The Way Back (Machine)

I was sort of thinking this was done, once I reached my destination, and that I'd just let this site rest as-is. It's encouraging to read the comments urging me to keep going. I've been mulling this over the past couple of weeks, and I thought, if for no other reason than to get my self-portrait with bunny photos moved down the screen, maybe I should tell about the trip back, which turned into quite an experience in itself. Then there was the whole mental transition that occurred the first week after my return.

I thought it would be fun to take the train back. I have memories of a couple of long train trips from my childhood, but in my adult life I haven't gone any further than Portland, so it seemed like a relaxing time on the train would be a nice change from the bike ride down. Time to watch the scenery without worrying about where the pavement ends, and time to finish reading the book I hauled all the way down there.

There's a daily service called Denver Coach that takes people between Scottsbluff and Denver, just a passenger van, but it's easy. Scottsbluff is some distance from any major airport hubs or even the interstate, so unless you drove, there's no one-step way to get in or out.

After being dropped off at the train station in Denver, just me and my back-pack, I started scouting around for a place to spend the night. My train didn't leave until the next morning, and while I thought I could probably sleep on the wood bench in the station (which is very nice by the way), I was hoping for something more bed-like. After a very hot couple of hours of walking around, I stuck my head in at a place just a half block away called The Oxford, thinking, "this is going to be way too expensive." If I've learned one thing on this trip, it's that the concept "expensive" is relative to how much time you've been out in the sun. Turns out, The Oxford is a small but beautiful, historic (1800's), hotel that's been there about as long as the train station. My Art Deco room comes with a flat panel TV! I recommend this place to anyone with a night to spend in Denver. It's also walking distance to the ballpark, if you are interested in the Colorado Rockies.

My train trip is in two legs: The first from Denver to Sacramento (Chicago Zephyr), then north on the Coast Starlight to Seattle. The route west was everything I hoped it might be. The tracks wend their way into the mountains as soon as you leave the city, on sharp enough switch-backs that you can see the other ends of the train in the turns. The scenery is amazing, with almost fifty tunnels by the time you reach Sacramento, including the Moffat Tunnel, 6.2 miles long, which leads across the Continental Divide, at the same time it reaches the highest elevation on the route: 9,270 feet. We paralleled the Colorado River much of the way, and some very deep canyons we went through had no access other than by kayak or the train I was in. At one stretch, we were greeted by the bared backsides of some of the rafters below. I learned later from a friend who used to be a river guide in the area, that that particular stretch is known unofficially as "Moon River."

If I had this to do again, I think I'd plan a stop along the way. Glenwood Springs looks like a great place to explore overnight. Also, thirty-three hours is a long time to go without a shower, and the one negative thing I will say about train travel is that beside no showers, the restrooms are also no place you want to be in for very long. I took more time to read my itinerary in between book reads, and was a little depressed to see that I had misread my ticket. I was due to arrive in Seattle a whole day later than I thought. Well, I figured I had nothing else to do before Sacramento than relax and consider my alternatives, so I went back to enjoying the ride. For the second half of the trip, there was a volunteer rail-historian aboard who narrated the various points of interest as we went by them, including Donner Pass, which is has a story I have always been very interested in.

I slept a little, but not very comfortably, and by dawn I was looking at the sunrise over some of the most barren desert I've ever seen. The parts of Utah and Nevada that we crossed did not look like a place you'd want to ride a bike though, at least not without a trailer-ful of water and a roof, or a well-appointed sag wagon. From the train though, I could admire it with detachment.

By the time I got to Sacramento, I had made a decision. If I could avoid the second twenty-four hours of train travel and get home a day early, I'd figure a way to do it. My layover was nearly eight hours, so I had plenty of time to kill while looking at the possibilities. The train station in Sacramento was nowhere as beautiful nor comfortable as in Denver, so I figured whatever I did for the next eight hours, I wouldn't be doing it here. I grabbed a cab and headed out to the airport, walked up to the Southwest Airlines counter, and proceeded to do everything that is supposed to make the TSA flag you for a body cavity search. It's September eleventh. I show up with one small bag and ask for the next flight to Seattle, one-way. They should have had me on the floor at gunpoint, but instead, it was more like one of those "Yes you can" commercials that Southwest runs. I got a ticket for a flight leaving in less than two hours, had time for some food while I waited. And the flight itself turned out to be only an hour and eighteen minutes flight time. I figured I could have taken a return flight and still made my original midnight train out of Sacramento.

So, just like my bike ride, the conclusion to my trip back suddenly appeared ahead of schedule. I took my first light rail ride back from Sea-Tac, then on to the #66, and then a half-block walk to the front porch where no one was expecting me to walk in. My bike and trailer arrived via UPS the following Monday, in good condition.

It did take my brain a while to adjust to being home. Not sure why, but the next few nights I would wake up not knowing where I was, including one very confusing half-awake dream where I looked around the living room (really) not recognizing it as my own home (in the dream I was staying at a stranger's house while they were away), looked towards the hallway and saw (but did not recognize) Linda walking from the kitchen to the bedroom and thought "oh my God, there's someone in this house!" Not until the following morning did I figure out that I was in my house and who the woman in the red robe was. Very strange.

Statistics and Summary

Things I packed but never used:
Camp chair
Sewing kit
Spare bike parts (still glad I brought them though)

Number of flats:
Two, both on the front wheel. The tire was shot when I departed, which is probably why I had flats. Should have bucked up for a new one.

Biggest mileage day: 95 miles

Shortest mileage day: 30 miles

Miles covered overnight in a very expensive rental car: 681

Total miles ridden (not counting a rides to errands in Lewiston, Missoula and Scottsbluff): 786

Nights camping: 5

Nights in abject luxury in a motel, B&B, or cabin: 10

On shipping my bike and trailer back to Seattle: I was surprised that the combined cost of shipping each big box (one for the bike, one for the trailer) by UPS was only slightly more than it cost to send the boxes out here in the first place. Nice Surprise.

Ride summary:

Seattle to Silver Springs Campground: 78 miles (hwy 410)

Silver Springs Campground to Yakima: 77 miles

Yakima to Othello: 95 miles (hwy 24)

Othello to Palouse Falls: 60.2 miles

Palouse Falls to Pomeroy: 46 miles

Pomeroy to Lewiston: 30 miles

Lewiston to Kamiah: 87 miles

Kamiah to Wilderness Gateway Campground: 62 miles (hwy 12)

Wilderness Gateway Campground to Lochsa Lodge: 41 miles

Lochsa Lodge to Missoula: 62 miles

(Drive: Missoula to Casper via Yellowstone Park)

Casper to Glendo: 84.4 miles miles (hwy 26)

Glendo to Fort Laramie: 52 miles

Fort Laramie to Scottsbluff: 54 miles

Things I Learned Along the Way

Don't trust a name next to a dot on a map as being a town: Often it turns out just to be where the highway intersects with a dirt road, maybe with a grain silo added for decoration.

The more rural it is, the friendlier and more polite people become. Few exceptions.

Friendliness of lodgings owner is inversely proportional to cost of lodgings. (one notable, huge exception to this (I'm sure coincidental) tendency: Maggies Garden in Pomeroy.) But Lewiston Econolodge, Lakeview Motel in Glendo, and Chuckwagon RV Park in Fort Laramie, some of the nicest people I rented from, and all less than $35.00 a night.

