was afforded
some incredible views of the mountains and encountered several
sections of the Blackfoot River with steam rising off the
water. The route followed rivers for most of the day and I
found the setting soothing and often zoned out for extended
periods of time. It was breathtaking to have mountains on
all sides of me. Encountered my first bighorn sheep of the
trip. Because of my early departure, I arrived in Missoula
early and took care of some errands at the local bicycle shop
and outfitter. (Did I mention that I broke another spoke yesterday?)
Apparently, I've planned my day-off well as thunderstorms
are forecast for tomorrow.
Sunday, August 3, 2003
Today was both well-deserved and productive. I opted for
a break from the bicycle in order to chill in Missoula, Montana.
The town is littered with coffee shops and restaurants that
cater to the more discerning palates as well as a wide variety
of shops supplying the hordes of outdoor enthusiasts. My breakfast
included a pecan rum portabella omelet and a bottomless cup
of coffee. Missoula’s a pretty hip town and I couldn’t think
of a place I’d rather be right now.
Monday, August 4, 2003
What a small world! I bumped into Will, a periodic cycling
companion through Virginia and Kentucky. Unfortunately I was
on my way out of town and he was bedding down in Missoula
for a few days which only allowed us to catch up on the essentials.
I headed south out of Missoula to the small town of Lolo where
I turned my bicycle west and headed into the heart of the
Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness. I spied my first snowy peaks
in the distance and admired all the small streams and purple
flowers which grew in large quantities along the roadway.
The forests started to thicken and the road narrowed and began
to twist as I penetrated the wilderness. I arrived at the
small town (if we stretch the definition of town) of Lolo
Hot Springs and immediately met Jerry & Ruby Allen, a kind
couple from Oregon who offered me a small section of their
campsite to pitch my tent. I gladly accepted and was soon
invited in for a wonderful meal. I truly enjoyed their company
and welcomed the opportunity to chat. That night proved to
be one of the coldest, and not even the wine I had with dinner
provided a sense of warmth. At least I had a stream out back
to take my attention from the cold and lull me to sleep.
Tuesday, August 5, 2003
I’ve learned that early departures are less of a necessity
in the mountains where the temperature is slower to climb
into the “unbearable” stage. So when Jerry & Ruby invited
me in for a cup of java, I gladly accepted their offer and
whittled away a good hour with them. I enjoyed the coffee
both because – well, it’s coffee and because of the warming
effect it has. I broke camp around eight to make the final
push towards Lolo Pass. As evident by my body’s reaction to
the cold, I broke camp to soon. Within 10 minutes, my hands
were so numb I was unable to feel my fingers and had to move
them by sight in order to ensure I was touching the appropriate
gear and brake levers. Having completed most of the climb
the previous day, I crested Lolo Pass early and immediately
started a long descent which may well have burned out my brakes
had I not stopped periodically to let them cool off. For 20-25
minutes I maintained speeds around 30 m.p.h. The views of
the surrounding mountains and valleys were stunning and I
absorbed as much of it as I could. I arrived at a remote campsite
in mid-afternoon and lay down to watch some lighting storms
pass over. Eventually I was driven inside to escape the rain.
Wednesday, August 6, 2003
I readily admit my vocabulary is too limited to really do
today’s beauty any justice. I observed creek after creek with
angled mountainsides dropping down to them, several spectacular
waterfalls, craggy peaks, deep forest all while listening
to the ever-present sound of running water. Everything appeared
to be carpeted with some form of lichen or moss. The road
I followed was often carved out of the mountainside, and the
intermittent rock falls on the road drove me to keep my eyes
upward to an unhealthy degree. Within all this beauty, several
truck drivers seemed determined to spoil my paradise. Today
presented me with my first verbal exchange, apparently a truck
driver was unhappy that he had to slow down for me around
a blind corner. Yet he didn’t appear to mind slowing down
even further to roll his window down and let me know just
how he felt about cyclists. After dozens of close calls with
other truckers my reaction was less than pleasant, maybe even
explosive and it left me extremely embarrassed afterwards.
