Blog 14

July 7

   Really the only thing I had to do today was clean my bike's chain and loaf around. Cleaning my chain was a bit iffy, as I wasn't sure how my utilitarian methods

would go over with Portland's population if observed. Step one was to discreetly root around in some trash cans and obtain an assortment of plastic (NOT styrofoam) bottles. Next, I borrowed a gas can from some random dude and procured a quart of petrol. With all the supplies in order, I sacrificed my old toothbrush and proceeded to scrub all kinds of crud out of my drivetrain. 

   This pretty much took up the morning, and I aimlessly did nothing until 3:00 or so. Jerking myself out of the stupor and vague irritation that seems to descend whenever I have no purpose for more than 4 hours, I jumped on my bike and wandered around Portland, eventually ending up at the art museum, which happened to have a big exhibit of bicycles. Of course, this was of extreme ingest to me, and begrudgingly parted with $12 to gain access to the collection. I walked through an arched doorway into what was probably one of the most wonderful rooms I've ever been in. Scores of bicycles were suspended from the ceiling, and I was swept away in the tidal wave of mechanical awesomeness. Just about every kind of bike you can imagine was represented, from weird side by side tandems to Lotus time trial bikes. I of course, gravitated to the race bikes. I admired every detail, from handmade carbon fiber wheelsets to expensive derailers. These bicycles truly were art, but they were also far more than that. Each and every one of them was built for a specific purpose, and all of them looked like they worked so well. I've got this thing for quality stuff that does what it is supposed to do to perfection. Each of these machines looked so uncompromising, so purpose built, that all I wanted to do was get on each one and let it speak to me. I have no doubt that if I had had the chance to ride any of these bikes, my awe and respect for them would do nothing but grow. 

   Machines like this somehow become more than the sum of their components. Sure, any of the individual bikes may have been composed of carbon fiber, epoxy, aluminum alloy, titanium, steel cable, or any other number of elements. But in their whole, they had a soul. Some person, some person who really cared, had put all his or her effort into sculpting those components into a creation that reflected their own personality. In today's world of mass produced products, you have no idea how much I appreciated seeing something that was obviously built with so much care. I think this is the primary reason I like apple computers and devices so much. When I hold a Dell laptop or Samsung phone, there is no beauty in it. Corse plastics, buttons that click mushily, and stickers are revolting to me, because they speak of people who aren't passionate about what they do. I am surrounded by a world obsessed with consumerism that doesn't pay attention to refinement, and the Portland Art Museum's cyclopedia display was a gust of fresh air, a comforting reminder that craftsmanship does, or at least did exist. 

   I also toured as much of the museum as I could before it closed, and got to see works by Vincent Van Gogh and Claude Monet. 

   That evening, I also had some more excitement. I'd been getting to know Audie, and had enjoyed hearing her ideas about the world, which were very different than my own. Contrary to creating resentment, I appreciated how strongly she held her beliefs. If Christians would put even half as much thought into their faith as she had out into hers, the church in America wouldn't be in such a bad state. Anyway, I decided to breach the dam and share my viewpoints with her. Little did I know what the conversation to follow would be like. I think Audie may have had some resentment going due to events in the past, and she pulled every difficult question in the book, from the problem of evil to the patriarchal philosophy of the bible. Each question was charged with emotion, and I did my best to answer them. The conversation, sometimes crossing over into debate, raged on into the night, and left me mentally and physically exhausted. I'm not prepared to say that I won the argument, or even did a good job of it, but my hope is that my actions and the way I carried myself during my stay planted a seed and changed Audie's view of Christianity. It also highlighted the importance of education to Christians. True, christianity is a relationship, but beyond that it a philosophy that explains the fundamental questions of mankind and the reasons of the earth. Anybody who calls themselves a christian needs, I repeat, needs to strive to understand why they believe what they believe and be ready to offer some basic explanations to skeptics. 

June 8

   You are probably thinking, "what happened to Danny?" Well, Danny and I came to sort of a mutual understanding that we really would probably both more happy if we parted ways. So it was solo, once again, that I headed out of Portland. On the way out, I stopped at a DMV in an attempt to secure a state map. They didn't have one. I'd even called ahead and been assured that the location I visited did, in fact, have state maps. Remember how I dislike stuff that doesn't work they way I think it should? The US government falls squarely into that category. 

