Padded Shorts

Velo-tine's Celebration

2008-02-18T15:22:00.001-05:00

The bicycle gods were with me as I trudged around Portland a couple weeks ago. I'd been out doing a bunch of errands, and was just about to my last stop when I walked right by my stolen purple Cannondale, locked up to a bike rack at a car-park. Actually, I didn't walk by it--I started hyperventilating. There was no doubt that it was my bike. They only used that color purple one year, and all of the extras that I'd added to my bike were still there. I didn't have my cellphone on me ('natch), so I went in search of the lot attendant. Turns out that he was the new "owner", but that he'd gotten it from a local restaurateur, who'd bought it from, well, some guy. Now, I know Randy, the restaurant owner, so we walked over to have a chat with him. Randy did the right thing and I went home with my newly-recovered purple Cannondale.

At first I was too nervous to lock it back on the rack at our condo, but the day after my first ride, I got over it. I also got a titanium u-lock.

I had been riding Matthew's "beach cruiser", a bike that is fine for the city but just a shade too big for me. I hadn't been able to muster up much enthusiasm for getting a new bike--maybe feeling a little guilty that I hadn't protected my old one the way I should. But as the time drew near for the annual "Worst Day of the Year" ride, I started to wonder if I could ride the too-big bike for 18 miles. Sooo glad that I didn't have to make that decision!

I've got to take it in for a tune-up--there's a new clicking noise associated with pedaling and the fork is a little loose--but not for the next couple of days. Ever since the "Worst Day" ride on February 10th, the weather has been great! I hear we're in for rain on Wednesday--maybe I'll take it in then . . .

The Wedge

2007-10-07T15:02:00.001-04:00

Fall has definitely arrived in Portland--everywhere the maple leaves are turning brilliant red and show-stopping yellow-gold. We had decided on Friday night to get up early on Saturday, ride to breakfast (waffles at NW's Dragonfly Cafe? or omelettes at the Downtown Bijou Cafe?), and then head over to the Farmer's Market at the Portland State University (PSU) Park Blocks. But, as dawn broke and the skies were still cloudy, it was hard to leave our cozy warm featherbed. We dawdled until 9am, choosing a bagel and juice at home over breakfast out, but then attached empty panniers to Matthew's bike and headed out to the Market.

We hopped on to the Waterfront Park path, just outside our home near the Steel Bridge, and headed south toward the Salmon Street Fountain. It's a cool morning, so we decide that fleece jackets are warranted. I have a new one, a gift from Matthew that he picked up on a recent trip to Vancouver, BC. The Inukshuk, a favorite icon of mine, is the "mascot" for the 2010 Olympics, and my jacket sports a multi-colored one. My hands were cold on yesterday's commute, so I'm also wearing knitted mittens. Fall has always been my favorite season, and now that I'm living in the Pacific Northwest, I feel like I'm getting the full monty.

The Waterfront Park path is packed with pedestrians and bicyclists, and as we wend our way along the Williamette River seawall, I easily imagine that we're riding in Europe. At about that time, I get passed by a young father riding a bakfiets from Clever Cycles. The bakfiets is a Dutch bicycle design, specifically made for transporting people and stuff. The cargo hold of the bakfiets is attached on the front of the bike rather than the rear, and is an integral part of the bike. The kids ride in front, which means that the cyclist can see them at all times. Presumably, parents enjoy (and some even prefer) this arrangement.

Since my bike is completely sans load, I'm a little indignant that I've just been passed by a loaded cargo bike, but I'll get over it. I don't like to ride really fast in the Waterfront Park--there's usually a lot of pedestrians to thread through, and there also fun things to see along the river. Today, for instance, there's a DUKW amphibian tourbus heading south past the Steel Bridge, and the Oregon Maritime Museum's sternwheeler Portland is docked at the seawall near SW Pine and is open for tours.

It's a quick trip to the Salmon St. fountain, and from there we cross Naito Parkway and head west toward Park Ave, then south until we end up at PSU. The market is already bustling, but we need to find bike parking before we can get into the mix.

I've spotted what I think is a bike rack, across the greenway, so we head toward it. There's a lot of bikes locked up here--so many, in fact, that there's no more room on the rack! We have U-locks, which limits our parking options. I see bikes that have been locked to street light poles, but that won't work for us. I see the father with the bakfiets roll up and, using 2 long lengths of thick chain, lock up to a street light pole. A small child pops out of the cargo hold, and they head into the market fray. As we debate looking for another rack, a couple approaches the bike rack, laden with recent purchases from the market. They begin to load their produce onto their bikes, and I realize that this is the first time I've ever had to wait for bike parking! Now, where's the coffee?

Our bikes safely locked up and coffee in hand, I can now turn my attention to: The Wedge. Artisan, Northwest cheese-makers have gathered at the Farmers Market today to showcase their wares, present seminars, and celebrate all things cheese. More than 25 regional cheesemakers are on hand with samples, and I'm ready to dive in. We circulate (slowly) past each tent, sampling and talking with the vendors. And purchasing. We picked up a raw milk cheddar from Rogue Creamery (not to be confused with Rogue Brewery, two tents away), and then after sampling their Chocolate Stout Cheddar (confused yet?), got a wedge of that, too. I'd recently heard that honey was a good cheese companion, and when I saw the Beehive Cheese Company booth, thought I'd hit the jackpot. Turns out, their name comes from the fact that they're from Utah (The Beehive State), and didn't know anything about a honey connection. They do know about cow's milk, though. Their herd is Jerseys, a beautiful breed whose milk has a high butterfat content, which results in oh-so-creamy cheese. We tasted all of their samples, including a fabulously rich cheddar rubbed with espresso and infused with lavender. We bought their Full Moon Raw Milk Cheddar, because the creamy, buttery taste was so pure that I wanted just that simple, perfect flavor.

At the Willamette Valley Cheese Company, we sampled their Farmstead Gouda, and couldn't leave without a wedge. Their other cheeses were very good, but the Gouda was irresistible. From there we met the cheese makers at the Silver Falls Creamery, and sampled every one of their spreadable goat cheeses. They're milking about 80 head this year, mostly Togggenburg, Nubian and Alpine breeds. We also sampled both the Basil Pesto and Sun-Dried Tomato spreadable cheeses from River's Edge Dairy, and snatched up the latter. Goat milk has a lower fat content, and the fat particles are smaller than those found in cow milk. It's also naturally homogenized, and for all of those reasons and a few more, many people who are lactose intolerant find that goat's milk works for them. We both noticed that the goat cheeses seem to almost float, they're so light and airy. It's almost not fair to compare cheeses made from the different milk sources--they're that different.

And as long as we're at the Farmer's Market, I picked up a couple of squash and some onions. I sampled about a half-dozen different types of pears at the Market's "taste-it" booth--but forgot to pick any up to take home! I really enjoyed the Starkrimson red pears--now I have to hunt them out at Wednesday's Farmer's Market. I got the pear-cheese-wine wheel at the Market's info booth, which has rudimentary pairing information. I suspect it was intended more as a USAPears marketing tool than a comprehensive "pearing" tool--and it worked. Back at home, I went right to the website for more info about the Starkrimson.

Now that our panniers are nearly full, it's time for a treat stop. Gabriel's Bakery temps Matthew with a Pain au Chocolat, but I am on the hunt for the Market Gourmet brownie, just voted as a "Best Bite" by the Oregonian. Their description of how the brownie is made hooked me: "baker Monica Halici breaks up her Schokinag German chocolate by hand, then whips it with European butter, Italian espresso extract and a little chocolate liqueur. But her real secret may be the pure, organic, fair-trade Singing Dog Vanilla". I saw their booth right as we entered the market--the line wrapped around two sides of their tent. Since it's near our bike-parking, my plan is to hope that they're not sold out and pick up one on the way out. And my luck holds--there's only a short line, and I can choose either a Raspberry or Turtle Pecan brownie. Eenie, meenie, minie mo--I pick the raspberry, gently load it into my backpack, and we're done.

It takes a minute to load the panniers onto Matthew's bike, so I have the chance to enjoy the South Park blocks. Lined with large trees, the Park Blocks offer a shady respite in summer. As the weather turns cool and their leaves start to turn and drop, these beautiful old trees offer us a shower of confetti, in colors that occur only in nature. It's a wonderful day to be outside, appreciating Portland's green spaces and Hood River's bounty. We head down Park Ave. to Salmon St. and then turn back toward the Williamette River and Waterfront Park. There are even more people out on the Park's path--on bicycles, on foot, with strollers--and we thread our way through them all. At the Salmon St. dock, there's a large ship being loaded with luggage (wonder where they're going?). A couple of guys are practicing their skateboard skills on the steps at the pump station, and across Naito Parkway, the Portland Saturday Market is in full swing. The crowd thins out here, so I can fly under the Burnside Bridge, through the Japanese-American Historical Plaza, and around the Friendship Circle at the Steel Bridge. No trains in sight, so we ride over the tracks and through the gates into McCormick Pier. It's just noon, and the rest of the day is still ahead of us.

Riding to work again

2007-08-27T17:23:00.001-04:00

August 1, 2007 - So back in Lawrenceville, my commute to work was a measly 6 miles, with just a few well-spaced climbs to make me sweat a little. A little. Enough so that I had to wait a few minutes on arriving at work before changing into work clothes, but not enough to actually require a shower (or so I believe - anyone want to disagree, let me know). Nancy's was half that, so she could almost FALL to work. The small period of time between too cold to ride and too hot/humid to ride limited the number of times I actually biked to work, but in retrospect I was just being a baby. I could have ridden every day (opposition from Gwinnett County's finest notwithstanding).

NOW, though, my commute is over 11 miles, and after the first mile or so, it becomes a 7-mile series of pretty decent climbs before a few good descents, and there is no question that I should hit the showers when I get here. My employer is next to a Bally's, fortunately, and membership there is a benefit. If I leave the house by 6:10am, I have an hour's ride and enough time not to rush through the shower before getting to work before 8. And the view! There are points along Barbur Boulevard where, on clear days, you can look through the trees, over the river, and see Mount Hood beyond the city. Majestic.

And get this: every morning I ride, I see dozens -- DOZENS -- of other bikers on their way to work. I lost count this morning, but before I did I had counted 50. And that's a normal day.

I should have been biking to work EVERY DAY since I first started. EVERY DAY. But no, that big baby in me got loose and I started *gasp!* driving.

Well, no more. Not unless there's good reason, like yesterday's errands to get several large objects from Office Depot, The Container Store, and Home Depot. I'm going to ride every day I can.

Nancy went and looked at new bikes a few weekends ago, and if the new Cannondales arrive soon she'll be getting one of those. She spent over an hour with Brigette at River City Cycles, testing several for fit and comfort, talking components and performance. I wandered the store while she did, carrying her helmet, sunglasses, wallet, phone, and keys. I was her Sherpa. More soon!

Wheels, Reels, and Hoops

2007-08-25T13:33:00.001-04:00

Old Town was a-buzz last night with activities and events to please everyone. In our backyard, the North Park Blocks, top national racers flew around a half-mile track to compete in the HealthNet Twilight Criterium. In true Portland style, the race featured a beer garden as well as vendors plying spectators with natural sports drinks.

A jump-cut away, at Sequential Art Gallery (NW Broadway & Flanders), a special screening of a 7-minute short film, "Quality Control" began at 8pm. The director, producer, and several of the cast were on hand for the screening. Great film, part of the 48 Hour Film Fest project. Kudos to Falling Tree Films & One Bad Cat Media for creativity under duress. The noise from the nearby Crit wasn't nearly as stressful as the scavenger-hunt-grab-bag methodology of the film fest.

And finally, Rake Art Gallery (NW 6th & Flanders) hosted a benefit for an artist and his girlfriend who are recovering from a recent car accident. Kevin Darras is a talented screen print artist; his work on canvas, paper and clothing was showcased at Rake. Other talent was on hand to lend a festive air to the evening. My favorite--Vannessa Vortex, hoola-hoop artist. Her music and dance routine includes TWO aluminum hoops--try that!

Ladd's Addition

2007-08-03T15:04:00.001-04:00

When we moved to Portland we became a one-car family. Some thought that we would certainly regret the decision--some thought even one car was too many!

But I've discovered that Portland is very easy to get around. The scale of the city is quite manageable--city blocks are not huge here, and the grid layout of the streets make it very easy (even for map-challenged me) to find addresses. Car parking is always a hassle in cities, even though there does seem to be plenty of lots, garages, and on-street parking. So I've pretty much given up using the car unless I'm headed out of town.

On a recent ride to and from an eastside neighborhood art show, Matthew and I rode from our house, across the Steel Bridge, and out to the southeast neighborhood known as Ladd's Addition. The art show was being held in various homes and churches throughout the 'hood, and we visited about 10 different spots. Portland's southeast side has a rep as kind of a funky neighborhood, shouldering the "Keep Portland Weird" banner for all of us. Ladd's Addition is a neighborhood that was platted in the late 1800's, and goes against the grid-grain that is so Portland. The neighborhood itself is contained in a square, with angled streets, public rose gardens and roundabouts sprinkled liberally throughout. Once inside Ladd's Addition, it's easy to get turned around. The streets angle toward a giant roundabout/rose garden in the center of the neighborhood. The mature trees reveal the age of the 'hood, creating a shady oasis for peds and cyclists. The streets feel calm, caused by a combination of the roundabouts, the angled streets, and the irresistible urge to ogle all the charming houses--some of which are historic sites. Ladd's Addition is completely residential, with the exception of a church or two. It seems isolated, with a kind of Hansel and Gretel feel to it. But right at the edge of the forest (um, neighborhood), is SE Division, awash with Portland's weirdest.

We rode around Ladd's Addition, and stopped at about 10 different shows. Some were single artists, others were gatherings of multiple artists. At a church we saw everything from fabric art to photography to metal art to modern acrylics. In another basement we met a very talented artist, Jonathan Liu. Check out his website for fun pen and ink drawings, and also Etch-a-Sketch art. He's moving to Tribune, Kansas this month (August 07), as his wife has is a physician and has a job lined up there. Oddly enough, we know about Tribune, having ridden through there on our x-county trip in 2006. Portland will miss Jonathan's gentle sense of humor. We met Jonathan at the home of Bonnie and Hap Pritchard, and discovered that they were x-country cyclists, too. We had a great time chatting with them about their trip. Also showing with Jonathan was Emily Pritchard, a wildly-talented artist with a penchant for tissue paper and animals.

Another house was packed full of artisans who created jewelry from glass and stones and fantastic felt hats. At a lovingly-restored Craftsman, Liz Allen's studio showcased her watercolor and ink artistry. Liz has a great way of portraying pets--with or without their people.

By the time we got back home, it was late afternoon. I'd had a perfectly wonderful day--what's better than cycling and art-hopping? I purchased three of Jonathan's pen and ink illustrations of Portland landmarks--the "Made In Oregon" White Stag sign, the Hung Far Low building sign and the Steel Bridge--as well as 4 greeting cards--Portland Theater, St. John's Bridge, Portland Classical Chinese Garden and the Benson Bubblers. We headed back toward the Steel Bridge and our home at McCormick Pier, laden with art and neighborhood discoveries. And after all of that? Our odometers had tracked our mileage--a whopping 8 miles. Scale. Balance. Ease. Smile. Bicycles.

Mourning My Loss

2007-07-25T19:41:00.001-04:00

well, I've prodded into blogging again. Seems that some of you are still checking to see what ridiculous things we're up to now that we're off the road . . . in bicycle heaven, I might add.

The last few weeks--really, all of July--have been pretty gorgeous here. Enough sun to warm things up, but if you start to feel the heat you can find relief in the shade. Where I spend most of my time (Old Town Chinatown), the breeze from the Willamette River keeps things cool.

Today I wandered down 1st Ave to Pine St., looking for the BikeCentral shop. The Bicycle Transportation Authority (BTA) bike shop list shows them on Naito Parkway, but they moved a few months ago to their new location in Old Town Chinatown. The BTA is a new Old Town tenant, too. They had been located near PSU, but TriMet needed the space and the non-profit was forced to look for new digs. They've moved into a space on 5th Ave--also in Old Town. BTA sponsors the "Bridge Ride"--ride all 10 bridges in Portland and end at the Bite of Oregon festival in Waterfront Park, and the "Night Ride", which starts (at dark) from Union Station and features glow-in-the-dark give-aways and entertaining rest stops along the way. I stopped in at their new space, and signed up for membership.

In case you haven't heard, my purple Cannondale--the one that I rode 6,606 miles across the country last year--was stolen in June. It was my fault, really. I didn't lock it up because I was headed back out the door within 30 minutes. But gollygeewhiz, whoever took it came up 3 flights of stairs and snatched it from my front stoop! In a city where bicycling is an easy way to get around, bicycles are a high theft item. Case in point: Netherlands. Population:13 million; bicycles:14 million; bicycle theft:10%. I have been using my spare bicycle that we had at Matthew's parents house, but that one was stolen about a week later. As a courtesy to our neighbor who is selling her condo, we moved our bikes from the front deck to the rack in the parking lot. Mine was locked with a cable lock, and the thief made quick work of it, leaving the sliced cable on the asphalt.