My inexpensive Pearl Izumi shorts were more comfortable over the course of a long day than my expensive wool Ibex bib-shorts. I'm talking about comfort where the shorts meet the seat!

How smooth the road surface was proved to be more of a factor in riding comfort than steepness of hills or wideness of shoulders.

One pair of cycling socks is not enough, especially if that pair is hanging out to dry in a thunderstorm. What was I thinking?

Four pairs of underwear is way too many. (Except to use as packing material)

Wyoming is all about the "drive-up liquor."

On "tanning:" Since I ride eastward all day every day, the sun rises ahead of me, and moves up and to my right as the day progresses. So, my tan is darker on the right side of my upwards facing surfaces. I had to be extra careful to apply sunscreen to the upper part of my right calf, while the left leg was doing just fine. On future rides like this, I think I will bring a loose fitting, long sleeved white shirt to reflect the light off me while keeping me cool.

On dealing with the heat: First and foremost, leave by sun-up, ride while it's cool, and try to be off the road by mid afternoon. For the period between about ten am and end of ride, I had a Halo head cover that covered my head, the tops of my ears, and the back of my neck, which I doused with water periodically, and as it evaporated, it helped my head feel cooler. Still, anything over eighty-five degrees started feeling fairly unpleasant unless I had some shade. Serious climbing in direct sun (e.g. on my way up to Palouse Falls) was just torture.

Things will work out: You have to be ready to change your plan as you go, and just like in flying, call for help when you need it. I got great advice from family and friends along the way. And the people who commented and cheered me on through my blog were a huge inspiration.

Familiar Road

I woke up in my tent around one am, and since I've learned that I just don't sleep very soundly in the tent, I just listened to the sounds, and stared up at the stars for a while, hoping to see a meteorite or two. At one point, I could feel something, a weird sensation around the back of my neck, and then a crawling sensation, as if something were crawling in my neck. I reached my hand around and felt something insect-like, pulled it away, but then started to get that weird feeling you get when a bunch of bees sting you, sort of a head rush. Hard to describe. Then, a definite, sharp pain right at the nape of my neck. I feel the spot again, and already there's a big knot of swelling forming. I'm thinking "what? Are there tarantulas in Wyoming?" I had my screen door totally zipped shut too. Then I rolled over and-- woke up. The whole insect biting thing had been a dream, and confirmation that I did in fact fall asleep sometime between two-thirty and three-thirty. Relief.

I dozed until my alarms started going off (two each in my watch and cell phone). Quietly got up and walked to the showers. I hadn't noticed this before, but the men's showers at the Chuckwagon RV Campground have quite an art collection. There are five versions of the famous "Dogs Playing Poker" series, shellacked to pieces of tree bark. I have always liked those pictures. Maybe because I was very young when I first noticed them. I wonder what art the women get?

I still had about an hour of darkness, so I boiled water for coffee as I took down the tent and started packing the trailer. I knew this was the last time I'd be cooking, so I just let the stove go for a long time, burning off those pounds of white gas.

And now for a short commercial break: Did I mention that I have been drinking coffee from my very own Revolution Mugs coffee cup? If you haven't ordered yours, better get going. This mug has traveled hundreds of miles with me now. A much more satisfying weight to drag over mountain passes than the one-pound box of tasteless linguini, or the 6 heavy packs of albacore tuna and chicken breast.

Now back to our story.

Today was super humid, and this morning would be my first IFR departure of the trip. A heavy but shallow ground fog had formed, just at sunrise, and as I headed east on highway 26, the sun was a huge white disk you could stare at just as easily as the moon. The road shoulders were smooth, the highway was flat, and the miles just melted by. As always, rural drivers almost always move over half a lane to pass, even if I'm six feet away in an eight foot shoulder. I've even seen oncoming cars drive on the far side rumble strip, as if I'm radioactive or something. This would be amazing behavior in the Puget Sound basin.

Highway 26 is arrow-straight as it leads past these last few towns into Scottsbluff. Fortunately, the towns are spaced six to eight miles apart, so the entertainment value is a little higher. I had planned to have a real breakfast in Lingle, but the diner there apparently closed its doors (I was told this by a woman working at the gas station, where I picked up a maple-bar-ish twisty something pastry to tide me over) last summer. Next town: Torrington, Wyoming, where I found the 77 Grill at a big truck stop. Apparently the only place open, because it was hopping. I got my fill and continued down the road. Torrington is also the town closest to the farm of my Grandparents on my Mom's side. It's all dirt roads to get out there, and no one left who would know me, so I don't think I'll be riding out that way this time.

The sequence of little towns down this road is a very familiar and nostalgic path for me, as I have counted my way down these last miles many times from the back seat of my parent's car as we traveled each summer to Scottsbluff. I remember sometimes we competed to see who could be the first across the state line. The best way to do this was to be crafty and pretend you weren't really thinking about it, and just happen to be in the front seat when that border was approaching. That way you could just make sure one of your feet was farther forward than the driver's right foot. But, you had to be careful, there might be a last-second lunge over the seat backs, and a pair of hands attempting to reach up under the dashboard.

I reached the Nebraska border at ten am, and almost immediately, the town of Henry, with the fading, hand painted sign "Welcome to Henry, Scottsbluff County, Home to a Undergound Environmental Hazard." Then Morrill, Mitchell, and now I was finally in visual contact with the bluff itself, the national monument which shares its name with the town and county.

Scottsbluff National Monument is a fascinating place to visit, both for the history, as well as the geology. Right next to the bluff is Mitchell Pass, a point along the Oregon Trail where you can still see the ruts made by wagon trains that rolled through so long ago.

So humid today, the air feels thick and hard to breathe, plus in the last few miles, of course I pick up a little headwind. Still it's exciting to arrive in this fashion, and I can hardly believe I'm finally here. One more Twilight Zone (Outer Limits?) moment just after Mitchell, where the grasshoppers which heretofore had been hopping out of my way as I ride, are suddenly jumping right at me, and onto me from all sides. Reminded me of that episode where the couple is marooned in the desert overnight, and have to deal with attacks from sage brush, and then frogs.

As I ride along highway 26, I pass by Sunset Memorial, the cemetery where all my grandparents, and an uncle are buried. I stop and think about taking a break to go look at the markers, but after watching the traffic (65 speed limit, divided highway), I decide that a visit isn't worth the risk of joining them prematurely and permanently. I imagine my grandad Dale understanding my decision as I ride away. A couple of passing cars give a toot and hold out a peace sign, not sure what that's about. Finally, a right turn off the highway onto fifth avenue, past the Appleby's where a few fun family evenings were spent after my grandmother's funeral a few years back. A left turn, and... oops, streets are counting opposite the way I anticipated, I'm on sixth, u-turn, back the other way, there's the old Terry mansion, and another landmark, old Ford pickup, and I'm here!

Thinking: Shower. Glass of wine. Pizza. Sitting. (Made me think of Borat. "Look at me, I am sitting on a chair.") Send a text to Theo. Oh, and finally I can make a quick run to the grocery store for shaving implements. I look like Gabby Whiskers. No wonder people are afraid of me when I roll into town.

Time Travel

Another great day.