   I had found warmshowers hosts in both Salem and Eugene who were willing to host me, and the cities were perfectly spaced for two easy day's rides. My first stop was Salem, were I was staying with Dave and Sharon, a retired couple. I had a pleasant ride, although there were sections where the traffic was a bit heavy. Little did I know the the hosts waiting for me were probably the best I'd had the whole trip. As soon as I pulled into the driveway, I received a hug and was asked if I was ready for some good old fashioned parenting, and things pretty much went uphill from there. After a fabulous dinner, Dave showed me some of his cycling records, which he recorded with a GPS and showed everything from temperature to elevation. He had kept track of every ride he'd taken for like the last 5 years, and I had fun seeing how meticulously he kept track of everything. 

 

June 9

  In the morning, Dave and I enjoyed another excellent meal, and we reluctantly said goodby. My destination for today was Eugene, and a tailwind wafted me down the Willamet Valley. 

   I was staying with a family of 6, and I soon learned that they were unfairly gifted athletes. When I arrived, the father, Paul and I sat out on the front porch with some lemonade and shared stories. Paul asked "so, how far do you usually go in a day?" I told him, "oh, maybe 70 miles or so". He looked at me for a second, and then told me how far he and a group of 2 friends averaged per day when they had crossed the country. I almost didn't believe him. "When I rode across" he said, "we averaged 160 miles per day" keep in mind, the furthest I've ever gone on a bike in one day is 120 miles. Ya, the guy was super hardcore. 

   There was some sort of event going on in a nearby park, and I decided to go check it out. It turned out to be some sort of revival meeting; here's what I wrote while watching it. 

Okay, so currently I'm checking out a revival being put on by the "Cowboy Church of Oregon" that's taking place in a close by park. To get to the point, I am disgusted. The entire thing is based solely on emotion, with lots of references to "drug addicts" and "being set free", with piano music playing softly in the background. Some dude is yelling at the top of his lungs into a microphone, another bald guy in a leather jacket is dancing in the grass. The spectators are a show of their own. From soccer moms to homeless people, they are scattered about, and their reactions are just as diverse as their appearance. One guy, who I think may have been wearing a bra, got all worked up and started yelling and shaking his fist aggressively. Security quickly descended and silenced him, probably for fear that he would raise a legitimate question that the preach wouldn't be able to answer. If I was a non-Christian and saw something like this, do you know what it would make me think? Actually, you probably don't. If I met somebody who believed Christianity in the manner that I'm guessing many of these people do, I think I would play the antagonist and argue from the standpoint of an atheist, and see what kind of responses they could come up with.

   Chances are, many of you know me well enough to know that I could insert some artfully crafted disclaimer about how they probably have good motives and stuff, so I'm not going to bother.

Ha! I have successfully memorized pi out to the number of digits my iPod displays it to (15). Just incase any of you were wondering, it happens to be 3.141592653589793

I apparently also wrote about memorizing more useless facts. Anyway, I actually was later accosted by some lady wandering around looking for people to chat up about Jesus, and pretended to be an atheist. She pretty much met my expectations, continually steering the conversation from answers that made sense to things like "you know, you should really visit the prayer tent. Those people are amazing, I think they could really help you." I later broke the news that I wasn't really an atheist, and answered some of the questions she had struggled to answer. 

   After a bowl of soup graciously offered to me by the Atkinson's, I fell asleep in the yard under my tarp. 

July 10

   I had been hearing about what a neat town Eugene was, and had decided to spend an extra day there. I'm afraid that the most prominent thing I noticed in Eugene was the homeless people. They were everywhere, in the parks, on the streets, on the sidewalks. It did not make Eugene feel like a nice place. 

   I visited the library, and later got some cold brewed coffee. I'd been hearing that the best way to brew iced coffee was to steep the grounds in cold water for like 10 hours, and everybody talked about how good it was. I did enjoy it, and will probably have to figure out how to make it my self someday. 

   I'd heard that the revival people were serving dinner, and snagged myself 3 sloppy joes plus some assorted pastries. Scarcely an hour later, I accepted an offer to visit a new restaurant with the Atkins', and had another 3 slices of deep dish pizza. 