I wasn't really prepared to buy a new bike. I test-rode a really nice Trek at the Bike Gallery, and checked out a used one from Craigslist, but couldn't bring myself to make the purchase. I remembered that Matthew had a spare bike at him folks' house, so we brought that one back and I've been riding it around the last few weeks. I thought I needed a period of mourning for my old bike, but it turns out that I just needed a small dose of back pain. Matthew's frame is just too large for me, and it's stressing out my back. So now I'm in the market.

The guy at BikeCentral was nice, but not very trusting. Guess I don't blame him--I lost 2 bikes in less than 2 weeks! He showed me a nice commuter-type bike, but I was a little put off by his manner and so I didn't test-ride it. I'll have to do a little research into the KHS brand, the kind they carry. I'll head over to River City Bicycles next, to look at their Cannondale offerings.

On the walk back home, I stopped off at the New Market building and picked up a menu for the Mandarin House. It's a well-known spot in Old Town Chinatown, and we've been intending to try it out. As I crossed Davis, I met up with Merlin. I met Merlin a couple of months ago, when she became the volunteer editor of the Old Town Chinatown newsletter, The Crier. Her day job is with the city, as an Information Ambassador. Sometimes she has a pushcart of brochures for anything and everything you can do in Portland, and sometimes she spends time just walking around looking for people that need her. Information Ambassadors wear a uniform that makes it pretty obvious you're talking with someone who's job it is to KNOW THINGS. Besides which, Merlin is super-friendly in a very warm, encouraging way. When she uses the word "super", she really means it. Merlin and I are collaborating on taking The Crier into cyberspace, and I'm enjoying working with her.

Tonight we're heading off to the North Park Blocks to watch a friend's team play bocce'. The city hosts a league, and has something like 90 courts throughout the city. The one in the Park Blocks is great--cool and shady. Then we have to head down to the "vortex of evil"--so named because on one corner is a Ben & Jerry's, Cupcake Jones, TearDrop Lounge and the soon-to-be-open Bishop's Barber--Hair, Nails and Cocktails. Matthew has pre-ordered cupcakes for his office which we'll pick up tonight. Cupcake Jones features a monthly menu, everything made on-site, and "frosting shots". See you there.

PINK

2007-06-12T15:52:00.000-04:00

I've been needing a little bit of good karma, and what better place to find it than at PINK? PINK is an installation art piece, and although it feels like it was birthed in Portland, it actually originated in Autin, TX (the other weird place). PINK is in PDX as part of the month-long bicycle celebration known as "Pedalpalooza". Create your love note (or notes) to be delivered in Portland by a PINK bicycle messenger. My lack of good karma has reduced me to riding Matthew's bicycle--probably reducing my karma even further by depriving him of riding during these oh-so-gorgeous days of June. Two (count 'em) bicycles have been unceremoniously stolen from me within the past week, so I'm feeling a little like a lost puppy ("have you seen my bicycle?"). I need some bicycle luv. Matthew's bike is a little big for me, but if I adjust the seat down a couple inches, I can manage the short trip to PINK, and probably a follow-on stop at Whole Foods. I have to wear shoes with clips, though, since Matthew's pedals don't accommodate street shoes easily. No worries, I have sandals with the right clips, and it's a sunny day in Portland, with temperatures in the mid-70's. I grab a pannier for the post-PINK food stop, and head out onto Naito Parkway for the ride to 318 SW Taylor. After crossing Naito and dipping into Old Town Chinatown, I turn south on 3rd. Along the way, my spirits are lifted by seeing the images of bicyclists that have been "personalized" by by our DOT staff. They've added hairstyles, hats and (happy) facial expressions to the standard-issue bicycle-lane bicyclist icons. The weather today, along with Portland's bicycle-friendly climate have coaxed dozens of riders to share the road with me today, and now I'm beginning to feel happy. Happy to be pedaling along with other cyclists, motorists and buses. Happy to smell the jasmine in full bloom as I pass the Portland Classical Chinese Garden on Everett. I pass out of the Alphabet Streets (Everett, Davis, Couch, Burnside and Ankeny) and cross into the Arbor District (Ash, Pine, Oak). In no time I'm in the Presidential Borough, turn right on Taylor and start looking for PINK's HQ. Not hard to find, either. Pink a-frame signboards on the sidewalk alert passersby that this is the spot. The location has been donated for the duration of the installation, but the storefront seems "Taylor"-made for PINK. Big windows across the front beckon all who walk past to stop, wonder and perhaps walk in. I'm immediately enchanted by the place, and as I step across the threshold, "Martini" greets me with a friendly "welcome to PINK!". I declare my intent to put my "love on the line", and am directed to follow the dotted pink duct tape line to "Reception". A lovely young woman in a white jumpsuit gives me a quick intro to how the process works, and I head down to create my love note. I pass on the in-house poet, on hand to provide inspirational help for the prose-aicly challenged. I decide to wait for a manual typewriter to open up--how often do you get to use one of these? After typing out my messages, I mark the delivery address for the messengers, and pop my notes into pink-be-ribboned bottles and hand them to a PINK staffer. Above our heads was the "love line"--a hand-powered, clothesline and bicycle wheel pulley system. The staffer added tags, attached the bottles to the pulley, and we all yelled "love on the line" as my glass vials-o-love were sent up the line for delivery. Ah, love. I feel so much better already! After the PINK stop, I head on to the Farmer's Market and join the throng of shoppers enjoying the day, the sun, and the fruits of someone else's labor. I restrain myself from buying everything that looks good (it all does), and come home with fresh veggies that will last me until the next market--which happens to be Wednesday night. I find that my notes were all delivered in the next 24 hours, and am basking in the glow of requited love and PINK wishes. Is my Karma being mended? Will my own bicycle return to me? Stay tuned.

New Update from our New Place

2006-12-07T14:11:00.000-05:00

After a long (LONG!) hiatus, we are preparing to make daily (or near-daily) entries here on the Padded Shorts Blog again. A word or two of explanation is in order.

After completing the Scenic Detour, we spent a few weeks recuperating at the beach in Lincoln City, OR, before returning to Lawrenceville to retrieve our stuff. Putting the stuff on the truck was easy (we hired a mover); we had our car shipped separately. But when we got back to Portland, we found that the person renting our condo had not, as we thought, moved out yet. Fortunately, the mover delayed delivery of our goods until November 7, so we were good.

Unpacking. For those of you who have experienced a move in your adult life, that word is sufficient to describe the chaos that followed delivery of our stuff on a rainy Tuesday morning. For the rest of you, this forum is too short to describe the litany of emotions of that first day in a new place. Some boxes we would open, only to find a mind-boggling array of unrelated items - and we would then recall the mad last days of packing, when contents no longer fit neatly into one room or another, and we had just a few boxes left anyway.

Unpacking continues.

Meanwhile, we have begun the search for employment in earnest. Nancy has found several interesting prospects, and I have had a few interviews that, I think, went pretty well. Hopefully, I will be able to start somewhere before Christmas; all of the places I have interviewed with are, nominally and by comparison to the distances we covered during the Scenic Detour, within biking distance. Note: We didn't move to Portland, the number 1 Bicycling City in the US according to Bicycling Magazine, so that we could DRIVE to work. Nancy and I both intend to bike to wherever we end up working, even if it involves a ride on the MAX as well.

Our new location, for those of you that have not received a change of address e-mail, is at the northern end of the Waterfront Park along the Willamette River in the McCormick Pier Condominiums. From our bedroom window, we look out onto the Steel Bridge and the historic Waterfront District. Portland's Union Station is nearby, and a rail crossing over Naito Parkway is also right outside our front windows. The train horns were somewhat obtrusive at first, but we are accustomed to them now. We are also treated to frequent river traffic, such as the ubiquitous tugs and barges, but also the occasional pleasure craft. In the spring, there will be some Naval ships, too; and starting tonight, on Tuesdays and Thursdays for the next two weeks, a small fleet of craft decorated for Christmas will be passing by.

This morning, at about quarter-to-four, I heard a loud noise (it woke me up, that is to say) that I surmised was the sound of a freight train coming to a stop. When the locomotive stops, all the cars behind bump in to the car in front of them, and it can be loud. This sound seemed louder than usual, though; and as it turned out, a couple cars had actually derailed, and Naito Parkway had to be closed until they righted the cars and cleared the crossing. That happened around 9 this morning.

Nancy slept through it. She claims to have heard it when it happened, so she disputes my assertion that a train could derail outside our window and she would sleep through it. Pfft. She was snoring.

Next time: the restaurants we have tried so far, and the ones on our list to try soon. Also, VOODOO DOUGHNUTS!

Stats, Part 2

2006-10-05T03:46:00.000-04:00

From Lincoln City

It is starting to sink in that we are finished with this journey. So far, I've played 14 games of Scrabble with my Dad, and he's graciously let me win the last four in a row. Nancy has already put the finishing touches on a raffle quilt and has begun a project of her own; for my part, I've selected a very easy project for those days Jim works so I have something to do. Yes, I know how to sew. I learned how in the Navy, so that makes it manly.

Nancy and I have ridden our bikes together just once since arriving here at the coast - a short trip around Devils Lake on East Devil's Lake Road to the outlet mall (where I finally got a new pair of shoes and a couple pair of jeans), and back home on 101, a total of about 12 miles. Last year, while visiting, we rode the same loop on the more upright, cruiser-style bikes we have here, and it almost killed us. We were WAY out of shape, and it showed. This time, it was easy. It's nice to feel fit again. We will be riding more frequently now that my behind has stopped aching.

Nancy rode down to the house of one of Suzi's friends today, about 9 miles each way, covering the distance in about 42 minutes. She's pretty studly.

We will be returning to Lawrenceville on the 16th, and will be there for the better part of 10 days as we arrange to have our worldly possessions moved to Portland. We are planning on seeing anyone and everyone who wants to see us, and even some of you who probably DON'T want to. I know 5 wants us to go to a Dawgs game; is there a Thrashers game we can attend in that time frame, 11? I'd love to have a big beer with you for old times' sake. Demetrios, Elaine, pick a night that's good for you and we'll go have dinner. Gunnar, Lisa, same thing. Bob, anything you want from the Nike campus while I'm in the neighborhood?

Here are a few more inane stats for everyone:

Total number of tortillas eaten: 128

Number of jars of peanut butter: 3.333...

Number of freeze-dried camp dinners: 12

Number of times we ate at a McDonalds: 3

Number of times we ate at a Tim Horton's: 9

Number of times our only food option was a hamburger: 34

Number of times we rode before actually eating breakfast: 11

Payday bars eaten: 116

Bags of Hot Tamales eaten: 11

Bugs (inadvertently) eaten: dozens

Nights spent next to a river: 47

Nights spent next to an ocean: 12

Nights spent next to a lake: 8

Nights spent next to a waterfall: 3

Nights spent next to a vinyard: 2

Nights spent next to a shipyard: 4

Nights spent in a hog barn: 1 (our anniversary)

Number of days with a headwind: 68

Number of days with a crosswind: 17

Number of days with a tailwind: 6

Number of days there was no wind (or we didn't notice): 43

Number of days we rode in the rain: 6

Number of days we rode in the hail: 1

Times we made camp/motel moments before it rained: 5

Oddest animal seen: zebras (in Kansas)

Number of cows seen: about a zillion

Number of times I "mooed" at the cows: about a zillion

Number of times it worked: once, causing a small stampede

Number of times horses ran with us: 4

Number of times cows ran with us: 1

Places we stayed that had hot tubs: 21

Number of those hot tubs we actually used: 6

Number of places we stayed for free: 9

Places we were actually not SUPPOSED to stay for free: 2

Number of air mattresses we used: 4

Air mattress that never leaked the whole way: the one 11 gave us after day 2

(It still works, 11; want it back?)

Times we rode on a water ferry: 7

Times we rode in a vehicle instead of riding: 2

Times we rode in cars, but not as part of the ride: 15

Number of books we read: 6

Number of books we bought for less than $1: 5

Number of shot glasses purchased: 16

Number of charms for charm bracelet purchased: 10

Items seen by the side of the road:

12 television sets

11 pairs of jeans

10 tupperware containers (food still inside)

9 telephones/cellphones (mostly complete)

8 hair dryers

7 board games

6 Neil Diamond tapes/8-tracks

5 guitars/ukeleles

4 Hawaiian shirts

3 silk demi-cup bras (one red, one white, one blue)

2 complete toilets

1 big, red, floppy clown shoe

0 large, overstuffed bags of money

Flat tires: 9

Broken spokes: 0

Broken chains: 1

Broken mirrors: 3

Broken flagsticks: 2

Broken trailer frames: 1

Lost sunglasses: 2

Lost locks: 2

Lost cotter pins: 2

Lost motel room keys: 2

Lost mind due to wind: 1 (that day in Kansas I was an IDIOT)

New friends: dozens

More soon!

Stats, Part 1

2006-09-27T12:02:00.000-04:00

From Lincoln City, OR.

We thought some of you might be interested in some of the statistics of the journey -- miles, days, and so on. So, here is a start:

Total miles ridden: 6607.7

Number of days ridden: 134

Rest days: 22

Average miles/day: 49.3

Longest day, in miles: 96.45 (Powell Junction, ID, to Kamiah, ID)

Longest Day, in time: 7 hours, 42 minutes, 37 seconds (Lander, WY, to Dubois, WY)

Fastest Average Speed, one day: 14 mph (Powell Junction to Kamiah)

Slowest Average Speed, one day: 6 mph (Canon City, CO, to Guffey, CO)

Highest Plausible Speed achieved: 51.1 mph (Matthew, on the descent from Hoosier Pass)

Highest Speed recorded (not plausible): 86 mph

Milestone Points:

1000 miles: near a field in Virginia

2000 miles: at the entrance to the Lake Champlain Islands, Vermont

3000 miles: on a country road outside Bowling Green, OH

4000 miles: on the ONE stretch of road we had a tailwind in Kansas, north of El Dorado

5000 miles: nearing Lander, WY, with the Fab Four

6000 miles: entering Lewiston, ID

More soon!

Warm Showers Visitors

2006-09-27T11:21:00.000-04:00

Warm Showers Visitors
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

These three cyclists--Chris, Matthias and Tobias--are riding the Coast route

from Germany. Chris and Tobias are touring for just a few weeks; Matthias

is on a 3-year tour from Patagonia to Alaska. They found Suzi & Jim's house

on the cyclists' warm showers website, and we enjoyed talking with them and

seeing Matthias' pictures from Bolivia. More cyclists are due at the house

tonight!

Roads End

2006-09-27T11:16:00.000-04:00

Roads End
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

From the top of this rise, it's all downhill to the literal Roads End for

us.

The End is Near

2006-09-27T11:12:00.000-04:00

The End is Near
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

At an overlook by the ocean, a friendly tourist snapped this shot of us on

our last day of the Scenic DeTour.

Princess Of Wales

2006-09-27T11:07:00.000-04:00

Princess Of Wales
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

Megan was dubbed "The Princess of Wales" by her fellow cyclists. We met her

on one of the last days of her trip as well as ours. She'd ridden from

Yorktown, VA to Florence, OR, and was heading up the coast to Astoria.

Cape Mears

2006-09-27T10:57:00.000-04:00

Cape Mears
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

The lighthouse on Cape Mears sits at about sea level, though the road to the

park is uphill . . . both ways.

The Saga of Bay Ocean

2006-09-27T10:55:00.000-04:00

The Saga of Bay Ocean
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

This marker tells the sad tale of Bay Ocean. No amount of engineering could

save the doomed development.

Dolly

2006-09-27T10:50:00.000-04:00

Dolly
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

At our stop in Tillamook at the Blue Heron Cheese Company, Matthew visits

with Dolly the Llama.

Hug Point

2006-09-27T10:48:00.000-04:00

Hug Point
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

This spot was named Hug Point not for its' romantic scenery, but because it

was so narrow that cars were forced to hug the road to keep from falling of

the cliff and into the ocean.

The Ocean

2006-09-27T10:46:00.000-04:00

The Ocean
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

Another beautiful day, riding along the oceanfront.

Fort Clatsop

2006-09-27T10:44:00.000-04:00

Fort Clatsop
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

Heading down the coast, we stopped in at Fort Clatsop, the site where the

Discovery Corps spent the winter. It rained on them 112 days out of 116; we

had beautiful weather. A beautiful spot for a park---or a fort

My New Favorite Store

2006-09-27T10:41:00.000-04:00

My New Favorite Store
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

The Rain Store in Astoria has everything for a rainy day. They also have a

website: www.umbrellastand.com

Family Dinner

2006-09-27T10:36:00.000-04:00

Family Dinner
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

While in Portland, we had dinner with Matthew's parents, Suzi & Jim, and

Matthew's twin sister Kim, her husband Ron, and their sons Garrett (who's 16

now) and Tanner. Our waitress was some kind of alien; she never wrote down

a thing, remembered every minute aspect of our orders, and didn't feel the

need to number us.