I tried to overlook this incident, but soon was greeted by
another trucker from the eastbound lane who waved at me with
the least friendly finger for absolutely no reason. It soon
dawned on me that I was on a stretch of road shared with the
oldest cross-country bicycle trail in the country, and I surmised
that after almost 30 years of the “local” truckers getting
stuck behind bicyclists, their disposition had been pushed
to the far side of congenial. It didn’t matter. Though their
actions are firmly planted in my mind, the splendor of the
setting far outweighed the ugliness of the situation.
Thursday, August 7, 2003
A long standing personal record was broken today – “total
elevation climbed”. The previous record was set back along
the Blue Ridge Parkway (in Virginia) when I climbed over 4300
feet in a day. Today, I managed almost 5000 ft. I should have
guessed as the day started with a gradual climb and then continued
for the next hour plus. I reached the ridge above the Lochsa
River and found myself on a high plateau among farmland and
with a long sight line back into the wilderness area I had
just spent the past two days crossing. The climbing didn’t
end as I found myself on a rollercoaster ride for the remainder
of the morning/afternoon. But since I was above 3000 feet
for most of the day the heat never became a factor. All the
climbing was rewarded with the most entertaining descent of
the trip. The road was empty of traffic and appeared to wrap
around itself for over eight miles. I didn’t pedal once in
those eight miles. I careened around the corners unable to
keep myself from laughing. Eventually I arrived in Lewiston,
Idaho and after climbing all day I treated myself to a hotel
with a view of Washington State across the Snake River. I
asked the hotel clerk if there was a good place to eat nearby
and when she said the place across the street had great burgers
but was a dive, I almost started to cry. Two of my favorite
things – “burgers” & “dives” and they were together. It was
a score.
Friday, August 8, 2003
I began the day by crossing into my twelfth state (Washington)
and following the Snake River for the first few miles before
turning inland and beginning the “ascent”. After an hour of
climbing there was still no end in site. On several occasions
I observed what appeared to be the ridge – no such luck. I
started to think the road planners were playing a sick joke
on me by constantly planting more hills around the corners.
After finally cresting I re-entered farmland reminiscent of
Kansas but with hills. Services were few and with the intention
of bedding down in the comforts of a hotel, I logged over
a 100 miles in order to arrive in Walla Walla, Washington.
The day ended on a pleasant note as I found the Mill Creek
brewpub across the street from my hotel.
Saturday, August 9, 2003
Until today, I could boast at not having had a single “puncture”
flat tire, and that’s after over 4000 miles. I’ll chalk that
up as a benefit of Kevlar tires. My extreme confidence in
my tires had allowed me to ride over broken glass and other
assorted objects without batting an eye. I failed to realize
that when you travel through desert, you can expect to find
things with thorns, and they had a hey-day with my tire. Five
punctures to be exact, but at least they have prepared me
for what tomorrow’s roadway will present. Knowing that today’s
ride was going to be a mild 60 miles, I took my time breaking
camp and treated myself to coffee and watched “The Breakfast
Club”. Immediately outside of Walla Walla, the hills exploded
with hundreds of windmills. They whirled menacingly. Though
my route continued to pass through the high desert, I was
amazed at what could be accomplished with irrigation. The
yellow desert abounded with pockets of green. As an added
bonus, every time a truck hauling onions passed I was treated
to their extremely sweet aroma. Thirty miles into the ride
I crossed into my final state, Oregon. I got giddy when I
saw the sign for Portland. I realized that until recently,
my journey had always been about my “daily” destination, but
now as I near the end, my focus has switched to my “ultimate”
destination (Astoria, Oregon). Immediately upon arriving at
the Columbia River, I found myself traveling along the base
of huge basalt rock formations.
Sunday, August 10, 2003
I pedaled out of Umatilla, Oregon a little before 6:00 a.m.
in order to hopefully beat the notorious winds along the Columbia
River. I immediately crossed the river back into Washington
and did succeed in avoiding the winds for the first two and
a half hours and then was about leveled. At its worst, gusts
were in the 30/35 m.p.h. range and on one occasion they blew
me off the side of the road. The desert continues and is satiated
with tumbleweeds and desolation. The Washington Department
of Transportation is apparently not concerned with trash clean-up
along this section of the highway and the variety of objects
that litter the roadway have been bleached an eerie white.