   The restaurant was close by, so the entire family walked. On the way back, we were discussing what would be my best route to the coast, and Paul said, "we should make a stop and talk to Brad." He also added, "oh, by the way, Brad likes to talk." Brad turned out be a a guy in his 50's with longer hair, arched eyebrows, and a weak chin. He was also cycling obsessed, and a flaming liberal. He talked nonstop for a solid hour and a half, but I emerged from his house, gasping, with a detailed route. 

July 11  

It looked to be a 90 mile ride, so I started out as early as I could. Brad had warned me that it was very rural, explaining "40 years or so ago, when the government had more money than they knew what to do with, they paved a bunch of dirt roads that really didn't need to paved." Within 20 miles, I had switched from riding through sparsely populated areas to dense forestland. The road grew narrow, maybe a lane and a half, and traffic dropped to a car every half hour or so. The scenery made up for the lack of water stops however, and I was glad I had endured the one sided conversation the night before. I also made a discovery about my bike. 

   Most people don't have relationships with inanimate mechanical objects. I, not being most people, do. My Schwinn, for example, is pretty much one of my friends, not just a bicycle. My touring bike on the other hand had mostly failed to elicit any feelings. As a bicycle, it does it's job, and works reasonably well, but has no personality. In essence, I really didn't seem to have fun when riding it. That all changed when I discovered 15mph downhill hairpins. While all the weight I was carrying seemed to suck the playfulness out of the bike most of the time, it actually made descending sharp corners at unsafe speeds quite fun. All the weight, especially up front, helped to make the bike very stable, and gave me the confidence to lean way too far into corners without fear of sliding off the road. When I'm in my car, I usually pay attention to the recommended corner speeds, but figure that they need to be doubled to be meaningful. Unfortunately, Michigan doesn't have any road that let me test out the x2 rule on bicycle. As I discovered, it does work pretty well. Those 15 mile an hour corners? Try 30ish. Needles to say, it was enormously fun, and I almost had to pull off the road after a particularly tight stretch to allow my adrenaline fueled shakes to calm down. 

   With a quick McDonalds stop in the city of Reedsport as soon as I emerged from the wilderness, I made it to Umpqua Lighthouse State Park, which had one of the government's few gifts to humanity, hiker/biker campsites. For a mere $5, people powered travelers can enjoy all the amenities of a legit campground. After a hot shower, I relaxed in the comfort of my hammock. 

   

   Did I mention that Audie painted? My nasty iPod doesn't really do justice. 

   Can I ride it? Just down the road a little ways? Please?

   I want you. 

   This painting really caught my eye. Someday, I'll have a house filled with artwork like this. 

   North of Eugene, if I recall correctly. 

   Oh yea, not just a revival, Supernaturalfest. 

   Yes! Conservative rednecks with a sense of humor exist on the west coast!

   The middle of nowhere road. It got narrower. 

   Folks, that is one big tree. 

   My first glimpse of water. 

Blog 13

I got a day off somewhere, this was actually the real July 3

July 3

   We now had some interesting decisions to make. Danny had friends in Portland, and he wanted to try and make it there by the 4th for a party/BBQ. We were somewhere in the vicinity of 240 miles away, and had no clue how we were going to pull it off in 2 days. However, ingenuity alway triumphs, and Danny sweet talked his host into waking up at 6:00 and giving us a ride out of the city. We met at 6:30, and I figured out how to stuff my bike into a trunk already fully occupied by one bicycle while Danny bought some food. 30 minutes later, we thanked the lady, yanked our stuff into a disorderly heap on the side of the road, and started putting our bicycles back together. I'm kind of drawing a blank as to what the morning was like, other than there was a headwind and we joined the Columbia river. Because we were now back on an ACA route, we passed lots of cyclists who were, of course, enjoying their tailwind. They also said that we might get a bit of relief when we actually got into the Columbia river gorge, as the trees would help to block the wind. 

   We made it a few more miles, and then decided to once again resort to motorized transportation. Hitchhiking was actually pretty easy, and we scored another ride with an elderly couple on their way to see a movie. The husband happened to work for a power company, and the windmills that we drove past provided me with an interesting conversation topic. I asked about everything from their economic feasibility to his opinion, and 45 minutes went by almost without me noticing. 

   They dropped us off in yet another town, and we took over a picnic table in a gas station's lawn for an hour to eat and figure stuff out. 

   We were still way too far away from Portland to even consider making it there by bicycle that night, so we came to the conclusion that we would do whatever we could to get another ride, and if that didn't happen we would fall asleep wherever we happened to be and ride the rest of the way in the morning. 