Road's End

2006-09-26T11:54:00.000-04:00

Monday, September 25. Pacific City, OR to Lincoln City (Road's End), OR.

Due to the dog days of summer, and the Inn's policy about not installing a/c units, we spent a fairly uncomfortable final night on the road. It wasn't too hard to get up early, get breakfast, and get on the road one last time.

We had about 20 miles to ride before reaching Otis, where we planned to meet Jim & Suzi for lunch at the Otis Cafe. We continued on the Scenic Cape Route via Hwy 101 through the small burg of Pacific City, the bump in the road known as Oretown, and then into Neskowin, where we turned onto Slab Creek Road and the Old Scenic Highway 101. This route avoids the massive climb at Cascade Head, but is also a stunningly gorgeous meander into a primordial rain forest setting. Towering trees surround the road, scenting the air with cedar. Beneath them, glorious ferns carpet the ground. Everything is so lush and fertile here, that even cracks in the road surface are filled with bright green moss. We begin our ascent in the shade, but soon the effort of climbing warms us up and we stop to take off our jackets.

The climb continues for a long time, but the grade is fairly gentle. The road twists and turns; we pass the Neskowin Valley School and hear the happy shrieks of children out for recess in the schoolyard. We pass mile markers, but have no good idea how many miles we'll climb before reaching the 600+ feet to the summit. Finally, I call for a break, and we decide to stop just at the next turn. We haven't seen more than 3 or four cars since we turned onto Slab Creek Road, but as we're stopped we can hear a car approaching from the curve just beyond. Matthew says "I wonder if that's my dad", and as the car comes around the bend we can see that it is, indeed, both his mom and dad.

Hugs all around, then a few pictures (I think I know now how Lewis and Clark felt when the Indian tribes welcomed them into their villages). We had made it to the crest of the mountain, Jim assures us, and it's a downhill ride from here to the Otis Cafe. Jim & Suzi agree to follow us, so we can take the lane and not have to worry about cars passing us on the descent. My odometer reads 6597.9 as I start the descent, and I don't turn my pedals for the next 3 miles. It's about 5 miles total to the Otis Cafe, and we cover that distance in no time.

For anyone who's never been, the Otis Cafe is worth the stop in Otis. It's one of maybe 4 businesses in the entire town, which was sidelined when Hwy 101 was "straightened". It's one of our favorite places in the area, famous for their homemade breads and pies as well as for their German hashbrowns. We had to wait a while for a table--there are only 6 tables in the entire cafe--and that gave us a chance to come to terms with the fact that we were about 5 miles from Jim & Suzi's home on the beach in Roads' End. We left the cafe with a loaf of bread and a berry pie.

And then came the last 5 miles. We rode along the wide shoulder of SR 18 for a short while, and then were back on Hwy 101 for another mile or two. We took a right turn onto Logan Road, and made the short climb to the turn onto Roads' End. From the top of that hill, we had a clear view of the ocean and knew that it was, literally, all downhill from here. The Stovall B&B was about a half-mile away; the ocean just beyond their hot tub. We flew down the hill and were met in the driveway by our gracious hosts and Honey, their Malamut mix. We unloaded our trailers, and rolled down to the beach for the ceremonial wheel-dipping ceremony, which marked the official end of our trip. Within 30 minutes, we were lounging in the hot tub, a glass of Merriweather Champagne in hand, toasting six thousand, six hundred miles.

The journey ended the way it began--among family. No press, no fireworks. We talked last night about some trip highlights--the Columbia Gorge, the high deserts in Wyoming, the descent from Lolo Pass, Cedar Point Amusement Park, the Great Dismal Swamp are just a few of the fabulous sights we've seen on this trek. And seeing them from the seat of a bicycle is an experience totally different from touring any other way. Neither of us feel like Superman (or Wonder Woman), but we also don't feel like we couldn't have gone one more mile. I was intimidated by the Rockies, but now I see that they're just one more day of riding. As the saying goes, "Adversity becomes adventure after a shower and a couple of beers".

We'll be hanging out here at the beach for a few weeks while we collect ourselves and our things, then begin to make ourselves at home in our new home in Portland. Hockey season starts soon, and while Portland doesn't have an NHL team, but we hope that friends and family will visit us here anyway. Happy Trails!

I Looooove Capes!

2006-09-25T00:06:00.000-04:00

Sunday, September 24. Tillamook, OR to Pacific City, OR.

We didn't even put our wheels to the road until 11am this morning, since our ride today would be less than 40 miles. Sunday morning breakfast at the Pancake House was just too inviting; we lingered over coffee and the Sunday Oregonian until the breakfast crowds were long gone.

We chose to take the Three Capes Scenic Route today, and almost immediately found ourselves in the middle of Tillamook's dairyland. These cows are famous--they're the backbone of the Tillamook Dairy cheeses, milk and ice cream. Jersey cows are the overwhelming favorite here, with good reason. Their milk has a much higher buttterfat content than their higher-profile cousins, the Holsteins, and produces better flavored cheese and ice cream.

Just before the Cape Mears State Park is a marker for the lost city of Bay Ocean. In the early 1900's, a Kansas developer came to the Bayocean Peninsula with dreams of creating another Atlantic City (Pacific City, presumably). Several town buildings were erected, residents moved into town, but when a winter storm eroded the foundation of the town's swimming pool, confidence in the foundation of the town itself began to erode. By the 1960's the entire town was washed away.

Even though we're within spitting distance of the ocean, the route begins to climb away from the shore and up into the Coast Range. The peaks of this range are considerably smaller than the Cascades or the Rockies, but the roads here are graded more steeply. As we climbed, I found myself peddaling along in my granny gear, wishing for an even grannier gear. Once we got to the top of the climb at Cape Mears, we descended into the Cape Mears Park to have a look at the Mears Lighthouse and the Octopus Tree (a really old, really huge Sitka Spruce). We'd both been here on a previous trip to the coast, but it seemed like a worthwhile side trip. Just as we were about halfway up the lighthouse staircase, Matthew remembered that he'd left his Camelback at the top of the hill, near the park entrance. We cut short our visit to the park, and were about to make the climb back up the hill when a woman approached Matthew and asked if he'd lost his Camelback. They had seen us come in, and on their way out of the park had noticed the pack. They picked it up and brought it down to the parking area to search for us. "See, there are nice people in the world" was their comment as they handed the pack back to Matthew. If they only knew!

Back on the road, we descended out of the Coast Range and headed to Oceanside and Netarts. Riding along Netarts Bay is beautiful. A picturesque body of water on one side of the road, a rocky mountain on the other. The route along the bay turned back toward the mountains, and we climbed back up over 800 feet to the Cape Lookout State Park. For anyone who's considering this route, I offer the following information. The roads along this part of the route have no shoulders to speak of, although there is a bike lane on the southbound side of the climb up to Cape Lookout State Park. We are riding in the off season, so traffic was generally light and well-behaved. The road surface itself is patchy, and the dappled, shaded sunlight made it difficult to tell where the rough spots were. If you were to add either bad weather or heavy traffic to this mix, I'm not sure you'd have a very enjoyable ride.

Anyway, the climb to Cape Lookout is about 2 miles of climbing, and fortunately for us, we had the bike lane on our side. As we came down the descent, I was surprised to see that the landscape changed from majestic forests to open sand dunes. It was as though we'd been plucked out of Narnia and spit out into the sands of Arabia. And that's when we met the Princess of Wales.

Megan, who is actually from Wales, was making her way up toward Cape Lookout as we descended. I crossed over to her side of the road, astonished that we'd run into at least one more cross-country cyclist. Megan began her journey from Yorktown, VA about the same time that we left Lawrenceville, and she'd made it to Florence, OR, just a few days ago. Her plan is to finish riding in Astoria, then ship her bike back to the UK before heading down to LA for a "proper holiday". She'd thought about touring the US with an RV, but decided she didn't want to spend months watching the road. So she put up her house for rent, quit her job, and found her way to Virginia. She'd only ridden about 200 miles with her bike "Jimmy" before deciding that this was something that she could do. I asked her what she was returning to in October and she replied, "the house is let until June, and of course it's winter in England but summer in New Zealand". That's the spirit! We wished her good luck and continued down the mountain to Pacific City.

The last few miles of the day's trip was on Whiskey Creek Road, a road which is more of the same shoulderless patch job that we'd ridden earlier in the day. Because the road also has a lot of twists and turns, the posted speed limits are 25-35mph. And even though we were having to hunt and peck our way around potholes and patches, the majority of the traffic was patient with us and waited for oncoming traffic to pass them before they passed us. Except for one. There's always one. And this one was a big RV, who honked at me (since I was riding sweep) before angrily passing. Matthew stopped short and turned back around to see what the commotion was all about, and when the RV passed us and we could see a cluster of bicycles clamped on to the back of the vehicle, he lost it. A blue streak came spewing from his mouth as he churned his pedals to catch up with the behemouth. The RV hanked at us again and lumbered out of my view, although Matthew did chase him for a little while longer.

It was just a few more miles to Pacific City, where our accommodations at Cape Kiwandah are a good prep for staying in the Princess room at the Stovall B&B in Lincoln City.

Down pillows? Check. Feathertop bed? Check DVD player? Check. Ocean view? Yes, but only from the balcony. At the B&B, even the bathroom has spectacular ocean views. And here at Cape Kiwanda, the rock feature just off shore is known as "Haystack Rock". Funny, that's what the rock feature at Cannon Beach was called, too. But that one has little rocks all around it called "The Needles". Cape Kiwanda's rock doesn't have any needles. Cape Kiwanda's rock needs a new marketing director.

We crossed the street and headed to the Pelican Pub for dinner. The Pub also houses a microbrewery, apparently good enough to win medals at several beer contests. Matthew sample the Doryman's Dark Ale and pronounced it "pretty good". Also "pretty good" was tonight's sunset, dipping into the ocean and painting the sky with a thin orange line at the horizon.

Tomorrow is our final day of riding, and we'll end our trip (appropriately enough) at Road's End, where the Stovall B&B is located. I guess tomorrow's blog will be coming to you from the hot tub. Check. On the beach. Check.

We Brake for Ice Cream

2006-09-24T01:14:00.000-04:00

Saturday, September 23. Cannon Beach, OR, to Tillamook, OR.

We left the window open all night; we could just barely hear the surf, which was nice. Maybe too nice - we almost overslept, and finally got on the road around 10, after going over to Mo's for breakfast (who knew?). It was warm enough that tights were not necessary, which hasn't been true for many, many days now; and we even shed our jackets soon after the first descent.

As might be expected, todays route was replete with incredible views at the several overlooks along the way. And, as might be expected, getting to those overlooks involves climbing a good bit - and the profile shows some utterly dramatic climbs. Of course, that meant that those climbs were not as bad as they were depicted. True.

We arrived at Hug Point State Park, and had to get a picture in front of the sign there (yes, we were hugging); but we didn't venture down to the parking area. Too steep.

We passed through one more tunnel equipped with a button-activated light warning system, just past Arch Cape. Even with the lights flashing (I presume they were still flashing), cars entered the tunnel at speeds that made me worry. Of course, we made it, but being passed by a semi and then an RV INSIDE A TUNNEL is a harrowing experience.

We are ocean-side of the Coast Range mountains here; the slopes are lush, green, and subject to slides. We came across several places along the roadway that showed evidence of those slides - new asphalt in half-moon shapes abutting the downslope side. It's not hard to imagine that driving on this road would require more attention than usual after heavy rain. Fortunately, it's been dry a day or two now, so we didn't have much to worry about in that respect.

Oh, and we had a TAILWIND all day. And clear skies, too; and it was warm without being just BAKING. We struggled to recall a day so perfect for riding in the direction we were going (we've had days that would otherwise have been perfect but for the heat, the ferocious head- or crosswind, or the rain). We fairly sailed through the towns of Manzanita, Nehalem & Mohler before entering the lush Foley Creek valley. A more direct route to Bay City than 101, and probably safer, by all accounts, the road followed along Foley Creek (a tributary to the Nehalem River) up to a shallow pass before descending the other side along the Miami River. We kept waiting for the awful climb depicted on the profile, but never reached anything so bad.

Bay City has places to eat, and we expected to have lunch there; but we rode through without finding a suitable lunch spot, and before we knew it, we were just 5 miles from Tillamook. So, because we needed a break, we stopped roadside and had a snack on the southern outskirts of Bay City, not quite within sight of Tillamook Bay.

Lunch, we decided, would be at the Blue Heron in Tillamook. It was one place where we could get sandwiches made with Tillamook cheddar and finish with a scoop of Tillamook ice cream. It is also at the Blue Heron that you can can meet Dolly the Llama, and when you have that brush with greatness, you can feed her an apparently yummy mix of oats and stuff. The goats will also clamor for some, but they aren't nearly as enlightened.

After lunch, we stopped for an extra tube for my trailer at a sporting goods store. I have found my trailer tire flat twice in recent weeks but have yet to find a leak; so we picked up a replacement tube for the next time it happens, if it happens, in the next two days.

The Marclair Inn, our stop for the night, is centrally located in downtown Tillamook (I just like saying Tillamook). We were able to take a quick walking tour of about 6 downtown blocks, scoping out a spot for breakfast tomorrow, before heading back for dinner at McClaskey's, the restaurant attached to the motel; it was the best available option from among a surprising number of them.

Tomorrow we will embark on the Three Capes Scenic Route, visiting Cape Meares, Cape Lookout, and Cape Kiwanda, before stopping at Pacific City for the night. From there, it will be a 20-mile ride on Monday to the Otis Cafe for lunch, and then a 6-mile, all-smiles ride to the finish. The weather is supposed to hold like it has been, which we could not have even hoped for.

Sure, we could probably make it all the way to Lincoln City tomorrow, but we want to arrive on Monday so my Dad can be there to have lunch with us and help us celebrate reaching the Roads End, both figuratively and literally. Since he will be working late Sunday, we'll wait for Monday when he will be home. Just two days left!

The Pacific Ocean, at last

2006-09-23T02:01:00.000-04:00

Friday, September 22. Astoria, OR, to Cannon Beach, OR.

Let's get this straight: we are not really slacking here, even though we only covered about 31 miles today. We stopped at Fort Clatsop on our way out of Astoria to get one last, surreal taste of the Lewis and Clark story. That took time.

We almost made a special trip yesterday to Fort Clatsop, but didn't because it was on the route we would take today; in retrospect, we made a good decision. Fort Clatsop, for those unfamiliar with the story, was the winter camp for the Corps of Discovery in 1805 before they headed back to St. Louis. It was also one of the rainiest winters on record, with just 4 rain-free days in the 116 they were there.

This Fort Clatsop is a relatively new addition to the array of Lewis and Clark-related spots along their route; in fact, the fort itself is still under construction. Furthermore, the location of the fort itself is not really known, and the fort under construction seems located more for its proximity to the visitor's center than for any relation to historical accuracy.

There's more: the visitor's center is filled with exhibits and some good information about the expedition, but not very much about the role of the winter camp itself. There is a short film, about 20 minutes, which we thought might portray some more details about the expeditions' winter; but it did not. In a surreal kind of retelling, it instead portrayed a native american woman telling the story of the expeditions' arrival at the coast to a group of children as they all sat around a campfire on the beach - in 1841. It's hard to understand the choice of 1841 as the setting for the film, since that year doesn't represent any particular turning point or even significant event. But even more confusing was the fact that the story she told was only SORT OF about the expeditions time at the coast; mostly it was about the little conflicts they had with the native population there, and there were some sequences that seemed like modern ideas were anachronistically placed in her descriptions. Overall, it was less elucidating and more confusing than I hoped.

The fort, still under construction, is not open for close inspection; instead, you can only get close to the outside, looking in to the courtyard. It will be a nice fort when it is done, probably pretty close to the original.

We decided to move on, considering the unfinished state of the whole exhibit; perhaps we will return another time, now that we will be living relatively close by.

The day brightened, literally; the morning's cloud cover dissipated and left clear skies for the remainder of the days' ride. The road to Seaside is actually called Lewis and Clark Road; it follows (what else?) the Lewis and Clark River before climbing a small (600-foot) rise just a few miles outside of town. On the descent, we caught our first real glimpse of the Pacific Ocean; and, riding down 12th Avenue straight towards the ocean, we finally heard the surf about a block from the pedestrian walkway known as the Prom. And then, there we were, within sight of the surf. We stopped and got a picture, and of course we laughed as we both said "Ocean in View! O the Joy!".

After lunch, we got dessert at the Portland Fudge store on Broadway; Tsunami Bark, which is milk chocolate with rice crispies, marshmallows, peanut butter and chocolate chips. Mmmm.