Last night I lost consciousness shortly after seven-thirty, and didn't wake up until about five-thirty, so clearly my body was trying to do some catching up. I had breakfast at a little diner in Glendo, and rolled out about seven-thirty. Unfortunately, I took the wrong road out of town, including a nice little warm-up hill climb, and before I realized it, I was a mile and a half out. So, turned around and just figured it would be three bonus miles for the day.

I got on the I-25 southbound, for my final twenty miles of freeway travel. Shoulders not quite as smooth as yesterday, but still a far sight nicer than the no-shoulder chipseal Old Glendo Highway.

The miles went quickly and soon I was turning off to rejoin highway 26 eastbound towards Fort Laramie, and ultimately, Scottsbluff. Traveling this roadway takes me back to the many summers we'd cover it in the family car, after days of driving, knowing we'd be reaching my grandparents home soon. This highway, like others in the area, is red due to the type of stone used in paving it.

I stopped briefly in Guernsey, and a bar kind of place called Crazy Tony's, looking for a sandwich. They were still serving breakfast, so I had a breakfast sandwich. Most of the people coming in were ordering beers, and complaining about how hung over they were. I cleared out as quickly as I could eat and pay.

I pulled into the town of Fort Laramie, and coasted down the gravel drive of the Chuckwagon RV Campground, and paid for my $10.00 grassy space. This is the nicest RV Park I've camped in. Everyone is super friendly and it's nice and quiet. There's been a constant breeze which is refreshing. The owner just came over on his golf cart and handed me a bag of fresh vegetables from their garden. I immediately sliced up a tomato and devoured it.

It was not quite two when I arrived, so I showered, got on my bike (sans trailer) and pedaled out (in very leisurely fashion) three miles to the Fort Laramie Historic Site. Fort Laramie was a major crossroads for Plains Indians, Fur Traders, the Army, and Emigrants from the mid to late 1880's. It was sold at auction in (I think) 1909, and gradually fell into ruin until 1939, when the State of Wyoming cquired it ,and eventually gave it to the National Park Service. Since then, many of the buildings have been restored, and you can look into the rooms and see the clothing, gear and furnishings, looking just as they would have in the fort's prime.

I spent a leisurely three hours strolling around, listening to the park ranger tell stories, and just exploring. There's a really nice Visitor Center, and sometimes they hae people dressed in period clothing staffing the shops, or the bakery or garden. I love these kinds of places, where you can immerse yourself into what it might have felt like to be there. Reminds me just a little of that Christopher Reeve movie... Somewhere In Time. Of course anyone transporting themselves back to old Fort Laramie would be setting themselves up for some hard living.

Well, there is a little restaurant here, but they don't open until nine am, so I think I'll be up and out as close to sunrise as I can, and look for breakfast in Lingle, about ten miles away. Tomorrow's my last day riding! (I added the word "riding" after re-reading how the sentence appeared without it).

Land of Wide, Smooth Shoulders

Last night my cousin Julie, her husband Mark and their boys Kolby and Kale came over and took me to a fabulous dinner. It's cool to finally, actually know someone in a town I arrive in. Mark teaches at the college in Casper, and Julie has been a teacher for many years in the nearby town of Glenrock. It was two for one night, so the beer we ordered each arrived as two beers. I didn't think, after having been up until one-thirty the previous night, I'd be able to drink two pints of beer, but it was a lot easier than I anticipated. Casper didn't look too bike friendly, and I was a little stressed about what route I should take out of town. I received some good advice from the Casper Cabs driver that brought me back from Hertz, and with Mark's advice modified it a bit and we did a quick test run before parting company.

I got up and out while it was still dark, and rolled up to a diner I had found that opens at five-thirty. The waitress saw my bike, and asked about my ride. She says: "I live six blocks from here and I drove to work." I think if I started at five-thirty, I might too. I'm finding that a big breakfast with lots of coffee is making all the difference in how my day on the road starts out.

Yellowstone Highway (26) out of Casper has huge, wide shoulders with very smooth surfaces. I was cruising easily at fifteen and above even with the trailer. This was the first truly chilly morning of my trip. I had my arm warmers on for the first twenty miles or so. About thirty miles out of Casper (or four miles out of Glenrock), The highway joins up with the big divided highway, State Route 25. Now I had even wider shoulders to ride in, far from the traffic, and it was still so smooth that I felt like there was hardly any effort to keeping up to speed. The previous evening, my Uncle Gary in Scottsbluff gave me a blow-by-blow preview of every hill and rest stop along the way, so my "big" eighty-four mile day turned out to be the easiest of the ride so far. I did great for water, even though it was headed for ninety degrees. The freeway would sometimes rise very gradually, about three degrees, and as I crested the top, I'd just coast my way up to about thirty miles per hour on the mile or two of gentle downhill.

Just prior to the seventy mile point, I reached the rest stop at Orin junction, and left the freeway to head down the Old Glendo Highway, for the last sixteen miles into town. Just before Glendo, I was expecting to see a huge body of water (Glendo Reservoir) shown on the map, but it turned out to be a nearly empty basin. I don't know if that's just the time of the year or a sign of a water table in trouble. I saw my first oil well this morning, as well as a huge coal power plant. I read in the paper that wind power is moving in here just like it is in eastern Washington.

It finally started feeling deliriously hot in the final ten miles, and the highway was chip seal, so the surface texture was starting to frazzle the big head of steam I had started with. Still, I got in at two pm, eighty-four miles in seven and a half hours, which is great with a trailer in tow.

I'm holed up in a little basic room tonight, thirty dollars, it has a bed, a shower, electrical outlets. Just fine for me. Tomorrow I move on to one of my favorite places: Fort Laramie!

A Long and Strange, Dreamy Night

For those who don't remember back to my crisis of decision making back in Lewiston, whether to commit to the whole ride and possibly end up a skeleton out in the desert, or call off my ride in Lewiston, or, get a car to skip a portion, that is what occurred on Wednesday September 2nd. I grabbed my bike and left the back yard of my sleeping hosts, and rode out to the Missoula airport to get a Hertz Corolla. There is a mix of fortunately/unfortunately in here, as I was to find out that night. Ever make a decision because of something gone a little wrong and find out your new path may have saved you from something much worse?

Within minutes, I was in a strange world where you could go 75 (legally) with a gentle push of the right foot. I was still regretting the fact that my only option was to pick up a car in Missoula and drop it in Casper, cutting out about half my ride instead of a smaller portion, but it was that or nothing. Still, I wanted to see what I would have ridden, so I headed for West Yellowstone and drove through the park. I drove in at West Yellowstone and then wended my way to the south entrance and Grand Teton National Park. Every time I saw a pannier-laden rider, I felt guilty for skipping ahead. On the other hand, I had naively thought I could get through Yellowstone in one long day of riding. The miles alone said I could. What I was seeing from the car though, was that the route cruelly cuts back and forth across the continental divide, giving you the chance to climb and re-climb the same nine thousand odd foot ridgeline. It was beautiful, but would have been days for me to pull that off. And it gets worse.

After passing into Grand Teton Park, there are miles and miles of roadway presently under construction, soft gravel and hard dirt, uphill, where you have to wait for the pilot car and then keep up. I don't know if they would have said "go back," or have offered me the back of the pilot car. It would have been miserable. But the bad news is not over.