   After riding a bit more, we got a ride with a pair of women who were returning from a day of kite surfing. Probably due to the wind, this portion of the Columbia was quite popular for kite boarding and wind surfing. We enjoyed watching them, and were amazed at how fast they could go. The kite ladies had a sprinter van, which was outfitted to be the perfect outdoor recreation vehicle. It also happened to be perfect for picking up tired cyclists, and loading our bikes onboard was almost too easy. They gave us a ride to Hood River, where their route deviated from ours. 

   Hood river seemed like a nice place, and also appeared to be surf central. Dozens and dozens of brightly colored sails dotted the sky, and their owners dangled below and skittered across the waves. Hood River was on the Oregon side, and we decided to cross back over to the Washington side. As we did, the sun began to set, and a scene beyond discription emerged. Once we reached the other side, we biked away from the bridge and both stopped on the shoulderless road, staring. The setting sun lit up snowy Mount Hood with an orangish glow, and rocky patches stood out against the illuminated white. The city was spread across the oppsite river bank, with trees mingled densely in around the buildings and streets. Closer yet, the same sunlight that shone on Mt. Hood was also caught by the kite board sails, and they turned the air over the river into a sea of miniature  rainbows.   

   We wandered around a bit, and then tried to hitch another ride, and then it got dark and we fell asleep 30 feet off the road. 

July 4

   Okay, this was it. We had 70 miles or so to go, and we both blew the first part by sleeping in past the 5:00 start we'd planned. The wind was still howling, and the morning ride was miserable. We did see something quite interesting, almost cool enough to make up for the wind. I had noticed smoke in the distance, and as we got closer we could see that it was a small forest fire. An old pickup full of buff looking firefighters zoomed past us, and a pair of helicopters buzzed around, making laps from the river to the fire site, which appeared to be a 1/2 mile or so from the road. One of the helicopters actually hovered right above to us, and slowly lowered its water bucket (probably a correct term) into the water next to us. We sat and stared, and the pilot even waved as the the helicopter rose skyward. 

   There was another bridge at the city of Cascade Locks, and we decided to cross back into Oregon and see if we'd have better luck in that side. And better luck we found, in the form of the Columbia river historic highway. Built sometime around 1915, it was one of the most advanced roadways of its time, but as automotive technology advanced quickly, it became outdated. Now, there are portions of it that are open to traffic, but other stretches are bike only. The woods we rode through were shockingly pretty, even to the degree that I grudgingly admitted that they might be almost as nice as Idaho. Unfortunately, the roadway was packed with holiday traffic, which detracted from the enjoyment I would have gotten from the road's natural beauty. 

   The roadway actually climbed out of the gorge, but because the grade never exceeded 5% the climb wasn't unpleasant at all. There was an observatory at the top, where we stopped and took some pictures. The whole area was packed with people, and it made me realize how much I've come to appreciate solitude. In Idaho, where I didn't see another soul for whole days, there was a strange energy and peace I got from being in the middle of such awesome creation by myself. With no other distractions, it was far easier for me to pay attention to my surroundings, not to just see them visually, but to think about what I was seeing and absorb every bit of it. 

   Now, I was standing over the best view I'd seen the whole trip, and within 50 feet of me there was a car alarm going off, several children making a racket, and probably 100 other people milling around. The tourist mindset hovered heavily in the air, and it was so appalling I almost revolted at the idea of taking pictures to disconnect myself from these people as much as possible.

   I was anxious to get away ASAP, and managed to drag Danny away from the railing and onto his bike. After a few more minutes of climbing, we started the descent, which sloped gradually all the way to Portland. Now quite away from the river, we snaked through small towns and festivals celebrating our country's birthday. 

   By this point, I was starting to feel rather unwell. I've been dealing with a fairly severe cold, and probably hadn't eaten or drank enough during the day. Danny's and my eating habits had clashed a bit, and I had given in for the day and not really eaten any real meals. I'd met other people who were like that, and seemed to be able to ride all day off nothing more than a few granola bars and some peanut butter. I, on the other hand, view my body the same way I view my bike, as a machine thet requires proper care to function to its fullest potential. I care for my bike by cleaning and lubricating the chain, adjusting the cables, and keeping the tires properly inflated. In return, my bike carries my smoothly and efficiently without breaking down. In the same way, I need to have enough sleep, three 800+ calorie meals and snacks, and stretch for 20 minutes daily. Other people either don't listen to what their bodies are asking for, ignore what they hear, or maybe can just function on vey little maintenance. Whatever, I'm not one of those people. 