By the way, who else is surprised by the fact that the entire town of Seaside is in a Tsunami Hazard Zone? The view from the oceanfront homes is not exactly great; from ground level all you can see is the vegetation on the dunes and a little of the sea beyond. Nothing dramatic. And, if -- no, WHEN that tsunami comes, Seaside will be under water. I was a little relieved as we climed the hill out of town and passed the sign announcing that we were leaving the tsunami hazard zone.

I thought it would be about 10 miles to Cannon Beach, but it turned out to be just 7. We rolled past, heading to Tolovana Park, a southern suburb of Cannon Beach, where we checked in to the Tolovana Inn. Our room is one of the few that do NOT have an ocean view; instead, it has what they call a "mountain view", a nice way of saying it faces the opposite direction from the ocean.

We passed the afternoon talking with Nancy's sister Emily (on the phone), who was supposed to undergo surgery today; so imagine our surprise when she answered her phone. Long story short: other, emergency surgeries (on other people, of course) pushed her scheduled procedure back far enough that it had to be canceled. We just wanted her to know we support her; it took us more than two hours to say that, and a whole lot more.

We had dinner at Mo's, just in time to watch a nice, ordinary sunset (which I'll take, if it means more nice weather). This Mo's is apparently the original one; there is a Mo's down in Lincoln City, too, just north of Siletz Bay (I think - you locals can correct me Monday when we get there). As a bonus, we got a tiara after dinner - picture soon. Nancy says it is a general purpose tiara, for any occasion, like when your regular tiara is out at the cleaners.

Tomorrow, we head to Tillamook, and more importantly to the Tillamook Dairy, where we will be able to get Tillamook Ice Cream. The Blue Heron Cheese Factory is also there (in Tillamook County there are more cows than people). Perhaps not surprisingly, one other notable institution there is the Tillamook Beef Smoker, producers of some of the best beef jerky available. One thing is certain: we won't starve in Tillamook. Three days left!

Discovering Astoria

2006-09-22T01:45:00.000-04:00

Thursday, September 21. Rest day in Astoria.

Even though we'd just had a rest day in Portland, we had planned to take a day off in Astoria to explore this coast city. Besides, the weather hadn't quite cleared up this morning, but the forecast for the weekend looks great.

So after a continental breakfast at the hotel, we unhitched our trailers, jumped on our bikes, and headed off toward downtown Astoria. We found the trolley tracks right beyond the hotel, and followed them down to the waterfront. Astoria is a city that began as a trading post for beaver pelts, but once fashions changed, lumber and salmon became the town's key industries. Immigrants from around the world came to be part of this boomtown, and their influences can still be seen throughout the city. In particular, there is a strong Finn influence here, celebrated every year with a Suomi Festival (held in July; we missed that one, too).

Our first stop on the waterfront was the Maritime Museum. This building is dedicated to all things nautical when it comes to the Columbia River, so everything from a map of lost ships (The Graveyard of the Pacific) to duck decoys are on display here. The river has a wild and woolly history, and still "makes waves" as ships hoist their sails and attempt to cross the sand bar at the mouth of the river.

After the museum we headed to the library, hoping to be able to upload some pictures. But their internet access was down today, as was the case with most of Astoria, so pix will have to wait.

We made a quick stop at Columbia Travel to get lodging info for the next few days, and then dropped into the Hotel Elliott just across the street. A $4 million restoration has turned this former flophouse into a luxury hotel. Maybe on our next visit we'll stay here.

Lunch at the Urban Cafe' was next on the list, including the chocolate hunk cake. These people know how to serve chocolate cake--whipped cream, ice cream (Tillamook Vanilla Bean), and a pitcher of warm chocolate sauce for you to drizzle on as needed. mmmmmmm.

After lunch we spent the rest of the afternoon at a local coffee and book shop, watching the sun poke through as the wind blew the clouds eastward. I'm hoping that trend continues through the rest of the night, and we awake to clear, sunny skies. The dream continues . . .

Ocean in Sight . . . I Think

2006-09-21T14:03:00.000-04:00

Wednesday, September 20. Rainier, OR to Astoria, OR

We made it to the Oregon Coast in true Lewis & Clark style--in the rain.

The skies were misting while we had breakfast, but it seemed as though we would have dry weather when we started out from Rainier this morning. It was a little cold--thank goodness for the 1.5-mile, 600 ft. climb out of Rainier. By the time we got to the viewpoint near the top I was sweating under my layers, and stopped to take off my gloves and rain jacket. Big mistake. As soon as we started the descent, I wanted my gloves back on again. Not to worry--the descent was more of a false flat and we had another hill to climb.

Now that my body temperature had equalized, I was able to enjoy the ride through Alston, Clatskanie (pronounced clat-scan-EYE) and on into Westport, where we planned to stop for lunch. We were still riding on Hwy 30, which has a decent shoulder, but it also has a fair amount of traffic. Each time we passed a "Passing Lane Ahead" sign, we knew we were in for a climb.

As we pulled into Westport we came upon the Oregon Berry Patch, which looked like a nice lunch spot. Turns out that it's much more than that. 30-some years ago, a local man started making berry jams as Christmas gifts, and when demand outstripped production, he and a partner opened the Berry Patch. You can purchase jams, jellies, catsup, mustard and syrups made from huckleberries, blueberries, blackberries, raspberries, choke-cherries and Oregon's own Marionberries. As we sat inside having lunch, the rain started. It would continue for the rest of the day.

Our waitress warned us of a "big hill" outside of town, but we assured her we'd already done the big hill out of Rainier. "This one is just soooo looong" she said, using her face and hands to make the point for us. As we left Westport, (now toting a bottle of blackberry syrup), we did encounter that hill. She wasn't kidding. While the slope of the hill wasn't steep, it was verrrry, verrry long. And now it was raining in earnest. The rain was cold, and when the big drops hit my face, it stung.

We rolled along through the countryside, getting closer and closer to the ocean. The route bent away from the Columbia, and took us past fish hatcheries, logging operations, and a National Forest. It occurred to me that this is just what we saw at the beginning of our trip in South Carolina. Back then, in late April, the summer was just beginning and temps were in the 90's. We wouldn't see rain for a few more weeks. Today, though, the rain didn't bother us. We had jackets and helmet covers that actually repel water, for one thing. But maybe the fact that we are so close to the end made a difference in our demeanor. Or maybe the last 140 days on the road has helped us know that we'd make it to the day's end. The weather is what it is. We were both singing Astoria riding songs in our heads as we rolled along, up one hill after another.

We stopped at John Day Park for a bio-break, and Matthew was able to squeeze water out of his gloves just by making a fist. (Note to self: investigate water-proof gloves for life in the Pacific Northwest) No point in hanging around--we weren't getting any drier.

As we got nearer to Astoria, the road came back parallel to the Columbia River. At one break in the trees, Matthew called out that the ocean was just beyond the river, but the river's edge melted into the grayness of the sky, and the ocean view was obscured by the day's rain.

Just when I had stopped counting miles, minutes and hills, we rounded a corner and entered Astoria. It seemed that the rain intensified and the wind gusts increased just as we arrived. At the "Welcome to Astoria" sign we stopped for our souvenir picture, then continued on through town to our hotel, battling 30+ mile-per-hour winds for the last few miles. We'd made it!

After a celebratory (and complimentary) cookie and glass of OJ in the hotel lobby, we sloshed upstairs to our room and took long, hot showers, then put on warm, dry layers. Now feeling clean and cozy, we hung around the hotel waiting for a break in the weather to allow us to dash out for dinner. We finally called a taxi for the trip into town and had dinner at the Golden Luck restaurant. The weather finally did break during dinner, so we could walk back to the hotel. The winds were still pretty strong, but the cool night air and the short walk felt good.

We'll stay an extra day in Astoria to be able to visit some of the Discovery Corps historic sites such as Fort Clatsop. The Corps spent 116 days in Astoria in 1805, and it rained 112 of those days. We're hoping the weather will clear up by Friday. The coast route can be very hilly, so we plan to take 4 days to cover the distance between Astoria and Lincoln City. I'm even hoping that we'll have a tail wind for one day while we're riding down the coast. It could happen.

Rainy Ride to Rainier

2006-09-19T23:51:00.000-04:00

Monday, September 18. Portland, OR. Tuesday, September 19, Portland to Rainier, OR.

After spending a rest day on Monday in Portland, we were nearly ready to get on the road again. Matthew's parents, Suzi and Jim, drove up from the coast on Monday to spend the day with us, and we enjoyed a preview of our new home-city. Lunch at the 99-year-old Oyster Bar, a walk through the city's Rose Garden, a quick trip to both REI and Trader Joe's, then dinner with Matthew's twin sister and her family in Beaverton filled the day. It will be another adventure for me to figure out how to get around the city.

After a leisurely breakfast on Tuesday morning, we headed out. While we ate, the rain seemed to clear out, but minor showers misted over us for most of the morning. We rode on Willamette Blvd., taking a cycle-tour of Portland's northwest neighborhood around Ainsworth & Vancouver streets. Crossing the Willamette River via the historic St. Johns Bridge put us on the outskirts of Portland, and soon we were in Linnton. At a c-store stop, we met Scott Kelly, a local cyclist from nearby St. Helens. He recommended Ichabods Restaurant as a good lunch stop in Scappoose, about 12 miles from Linnton. We did stop and have lunch there, and as we were leaving we ran into Scott again. He wanted to give us a contact e-mail so we can hook up and go cycling together once we get settled in town.

From Scappoose it's only about 8 miles to St. Helens,and then another 18 miles to Rainier, where we'll stop for the day. We're still on the Lewis and Clark Trail, which means that the Columbia River is our constant companion. As we rode out of Portland, the river was close, calm and decidedly urban. Houseboats lined the docks and piers that are just a stone's throw from the bicycle path.

Once we get out of Portland, the route puts us on Hwy 30. The river here is pretty much the way the Discover Corps woudl have seen it (minus the highway). The towns of Linnton, Burlington and Scappoose are all port towns, but the hills are increasingly encroaching on the river. These towns are small and mostly support only the needs of their residents. Further on, the landscape changes again, and we're riding in thickly forested groves of firs. The scent of the trees is wonderful.

Hwy 30 is not so wonderful. There's a big shoulder, so I feel pretty comfortable riding it. Matthew feels more comfortable riding on Hwy 30 than on the interstate, though I'm hard-pressed to tell the difference. Sure,there are fewer lanes of traffic, but they're just as close and just as loud.

The skies cleared up after lunch, but temps remained in the mid-60's. After cooling down during lunch, I had to put ear warmers and gloves on for a few miles. It was a beautiful day to ride, and I guess that eventually I'll get the hang of calling temps in the 60's a warm fall day instead of the dead of winter.

We pulled into Rainier around 5pm, checking into Rainier's only hotel. We had dinner at Tapatio's, an Oregon-based, Jalisco-inspired Mexican food chain. We had a table with a view by the river--and a great view of the wood processing plant across the river at Longview, WA. As we ate, we watched the night's river traffic roll by--a tug boat wending its way back to its home port, and a huge barge stacked with railroad cars. Our new home will have a view of the Willamette River, so we may see more of the same river traffic (sure beats looking at traffic on I-85).

Tomorrow we'll head for Astoria, which is where we'll first see the Pacific Ocean. I'm sure it will be as exciting for us as it was for Lewis & Clark. We plan to take an extra day in Astoria, just to take in some of the historic sights (and to find the bakery in the pink Victorian house). From there, we'll have another 3 days on the Pacific Coast route before we pull into Lincoln City and put the kickstand down for the last time on this journey. As we roll along these last few days, both Matthew and I are thinking about all of the other days on this trip. We're savoring these last few days, because our cross-country journey is finally coming to an end. Even after all of these weeks and miles, it's hard to realize that we're really doing it. I watch the miles tick off on the odometer, and I'm amazed. We passed the 6,400-mile mark, and that means there's only 200 miles left. But the miles are just the way we know the beginning from the end. The really important things are the trip stats. And here's a couple more: number of jars of peanutt butter eaten on the trip: 3 1/3. Number of times I cried over our hotel accomodations: 0 (but it was a close call in Moran Junction). More later.

Minor Obstacle

2006-09-18T13:22:00.000-04:00

Fwd: Minor Obstacle Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

Chain Troubles

2006-09-18T13:04:00.000-04:00

Chain Troubles
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

After hauling the bikes up the staircase, Matthew's bike developed a "chain

issue". What a gorgeous spot to be stuck, right? We gave up all this for

the INTERSTATE?

Next, Trailers

2006-09-18T13:02:00.000-04:00

Next, Trailers
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

and then we have to haul the trailers and trunks up the stairs. You can see

the groove in the concrete for the wheel.

Portage

2006-09-18T13:00:00.000-04:00

Portage
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

This staircase is steep, but the engineers have thoughtfully included

grooves for our wheels on the edges of the stairs. The incline is such that

we still have to unload the trailers and take our trunks off the bikes in

order to haul them to the top--did I mention that there's five flights?

Minor Obstacle

2006-09-18T12:57:00.000-04:00

Minor Obstacle
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

I can't say that the sign didn't warn us of a staircase on the bike path.

Actually, the word staircase on the sign was obliterated, but I never would

have guessed that Oregon DOT had such a sense of humor.

Wrong Way?

2006-09-18T12:55:00.000-04:00

Wrong Way?
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

. . . but we ultimately decided to follow the bike lane.

Ruckel Creek

2006-09-18T12:52:00.000-04:00

Ruckel Creek
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

A marker near the creek chronicles the Columbia River Highway. This path

claims to be part of that forgotten highway.

Columbia River Trail

2006-09-18T12:47:00.000-04:00

Columbia River Trail
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

Isn't this fabulous? We started onto this bike path and found a mossy,

overgrown, damp, wonderful road ahead. Little did we know.

Cascade Locks

2006-09-18T12:44:00.000-04:00

Cascade Locks
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

At an overlook near the remaining Lock at Cascade Locks, you can see in the

background the mountain that gave way, and gave the river and the mountain

range its' name. A beautiful day for cycling this day--mid 60's, no wind,

no rain, sleet or hail.

Interstate 84 and the Stairwell From Hell

2006-09-18T01:57:00.000-04:00

Sunday, September 17. Hood River, OR, to Portland, OR.

Well, we made it to Portland - at least, to near the Portland airport, just short of five full months from the day we left Lawrenceville. The trek will continue, for now, until we get to Lincoln City out on the coast, but in the grand scheme of things, this city was always our true destination. To be here, now, after the long journey, is what you might expect: exciting, amazing, and just a little sad, sad that the trip will soon be over and we'll have to rejoin the real world.

But of course, I'm getting ahead of myself. The question everyone wants to know the answer to is, was it windy today? And, happily, the answer is NO, it was NOT windy today, and we rejoiced. We did have a long way to go, though; we expected to have to go over 65 miles to get to a stopping point near Portland, and much of that on the Columbia River Gorge Historic Highway. On a Sunday, that might be slow going.

Sitting at breakfast, we could see that the river, unlike previous mornings, was not coated with wind-whipped whitecaps; and as we set out, we both smiled that the wind had finally abated. We were looking forward to a scenic day in the Gorge, and it would be nice not to have that to deal with.

Traveling through Hood River on Oak Street, the traffic was light and we were anticipating our next few miles out on Interstate 84. Nancy and I have distinctly different experiences when we have to get on the freeway like this, and so what we did today requires a little back-story so you may completely understand our respective frames of mind.

Nancy, for all intents and purposes, has no problem riding on the freeway. Totally fearless, happy that there are no hills and that we make really, REALLY good time there, she would ride on the freeway all the way to Portland if the darn map I have wouldn't keep sending us onto "safer" roads.

I, on the other hand, have a little history of being, well, let's say PHOBIC about being on a freeway outside the confines of a car. This goes back many, many years, and although I have made a lot of progress, I still have some trepidation about it.

It's hard to explain what it feels like. Years ago, confronted with the prospect of having to get out of the car on the shoulder of an interstate, my heart would race, I would begin to sweat profusely (even for me), and I found it hard to breathe. While there are perfectly rational reasons for being afraid to get out of a car on a freeway, my panic went beyond mere reason.

For me, standing on a freeway felt like standing on the boundary between the living world and the murky beyond, a kind of DMZ of mortality. The sounds of the tires against the road were like the shrieks of the doomed, zipping around me, too loud to ignore, too fast to see, ethereal and only quasi-corporeal - like they could pass through me and take something of me without my knowing it. So naturally I was petrified.

But I've made progress; I've HEALED, to the point where now, I can ride up the onramp and get on the freeway like I do it all the time. In my head, of course, all I can think is BREATHE IN AND BREATHE OUT AND BREATHE IN AND ... You get the point. Under the conditions, you'd imagine I'd take pretty much any opportunity to avoid the freeway, and you'd be right. Even if it involves a horrific climb of over 600 feet in less than a mile and a half, if it means I can get off the freeway, I'll take it.

So I can't explain why I missed our exit. I mean, I can, sort of - I misread the map; I thought we had to go 13 miles but it was really just 10. But misreading the map in such a critical way, in a way that meant we would ride another 5 miles on the freeway, well, I can't explain that. Maybe I am finally getting free of the phobia.