Once you head west from Moran Junction towards Togwotee Pass, which would have been the highest of my trip at well over nine thousand feet, once again, miles and miles of the climb up to the pass is all ripped out and you wait for a series of pilot cars. I became convinced that fate had dealt me a kind blow.

Once clear of the construction, I finally settled in for the drive across Wyoming to get to Casper via highway 26. The initial segment takes you through a red desert that is just amazing to look at in the twilight. There was a full moon, and the setting sun lit up the clouds in bright orange. If only I had taken a photo, I was so consumed with getting some progress made I didn't stop except for fuel and a quick bite in Riverton. Plus, I thought it seemed wrong to post a photo from a car. There was one very close, adrenaline producing encounter with a couple of deer crossing the highway. From then on I was very much awake.

Into bed at Motel 6 around 1:30 in the morning, and Thursday I will spend repacking, planning the final 177 or so miles, and being thankful that it has gone this well rather than ruing the six hundred miles I did not ride.

One good thing about the last part of my route. I think I have it figured out so I can camp near the Fort Laramie historic site, one of my favorite places to visit. That should be a shorter mileage day, so I think I might have time to go visit the fort. The few jaunts I have made without the trailer have felt very loose and easy. I'm sure that will wear off after I get home.

M is for Missoula

And Montana, and mighty happy with how today went. First just let me say a little bit about the great people working at Lochsa Lodge. I'm feeling sometimes how isolated you can feel traveling alone, and it is such a comfort to be treated so nicely along the way. I had three meals at the lodge. Lunch right when I got there (bison burger), dinner that night (elk steak, it was amazing) and breakfast just before heading out on my climb up to Lolo Pass. This place is extremely comfortable, the people are super friendly. The rate on my little cabin was dirt cheap, and well worth it. I would have loved to stay longer and I hope I can go back with my family.

It was still very cool as I headed out the drive and up towards Lolo Pass. Breakfast and lots of coffee had me well stoked, and I felt good as I wound my way up the 5-7% grades. Once again, 7% felt like the effort, and when it occasionally slackened off to 5%, it felt like a relief. Most of the road stayed in shade because the ridge runs sort of north-south, and the sun was still low in the east. Ideal! For some strange reason, I feel like the miles click by more quickly in a climb. I just kept counting down, knowing every foot of climb was going in the bank and every mile brought me closer. A couple of trucks on their way down tooted and gave me the thumbs up. At least I think it was the thumb. Yeah, I'm sure it was. Actually helps.

I'm posting a photo of the sign just a mile shy of the top. I saw that sign and thought "well, my legs still feel fine," so I knew I had it make. 7200 and some odd feet up! I wondered how Lolo would stack up against Cayuse-Chinook. I have to say, they are very close, but maybe Chinook was a little harder. I had fun with this one.

The visitors center at the top is excellent. A little museum, gift shop, restrooms, and free wireless. Oh, and coffee. I grabbed the netbook and sat down with a cup, and posted the last couple of days of progress. I had zero cell or internet access once I left Kamiah.

The trip down is precipitous, at least for the first five miles or so. The pavement is good, but still no usable shoulder to speak of. Fortunately, I had absolutely no traffic behind me. I tried to keep it under twenty-five (the trailer feels a little funny at higher speeds, and they don't recommend it anyway). And I was thinking: "this is the last time this ride I should have to worry about my rims exploding." They didn't, and eventually the hill flattened out a bit. It's generally level or downhill all the way to Lolo.

Today is easily the best day of the trip so far. As I was riding along highway 12, now in Montana, I was thinking that I have been trying to follow how my mood relates to the riding conditions, if at all. I have had some highs and lows, and I'm not sure it necessarily correlates to my environment, but maybe. I'm glad I have a little inclinometer on my handlebars, because sometimes the road ahead can look downhill and I can't figure out why I'm having to put out so much effort. I look down, and sure enough, I'm going uphill. Also, I've noticed how a slight change in the roughness or smoothness of the pavement can really add up to stress or ease in riding, and my overall happiness. I've had great luck with wind so far. (quickly Kevin runs over to a tree and gives it a couple raps). Except for leaving Pomeroy last week, I haven't had to fight any major headwinds.

Just outside the town of Lolo, I stopped at a little store to top off my water, and as I'm filling up, a guy on a yellow bike swoops in and stops. He introduces himself as Brian, and says he's an intern at Adventure Cycling. He offers me his back yard to camp for the night. It's funny because he actually did it the way I would. He said "have a nice ride," bolted off ahead, almost out of sight, then I could see him make a u-turn in the distance and come back. Then he says "I meant to say, you can camp in my yard if you want." At the Adventure Cycling office, I meet Elliott, the guy who owns the house that Brian shares with him. He provides me a map. I am now in their back porch, using their wireless. This is nice.

Along the Lochsa

I woke up at about a quarter to midnight, and could hear the rain had slowed to just scattered drops. Then I struggled to sleep for about three hours. Sometimes I have trouble being comfortable in this tent. Maybe not so much the tent but the bag I'm using. It was still pretty dark as I started disassembling and stowing things. Of course everything that was outside was soaked. I laid the rain fly out on the paved surface in hopes it would dry a bit. I am about out of stove fuel, so cold breakfast for me this morning.

On the road at around 7:30. Another cloudy morning. I have my previous days clothes packed on the outside of the trailer because they are still wet. Today I continue along highway 12 as it follows the Lochsa River. I'm checking my mirror frequently because being a weekday, I figure more trucks will be coming along than yesterday. Still no shoulder, but the surface is good. So I glance at the mirror, where I'm used to seeing the back of my bike or a bit of my flag on the right side, but this time I see part of a red and black pannier over on the left side. Suddenly I realize I have company. I look back and it's the same rider I had seen in Lewiston on my rest day, heading out from a Dairy Queen in hundred degree afternoon heat. This time he pulls alongside and we talk. His name is Alex, I'm going to guess early twenties. He's been on his bike for eight weeks so far. Started in Santa Cruz, rode up the coast to Vancouver Island, and is now working his way across the country. He says if he reaches New York, he'll probably take a train home from there.

He pushes on, and I see he is quite a bit faster than me even though he is also carrying a load. Every turn I see him farther up the road until I don't see him at all. I settle back into the cadence that seems to work for me. After quite a while I notice him stopped by the side where some other people are gathered. I'm just going to head on past but one of the guys yells "there are hot springs here!" So I u-turn and swoop down into the little roadside lot. The springs are a mile up a trail so I decide I'm going to move on, but one of the guys catches my eye. He's got a bike, is wearing regular shorts and holey tights with a sleeveless jersey, and has thick dreadlocks down to the back of his thighs. Later on the road, Alex (who seems easier at talking to strangers than me, I wonder if that improves after eight weeks?) shares with me that the guy has been living mostly on his bike for about fourteen years. Hard to describe the funny personality of this character, the way it bubbled out of him physically. He was so light and fit, and would sort of flit around as he talked. He joked about not wanting to get another flat before getting back to Missoula, then immediately danced over to a tree to knock on wood. Adding to his character was his way of speaking. Sort of like Tommy Chong.