   So by 5:00 or so, I was not only feeling the effects of my decisions for the day, but was also a bit ticked at Danny for always pushing ahead. 

   Nevertheless, we were now in the residential outskirts of Portland, and after a pair of deep fried burritos at some gas station I felt like I could make it the final 8 miles to where Danny's friend lived. 

   We did finally find the correct apartment building, and proceeded to eat as much as we could off the grill and chat with the people at the party. 

   As it got dark out, we headed out to Portland's steel bridge to watch fireworks, and then headed back to the apartment. Danny had found a couchsurfing host who was willing to keep us for a few nights, and to tell the truth I didn't really connect well with Danny's friend and was looking forward to getting out of the place. Imagine my horror, then, when the friend offered to let us stay the  night, which Danny accepted without any resistance. Thinking fast, I mentioned that there wasn't really much room, (which there wasn't) and that it would just be easier for me to stay with the couchsurfing people. After getting a phone number from Danny, I found that the lady had just gotten home from a party and was planning on going to bed, but that she'd be happy to leave the door unlocked for me. I was only mildly surprised at this gesture of trust, and had no qualms about accepting the offer. An hour later I had found the dark house, walked in the front door, and fallen asleep on the futon. 

June 5

   It had been a late night, so I didn't really wake up until 9:00. As I woke up, a young lady with curly brown  hair and a dark tan walked in and sat down next to me. "Are you Tara?" I asked, referring to the couchsurfing lady I'd been texting the previous evening. She replied that no, she was Audie, Tara's housemate. It turned out that there were four people living in the house. Audie had a young daughter, Caroline, and there was a third housemate, Joe. Both Tara and Joe were going to be gone all day, but Audie offered to show me around Portland. It took us a while to get going, and I got the see a bit more of the house and backyard/garden. Everybody in the house payed a lot of attention to what they ate and were it came from, and the organic garden was part of how they lived out their ideas. Nobody had a car, either, so after Caroline was strapped into her seat we both pedaled the 4 miles or so into downtown Portland, with a stop to drop off some tomato plants. 

   Stop one was ----, the worlds largest bookstore. 5 floors of books about anything you could possibly imagine, from photography to anthropology. Even though it was such a massive collection of books, the store somehow managed to retain a very personal, non-chain feel. Instead of boring monotony, their was a variety of different floor surfaces, wall colors, and bookshelves. Handwritten notes littered the shelves, giving recommendations and advice as to best picks. It was the sort of store I could get lost in for days, but there was still more of Portland to see. 

   From ----, we went to a pizza place called Sizzle Pie. Audie and Caroline, both vegan, ordered some strange pizza, but I went for classic pepperoni.  After we were done, we headed back home, but by a different route that allowed me to see some more city. After slouching around a bit, Audie mentioned she'd been on the hunt for a bicycle trailer, and had found one on Craigslist that was only a few blocks away. Off we headed, and after minor navigational troubles successfully located the right house. The guy selling the trailer was very nice, and made very sure to show us all the trailer's insignificant blemishes before Audie got out any cash. While the guy moved on to helping attach the trailer to Audie's bike, I talked with his wife about the chickens they happened to have in a tidy little coop in their yard. 

   With the day pretty much shot, we cooked some dinner and relaxed with good conversation. The only other incident of note was meeting Joe, who turned out to a. Have a sweet mustache, and b. seem like a really cool guy. 

July 6

   Okay, I have a confession to make. I saw the Pacific before I biked to it. In the morning, Joe, Audie, Caroline, one of Joe's friends, Winona, and I all crammed into Winona's car and headed for the beach. After a quick stop at New Seasons, the grocery store of choice, we were off on the 1.5 hour drive to Seaside. The temperature difference between the coast and Portland was quite pronounced, and the misty air didn't make things feel any warmer. Fortunately, we had brought enough warm clothing, but apparently so had throngs of other people, and we decided to hike down the shore a ways to where things weren't quite so crowded. 