Though today’s trek was only slightly over 80 miles, it proved
to be one of my toughest days. I finished the day by re-crossing
the Columbia River to Biggs, Oregon, best known as the biggest
truck stop along this stretch of Interstate.
Monday, August 11, 2003
In my bold attempt to avoid the headwind, I awoke at 4:15
a.m. only to realize that it was way too dark to bicycle.
An hour later there was enough light and I hopped on the Interstate
and started pedaling west. The sunrise over the gorge was
incredible and upon rounding a corner Mt. Hood burst onto
the horizon. Soon after exiting the Interstate I entered the
Historic Columbia River Highway. After two and a half months
on a bicycle I have traveled through some incredible scenery
and found that my standard for what constitutes “beautiful”
has been set quite high. Yet today’s ride pushed this standard
even higher. The ride passed through sheer cliffs teeming
with an interesting mix of conifers and deciduous trees. Though
I was often only a few hundred feet from the Interstate, it
was as though I was in a different world. The trail involved
a good deal of climbing along the rocky cliffs and over enormous
gorges running perpendicular to the Columbia River. The ride
was exhilarating and I couldn’t have ended the day in a better
place – Hood River, Oregon.
Tuesday, August 12, 2003
The beauty of the gorge continues to awe me. Today’s scenery
was similar to what I encountered yesterday but with waterfalls.
Being late in the summer, most of these cascades were running
at only a fraction of their potential but they still provided
some incredible views. The highlight was Multnomah Falls,
a series of two waterfalls, 342 feet and 69 feet respectively.
I met Dave Long, another cyclist traveling the Lewis & Clark
trail with whom I pedaled for most of the morning. By bicycling
along the base of the southern side of the gorge, I avoid
the direct rays of the sun for most of the morning and found
the chill invigorating. Though only a matter of feet from
the Interstate, the historic highway was deserted by all definitions
of the word. The roadway was lined with stone guardrails covered
with lichen and moss and the forest was full of ferns and
scattered boulders. The smell of earth was resolute. As soon
as the Columbia River Gorge begun, it ended, and I pedaled
into the greater Portland area. I bolted for Vancouver, Washington
where I was welcomed by Nancy Ducharme, my hostess during
my stay in the area. She volunteered to drive me around town
for a few last minute errands relating to my bicycle. The
most notable errand related to my bicycle seat which had unfortunately
blown-out only miles before arriving in town. It was a huge
psychological loss; for I knew that the seat to which I had
dedicated so much time and managed to form the perfect ass
groove would be lost forever. I bid it a tearful farewell.
Wednesday, August 13, 2003
Thank goodness I was out the door early today. An unplanned
bridge closing added an extra 10 miles to my route and required
a detour into downtown Portland. The city lived up to its
reputation as the most bicycle-friendly city - I couldn’t
get off a bike path if I tried. Assuming I made Astoria today,
it would be my last day on a bicycle and the end of two and
a half incredible months. The ride itself was uneventful,
but I let each incident hold special significance - I ate
my “last” lunch, filled my “last” water bottle, took my “last”
leak etc. As my daily odometer hit 105 miles I turned a corner
and smacked into a wall of wind saturated with the smells
of the ocean. I pedaled the last couple of miles and stopped
at the ending point for a moment of reflection. After over
4500 miles on a bicycle, my new lifestyle had come to a grinding
halt. I felt as though I should cry, but instead I wandered
around, found a hotel and relaxed. Beside the fact that I
will not need to hop on bicycle tomorrow, I become surprisingly
conscious that nothing else has really changed. Deep down
I knew I had accomplished something but also realized I would
need some time to really absorb this achievement. I wish I
had some profound concluding statements for my journey, but
feel it best to end it like it started, as just another day
on a bicycle. Though the journal ends here, check back in
September for some select pictures of the ride. I hope you
enjoyed my journey as much as I did.
|