Today was harder for some reason even though I only rode about forty miles, and no big climbs. Maybe the rushed in-tent dinner last night, or the sad cold breakfast. Anyway, I reached the Lochsa Lodge, a place I have read about on other touring cyclists journals. I am in a little log cabin with no plumbing, but a great bed, and I had lots of time to spread my wet stuff out to dry before sundown. There's a cafe too. I just wrote in a postcard that I think I like some luxury interspersed with the rough. Last night storm, tonight dinner with wine and a soft pillow.

Tomorrow morning, the climb up to Lolo Pass.

God Bowling

Easily the most exciting event of today is the spectacular thunderstorm going on everywhere outside my tent.

I went a little farther than planned today. Once I reached Lowell at about 11:00 am, it seemed a little too soon to stop. Every mile I get behind me, the shorter my ride to Lochsa Lodge (about 12 miles shy of Lolo Pass). Around 3:00 pm, I rolled into Wilderness Gateway Campground, set up the tent, went down to the river to clean clothes and myself, and was standing in the water, enjoying the sunshine, when I saw ominous clouds moving in. I hadn't had dinner yet, so I went back up and got the stove going and started some noodles while I made sure everything was out of water danger and that my rain fly was fully tied off everywhere it could be. I could hear thunder cracking as I monitored the noodles, and had no sooner gotten them out of the colander and back in the pot when the storm cut loose. My tent is designed to that the front of the fly creates a little porch. I sat cross-legged just inside the doorway and stirred the chicken and spices in as all hell broke loose outside. I was hoping the tent would prove to be watertight. This was my first chance to find out.

It's been about an hour now, and all my stuff is still dry, so it's looking good. I hope things dry out a bit by morning though. Of course the clothes I had hung up to dry are still out there, quite rinsed by now. Including my one pair of socks. I guess I could wear wet socks tomorrow if I had to, but I'd rather not. Anyway, very exciting. The ripping thunder and almost continuous light show, plus the sudden wind reminded me a bit of one night we spent in Belize, but then we were in a cabin. If I'm lucky, tomorrow night I'll get an open air cabin at Lochsa Lodge. It's only forty miles, but it's a climb to get there.

Highway 12, as advertised, is not the nicest place to ride a bike, but maybe because it's Sunday, traffic was very light. I saw only a handful of trucks and they were all going west.

There's some construction going on, and fortunately for me, the part they had completed was to grind the pavement smooth. From Kamiah to the start of the construction zone, I thought my teeth were going to fall out from all the rough pavement. It's also very tiring on the arms to ride out all those little jarring bumps. Once I got to the ground smooth section, it became easy riding again, though the shoulder that was, became soft gravel, so I had to ride in the lane and just be vigilant for traffic coming from behind at the same time as oncoming.

Still a lot of Lewis and Clark informational signs, which I take as an excuse to pull off and drink water while I read. I learned that "Lochsa" means "rough water" in Nez Perce, and that although the initial meetings between the natives and European explorers were cordial, in later years, that would go downhill as more and more people flowed in and the army worked to drive the Indians out. I was reading of the Lewis and Clark expedition's trek through the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness (where I am now). The going was so rough that they described it as "difficult and disheartening." I can understand the feeling a bit when I am slogging my way up a steep pitch, but I marvel at the conditions they survived.

Well, the rain is slowing a bit. I hope this means I can make a run to the bushes before sleepy time. I wonder what's on TV...

Grateful for Clouds

Finally settled in for the night, knowing that I have a plan for the next few days, I wait to feel sleep creep in. The darkness is interrupted by my cell phone ringing. I expect it to be one last call from Linda, but when I look at the little window, I am delighted to see the name of my workplace neighbor and one of my all-time favorite people, Chie. "Hello?" "Um, who is this" "This is Kevin, so nice to hear from you." "Thomas? Who is this?" "This is Kevin. I'm in Idaho. Where are you?" Laughter... Apparently she meant to call someone named Karen. Close but no cigar. I am wondering if she remembers I am on vacation because I think she says something like "I'll see you tomorrow." Which doesn't make sense either because tomorrow would be a Saturday. Not a dream, but entertaining.

Huge change in the weather today. I rolled out of town at 6:00 am, still fairly dark out because of the ample cloud cover, and made a quick stop at the Post Office to drop in a bill and an article for Theo I came across in the Lewiston paper the day before. It was about 70 degrees, even this early, but very comfortable. The route out of Lewiston takes me across another bridge, and then along a separated path that parallels highway 12. After a comfortable ride along the highway, I come to the junction with Highway 95 southbound. Big decision time. The Adventure Cycling map says that they do not recommend following highway 12 to Kamiah, due to lack of shoulders and heavy truck traffic. They recommend a longer route down 95 and then across the prairies to Kamiah. What makes it a hard decision is that highway 12 to Kamiah is pretty flat, and the "Lapwai" alternate has some climbing. A lot of climbing in fact. They advertise a near absence of traffic and decent shoulders, so after the stress of holding the white line for so much of eastern Washington's highway 24, I decided to try it out. If the big climb does me in, I can make it a short day and camp at Winchester Campground, located on a lake just after the monster hill. The distance differential is pretty big. Highway 12 to Kamiah, 68 miles. The Lapwai alternate worked out to about 87 miles. I headed out to 95 take the long way.

Today was almost entirely within the Nez Perce Indian Reservation. I read that the Nez Perce were the nicest, most helpful tribe to Lewis and Clark.

A short distance out of Lewiston, in the tiny town of Lapwai (place of butterflies) I stopped at a little diner for breakfast. I sat next to three native women at the counter and they immediately struck up a conversation with me. They were alarmed when I said I was headed to Missoula. "Honey, you're going the wrong way!" I explained the whole detour scenario, and they still seemed doubtful. I am suggestible enough that this starts to build doubts in my own mind, but I wasn't going to double back now. After breakfast, almost as soon as I got rolling, it started to rain. First time for the raincoat I had been portering along all this time. It was so warm and the rain so light, I almost didn't need it, but I kept it on until the drops abated. The shoulders were wide but strewn with debris. Just before the diner I heard a pop and then thump-thump-thump. I looked at my front tire as I rolled to a stop and a big screw was protruding out of the tread. I carefully unscrewed it,waiting for the hiss, but nothing. The tire was holding. I have had good luck with my Specialized Armadillos. I just hate flats, so I am OK with them being a little slower rolling.

Eventually, there is a right turn off the highway to start "the climb." It's called Winchester Grade Road, and it is about eight miles of tight switchbacks, uninterrupted ascent, inclines from 5 to 7% and in a few short places, even steeper. This would have been a killer in direct sunlight, but it was exciting to look back at each turn and see how much higher I was. The roadway was super smooth, so very comfortable to ride on. At about 3500 feet it levels off and the prairie component begins. Rolling high plains, almost zero traffic, but pretty rough roads. And, I notice that my front tire is losing air after all. I pump it up again, and find that it is good for about thirty miles each pump-up. I'll fix it tonight.

While I had cloud shelter for much of today's ride, the sun broke out at times in the prairies, and it was really nice. My legs were pretty wasted from Winchester, but I elected to keep going to Kamiah. There were numerous times where I would start down a huge hill only to see an equally long re-climbing of that elevation loss coming up. Finally, about nine miles from Kamiah, the road takes a steep, continuous descent to the little town. I am really spent, but I look forward to a short thirty mile leg to Lowell tomorrow, and a longer leg the next day.