   We pretty much spent the whole afternoon there, with the occasional wander into town. Joe and I both sneaked off on the excuse of fetching something from the car, but the intent of finding some food. Success in the form of some sandwiches didn't stop all of us from later visiting a restaurant for some excellent clam chowder. With a quick stop for fudge and coffee, we were ready for the drive home. 

   

Riding down a canyon in Washington. 

The Washington desert. Incredibly awful. 

I'm pretty sure that this is the first glimpse we got of the Columbia. 

The helicopter. 

The sunset on mount hood. 

One of the 5 or so tunnels we rode through in the Columbia river gorge. 

More river. 

This was actually part of the bike trail. See that tiny groove off the the side of the steps? It's for pushing your bike up to the top. Do you have any idea how hard it is to push a 90 lb. bike up stairs?

This was horsetail falls, right off the historic highway. 

Blog 12

July 2 

   We were planning on trying to wake up early to escape the heat, but it was 7:00 before we were both up. Danny was up first, and the result of him saying "Marc" was me jolting awake and nearly falling out of my hammock. 

   We decided to find breakfast on the road, but it still took 45 minutes for us to stow everything and get on the road. The intersection of the bike trail was only a few miles away, and we were looking forward to riding next to the river. 

   The "bike trail" turned out to be nothing more than an old railroad grade with the rails and ties ripped up, and there was no way we could ride on the fist sized rocks that were left. Looking for some time to construct an alternate route and get some food, we went another 3 miles and stopped in the town of Washtucna. As we crested a hill and the town came into view, I pessimistically observed, "dude, there's nothing there." Danny replied, "come on, I'm sure there'll be something."  We descended a hill and there was a gas station, complete with an attached convince store. "Okay", I said, "I guess we'll be alright."   

   "I wasn't going to say I told you so"

Moments later, with a grin, "I told you so."

   I bummed some hot water from the slightly surly shopkeeper, and after some oatmeal and coffee we had decided on some different roads to get us to Pasco. 

   We once again had a wonderful tailwind, and rode hard for 20 miles or so. I'm probably in the best shape I've ever been in, and being able to work so hard, yet also realizing that my body can do it for a long time, feels amazing. The skinny tires, short wheelbase, and tall gearing that makes Danny's bike unsuitable for climbing is perfect for going fast, and the miles desert miles hummed away under our tires. 

   As we cruised along, a road construction crew came into view. This was fairly unremarkable, we had passed a similar crew a couple of days earlier, and I had even begged a quart of ice water when all I'd had to drink in the last 4 hours was tepid gatoraide. We braked to a stop for the sign man, and it took me a coupe of moments to realize it was the same black guy who'd given me the water. After an enthusiastic "hey, how's it going man!", he let us through and we kept pedaling. 

   The temperature was getting hotter and hotter, by 11:00 it was probably 100 degrees. Our route would take us on a road that paralleled a river, the snake river if I remember correctly. We both had every intention of jumping in at the soonest possible opportunity, and we're looking forward to the cool water as we descended down into the river valley. After miles of downhill and a quick ride parallel to the river, we stopped at a nice state park. After parking our bikes and removing various articles of clothing, we  tiptoed over the hot sand and went out to the end of the dock. We looked at each other, then down at the water, both wondering the same thing. "Dude, do you think we should check how cold it is?" Pause. We both look at each other and say "naw". 

   "Okay, then you jump in"

   "how about I count to three?"

   "1... 2... Three!"

And we both jump. The water felt like it was 32.5 degrees. Arguably, both of us came out of the water faster than we got in it. I, always pulling some useless fact out of my head, babbled about shock and passing out and drowning. All Danny could manage was to say "Oh, oh, COLD." 

   We were now no longer hot, and wandered back up to where we had deposited out bicycles to figure out what was next. One thing led to another, and before we knew it we'd convinced ourselves that it was simply too hot to ride, and had broken out some food and tied up our hammocks. As soon as I climbed into my hammock, I realized I was quite sleepy, and started fading fast. Before I was completely gone, we decided we were going to have to wait for things to cool down before we could ride. With the matter settled, I fell quite asleep. 

   *writing truncated due to already being long enough and me being like a week behind*

  We hitched a ride with some crazy person who was fishing for sturgeon, 8 foot behemoths from another time period, and ended up in some town, were Danny spend $7 on a burger and the shopkeep kept bothering customer about more fries. It then became unbearably hot , and we waited till way too late to start and had to be picked up by some big dude Danny met on the web. 