Good thing, too; we would end up riding on the interstate most of the way to Troutdale. More on that in a moment.

We got off the freeway a little before Cascade Locks, and took the opportunity for a little rest there at a plaza behind the post office. It overlooks what remains of the locks which made navigation around the Cascades rapids possible. This is quite a story, and it begins about 800 years ago with the Bridge of the Gods.

Eight centuries ago, a massive landslide created a land bridge from one side of the Columbia River gorge to the other, blocking the path of the river and eventually rerouting it almost a mile south of its original course. The natives in the area called it the Bridge of the Gods, and over time, it eroded, leaving behind just the most obtrusive of the obstacles; this would become known as, simply, the Cascades. The surrounding mountain range takes its name from this set of rapids, and the site of Cascade Locks (once known as Whiskey Flats) was the portage route.

When the portage route eventually proved too cumbersome, the Corps of Engineers built a set of locks. It took them 20 years to do it, but they did the trick - until, that is, the Bonneville Dam went in, submerging almost all of the locks. Today, only the topmost portion of the highest lock is still visible.

There is still a Bridge of the Gods at this site; it is a toll bridge, and bicycles are prohibited. So we were stuck on the Oregon side, interstate and all.

Before we had to get back on the interstate, though, we traversed a portion of the (read this in your best movie trailer voiceover voice) Historic Columbia River Highway State Trail. Just beyond Cascade Locks, this portion becomes a bike and pedestrian trail, so we had no motor vehicles to contend with. The first mile was utterly, jaw-droppingly stupendously beautiful. We went from the side of a road onto a path and into a primeval forest, surrounded by ferns, moss-covered trees, and a canopy of leaves. It was a totally different world. The path descended and then rose to a tunnel under the interstate, and then to a creek where there was a water treatment plant (near and dear to my civil engineering heart).

At this juncture, we were confronted with something that, regrettably, is far too common on bicycle trails across this country: contradictory signage. The other probelm we have found is LACK of signage, so perhaps the existence of a sign at all is a tiny blessing; but this was a sign that said "bike route", accompanied by an arrow sign pointing up a small hill. The problem was that it pointed up a road that was prominently marked "One Way" down, and was mounted on the same post as, and directly beneath, a "DO NOT ENTER" sign. A little farther up the road we could see the two "WRONG WAY" signs. But the happy little green bike route sign cheerfully directed us to ignore all the other signs; just go on ahead, you're OK, you're on bikes, it's not like you're REAL traffic. Go ahead. Break traffic law.

We finally obeyed the tiny green sign, ignoring the large, red, more anal-retentive signs telling us to obey the law, and found the trail again about a quarter-mile up the road. For a few moments, blissfully ignorant of what we would shortly have to do, we were happy.

Then we found the staircase. The trail includes a staircase. A STAIRCASE. The only acknowlegement that bikes must traverse this monstrosity are grooves alongside the stairs so bikes can be "rolled" up. The pitch was too steep; we had to take the trailers off. So Nancy walked her bike up the SIX FLIGHTS while I walked her trailer up. Then we went back down and took my bike and trailer up the same way. Finally, I went back down to get my trunk, which I had taken off to make it easier for Nancy to balance the bike.

Oh, yes, yes we did get pictures. We got MANY pictures, some of us laboring to get our gear to the top, some of the stairway itself from the bottom and from the top, and finally one of the entire staircase from across the adjacent road (inaccessible to us on bikes, but a short hop over a concrete barrier).

We got all the gear to the top, bitching and moaning the whole way, wondering if the people at Adventure Cycling had even SEEN this thing. We couldn't imagine they had. If they had, I think they would have just told us to stay on the freeway.

Back to the freeway: we left the trail for a short, 5-mile trip on 84 again, before rejoining the Historic Trail once more. This portion is still under renovation, so the surface is scraped and rough, and full of hazardous potholes. It took us past Horsetail Falls and then Mulnomah Falls, where we stopped for a bite to eat. These waterfalls are not possible; they are thin cascades that emerge from the top of high cliffs and become feathery wisps as they descend. At least, that's how they look from afar. Up close, that feathery wisp is a still-powerful column of falling water.

Shortly after leaving Multnomah Falls, we saw a sign that said that the Historic Highway was closed west of Bridal Veil, up the road; the detour, naturally, was Interstate 84. So back to the freeway we went.

It was more than 16 miles, and the first 8 or so were almost a blur to me; and when we stopped at a scenic overlook, Nancy pointed out that we were making REALLY good time and that we hadn't had to climb a hill in miles; I was stunned to see how far we had gone, and even more, that I had not realized how flat the road was. I made a conscious effort to pay attention; and soon, I spotted a great blue heron down on the river. The drivers whizzing past could not see it, but I pointed, and Nancy saw it too. So it IS possible to see cool stuff while on the freeway. You just have to be on a bike.

We got to Troutdale, and promptly met another cyclist, Gerard Woods, out on a liesurely 20-mile loop ride, who we asked for direrctions. He was very nice and led us around a less busy way than shown on the map to the bike path near Marine Drive, in northern Portland (near the airport). We rode and talked with him for about 9 miles, and finally exchanged information when we reached the cluster of hotels near the airport (where we would begin the process of comparison-shopping).

So, now, we will spend tonight and the next here in Portland, and tomorrow Jim and Suzi (my parents), will be up to spend the day with us, in a kind of pre-celebration of our arrival. In the next leg of our trip, we will head to either St. Helens or Clatskanie, on the way to Astoria. We anticipate less than another full week on the road before the end.

One last note: we have had a request for some "trip stats", information about miles, climbs, and other stuff to be posted on this site. We will compile some of those things and probably put them up after we reach Lincoln City. A tidbit to tide you over: to Portland, we have traveled a total of 6359 miles, taken 20 rest days, and gone through 20 states, 2 provinces and Washington DC. More soon!

Did Lewis and Clark Cross the Columbia River This Often?

2006-09-17T02:25:00.000-04:00

Saturday, September 16. Biggs, OR, to Hood River, OR.

After yesterday's adventure, virtually any change in the weather was certain to be an improvement; and so, when we got ready to go and there wasn't a hint of rain in sight, we counted ourselves fortunate, pointing our tires into the wind and rolling away.

Of course, it was still windy. And with the temperature just 53F, it felt like northern Minnesota in January to me, so I had on my arm warmers, my thermal jacket AND my wind/rain jacket, along with my windproof pants. We hadn't even gone five miles before I put my gloves on, too. Nancy, too, was bundled up, just not three LAYERS bundled up like me. But we were riding in sunlight, which was a nice change.

As we crossed the Deschutes River, we entered the Columbia River Gorge Scenic Area. There, along the bridge, were several fishermen; many more, too many to count, were aboard boats down on the water or wading from shore. We theorized that the wind had blown all the fish up here and that these were the wise fishermen who knew that (although, to look at them, perhaps "wise" would not be the first word that would spring to mind). Although the vegetation looked the same once we passed the sign as it did before, we noticed that soon, different trees were waving in the wind and that huge, exposed, upthrust layers of rock were clearly visible on both sides of the river.

Oh, the Columbia River. We had crossed it once back in Umatilla to get to the Washington side, and then again yesterday to reach Biggs. We had resolved not to cross that bridge at Biggs again, and had instead selected a route that would take us to The Dalles, where we would cross back into Washington on the bridge there. The idea was this: the Washington option is much flatter than the Oregon side, and there was a nice destination available there in White Salmon - namely, the Inn at White Salmon, and although we didn't have a reservation, I had called from Walla Walla and been assured that they would "probably not" be full this weekend. So we would ride to The Dalles first on the Oregon side, avoiding the treacherous bridge at Biggs and the long ascent to the route there.

The road from Biggs is a frontage road for about 8 miles, but then the route directs cyclists to ride on Interstate 84 for about 10 miles. This would be our second foray onto an interstate (the first being back in Wyoming where there just wasn't any other road); the shoulder was plenty big and separated from the lanes of travel by rumble strips, so we felt reasonably safe. But do this: next time you are on an interstate, look over at the shoulder and take in just how much crap there is over there. Then try to imagine some poor possessed soul trying to ride their bicycle over there. Ever see the bristly fringe on the bottom of some mudflaps on some of the big rigs? I saw a few of those on the side of the freeway today; I really was struggling to think of a way to attach one or two of those to the front of my bike to operate as a kind of "sweeper" to clear away some of the debris before I rolled over it. Neither of us got a flat, though, which must be some kind of small miracle. Alert the pope.

We saw no trains on the Oregon side for a long time, but eventually we DID see a HazMat cleanup crew doing their thing near the tracks. Although we don't know the nature of the incident there, we don't need to know very much to figure out why we hadn't seen any trains to that point.

As we neared The Dalles, the first thing we saw was the dam. We stopped for a picture, maybe a little dicey on the side of the freeway, but we had to document it somehow. Nancy has already posted that one; scroll down to see it if you want.

The bridge at The Dalles was not as bad as the one at Biggs, but it was pretty close. The east side of the bridge has a walkway that is about three feet wide, but the west side is little more than a curb. It is also two lanes, one in each direction, although there are no impediments in the centerline like on the bridge at Biggs. We stopped for a picture near mid-span (Welcome to Washington), and alternately rode and walked our bikes along the walkway (the wind played havoc with our balance, and it became too risky to ride in the crossing gusts). And, once we reached the other side, and followed US 197, we continued to feel the crosswinds until we reached the route on SR 14. It was there that we saw the road sign that said it was only 18 miles to White Salmon - woo hoo! I had WAY overestimated the distance, so we would be done sooner than 6PM! That was a huge boost to our psyches, even as we continued to slog through the deafening wind (our average speed today would end up at 7.9 mph).

It was also near this point that we encountered Googleville, which appears to be three buildings (two of which are, apparently, occupied). One building has two vending machines out front, and the other appears to be a house (fenced in). No people were in evidence. How did this place get the name Googleville? Does anyone know? We could not find any explanation there.

I should also note that the Maryhill Winery was 15 miles in the other direction - and that we could have been there in half an hour, even with the climb, if we had wanted to go there. But, choosing the promise of a safe place to sleep over the temptation of a few free samples of wine, we skipped it.

Cresting the first climb past Murdock, we could see substantial greenery on the Oregon side of the gorge, and several kiteboarders and even a few windsurfers down on the river. Nancy said they looked like confetti decorating the water. It looked like they were having a good time, darn them. If they could teach us how to rig a sail to the bikes, we'd be in business.

We decided not to stop in Lyle, just after the two tunnels with the "bicycles in tunnel" warning system (we had to push a button, similar to the one you press to activate the "walk" signal, to activate the warning); one van passed us in the tunnel, and then a truck slowed behind us until we emerged safely on the other side. We waved our thanks, and he waved back, smiling - that felt nice. The tunnels also gave us momentary shelter from the wind, which also felt nice. Really nice. I will enjoy the next windless day we have, enjoy it a lot, based on how good it felt just to be in those tunnels for a few measly seconds.

The road to Bingen, just before White Salmon, consists of a series of low rolling hills, exactly what I had expected based on the profile the map shows (it is depicted as dead flat). At one juncture, where old Highway 8 rejoins the route, the road we were on was bordered on both sides by water; beyond the water to our left, the railroad tracks ran straight, and then the river was beyond that. The backdrop was the beautiful cliffs of the gorge on the Oregon side, with the prominent layers of rock exposed but shrouded with vegetation. Mount Hood, it's peak enveloped by clouds and sporting fresh snow, loomed in the distance.

At Bingen, we turned onto 141 and began the long climb (!) up to the White Salmon Inn. Early on, we passed a group of people who were having a "Free Bake Sale" - anyone want to hazard a guess what the heck THAT means? I managed to pant "Not now" as I maintained my climbing rhythm, and Nancy passed up on their confusing offers as well. It took a while, but we eventually reached the White Salmon Inn.

You guessed it: the White Salmon Inn was full. But we didn't panic; I already knew that the nearest place with rooms on the Washington side was another 12 miles, and was trying to figure out how to break it to Nancy when the innkeeper, Janet, got on the phone to find us a place closer by. She found us a spot at the Hood River Inn, across the Columbia on a bridge that prohibits pedestrians and bicyclists, and suggested that her husband, Roger, give us a ride over to Hood River in their van. It took two trips, but that's how we ended up back in Oregon on a night we were supposed to be in Washington.

Roger and Janet, both 70, have been running the Inn at White Salmon for 16 years (although the Inn has been there since 1937); Roger was also the Mayor of White Salmon for 9 years. Janet ran a psych-med ward before becoming an innkeeper (which was apparently excellent experience for the job of innkeeper - taking notes, Becky?). They are a delightful couple and I really regretted not being able to stay there and talk more with them, especially because they are selling the Inn in March and will, like us, be temporarily jobless and homeless (but not hippie bums like us, because they won't be on bikes).

Roger said that the name White Salmon has two possible origins: one, the inevitable Lewis and Clark connection wherein the Corps of Discovery finds salmon here that wash ashore after spawning, dead and white, and two, that salmon caught here are white because they have not been to sea where they could have eaten tiny crusteaceans that turn other salmon's flesh its characteristic pink. We found explanation two much more plausible, but if anyone can find verification, we'd appreciate it.

Speaking of salmon, we had a yummy, yummy dinner here in Hood River - I had smoked salmon and wild mushroom ravioli, which was utterly delicious, and Nancy had the rigatoni with vegetables in surprising roasted-tomato marinara sauce. After weeks of grilled cheese sandwiches, patty melts, fries, and other such fare, this sumptuous dinner was a true and rare luxury. We even went so far as to order the big fat chocolate cake for dessert; we couldn't finish it, but it was not for lack of trying. We tried valiantly.

Tomorrow we hope to make it to the vicinity of PDX, where we can find an inexpensive room near the MAX station and ride in to Portland for dinner. We talked with my sister Kim, who lives out in Beaverton, but for clearly understandable reasons she can't meet us for dinner. We will, however, try to get in touch with my cousin Dan and his wife Geri, and maybe meet them instead,which would be an unexpected pleasure. We'll see if we can get up before the crack of 8 tomorrow, and if the wind has abated any. Will tomorrow be the long awaited non-headwind day?

No Room At This Inn

2006-09-16T22:34:00.000-04:00

No Room At This Inn
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

By the time we had climbed up the 2-mile hill to the White Salmon Inn, they

were full up. But Roger and Janet, experienced innkeepers, not only found

us a room across the river in Hood River, but loaded us up and drove us

across the bridge.

Tunnel Warning

2006-09-16T22:31:00.000-04:00

Tunnel Warning
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

While we were fighting the winds today, we came on a short tunnel. I was

worried about the traffic inside until I saw this warning system.

Welcome Back to Washington

2006-09-16T22:23:00.000-04:00

Welcome Back to Washington
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

Crossing back into Washington at The Dalles was slightly better than the

crossing into Biggs, OR. We had a 3-foot wide concrete path to walk our

bikes on. The crosswinds were gusting too much for us to ride across the

bridge.

The Dalles Dam

2006-09-16T22:21:00.000-04:00

The Dalles Dam
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

Just before crossing out of Oregon, we stopped for a quick photo at The

Dalles Dam.

Multi-modal Transportation

2006-09-16T22:17:00.000-04:00

Multi-modal Transportation
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

While traveling along the Columbia River, there was barge traffic on the

water, freight trains on both sides of the river, lots of 18-wheelers, RV's,

cars, trucks and us.

Blown Into Oregon

2006-09-16T22:09:00.000-04:00

Blown Into Oregon
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

The winds were a little stiff as we rode along the Columbia, and into Oregon

for the first time.

Aunt Helen

2006-09-16T22:08:00.001-04:00

Aunt Helen
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

Matthew and Helen pose for a picture before we head off to our next stop and

she heads off to work. Zach had already left, his speedy new bicycle

getting him to school before 7am.

The Columbia!

2006-09-16T22:08:00.000-04:00

The Columbia!
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

We finally reach the Columbia River, and enter the scabland and desert of WA

and OR. The river is a real treat.

Whitman College

2006-09-16T22:06:00.000-04:00

Whitman College
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

A nice young couple took our picture on the steps of the Whitman College

Clock Tower. It's a really big tower; hard to get it all in one shot

(unless you have Holly's camera).

Matthew & Matilde

2006-09-16T22:02:00.000-04:00

Matthew & Matilde
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

At the Public Library in Walla Walla, we made friends with Matilde. She is

not, apparently, connected with the Walla Walla Public Library Policy

Police.

The Road to Walla Walla

2006-09-16T22:00:00.000-04:00

The Road to Walla Walla
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

At least on Middle Waitsburg Road, they knew we were coming. Once we got

off Hwy 12, this road took us by the back road, past the gun club, into

Walla Walla.

The Lesser Known Trail

2006-09-16T21:52:00.000-04:00

The Lesser Known Trail
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

In Dayton, WA we saw these banners, proclaiming the Lewis and Clark

Forgotten Trail. Not really sure who forgot what, though. My guess is that

this is where Seaman, their dog, gave up on them and found his own way back

home.