Hitting the road again in the morning!

My peaceful day of rest ended on a huge emotional roller coaster as I worked out the potential ways the rest of my journey might play out. When I thought up this whole enterprise, knowing I didn't have unlimited time to complete it, but also not wanting it to be a death race, I was figuring my bail-out plan would be to pick up a rental car and fast forward a portion of it, hopefully a dry hot hellish portion, having just done one of those from Yakima to Palouse Falls.

First I figured out my legs across Idaho to Lolo, now with the help of my Lewis & Clark and Transamerica bicycle maps, and was getting excited about the sights and terrain coming up.

Once I started looking at which car rental agencies have locations in or near my route, things started looking bleak. It looked like I would need to decide whether to pick up at Missoula or West Yellowstone. I figured a drop off at Casper would leave me a nice two to three day stretch into Scottsbluff. Budget: "We cannot allow you to pick up and drop off between those cities, and we cannot say why." Enterprise: Very helpful sounding guy, who looked at it a number of ways but also came up empty handed, while calling me "Lance" on the phone, but said my only chance would be to call National. National has only one drop off site in all of Wyoming, Jackson, a beautiful place for sure, but a ways off route and leaving me a death race across Wyoming still. Then I tried Hertz. And they came through. I was at the point of thinking I'd have to do a 180 or a loop and just come back. Not a total loss, but I already named the blog! Anyway, now I know I can make it, have fun along the way, and for now concentrate of some cool little campgrounds and maybe even some cabins on my way out to Lolo.

It's still hot out, but some clouds have moved in to block the direct sunlight, and it makes a huge difference. Tomorrow and the next day, highs are to be about twenty degrees cooler, so it's looking like a "go" again, where a few minutes ago I was thinking of that scene in Apollo 13 when Jim Lovell says "We just lost the moon."

The photo I'm posting with this was somewhere between Othello and Palouse Falls. I immediately thought of another abandoned bus up in Alaska... Theo knows which one I mean. Side note on Theo and Apollo 13, I have a photo of Theo and Fred Haise shaking hands from a few years ago when he stopped in at Boeing Field. Some day maybe he will think it's cool.

I'm about to go into another region of "buried in the mountains" highways, so no telling when my next chance to upload blatherings and photos. At the least, I send text message updates to Linda and/or Theo periodically so they have some idea how far I am along each day.

I'm in Idaho! (where cyclists can legally treat stop signs as yield signs)

Today's ride was a gift after the last three days experiences. But first, I should cover my night in Pomeroy. Once the sun goes down, and things cool, it's hard to imagine why it seemed so hellish before. I was just beat, so I walked the length of the town to the Sagebrush Grill. Excellent bacon cheeseburger, which my body so craved. And another phenomenon which I have noticed sometimes occurs in small towns, order a glass of red wine, and it's not only cold, it's filled almost to the rim! This was heaven. I staggered back in the dark, and lay down on the bed. Though the place wasn't air-conditioned, it was only a little warm, or, my body is still radiating heat from the day, but Leann (owner of the B&B) said I could sleep with the door open to the outside and no one would bother me so I left it ajar, and could hear the crickets and neighborhood voices outside. You ever have that kind of tired where when you lie down, your body just hurts? I remember just sinking back onto the bed... a little while later, I was with people at work, and Tim was making fun of the way my whiskers had grown in all white (just shaved them off by the way), and later on, I was in a cabin and it was snowy outside. We were tossing little treats to the dogs romping outside in the snow. Then after some blurriness, I was sitting at a table with Virginia, trying to explain why the wine was so, so good, and my glass was broken but I was picking up the broken bottom part and getting the last drops out. Then I woke up and had absolutely no idea where I was. It came back gradually... I'm on a long bike ride. I'm asleep in someone's basement in a small town. Oh yeah, that's it. This was my first sound sleep of the trip, and maybe even for a while before that. I still had another hour before my alarm, so I relished it.

With forecasts of 100+ degrees in Lewiston, my plan was just to make it to Clarkston, only 29 miles away, and take a rest day while it's super hot. And, I wanted to arrive at my destination before the heat did (see? I'm learning) so I headed out of my room close to 6:00 am, and rolled down to Donna's Cafe for breakfast. I know, I was just at a B&B, but I didn't want to make my host get up that insanely early. It was the least I could do for the great night of sleep. Two old(er than me) guys at the next table asked me about my ride, and assured me that I shouldn't have too much trouble making it up and over Alpowa Pass.

About a mile and a half out of town, a brisk headwind set in. Not sure where it came from but it was steady and strong. I had to shift down even though I was only going up about 2-3%, and I was starting to wonder if this was all part of a series of signs trying to tell me something. "Don't leave Washington on your bike! Go back!! Whoo, scary..." I tried to stop thinking of how many miles left and when will I get there, and just more of "where am I right now." Sure, headwind was slowing me down, but it felt good on my face, and the countryside was beautiful. Some things I learn so slowly in life that I wonder really, maybe I am a slow person. I was probably in my forties before I realized Lewiston and Clarkston, two towns right across the river from each other, sound ominously close to the names Lewis and Clark. Well, now I'm riding roughly alongside the Lewis and Clark Trail, and every few miles I come across viewpoints with stories of their journeys just over two hundred years ago. This is like riding through a living museum. And I realize, I'm having fun. Headwind, schmeadwind. The climb up to Alpowa is gradual, never more than 5%, and soon I reach the top, about nine miles out of Pomeroy. And there are restrooms. Can it get any better? Well, yes.

After Alpowa, you start downhill, and it's about eleven miles of uninterrupted descent. I hardly had to move the pedals. At this rate, I was going to get to Clarkston about two hours earlier than I had conservatively guessed when I planned my departure. Now, I know this will sound like Homer Simpson complaining the turkey's a little dry, but once you finally get to level ground, the shoulder surface becomes pretty bumpy. However, since I was so far ahead of schedule, I started just slowing down, and then the bumps were not so bad.

Rolling into Clarkston, where my librarian resource assistant had helped me set up reservations at the Best Western (pricy but I just had to get out of the heat) I see a huge billboard for Econolodge, with rooms starting at 34.95 a night. I'm wondering: what's wrong with this place that the room costs a third of what Best Western is charging? The sign says free wi-fi and pool. What's the catch? No air-conditioning? No TV? Dry turkey? I have plenty of time on my hands so I call the number on the billboard, and ask to be sure the price is 34.95 and is there air conditioning? The Indian accented man tells me... something, but with all the traffic noise I can't be sure what. "You come down here and we will honor that price." So, I head on down the road, cross a bridge, and wow, I'm in Idaho! Last time I rode over the border of Washington into Idaho, I was with my son (who wishes not to be named on line, so I will use the code name Theo) when we rode from Spokane to Coeur d'Alene. But I digress. I walk up to the Econolodge lobby desk and ask, just to make sure, do the rooms have air-conditioning? He shakes his head. "No sir, rooms have no air-conditioning. No TV, no bed, no bathtub." I decide I like him, he's funny. So now I am taking a rest day off in Lewiston. The forecast says maybe things will ease off the hundred-ish highs in a day or two, so I will rest, recover, and go float in the pool. There's a tiny sporting goods store across the street, maybe I can also replenish my white gas supply for the stove.