July 3

   Basically, we spent the whole day holed up in a Starbucks wasting time. The weather forecast called for 117 degree temps, and I was honestly concerned about the safety of riding in that weather. 

   After approximately 3 hours, were both thoroughly fed up with doing nothing. After focusing on riding, day after day, for so long, doing nothing was not fun. 

   Toward the end of the day, Danny, who had been handling where we were going to spend the night, informed me that the woman he had contacted didn't actually have room for both of us. This left me in a bit of a pickle, and I scrambled to send out lots of lodging requests. Fortunately, a woman responded within a matter of hours, and even invited us to the community pool that she was scheduled to oversee for a few hours that evening. An hour or so later, she pulled up in her 15 passenger van, which was partially filled with kids, and we threw our bicycles into the left over space and climbed in. 

   We spent the evening swimming, eating pizza, and chatting. After a bit, Danny got picked up by the lady he was staying with, and an hour or two later the rest of us headed back to the family's house. They had a couple of perfectly spaced trees for me to tie up my hammock, and after the temperature cooled down, I was pretty comfortable

June 26 - July 1

June 26

   I had originally intended to get an early start, but of course, that didn't happen. The Adventure Cycling headquarters is in Missoula, and I had been meaning to visit before I left. Of course, as soon as I got there, so did another old guy, and soon we were chatting merrily away. As we talked, he mentioned that he'd had his bike weighed on a scale they had out back. I was curious how much my bike weighed, so I walked up to the front desk and asked. "Sure", the lady replied, "let me call Frank". She made a quick intercom call, and moments later a guy with a camera around his neck strolled out into the lobby. He said something about shooting some photos and handed me some sort of form. Apparently, they liked to snap some shots of people who came through, which occasionally showed up in their magazine or on the office wall. After they photos, which were taken on black & white film, I hoisted my bike onto the scale and watched in horror as the scale registered 92 pounds. No wonder climbing is so slow for me. 

   After spending all that time at the ACA office, I finally got away from Missoula at 12:30 or so. I had heard from a couple of people that there was a place called Losche Lodge that allowed cyclists to camp for free. It was only 60 miles distant, but a fair bit of that was climbing Lolo Pass. As I started out, clouds gathered, and snippets of rain blew over me. Because I was going so slowly, the cool the rain brought was welcome, and I didn't mind it at all. Finally I reached the top, at the border of Idaho and Montana. As soon as I crested the top, my 92 pounds of bicycle hurled me down the descent, and I zoomed past 30 miles an hour. My speedo stayed at the 30 mph marker for close to 4 miles, without me doing any pedaling. I got a sense of what riding a motorcycle would be like, as I leaned into the corners that snaked down the mountainside. From the top of the pass, I had 20 miles or so to go, but it felt like a lot less. 

   Sure enough, there was a little establishment out in the middle of the forest, complete with a sign informing travelers that the next stop for diesel was 90-something miles distant. I inquired at the lodge's general store, and minutes later was slinging my hammock under a small stand of massive pines. The rain died down, and there wasn't even a breath of wind in the forest. This was really the only time I got to stop in the forest, and I loved the feeling of being swallowed up into something so massive. Definitely better than the plains. 

June 27

   In the interest of catching up to where I am now, I'm going to truncate the day's narration a bit. 

   As I rode further and further west along whatever river it was that I was now following, the pines began to thin out, and the mountains on either side of me grew gradually smaller. This was disappointing, but still much better than no trees and flat ground. 

   I was going slightly downhill, and the trees were still thick enough to block much of what little wind there was, so I was cruising along at 15 or 16 miles an hour. I thought that this was a pretty good pace, but then I looked behind me and saw another cyclist a ways back. I kicked it up a bit, thinking, "there's no way he can be going that fast." But sure enough, the cyclist steadily gained on me. Whoever it was, he was going quite fast. Eventually, the inevitable happened, and I was passed, but not by a solo biker. The reason for the speed was that there was a group of 4 riders, drafting in a paceline. I let them pass, but my brain started working a few seconds later and I pushed ahead and asked if it would be alright for me to ride with them a bit. 

   So for the next 15 miles, I stayed in the group, and we averaged maybe 21 or so, occasionally hitting speeds as high as 25. We stopped in a small town that consisted of a gas station and motel, and I found out the they had taken the train out from Portland to Glacier national park and were In the process of riding back. They stopped a few miles later for the night, and I kept riding. 