6,000 Miles

2006-09-16T21:48:00.000-04:00

6,000 Miles
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

Our last big milestone before we finish--of course we had to doodle on a

napkin!

As if YESTERDAY Wasn't Bad Enough . . .

2006-09-16T02:28:00.000-04:00

Friday, September 15. West Roosevelt, WA, to Biggs, OR.

Nancy had arisen in the night, and had seen a beautiful, windless riverscape; and when she got back in the tent and told me, I suggested that we should get up right then and head out for Biggs. I wasn't completely kidding; and in retrospect, I wish we had left then.

But instead, we waited for daylight, and we talked with several of the windsurfer dudes, mostly about the days' forecast. One guy thought it would be windy the whole way, but the others thought we had a good chance to get to Biggs before it got really bad - even though, by all accounts, the largest pressure gradients existed there at the moment we left camp this morning. With an eastwardly-trending weather system, we were destined to run into it.

We stopped for some ice and water before leaving West Roosevelt, and then took off down route 14. The pattern from yesterday held true, with lots of truck traffic - but the winds were lighter and the road, overnight it seemed, had become smoother. We no longer felt compelled to get out off the shoulder for a smooth place to ride; there was plenty of room on the shoulder. The first half of today's journey was actually nice, and I started to think we might be able to go all the way to Lyle, 21 miles farther than Biggs.

Then we reached the base of the first 500-foot climb, covering most of 3 miles. As climbs go, especially the climbs we've done, this was pretty low on the challenge-o-meter; but, the road surface changed from the smooth, ample shouldered road we had been so enjoying to the crappy, chip-sealed, gravelly-shouldered, bone-rattling "surface" that had been the bane of our existence yesterday. If the climbing wasn't all that challenging, it was certainly bumpy. And, the westerly wind had begun to pick up.

I had been eyeballing the dark clouds to our northwest, hoping the obvious wisps of precipitation would not reach our expected position, or that, if it did, not make it all the way to the ground (as had been the case a few days ago, when rain evaporated before reaching the ground). But the expanse of the darkening clouds grew along with the wind, and the road continued to rise, effectively bringing the earth up to the level where the rain could reach it.

As we approached the John Day Dam, still climbing, the rain began in earnest, and we stopped to put covers on our backpacks and for Nancy to finally put on her rain jacket (I had BEEN wearing mine already, being the cold-weather wuss I am). Maddeningly, from where we stood on the side of the road, putting this gear on, I could see a hundred yards up the road to a point where it WAS NOT RAINING. I desperately wanted to just stand on the pedals and GET THERE, where we WOULDN'T GET ANY WETTER; but of course, as we got there, it had begun to rain there, too. So we continued the climb, into the wind, and under the increasingly heavy, and cold, rain.

Then it started to hail. My bell rang repeatedly under assault from the tiny chunks of ice, and my hands, already starting to go numb from the cold, were jolted back to life by the constant needling of the impacts. The winds grew in intensity but began to come from varying directions. We had begun to penetrate to the center of the low pressure system that was driving the wind.

With the road already wet and covered with tiny, melting chunks of ice, it was already pretty treacherous riding, and we had long since given up trying to find a smooth place to ride, hugging the shoulder for dear life; but the trucks continued to speed by, most without even bothering to change lanes, sending up collossal volumes of spume from the road and adding to the swirling wind with the vortex of their wake.

And in a moment I began to think it was as bad as it could get, I saw the lightning in the hills to our north; before I could even stop concentrating on the rain and hail long enough to wonder how far away the lightning was, I heard the thunder, booming down the canyons and echoing in the gorge.

I know, I know: there's no way. There is NO WAY it could have been that bad. There is no way someone could even make this UP it's so awful. And yet there we were, laboring through it all to push ourselves onward; pushing with an effort that, in the right gear, can propel us many yards with each stroke, but at that moment moving us distances better measured in inches. Frustrating, yes, but we didn't have TIME to be frustrated - we were wet and cold and windblown, and all we wanted was somewhere to stop and get out of the weather and the wet clothes, and into a hot shower. Biggs became our oasis, hopefully not just a mirage, where we could slake our thirst for a few of life's little comforts.

Soon we were unable to predict which direction the winds would be coming from at any moment, only that the wind would be blowing. Focussing hard to maintain balance and direction while watching for wayward traffic and dangerous road debris (of which, given the wind, there was a surprisingly ample supply), I was relieved to finally see the sign pointing to Biggs, realizing the unspoken decision I was sure we had both made to stop there for the day. By that time, the hail had stopped, but a light rain continued to fall. It was also near this point that we saw the sign pointing to Stonehenge (actually a replica, and functioning as more of a war memorial than as a solar observatory), but we elected not to make the touristy stop there due to the swirling, 30-mph+ winds, and the rain, and the lurking threat of more of the hail we had so recently left behind us.

The road to Biggs, prominently advertised a mile beforehand as US Route 97 to Bend, was marked at the turn as inconspicuously as the road to Stonehenge (the replica we had just bypassed), and at first I was not sure if it was actually the road we were supposed to take; it just said "Maryhill Park" and pointed roughly south. Finally concluding that it couldn't be anything else, we took it.

The road down is a steep grade and winds around a few times; it is easy to pick up a LOT of speed, even today with the confusing winds and rain. At speeds like that, it becomes even more difficult to maintain control, and we both had to brake often to stay upright. At one moment the wind was pushing us off the edge, and at the next moment forcing us out into the lane of travel. For once, the trucks seemed willing to give us enough room to maneuver, perhaps only because they didn't know where the hell we would go (like we DID).

We safely made it to the bottom of the descent, where we rolled on past Maryhill Park and the museum there (swirling winds, rain, hail), to confront possibly the single most dangerous, bike-unfriendly bridge we have seen on this trip. There are two lanes, one in each direction, with posts and road bumps dotting the centerline, and a gutter about 6 inches wide. Abutting that is a raised concrete "sidewalk" about a foot wide, too narrow to walk on WITH our bikes. With the winds (swirling, 30-mph+ winds) and the incline on the bridge, it was too dangerous to ride, so we had to walk in the 6-inch gutter with our bikes up on the narrow concrete walk. The trucks at least slowed down as they passed us with inches to spare. Finally, at the top, and absolutely livid, I waited for a break in the traffic and then brought my bike down to road level and took the entire lane for the rest of the ride into Biggs; Nancy followed suit. If some of the drivers behind us were delayed for a few seconds, so be it.

We reached our refuge, a TraveLodge, just as it began to rain again. But they had room, and soon we were basking in our oasis, enjoying the inexpensive luxury of shelter and running water. And, after a shower and lunch at Linda's Restaurant here in Biggs, described by one of the windsurfers as "kind of an armpit place", I recalled one of Melanie's comments from a cold morning in Wyoming: "Armpits are a great invention."

I couldn't agree more.

Blown Away

2006-09-16T00:40:00.000-04:00

Thursday, September 14. Umatilla, OR to West Roosevelt, WA

After leaving the Desert River Inn, we crossed back into Washington on a bike path across the Columbia River. The wind had gotten stronger through the night, but had calmed down to about 20mph in the morning. So it was windy as we set out, and the winds just increased as the day went on. We rode next to the Columbia River in the desert landscape all day, alternating between adding and shedding layers as the temperatures rose and fell.

There are train tracks on both sides of the Columbia, and about a half-dozen of them went by us throughout the day. The wind was so loud, though, that the sound of the engines was drowned out! The last train to pass us on the Washington side was heading east, and he saw us and tooted the train's whistle in greeting.

We stopped for lunch in Paterson, and while we were inside, a small squall arose and sprinkled a light shower on us. The temperatures dropped noticeably, and I put on my rain jacket in case the showers continued. For about the next 45 minutes, we noticed that the wind had changed direction. What had been a strong WSW wind was now a NNE wind, which was a little easier to ride in. We got about 10 miles behind us when the winds changed BACK to the WSW wind, and we were back to battling the cross-winds again. This day was wearing us out.

We made only one stop after lunch, mostly because there was no place for us to get any shelter from the wind. I had picked up a package of M&M's at our lunch stop, and we shared them just to get the sugar rush. Because we were only able to make about 8mph, the day was waning and we still had 25 miles to go after our lunch break.

By the time we reached North Roosevelt at around 7:00pm, I was doing anything to keep from thinking about the wind and the way my knees were hurting. At the restaurant in North Roosevelt, we stopped for dinner, and met a young trucker who offered to put us up for the night in the cab of his truck (with a DVD player), and then transport us and our gear to Camas in the morning. A very tempting offer, but like the fools we are, we declined.

At just before 8:00pm, we turned on our headlights and rode to the West Roosevelt park in the dark. As we were trying to feel our way to the tent camping area, we met Greg, a 60-year-old windsurfer who had just traveled here from Greenville, SC. He gave us the flashlight tour of the park, pointing out good campsites and warning of the nightly sprinkler onslaught.

We chose to camp on the point, setting up camp by the waning light of my headlight. Laying down, snuggled up in our silk cocoons and wrapped in the human stuff sack was the nicest thing I'd done all day. During the night I heard a few trains in the distance, heard the sprinklers start up all around us, and heard a light rain gently falling on the rainfly of our tent. In the middle of the night, I awoke and looked out the tent to see the moon shining on the river and about a half-billion stars in the sky. It was quiet; there was no wind--we should have gotten up and started riding toward Biggs right then.

The Oregon Desert

2006-09-14T00:32:00.000-04:00

Wednesday, September 13. Walla Walla, WA to Umatilla, WA.

After saying our goodbyes to Helen and Zach, we rode over to Clarette's for breakfast, then stopped for ice and water at the Safeway before heading out for the day's ride.

The Walla Walla area has recently seen a surge in vineyards, and some of these vintners are winning prestigious awards for their wines. As we pulled into Lowden, there were several tasting rooms within sight of the highway-- 3 Rivers, Woodward Canyon, and Le Ecole No. 41. I'd have stopped, but none of the tasting rooms open before 10am. If wine isn't your thing, Walla Walla onions are famous for their sweet taste, and there are more than a couple of roadside stands. At a few places around here, you can pick up wine, onions, espresso and fill dirt.

If life had a soundtrack, we would have heard the warning when we saw the wind turbines lining the hilltops. An always-available, never-ending supply of wind makes this area a popular spot for turbine farms. If you're fond of oil refineries, these statuesque, odorless sentries are bound to disturb you. Back on Hwy 12, we have a wide shoulder--which is a good thing, because there's a lot of semi-truck traffic on the road today. My personal favorites are the hay trucks--they're large, smell nice, create a huge vortex of wind as they pass you and leave a swirling parade of confetti-hay behind. Not for the allergy-ridden.

After passing Touchet, there would be no more services of any kind on the raute until reaching Umatilla, some 36 miles away. We stopped at a c-store for a break.

At about 29 miles, we left Hwy 12 and followed Rt 730 to the Columbia River. The landscape here changes to desert, and in just a few miles we reached the WA-OR border. This area is called the Scablands, created by a flood some 20,000 years ago. An ice dam holding back the ancient Lake Missoula broke, sending billions of gallons of water rushing down the Columbia's channel. Odd that so much water created a desert, and that a river as large as the Columbia runs through that desert. The hills in this area look like something that you'd find in Utah or New Mexico.

Matthew was struck by the scent of the water, which was thrust at us by the wind. I'll let him describe it: The scent of the river brought images to mind I usually associate more with the coast - of docks and fishermen, and fresh fish. I get this picture in my head of people making their livelihood at the margins of the land, not pushed there by society but impelled there by their own need to be at the edge. All, just at the whiff of the Columbia River.

The wind picked up as we got to the Columbia, and by the time we reached Umatilla, we'd be riding into 35mph headwinds. The hotel staff said it was the windiest day they'd had in quite a while. Since there were no services in the area, we stopped and had a picnic lunch under the "Welcome to Oregon" sign. By 3:00pm, the skies had clouded over and by the time we finished the day's ride, we were both exhausted. We'd been warned that the wind can be fierce in the Columbia River Gorge, and we'd had our first taste of it. Yum!

Tomorrow, we plan to go to West Roosevelt, to camp in the park there. Our bailout point is Crow Butte Park, on an island in the middle of the river, just 30 miles from Umatilla; West Roosevelt, a bit more than 50 miles from here, opens the possibility of being able to stay the night in Portland on Sunday. We'll have to see if the wind dies down tomorrow.

Lunch with Aunt Helen

2006-09-13T23:36:00.000-04:00

Tuesday, September 12. Dayton, WA to Walla Walla, WA As we left Dayton, we got back onto Hwy 12, headed for Walla Walla, a trip of only 30 miles. We rolled through Waitsburg after the first 10 miles, and saw the area where the firefighters are camped out. We also saw a couple of their helicopters and other equipment being readied for firefighting in a nearby field. . Outside of Waitsburg, we left Hwy 12 and turned onto Middle Waitsburg Rd. Almost immediately, the landscape turned into a rolling tour of grain fields. And I mean rolling hills, even though the map profile shows a steady downhill into Walla Walla.

Near the top of a healthy climb, one of the few motorists we'd seen all day slowed down to offer this pithy comment: "Seems like it'd be faster to walk". I retaliated with my best oxygen-wasting courtesy laugh, and he drove off. After several more of these downhill climbs, we finally reached the chainlink fence of the local gun club on the outskirts of town, and knew we were close to the end.

We arrived in downtown Walla Walla just in time to have lunch with Matthew's aunt Helen. When we fired up the cellphone to call her office, Matthew discovered that we had a voice message from the Fab4. They had just reached the coast, so I called them back to join in their celebration lunch. After our own lunch, we went to the post office, then on to the library.

Even though Matthew tried to explain that his father is a former Walla Walla resident, and graduate of Whitman College (located in Walla Walla), the library police would not allow non-residents to use their computers. Fortunately for us, a rebel librarian is in charge of the lab, and she logged us into two computers. Unfortunately, the USB port is blocked and I couldn't upload pictures.

We met Helen and her grandson Zach back at her house around 5pm, and went to dinner at the local Elmers. After a great dinner, we spent the rest of the evening visiting with Helen and Zach. Zach helped me log on to Helen's home PC, and I was able to upload a few pictures before I succumbed to the hide-a-bed in Helen's living room.

Becky's Burgers

2006-09-13T01:59:00.000-04:00

Becky's Burgers
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

Our lunch stop in Orofino was at Becky's Burgers, a place full of gag jokes

and antique toys--you can also get a huckleberry milkshake.

Lochsa River

2006-09-13T01:42:00.000-04:00

Lochsa River
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

We took a short break near the Lochsa River on our nearly-a-century-ride in

Idaho.

Cabin #3

2006-09-13T01:31:00.000-04:00

Cabin #3
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

Matthew is standing outside Cabin #3, where we spent the night at Lochsa

Lodge in Powell Junction, ID. We got the last room at the lodge, and lucky

for us, it had indoor plumbing!

Bikes4Indo

2006-09-13T01:04:00.000-04:00

Bikes4Indo
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

We met Michael Wong (from Atlanta!) on his way into Missoula. He's raising

money to help Tsunami victims in Indonesia. Check out his website at

www.bikes4indo.com.

Ollie the Osprey

2006-09-13T00:53:00.000-04:00

Ollie the Osprey
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

The Osprey's mascot, Ollie, entertains the crowd throughout the game.

Play Ball!

2006-09-13T00:47:00.000-04:00

Play Ball!
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

Matthew and I attended the final regular-season game of the Missoula

Osprey. They won, and are heading to the playoffs.

Bookend Climbs

2006-09-12T18:15:00.000-04:00

Monday, September 11. Clarkston, WA to Dayton, WA

As soon as we left Clarkston, the uphill climb began. At first, a gentle slope, a nice warm-up for a beautiful early fall morning. At about 15 miles into the ride, the climbing began in earnest, and at 20 miles, we reached the summit of Alpowa Pass. The day was now hot; I haven't sweated like this since Kansas! Now, when I climb for 20 miles, I expect to have a 20-mile descent. And for the next 10 miles we rode downhill ride into Pomeroy, where we stopped to have lunch. Fortified with carbohydrates, we began the second half of the trip by riding 10 miles downhill to Delaney, and then another 10 mile descent beyond that. At about the 50-mile mark we began the last climb of the day, on our way to Dayton, WA. The smoke haze from the Columbia Complex fire that is burning near Dayton burned our eyes and throat, making me wonder what we'd find once we reached town.

This part of Eastern Washington is farm country; a lot of grain is grown around here. The area is hilly, but not mountainous. Even so, it's wild to see that the grain crops are planted on the hillsides, and harvested by driving around the hillsides' contour lines. The farmers plant several different crops in an area, a practice called "Strip Cropping", which helps to prevent soil erosion from wind and water. Because the crops are different colors, it creates an interesting landscape. At this time of year, the crops have been harvested, leaving furrows in the hillsides where the long grains have been cut off.