Canyons, Coulees, Still Seeking Shelter

I woke up at 4:30 am, in preparation for my pre dawn departure, but it was still so dark out I didn't think I'd be able to see well enough to work. So, at 5:00 am I started the process of taking my tent down and packing while making coffee and oatmeal. The sun crested the horizon just as I started up the gravel drive to get back out to the highway from Palouse Falls.

It was nice last evening. As soon as the sun went down, it started cooling to a tolerable point. I made a huge pot of linguini (the box weighs a whole pound so I wanted to start converting it to sweat) with tuna stirred in. I went into the tent by 8:30 and just listened to my neighbors on both sides. Entertaining enough. Somewhere I think I slept but have yet to really enjoy a night of sleep.

The Spanish speaking families were interesting. I could hear little spurts of conversation coming from the tents all night. At about four, someone sang a few lines of something. When I got out of my tent at five, there were two people out firing up the propane stove, but by six they were all back in their tents again. The couple from Seattle stayed up pretty late, and in the morning, not a sign of life. I really wanted to sleep in. I thought of taking a rest day there, but when Linda found me a room on Pomeroy, I decided to head on.

The route out of Palouse Falls is amazing. Mostly descending, and I'm pretty sure steeper than what I climbed to get there from the west. Highway 261 winds like a snake down through deep canyons, until you pop out at the Snake River by Lyons Ferry Park. There is tons of camping around Lyons Ferry, though my Washington Bike Map doesn't indicate it. Also water for swimming. I wonder if they even had showers? From the bridge I had super-smooth, wide shoulders, until the town of Starbuck, then it was back to hugging the white line. There is very little traffic on these highways, at least this early, but most of it is big rigs. Most of them are very nice about easing over as they pass, and the couple who tooted their horns I think were more of a "hello" than "get out of my way." One funny thing about that flag on my trailer. It looks too jaunty. I could be about to die of heat stroke, but people would probably just say, "have a nice one!" People have been pretty friendly, and I am surprised how nice people are on the road in rural areas. So why is it was I can ride in a congested city or out in the middle of nowhere and feel like I belong, yet in between, say Carnation, being seen on a bike elicits such hostility. One exception to the "nice" streak. I was just heading out of Starbuck, and could see an apparent hitchhiker standing at the edge of the road with a couple of bags. I'm on a bike, and he's just standing there, so this is one of those slow approaches like the castle charge in Monty Python's Search for the Holy Grail. Finally I'm about a car length away and I give a wave and say "morning," and I pass within two feet of him, but he just gives me a silent stare as I pass. Like if I stopped maybe he would stick a knife in me. Seconds later, a car pulls slowly by me and I hear a voice coming from the passnger window. It's my camping neighbors, and the woman shouts out "enjoy the rest of your day!"

I've also had a couple dogs sprint for the front gate as I go by, but so far only one tried to catch me beyond that. I could see him round the corner and accelerate, but it was downhill so, no contest with this trailer pushing me.

Temperature was very nice, until about the last eight miles. At that point I started fading fast, and it started getting pretty hot. I arrived in Pomeroy, anticipating that "step into the air-conditioned motel room feeling," and found a deserted, locked up motel. At first I couldn't even find the door to the office. Did I say it was hot? By now it was feeling like a hundred, though it was probably not that hot yet. When I tracked down the phone number I got a recording. Back at the ranger station at the town's edge, they told me "oh, he's really hard to get hold of, they don't usually open up until four." It was after 12:30, and I could not imagine waiting all afternoon in the sun in my bike clothes. The woman at the ranger station had also mentioned there was a B&B in town, but that was it. I rode back, and she gave me a phone number. Turns out the owner had just stopped in from her other job when I called. In ten minutes, I was checking in and apologizing for my appearance. After a shower, I had a great roast beef sandwich and huge salad at the Soggy Bottom Coffee House. The B&B is Maggie's Garden. I'm not the only bike traveler to have stayed here, she says. It is very comfortable and feels like a refuge. If not tonight, I may take a rest day tomorrow in Clarkston. I really need recovery time. Forecast to be 110 in Lewiston tomorrow. There's no way I should be outside when that happens. Only thirty miles to Clarkston, but there's an almost 3,000 foot pass to clear. I will have to reach it while it's still cool out.

Othello to Palouse Falls

As I type this, I am sitting at a picnic table next to my tent. The sun just went below the horizon and it's getting really nice. There's another couple adjacent to me who drove here from Seattle, and on the other side, a couple of Spanish speaking families, with six kids and a little dog. It's almost as good as TV. Speaking of which, last night in Othello, Once I had recovered some of my senses, I walked next door to a little Mexican restaurant. I think I was the only gringo there. The food was cheap, and amazingly good. There was a big color TV blaring some seventies sitcom I had never seen. Like being in someone's house. I had "Camorones ala Diablo," and it was perfect. As Steve Ahlbom would say, "it was so spicy I could taste it with both of my mouths." I hope I'm not misquoting him.

So. I was thinking this leg would be a refreshing break from my desperate ride of Monday. Fewer miles, though more than I thought because I miscounted on the map. I was expecting 46, it was actually 60. Not only that, but even though I left at dawn, temperatures rose even faster than the previous day, and halfway through I was once again questioning whether I should be doing this at this time of year. In Connell I talked with the local police, I had pulled into the shadow adjacent to him to call about camp reservations. Then I realized it probably looked like he had pulled me over. He laughed when I said where I was going: "Oh, it's all just more of the same, hot and dry. You'll like the falls though." I had my first flat just outside of Connell. Front tire, a goat thorn or a radial wire, both were embedded about the same place. I had just finished fixing it and was getting back on my bike when a voice came out of nowhere: "You all right?" There was a woman out running, and in the wind I didn't even hear her approach. We were about five miles out of town so i wasn't expecting someone not driving a big rig. I said I was fine, and then she laughed and said "Not that I could have helped you if you weren't." Fortunately, the town of Kahlotus sat midway through my ride, and I thought I would fuel up with a good lunch there. Unfortunately, riding into Kahlotus in the late morning is like entering one of those Twighlight Zone towns. It looks like a town, it has buildings and trees, I even hear voices in the distance, but I saw almost no people. The sensible citizens of Kahlotus were probably inside out of the heat like they should be. There was no store, no cafe. Fortunately, there were restrooms with water, so I topped off and drank as much as I could, similar to the previous day at Saddle Mountain. Then I struck out for Palouse. The only relief from the blistering heat (radiating back off a very black road) was a decent quartering tailwind. When I stopped, I actually felt cooler. Once I reached the turnoff to Highway 261 towards Palouse, I looked up and saw the road winding steeply into the hills. As it turned out, most of the remaining nine miles was uphill. 10% grade in some places. This was really not fun. In Fall or Spring, it would be delightful. There was one turn where the rock cliff gave me about thirty seconds of shade and I felt just fine until I went back into the sun.

Finally, I reached the turn to the campground. Hard packed gravel. It was ridable but a little washboarded, and it's all downhill, for two miles, which means I have some work to do to get back out, but I'll do it at fifty-five degrees, maybe before dawn. this time.