   I ended up in the town of Kamiah for the night, which happened to have free camping at the city park. I struck up a conversation with some random dude, and he invited me back to his place to grab a shower and some water. I went to bed clean and refreshed. 

June 28

   A couple miles miles into the morning, I stopped at a  historical site to read the signs, and another westbound  rider showed up. He was an older guy, (he mentioned that he was 62) but that wasn't stopping him from riding 10,000 miles around America. Oh, and he was doing it in Keen sandals and flat pedals. He was headed to Lewiston as well, so we rode together for most of the day. 

   As soon as I got cell phone service, I texted Daniel and let him know where I was at. He had spent the last couple nights on a sail boat that was docked in a marina, a deal he had hooked up with couchsurfing. He have me some directions, and also said he had found a lady with a RV who was willing to let me sleep there. We hung out for the evening, ate some dinner, and the went back to our respective places to spend a very hot and uncomfortable night. 

June 30

   Both Danny and I had heard horror stories about the wind in the columbia river gorge, and Danny had already mapped out an alternate route that would take us north and on a bit more round about course from where we were to Portland. From Lewiston, we decided to ride to Pullman, where Danny had found some couchsurfers to host us. 

   The first part of our ride followed another river, and with a bit of tailwind and some drafting, we flew along at 20 mph. However, our progress was stopped when the road left the river and climbed 1600 feet. This wasn't really all that many vertical feet, but the climb was the steepest I'd experienced yet. I was in my lowest gear, and still had to tack from one side of the road to the other to make progress. Poor Danny, with his super high gearing, was forced to walk much of the time. To exacerbate the problem, the temperature was very hot, and there was almost no shade along the roadside. All told, it took us 2 hours to make the 6 mile climb. Once we reached the top, we still had to fight a headwind, but it wasn't nearly as bad as climbing. 

   Because we had gotten an early start, it was only 2:00 when we arrived in Pullman, and we hung out and chatted with the barista in a caffe for an hour or so. Later, we found a water spigot in a cemetery and washed up a bit before we met our couchsurfing hosts. 

   Courtney had to work to 7:00, but we dropped by the salon she worked at and she gave us the key to her apartment. We spent the rest of our afternoon lounging by the pool, and after cooking some dinner hit the bed. 

July 1

   Our next destination was the tri-cities: Kennewick, Pasco, and Richland. Our estimates put the distance between here and there at 120 miles or so, and we figured it would take us two days to make the ride. 

   In the morning, we wandered around a bit, making a scenic detour and having to backtrack 4 miles at one point. Eventually, we found the route we needed to be on, (like, the roads were actually paved) and trucked through the heat of the day. As it got on toward evening, we started thinking about where where we wanted to stop for the night, and decided we needed 3 things. Trees were needed to tie up our hammocks, I needed to have fresh water to drink, cook with, and wash my dishes, and we both badly wanted to stop on a river were we could cool off. The map showed a bike trail that followed the snake river, and a town called Hooper was near the beginning of the trail. We made for the town, but it turned out to be no more than a dot in the map. However, we were both worn out from the intense heat, and Danny getting a flat tire settled it. We were just going to have to find a place to camp. After scoping out the area and filling up our water at the house of a friendly old guy, we decided we would find access to the water first and then head back to some trees we had found. The river banks were, for the most part, a 20 foot drop straight into the water, and we slowly rode along for a could of miles. Eventually we found a place where we thought we could get down to the water. Seeing a large snake of unknown species sunning itself on the road put us on our guard, and we took the time to bushwhack a bit of a trail through the tall grass down the river. The water was a perfect temperature, and we hobbled our way over a rocky shallow stretch to where the water was deeper and slower. 

   After we were cleaned up & cooled down, we headed back to the place we had decided to camp, and I cooked some soup while Danny constructed a snarl of ropes, straps, and bungee cords between three trees to hold up our tarps and hammocks. The end result was quite comfortable, and really looked like it would keep out most of the rain if clouds happened to gather. By the time all our camp construction was done and dinner was eaten, it was dark out, and we fell asleep fairly exhausted

Here my new riding buddy, Danny. 

The desert of Washington. 

Wheat fields, wheat fields, and more wheat fields.