The wind today was sporadic, and between the noise of the wind and the haze in the air, conversations were almost impossible. The road we were on alternated between new, smooth asphalt and new, shake-n-bake asphalt. Fortunately, the majority of the first 5-mile climb had been on smooth asphalt with a 4-foot wide shoulder. There were a couple of times when I felt surrounded by quiet. No traffic noise, just the sound of my own tires. It took me more than a little while to realize that it was the absence of wind that was causing all that quiet!

Ten miles outside of Delaney we finally summited what we thought was our last peak, and began a quick downhill roll. Just around the corner, though, the road took a sharp turn upward, and we had a short scramble to the top. After that, a 5-mile downhill ride took us into Dayton. It was on this downhill that we had a close call. The road was smooth with very wide shoulders, of which we took full advantage. Matthew was ahead of me on the descent, and had just turned the corner around a hill. A pickup truck with a "Wide Load" banner passed me, and in my mirror I could see the flatbed behind him carrying an enormous piece of farm machinery. What I could see, that the flatbed driver couldn't, was a semi approaching us in the other lane. The wide load gave me a wide berth, and I hugged the far edge of the shoulder, but I couldn't do anything about the oncoming traffic. The wide load saw him as he came around the curve, and swerved back into his own lane. I was behind him at this point, but he came within a foot of swiping Matthew. Fortunately, Matthew had seen what was developing, and was watching out for himself.

Because Dayton sits in a little valley, the air was actually clearer there than it had been anywhere else. The town's businesses all had banners posted on their windows, thanking the fire crews for their work on the Columbia Complex fire. Burning since August 21, the fire has consumed 103,000 acres in the Dayton area. About 1500 firefighters are working the blaze, which is now about 80% contained.

Matthew had called ahead to the Weinhart hotel, and we checked into the historic, refurbished hotel right around 6:30pm. Jacob Weinhart was a well-known, well-to-do resident of Dayton in the late 1800's. He had finished his apprentice work at a brewery in Portland, OR, owned by his uncle, Henry Weinhart, and came to Dayton to seek his fortunes. He soon took over ownership of the local brewery, and it became well-known throughout the area.

We'd had our first taste of Henry Weinhart's back in Walden, CO. About the only carbonated drinks that I like are ones that are orange-flavored, and I loved the Weinhart Orange Cream Soda served at the Moose Cookhouse in Walden. Matthew had a Weinhart Root Beer, and just the smell of it made me want to taste it. I had enjoyed root beer as a kid, but thought I had lost the taste for it. Weinhart's Root Beer had the exact taste that I had loved as a kid--smooth and creamy, no bitter taste. Made me want to have a root beer float.

Anyway, Jacob Weinhart apparently just made regular beer, no sodas. According to Shelly, the hotel's hostess, Jacob had no one to leave his brewery to. His son left the area and became a cattle rancher; Jacob forbade his three daughters to marry. (One of them did, but she had to wait until Jacob died, by which time she was in her 40's) So there is no real legacy in Dayton of Jacob Weinhart. He owned 6 different businesses in town, but only the hotel remains today.

The Columbia County Fair just ended Sunday, and most businesses in town aren't open on Mondays, anyway. The new and highly recommended Manilla Bay restaurant in town was closed by the time we arrived at 7:30pm, so we had to make do with bar food from Woody's. Not bad, but we had already smelled the garlic and ginger aromas emanating from Manilla Bay. We just beat the crush of firefighters to the bar, and finished up the evening at the coffee shop attached to the hotel. Shelly told us a story about the enormous elk head mounted in the hotel's lobby: There was a group staying at the hotel from the magazine "CEO", and they were enjoying some coffee in the lobby. One of them said "Isn't that moose head huge?" His co-worker replied "That's not a moose--think Rocky and Bullwinkle". To which the first one replied "That doesn't look anything like a squirrel".

And We're Outta Idaho!

2006-09-12T17:16:00.000-04:00

Sunday, September 10. Kamiah, ID to Clarkston, WA. Today's ride was only 70 miles, not like yesterday's near-century ride. Continuing our downhill tour of Idaho, we rode alongside the Clearwater River the entire day. Today was an almost perfect early fall day; warm and sunny. Seemed like a good day to risk our lives on Hwy 12.

The primary route through this area, according to the Adventure Cycling map, is a route that involves a 3,000 foot climb in about 10 miles. The alternate route along Hwy 12 is shorter and much, much flatter. The map clearly states that "riding on Hwy 12 is not recommended by either the DOT or local cyclists AND WE CONCUR". There was some language to the effect that we'd be voiding the warranty on our lives if we were foolish enough to attempt to ride this treacherous road. Couldn't wait to get started.

We hadn't just decided willy-nilly to ride Hwy 12. We had a plan. The narrative mentions that the traffic on the road is heavy, and that logging trucks use the road as their primary route to Missoula. Our plan was to ride the 96 miles to Kamiah on Saturday, so that we'd be on the "death highway" on Sunday. We were hoping that commercial traffic would be non-existant on Sundays. Fingers crossed, we set off.

Traffic was very minimal early on, and it was a gorgeous day, riding next to the river. As we rode along, the roadway reminded me of our ride in Yellowstone Park--with better sight lines and fewer RV's!

We passed the turnoff to Hwy 11 and the town of Greer, ID. Hwy 11 is an historic byway in Idaho, part of both the Gold Rush Trail and the Nez Perce homelands. There's a road to be ridden and stories to hear, but they'll have to wait for another trip.

At around lunchtime, we arrived at Orofino, located just across the river off Hwy 12. We pulled into Becky's Burgers, a converted gas station and garage. The place is filled with practical jokes, antique toys and photographic memorabilia. The best part was the larger-than-life,wooden cutout of "Becky", beckoning one and all to the cafe. One arm was motorized, and rocked up and down in a mechanized wave. The best part was the loud chunking noise coming from the arm's motor. It seemed to me like a good omen on Hwy. 12.

After lunch we passed the turnoff to Lenore, and continued with fingers crossed. After a couple more hours on the road, we stopped at a beautiful rest area with a lush green lawn and a half-dozen picnic tables. A snack of trail mix and beef jerky made for a nice break.

About 14 miles before Lewiston, the map directed us to take old Hwy 12. Even though the road was posted as closed to through traffic, we forged on ahead. Road closures mean nothing to us any more.

After a couple miles of rolling hills, we came on a barricade into a park area. According to the map, we were just supposed to go around it. They figure that if you've been dodging logging trucks on winding roads all day, the small matter of a barricade isn't going to be a problem. And they're right. We slid around it easily and then were on the grounds of the Spalding Mission, now a National Historic Park. The Spalding's brought religion to the Nez Perce Indians in the area, and began a small mission on this site. The Spaldings taught the Indians that everything they knew was wrong, everything they did was evil. (Even so, the Nez Perce did not kill them.) The current museum has a wonderful collection of Nez Perce artifacts used in daily life. Shortly before we entered Lewiston, ID, we passed the 6,000 mile mark. Today marked 20 weeks on the road, including 20 rest days. We've only got another 600 miles before our trip is over, and I'm not sure how I feel about it. It took me a while to really get the fact that we were making this trip, so I guess it will take me some time to realize that it's over. Ask me again when I'm sitting in the hot tub on the beach.

We rode into Lewiston, and decided that we might as well cross the river and go on to Lewiston's sister-city, Clarkston. There were a couple of rolling hills at the end of our trip--but only to get across the river into Washington. The day ended safely at a Quality Inn on the river. We'd survived the "treacherous" alternate route on Hwy 12, and ended our 3-day tour of Idaho by riding downhill almost the entire way!

New Friends

2006-09-11T02:47:00.000-04:00

From Saturday morning, at breakfast at the Lochsa Lodge.

The man Nancy had spoken to last night as I got us registered was there with his wife, having breakfast, when we arrived to eat this morning. We all sat together at a table to talk.

John Cunningham and Bess Pinon live in Portland, and they are bicycling from Lewiston, ID, up to Whitefish in Glacier National Park; once there, they will load the bikes onto an Amtrak train, and load themselves into a sleeper car, and twelve hours later (or maybe a couple days later - with Amtrak you never know), they will arrive at Union Station just a block from our future home in Portland, on their way home. John is also a registered Professional Engineer, and a Civil Engineer at that (he works in soils); Bess works for the library system there in Portland.

John and Bess are an interesting couple; we exchanged contact information so we can catch up with them later once we get settled in. We're excited to have already met people who live in our new town and who share our interests! We got a picture before they had to leave, so we will post that when we get to a computer on which some overzealous IT person has not blocked USB port access.

The Longest Day

2006-09-11T02:21:00.000-04:00

Saturday, September 9. Powell Junction, ID, to Kamiah, ID.

After studying the maps last night, and even taking into account the notoriously inaccurate elevation profiles provided on them, we decided to go for Kamiah, since it looked like it was downhill all the way. For once, the profile was mostly right. Today's ride would be along the Lochsa River all the way to Lowell, and then along the Clearwater River until we got to Kamiah.

Spectacular. Awesome. Incredible. Breathtaking. Ultimately, when trying to describe the almost monotonous beauty of the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness, words are inadequate. Mere words, intended to articulate and connote some relative sense of what is being described, simply cannot instill the slack-jawed awe to which visitors succumb when they see the thickly forested ravines, the clear water and rocky riverbeds, and the impossibly arranged rocky outcrops that are situated along US 12 in north-central Idaho. The terrain is unlike anything most people have ever experienced, let alone even seen in pictures. Even photographs fall short, worth only a measly thousand words. A thousand photographs would only begin to convey the spectacle that is this wilderness.

Between Powell Junction and the tiny burg of Lowell, there is nothing but the wilderness and a few trails. Every twist of the road is another beautiful revelation; every turn in the river, a wonder of nature. We pedaled, to be sure, but for the most part it wasn't really necessary. We both, repeatedly, were thankful that we were heading west, and thus downhill, rather than east, and up what amounts to a three-day climb.

Lowell was our first bail-out point, and reaching it in the early afternoon compelled us to go on (after eating lunch there). We had already covered over 65 miles, more than we ride most days; another 30 seemed like a walk in the park. Lowell, which you'd miss if you weren't paying attention, is situated at the point where the Lochsa River meets the Selway River, forming the Middle Fork Clearwater River; it is this meeting of the waters that is Lowell's raison d'etre. Kind of like Manaus, Brazil, where two rivers meet to form the Amazon, only smaller. Much smaller. Like two motels and a convenience store small, such that one of the motels is also the restaurant. On the sign welcoming you to Lowell, the number next to the population, 24, has been x-ed out and a 23 has been painted next to it. It was also curious to note that the elevation marked on the sign was more than 500 feet lower than the elevation noted on our maps; one more gross inconsistency in the profiles.

We reached the bridge into Kooskia (KOOS-key), the point where the Fab Four would have turned on their route towards Florence, OR, maybe a week ago, and formally left the portion of our route that was the same as theirs. From this point on, we were seeing territory they had missed; it was a little like a second, belated goodbye, and the tear in my eye was as much about that as the soreness of over 80 miles on a bicycle seat. Kooskia is the place, like Lowell, where two rivers meet; in this instance the Middle Fork and the South Fork of the Clearwater River meet to form, what else, the Clearwater River. There is no sign anywhere on our maps of the North Fork. It seems to have been misplaced.

Arriving in Kamiah felt like a triumph. We had covered over 96 miles, at an average speed of over 14 mph; it was our longest day (in terms of distance), by more than 18 miles. We both felt fine, if a little sore; and we were tired, fortunately for the only pizza place in town (and fortunately for US, they deliver). Relaxing in the air-conditioned comfort of our room at the Clearwater 12 Motel, munching on some surprisingly good pizza (Nancy had Pesto-Sun Dried Tomato-Garlic with Artichoke Pizza, and I had the Chicken Fajita Pizza) was a satisfying end to a satisfying day. We felt we had successfully set the stage for taking the River Option tomorrow, all the way to Lewiston, perhaps as far as Clarkston, across the state line in Washington. With our bikes safely locked away in the conference room, we slept soundly this night.

Lochsa Luck

2006-09-11T01:30:00.000-04:00

Friday, September 8. Missoula, MT, to Powell Junction, ID.

This morning, after we had lolled around in the comfy bed until almost 9 (!), we turned on the Weather Channel for a forecast. At that time of the morning, it was 50 degrees with 54% humidity. The forecast was for ESE winds, 15-20mph. Ridiculous. That would mean a tailwind. It couldn't possibly be accurate.

We left Missoula and headed back to Lolo on our way to the pass (can't miss Lolo Pass). While there, we had to stop at the Post Office; Suzi and Jim had sent us another package of snacks and about 14 lbs of trail mix. We didn't have room for it all, so we took one bag and then packaged up the rest of it and sent it ahead to ourselves for pickup in Walla Walla. Then it was off to the pass; we would decide on the way if we could cross over the pass today, or if we would have to stop at Lolo Hot Springs and make the climb tomorrow.

At about 29 miles, we stopped at an historic marker at the side of the road; normally we can tell what they are about and can make a rolling decision about whether to stop, but this one was far enough off the road, (and besides, both our posteriors were asking for a small break), that we went in for a closer look. It was all about the name Lolo, including some speculation about where it originated and some history of the various things NAMED Lolo (Peak, Hot Springs, Creek, Pass, and the town of Lolo, among others). One theory is that it was named after a French fur trader who lived in the area before the Lewis and Clark expedition came through, whose name was Lawrence Rence; and, since the Indians who lived in this area did not have an "r" sound in their language (it came out like an "L"), he was nicknamed "LouLou", later bastardized to Lolo.

Another theory was that the Indians called anyone who transported goods over the mountains, or anything that was so transported, Lolo. Nobody knows the actual answer with certainty, apparently.

Just as we were leaving this roadside attraction, we saw a bicyclist coming from the opposite direction. This turned out to be Michael Wong, from Atlanta! He grew up in Snellville, went to GSU as an art student and now lives in Decatur. He is riding across the country in support of the project he founded, Bikes for Indonesia. The URL is www.bikes4indo.com. He had spent some time in that region in the relief effort following the Boxing Day Tsunami of 2004, and saw that the basic mode of transportation, the bicycle, needed help, and realized he could bring some of his expertise to bear on it. So, take a look at the site; if you know anyone with a spare bike, or if the local pawnshop has too many to store, put them in touch.

On we went, up to Lolo Hot Springs, where we stopped for lunch. I suppose I was expecting more; the name Lolo Hot Springs seems to connote such luxury and opulence, that coming up on the decidedly downscale collection of buildings was a bit of a disapointment. We elected to go on, since it was only 7 miles to the top and then 13 miles down.

True to form, the last 4 miles to the top were the hardest, but waiting for us at the top was the Idaho state border and a bonus hour, since we would enter the Pacific Time Zone there.

At the top, we realized that we were now irrevocably on the Pacific side of the country. It was fun to dance across the line, back and forth, gaining and then losing the hour, and then finally regaining it for good. But at the top, over 5000 feet, it was cold, and the upcoming descent was likely to exacerbate that coldness, so we put on layers (and I put on my gloves). We didn't think it would rain, despite the thunder we could hear, but we put on our new Patagonia rain jackets anyway.

Of course, the sprinkling started almost the moment we lost sight of the pass behind us. It was light, though, so we were able to enjoy the long, 5-mile, 6% grade, doubly so because not a single vehicle came up behind us until we passed the bottom of the grade and it lessened to a more gradual slope. All the way down, we enjoyed spectacular views, as far as we could see anyway. The mountains rose up on both sides at angles not typically seen in nature.

Speaking of views, I should note that we had ridden through spectacular landscape all day--beautiful forests, (great pine scent), and the Lolo River on the Montana side; the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness on the Idaho side, the Crooked Fork and Lochsa Rivers running beside the road on the way down; and in the riverbed, lots of rocks, rounded by time and water.

At 5 miles from Powell Junction, the rain started in earnest. Neither Nancy nor I had not put on our helmet covers, so before long our heads were drenched; Nancy had also neglected to put on her amfib pants, so her legs got soaked, too.

The rain continued until we reached Lochsa Lodge at Powell Juntion, where we got their last room--a cute little log cabin of a place with an orange shower. At least it had a shower and toilet; some of the cabins are "rustic" - meaning the showers are over there near the convenience store and the outhouse is a little closer. We tried the TV provided in the room; it got channel 4 and channel 6 (really fuzzy, though), and that was it. Neither one was the Weather Channel, so we did without.

The bonus hour gave us time to clean up before heading over to the main lodge for dinner. For a place out in the middle of nowhere, it was surprisingly crowded; many of the people there had been coming for many years. The lodge dates to 1929, but the original burned down in 2001; the place that exists now is a replacement, and no less an oasis in the wilderness than the original. Walking the short distance to the main lodge, we met three guys there for the weekend fishing, including one who had lived in Portland for 7 years; he knew where we were going to live when we described it. We chatted with them briefly before going in.