Tomorrow I'm riding to Pomeroy. I have a room reserved. It's only forty-five miles. I wrote all the numbers down and added very carefully. The camp host tells me it's mostly downhill, not like the way in here from the west.

Highs the next couple days are predicted to hit mid-nineties. I will have to devise a plan to make this survivable. Thinking I might see about getting a rental car to fast forward to some more forested sections. Or pray for clouds. Gotta do something, or I just don't see how I can do this. Anyhoo, it's so beautiful here. Clear sky, (nice at night, deadly by day!), the falls, which I had never seen before are stunning. And my neighbors are entertaining, even though we haven't actually spoken to each other yet. Sure would be cool if they said "want a beer?"

It's a Dry Heat

Wow. Today began nicely enough, Across the street from my motel in Yakima, there was a separated "Greenway," for bikes and peds. It took me all the way around the city, followed a river, and it was early, so the temperature, while slightly chilly, felt great. From there I headed out a few side streets on the east side of town past beautiful vineyards, and hooked up with highway 24. I had heard that morning on the news of a huge fire north of Sunnyside, which had 24 closed down on Friday, maybe part of Saturday. I also read about a restaurant, the Silver Dollar Cafe, that had burned in the fire. The local news said the roads were open, so I went for it. Scorched Earth! It was black on both sides of the highway, mostly to the south. The road itself was nice, big shoulders, smooth pavement. So far so good. I did go by the charred foundation of that cafe, that was sad. And as I would realize later, it might have been a great place to get some food. At one point there was a hand painted sign that said "Mule Poo, Back-Ordered." I wish I had taken a photo.

Thing is, from Moxee to Othello, or Connell (I think) There are no services. There is no shade. There are no shoulders once you turn north to go into the Saddle Mountain Wildlife Preserve. Still, The distance remaining looked OK. A little farther than I had hoped to do in a day, but, no mountain ranges, right?

My last bit of good news (possible life saving it turned out) was a rest area located Just before he refuge. Grass, water, restrooms! What an Oasis. I briefly considered camping there, because if I continued, it seemed like I'd be riding into the hottest part of the day, not a good idea. Still, only 36 miles to Othello, and a little further to Connell... I ought to be able to cover that right? Well, yes, but not the smartest thing I've tried. Once you turn east again, the road is as straight as you can imagine, and, it goes uphill. Not a lot, maybe 2-3%, but combined with chip-seal, no shoulder, and headwind, it was pretty difficult. As it got hotter, my speed kept decreasing. In two places, my attention wavered just enough to dip my wheel into the soft gravel off the edge of the pavement. I somehow didn't go down though, and was able to steer to a stop. I fantasized about someone offering me a ride. I started to get worried. Finally it seemed like I needed to stop every mile. I started worrying I might be getting into a bad region, medically speaking. I had water, though I was pacing it to make sure I didn't finish before I knew I had a destination within reach. There was eventually a ridge in view with some trees, the first possible shade I had seen in many miles. I got on the phone with Linda, and we decided I'd just make those trees, and then figure out what to do from there. Turned out to be an orchard, and I pulled in, there were sprinklers going, so I could drench my head cover without using drinking water. I dug into the trailer and got out my "camping food," and made myself a tuna sandwich of sorts. I could feel myself getting better as I downed it. After some time hanging out, I decided I felt good enough to continue, though Connell seemed depressingly too far. There was a sign, "Othello 10 miles," and though it was five to seven miles out of my way, I decided that would be my stopping place. Eventually, there was a really nice downhill. So strange to get back up into the twenties after forty miles of six to eleven miles per hour. Then, a left turn, and, uphill... well, by this time I was feeling better so I knew I could manage it. I even consulted a librarian to scope out the motels. On the way into town, my second Oasis: A taco truck! I stood in the shade and had two pork tacos. Then I asked the woman behind the counter how far to the nearest motel. Long blank stare. Finally, "Do you know where Main Street is?" Finally, I think maybe she was just trying to think of the words in English, but the way she explained it, It sounded like I was still many miles from a shower. Of course, one more hill up Main, I tried to find the Cabana Inn, but once I saw a Best Western sign, I was just done.

I think, tomorrow might be a short day. I need to make sure my routes have more towns. Some forests will be nice too. There is a campground not too far out, I'm going to think that over, and maybe make tomorrow be a little more safe and fun. Now to find some more food.

Over the Pass

My first night in the tent, I felt as though I didn't sleep a wink, in spite of the almost blissful feeling of lying down and listening to the river. I think I must have slept some, because I dreamt of being in a motel where the tub had a mostly painted over touch screen, and I was trying to look something up (Googling Cynthia Hall, in case you wondered), and the motel manager arrived. She was a small woman with no teeth. Later I was watching a parade of wild art cars where some commuters were stuck in the midst, and yelling out their windows at the parade cars to hurry up. Unless these things actually happened, I must have slept a little. So, I thought I was up early, but it took a while to take stuff apart and pack, plus make oatmeal and sort of wash up, so I hit the road a little late. I backtracked to the campground to top off my water bottles, and headed towards the pass a little after 8:00.

One funny thing yesterday, when I first arrived at Silver Springs and was riding through looking for a camping spot, I accumulated a escort of little boys on their bikes, who were enamored with my trailer, especially the flag with the "B.O.B" logo on it. "Cool, look what he has! I really like the way you attached that. Hey, is your name Bob?"

Anyway, I worked my way up to Cayuse Pass, about 9 miles of climbing, with stunning views along the way. I just got in my low gear and looked for that equilibrium of cadence and bike speed that seemed to work. Still early enough that traffic was light and the temperatures cool. Weird thing, yesterday, I would think that a long 4% grade was arduous and relieved to get a level spot. Today it was all up, and I found the 5% grades a relief, but the 6-7% grades pushing my comfort zone.

Once you get to Cayuse at 4,600 feet, it's not over. A left turn takes you up three mile-long switch-backs to crest Chinook Pass at 5400 feet.Then a moderately scary 7% descent that goes on for miles. My rear rim is not in the best of shape, and I worried about heating up the rims and exploding a tire. I'd stop from time to time to let things cool down.

At one point, I noticed a field of glass too late and went through it. So I stopped to check the tires for embedded shards. While lifting the rear wheel I noticed the trailer tip in a way it shouldn't and found I had installed the retaining pins incorrectly and one was completely out, the other halfway out. Would have been unfortunate to lose the trailer at 30 mph on the descent. I also had set my glasses on top of the trailer to take pictures, somewhere on the way up to Chinook, and justy before starting down, I reached for them in my pocket and, of course, not there. Fortunately I have a backup pair, but too bad. No way was I going to ride back down and look for them.

Much of the rest of highway 410 is a downhill grade that follows the river. It's beautiful, though my mood would ride and fall with the quality of the pavement. Also, my observation is that people with trailers seem to be pretty considerate and proficient in passing, while RV drivers don't give an inch, even when the oncoming lane is empty.

Eventually 410 joins highway 12, which becomes divided highway. It would have been a pretty depressing slog if not for the slight downhill grade and a healthy tailwind. I was holding 16-20 for a lot of the way. Traffic was increasing though, as well as the afternoon heat, so I was anxious to get this over and take the first motel sign I saw in Yakima.

Now I'm clean and full, and can relax and think about my route tomorrow, across Yakima to Highway 24.