When we had arrived, while I was taking care of the registration, Nancy met a man in the restaurant who is cycling with his wife from Lewiston to Whitefish; they live in Portland. We made arrangements to talk later, over breakfast, since they were just finishing dinner. Then, at dinner, we sat next to two guys, one from Beaverton, one from Ashland, who were there fishing for the weekend as well. It came out during the conversation (when we revealed our ultimate destination) that they watch football together in Lincoln City during the one weekend in the playoffs when there are two games on Saturday and two more games on Sunday. I couldn't tell where the cabin was that they rent, but it sounded like it was in the Oceanlake area, near the northern end of town.

After dinner, while perusing some books in the lodge library, we met 8 women from Spokane playing Spite & Malice (a card game that looks remarkably like a game Nancy and I play called Dumb Dora). They call themselves the Spokane Bridge Club, but they said if we are ever in Spokane all we have to do is ask for the "crazy bridge ladies" and anyone can tell us where they are. They get together to play cards when it's dark, but during the day they go out HIKING. Did I mention that these women are in their 60's? They were out hiking in this area today, rugged area I don't think I'D go hiking in. I like these chicks.

Afterwards, in our room, we looked at what lay ahead. One of the options available for us once we reach Kamiah (pronounced KA-me-eye) is known as the River Option, which avoids the nearly 2500-foot ascent to a plateau and the cities of Craigmont and Winchester. However, the map notes that the River Option, following the Clearwater River all the way to Lewiston, is not recommended by the ACA, local cyclists OR the Idaho DOT due to heavy comercial traffic, winding roads, and limited shoulders. We are thinking that if we can get to Kamiah by Saturday night, we stand a good chance of being able to take the River Option on Sunday, thus avoiding a lot of the commercial traffic. We decided to try for Kamiah, a distance of over 96 miles, for that reason. We have some bailout points in mind just in case, but that's the goal. We'll see!

Missoula!

2006-09-08T01:55:00.000-04:00

Wednesday, September 6. Conner, MT, to Missoula, MT. Rest day, September 7.

Missoula. The name was just a distant target many months ago, a foggy image of the place where the Adventure Cycling Association was headquartered, and where we would stop to tell them of our many exploits, the way we had cobbled together so many of their published routes, and what we had found that should be added to their maps or corrected.

Yeah. Then we decided somewhere in New York that we wouldn't stop there, since it was 13 miles out of the way. We figured the ACA wouldn't be very interested in our trip, since they undoubtedly see hundreds of other cross-country cyclists each year. We'd just be two more faces.

Then my drivetrain began to fail, and competent help seemed available only in Missoula. That, and one more package was waiting for us there. So we would go there after all. We would have to ride our longest day to get there; fortunately, Montana was fresh out of mountain passes, having hurled three of them at us in the past two days.

Leaving Conner was difficult - not because of the terrain, but because of the big, comfy bed Tom and Char had provided us in their guest house. True to form, we woke up just before 8 and joined our hosts for a good breakfast of cereal and bagels before leaving. They were a delight, and treated us tremendously well, all as they prepare for an open house on Thursday. Yes, the ranch is for sale; and it can be YOURS for the right price. And, if you have to ask . . .

Their place is a prime 32 acres located on the West Fork Bitteroot River and comes complete with a guest house, main house and tipi with fireplace. There is also a resident moose nearby. If you are interested, let us know and we'll put you in touch.

We made very good time on a clear, warm morning to Darby; we went through Hamilton, Corvallis and all they way to Stevensville before stopping for lunch. We found to our amazement that we had been averaging over 14 miles an hour over the 45 miles there.

Arriving in Stevensville, Nancy initially pulled up to a place she thought would be good for lunch, but they were not open. Rolling up to the next intersection, we pondered where to go; and as we did, a woman walking by stopped to ask us about our trip. We answered her questions, and then asked her if she could recommend a place for lunch. She was happy to help; she pointed out two places, but said that she would choose the Old Coffee Mill and Eatery just across the street. That turned out to be an excellent recommendation - we had a very satisfying lunch there, including a fine dessert (oatmeal raisin cookie for me, chocolate-covered peanut butter bar for Nancy) and a relaxing hour or so.

In the restaurant, numerous framed photographs hung on the walls, photos taken by a couple of locals (19 year old boys, we were informed). Some of the pictures looked remarkably like the Oregon coast, and so we asked about them - and found that they are indeed from parts of the coast that we might actually be pretty familiar with. Quite a coincidence, I thought. But then, the Oregon coast is a really remarkable and beautiful place, so perhaps we should not be surprised to see photographs of it placed on the wall as artwork. It IS art.

The road from Stevensville to Lolo, highway 93, is paralleled by a bike path the entire way, making that portion of the trek pretty stress-free. We did not meet another cyclist until after we went through Florence, and they were locals, not touring; they did not stop to talk with us, anyway.

Rain threatened off and on all the way to Lolo, and when we finally had to get on 93 for the last 13 miles into Missoula, it did sprinkle a bit; but it was too little to dampen our spirits. We had a wide shoulder and little wind, which, had there been more roads to choose from, might have caused us to question whether we were on the right road.

Missoula is a city that is alive with cyclists, even away from the U district on the east side of town. Paths line both sides of the Clark Fork River where it flows through the downtown area, with spurs that radiate off in various directions; but not only that, many of the main thoroughfares have bike lanes delineated on them. Bike parking abounds. It almost feels like Portland. Our arrival was too late to visit the ACA offices (or the post office, for that matter), so we got checked in to our accommodations and set ourselves to the necessary tasks of laundry and blogging. Nancy would post pictures tomorrow while I got my bike fixed, after we visited the ACA offices in the morning. It was a good plan.

After a very good night's sleep on the fluffiest bed we've slept in since, well, last night, we set off for breakfast and the post office. Char had provided us with a map of Missoula, a very good map produced by Discovery Map that looked like a cartoon aerial view of the city, with many specific businesses identified (including the bike shop where I will go for repairs). I love maps like this because it helps me visualize where things are more easily. So I planned to guide us to a cafe called Hob Nob Cafe on Main Street before going to the nearby Post Office; but, when we reached the spot where it should have been, it was not there. We stopped at the next intersection to discuss it (sense a recurring theme here?).

A man walking by asked if we needed directions somewhere, and I told him what we looking for and showed him the map. He took one look at it and said "Oh, that's an old one. Here, I have the latest edition. I'm the publisher." This turned out to be Kevin, and he actually is the publisher of the Discovery Map of Missoula; he had a portfolio full of the 4th edition (the one Char gave us was the 2nd edition). Don't you love coincidences like that?

He recommended a place nearby, the Shack Cafe, for breakfast, so there we went, and then off to the post office before going to the ACA offices. Unfortunately, the downtown post office is NOT the place where they handle general delivery - that is farther away on Kent Street. Hmph. We got some postcard stamps so the trip wouldn't be a total waste, and then walked over to the ACA offices.

As you enter the Adventure Cycling Association offices, on the left, there is a large corkboard with pictures of the cyclists who have stopped in this year. Each photo has the name of the cyclist and the date they stopped in, and also where they came from and where they are going. We looked them over and saw pictures of people we had met, including Kim, Luke, and Blaise; the Chris's, headed to Denver from Anchorage, AK; and Bunny, Jordan and Katie, whom we had met outside Riverside, WY.

We got our picture added to the wall, and I took advantage of the computer they make available to check e-mail (and attachments); and while we were there, the ACA staff photographer asked to take our picture in a more formal fashion, such as they might publish in their monthly magazine Adventure Cyclist. I don't harbor any beliefs that our pictures might be published, but it was fun to have them taken anyway.

The ACA staff was not exactly ebullient, which I must admit was disappointing but not really a surprise. I was just happy to add our image to the board, with the longest itinerary I could find there. That's something, but it was not the goal of this journey, of course.

We set off for the bike shop, and when they had set to work Nancy took off for the post office where they DO handle general delivery. When she returned, since my repairs were not yet complete, she took the opportunity to look around; and she found a bargain on the last two Craft lightweight thermal jackets in the shop, marked down 40% and in our sizes. Was it a sign? I think so. We got them both.

Nancy left again, this time to get some pictures posted (at last!) while I continued to wait for the repairs to be finished; and when I took a test ride, the tech said that the frame might actually be flexing enough to allow the chain to come off the gear in front. That means I will not be able to exert the full force I am capable of exerting on the pedals, which actually is a good thing - it means the chain and the rest of the drivetrain might actually last longer. It also means I will probably have to get a new bike when we settle in Portland. Gunnar, any advice? I already know the answer to that.

I took a spin out on the paths along the river and found myself at the baseball stadium for the Pioneer League team here, the Missoula Osprey. They are a farm team for the Arizona Diamondbacks, and their last home game of the season (before the playoffs, that is) is scheduled for tonight. Seems like a good diversion - and the first opportunity to catch a ballgame since we left Lawrenceville.

We walked to dinner at a mexican place near the hotel, and then walked through Caras Park and past the carousel that was installed in 1995. We watched as a girl on a multicolored horse repeatedly grabbed plastic rings from the mouth of a dragon as she whooshed by. After the carousel stopped briefly so more people could get on, she continued to gather rings until, at last, there were no more.

We got to the ballpark in the bottom of the second, and the Osprey were already leading 3-1. We had no sooner sat down when one of the Osprey players pounded a long home run to extend the lead to 4-1. Before the end of the third, the lead was 6-1, and although the visiting Helena Brewers posted 3 in the fourth, the Osprey went on to win it 6-4. The between-innings activities included ushers hurling bags of Cracker Jacks and Peanuts into the crowd, a young boy leading the crowd in the YMCA dance, and a tire rolling race. Also, everyone entering the park received a numbered team photo, and prizes (mostly gift certificates to local businesses and signed, game-used memoribilia like baseballs and broken bats) were awarded based on the number on the photos. We didn't win anything. We also bought some 50-50 raffle tickets to support a local middle school - and didn't win that, either. Still, we did find out what the giant L stood for on the mountain next to the mountain with the M on it - it stands for Loyola High School. One mystery solved.

Tomorrow we set off for at least Lolo Hot Springs, and perhaps farther. It remains to be seen whether we can climb all of Lolo Pass in one day. We'll see!

The Bitterroots

2006-09-07T19:42:00.000-04:00

The Bitterroots
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

The Bitterroot Mountains and Bitterroot River are very scenic spots.

The Formal Portrait

2006-09-07T19:39:00.000-04:00

The Formal Portrait
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

The "official" picture, on the loading dock of the Adventure Cycling

Association offices. Their copy is a black and white, non-digitized

version. Both were taken by a professional photographer, Greg Siple.

A Kodak Moment

2006-09-07T19:37:00.000-04:00

A Kodak Moment
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

Outside of the Adventure Cycling Offices in Missoula, MT, an informal

picture for this year's wall of touring cyclists.

Tom & Char

2006-09-07T19:31:00.000-04:00

Tom & Char
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

Our hosts at River Dance Ranch in Conner, MT, just outside of Darby. We

enjoyed their company, their guest house, and their resident moose.

Guest House

2006-09-07T19:29:00.000-04:00

Guest House
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

Tom and Char graciously invited us to spend the night at their ranch--little

did we guess we'd have such posh accommodations!

Sarah and David

2006-09-07T19:28:00.000-04:00

Sarah and David
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

After smoking my brakes a little, we're able to stop on the downhill slope

of Chief Joseph Pass to talk with Sarah and David. They live in Essex,

England, but love to cycle in the US.

Chief Joseph Pass

2006-09-07T19:26:00.000-04:00

Chief Joseph Pass
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

At the top of Chief Joseph Pass we make our final crossing of the

Continental Divide. For the remainder of this trip, we're on the Pacific

side.

The Innocents

2006-09-07T19:24:00.001-04:00

The Innocents
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

A notorious gang of criminals would rob stagecoaches and other travelers on

this stretch of road in Montana, then beat feet back to Robber's Roost.

This building isn't the original Robber's Roost, but is built on the spot of

the original and did serve as a stagecoach stop until the trains made them

obsolete. Turns out that the sheriff in Ennis was the gang's leader. No

mention if he was also the coroner.

Pronghorn Deer

2006-09-07T19:24:00.000-04:00

Pronghorn Deer
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

On our way to the Big Hole National Battlefield, these deer were grazing

quite close to the road. They spooked a little as we slowed and then

stopped, but I was still able to get a decent picture. They're such

beautiful animals.

Jackson Hot Springs Lodge

2006-09-07T19:23:00.000-04:00

Jackson Hot Springs Lodge
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

The lodge where we met Tom & Char, and Ann Mary & Diane. And had a great

dinner.

Neigh-bors

2006-09-07T19:21:00.000-04:00

Neigh-bors
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

No rooms were available in Sheridan, but we had a lovely campsite and very

nice neighbors at the town's ballpark.

Kim & Matthew

2006-09-07T19:11:00.000-04:00

Kim & Matthew
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

In Virginia City, we meet up with Kim who is cycling her way from Seattle to

Connecticut. She saw our bikes and looked for people in bike shorts. She

found us at the ice cream place--duh.

Ennis Cafe

2006-09-07T19:07:00.001-04:00

Ennis Cafe
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

Ennis is a small town with a western flair and a lot of cowboy character.

Between Ennis and Virginia City

2006-09-07T19:07:00.000-04:00

Between Ennis and Virginia City
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

At the top of the 10-mile climb out of Ennis, you can look down the valley

and almost see how far you've come. It's all downhill from here!

Tie One On

2006-09-07T19:03:00.000-04:00

Tie One On
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

We arrived in Ennis just in time for the big "Tie One On" fly fishing

festival. Big doings in town; we were lucky to get a room for another

cold night.

Montana!

2006-09-07T18:58:00.000-04:00

Montana!
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

I can hardly believe that we're in Montana--but still in Yellowstone Park.

Only a few states left to traverse on our way to the Pacific Coast.

Bacteria Mat(t)

2006-09-07T18:57:00.000-04:00

Bacteria Mat(t)
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

After a couple days without a hotel room and private shower, he's just one

big Bacteria Mat(t).

Who Pooped in the Park?

2006-09-07T18:53:00.000-04:00

Who Pooped in the Park?
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

In almost every gift shop in the park, we see copies of a kids' book

entitled "Who Pooped in the Park?" I was able to get digital documentation.

History of Bicycles in Yellowstone

2006-09-07T18:49:00.000-04:00

History of Bicycles in Yellowstone
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

Since the early 1900's, folks have ridden bicycles in Yellowstone. How come

there aren't better facilities?

I Am the Boss of You

2006-09-07T18:46:00.000-04:00

I Am the Boss of You
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

The other young buck in this herd now gets his life lesson today.

The Floor Show

2006-09-07T18:41:00.000-04:00

The Floor Show
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

Outside our window at the Mammoth Hot Springs Hotel, the players gather on

the lawn for today's performance.

The Army Bicycle Corps

2006-09-07T18:39:00.000-04:00

The Army Bicycle Corps
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

This Army Bicycle Corps was stationed in Missoula, and sent on a 900-mile

tour of Yellowstone Park. So far, my favorite photo from early park days.

Terraces With Water

2006-09-07T18:36:00.000-04:00

Terraces With Water
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

This part of the terrace is still fed by the hot springs above it. No

telling how long any of these thermal features will last, given the effects

of any earthquakes or other seismic activities. Plan your vacation now!

Missing Camera

2006-09-07T18:35:00.000-04:00

Missing Camera
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

On the decking near Mammoth Terraces, we noticed this camera mount. Some

clearly disturbed it.

On the Steps at Apollinaris Spring

2006-09-07T18:31:00.000-04:00

On the Steps at Apollinaris Spring
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

Not many stop at Apollinaris Spring these days, but when stagecoach was the

only way to travel, a stop here was a welcome treat.

Taking a Drink

2006-09-07T18:29:00.000-04:00

Taking a Drink
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

It's not as easy at it looks, and of course now there's a warning to treat

the water before drinking it. Ignorance can lead to dysentery, I guess.

Canyon Lodge

2006-09-07T18:26:00.001-04:00

Canyon Lodge
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

Canyon Lodge is a 50's-era hotel spot in the Park. What is most charming,

though, are the elk who wander past your bedroom window.

Clever Coyote

2006-09-07T18:26:00.000-04:00

Clever Coyote
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

On a short stop at Obsidian Cliffs, a local coyote picked his way through

the meadow, across the road, and into the forests around the cliffs.

Porcelain Basin

2006-09-07T18:25:00.000-04:00

Porcelain Basin
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

After the storms had passed, we rode up to the Porcelain Basin near Norris

Junction to see the thermal features there. We also got treated to a double

rainbow.

Glacial Leftovers

2006-09-07T18:22:00.000-04:00

Glacial Leftovers
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

This stone was left behind by a glacier. Trees are growing up around it

now.

Yellowstone's Grand Canyon

2006-09-07T18:17:00.000-04:00

Yellowstone's Grand Canyon
Originally uploaded by nstovall8.

The Grand Canyon of Yellowstone Park is pretty spectacular. I should have

been paying attention during that geography lesson.