In Appreciation of Mountains

Reading through my entries between September and November 2011, there really isn't much mention of mountains. I talk about passes, I mention steep climbs, but really - take out the names of the places and you could almost miss the fact that I rode through the Rockies, Bitterroots, Cascades, and the Coastal Range. Or, somehow I did it without noticing that mountains are amazing.

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HOWEVER...

The mountainous regions were not quite what I expected. In Western Kansas, I was twitchy with excitment to see the Rockies. Riding towards Pueblo, my breath caught and I stared in disbelief at the first faint outline of mountain peaks in the distance. Slowly, they grew larger, but remained hazy and indistinct. Then, all the sudden I'm climbing, but despite the steep incline, it just didn't look that big. That was my experience through a lot of Colorado, Wyoming, and Montana; either I'm far away and it's hard to judge the size of the mountain, or I'm up on it and there is nothing to compare it to. All in all, mountains felt smaller than I expected.

There were, of course, exceptions to this.

Waking up in Guffey was the first - I had ridden in after dark, and never saw the transition from scrubby, red hills to alpine mountains. The rest of the day I rode in awe, feeling I was in a different world, loving the cold air and stubby alpine plants and the sheep grazing on steep slopes. Riding down Kenosha pass was a 12 mile drop out of the high country, through walls of conifers and bald gray stone. It felt like riding down a mountain should feel. On Togwatee pass at dusk, I looked behind - and below - myself to see nothing but cloudy peaks to the visible horizon and a total absence of flat land. The jagged teeth of the Tetons were clear and distinct against the sky. Idaho was incredible, hands down. Riding down the west side of Lolo pass on a rainy day, through gaps in the thick clouds, I could see clumps of green and brown improbably high in the sky. Those looked for all the world like floating islands. In Oregon, finally, there were the three sisters and the surrounding solitary mountains.

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All in all, what I found most striking about mountains were not their individual size, but their mass in numbers. I had pictured a mountain range as being like a river - you cross it, then it's done and you ride towards the next. I hadn't quite understood that from Colorado to Oregon, you never really get out of the mountains. Like anyone who quietly assumes that what is familiar is normal, I had somehow possessed a belief that mountains were irregularies in a mostly flat country. Having ridden through the western US, now, I'm starting to think the midwest is a strange, sheltered little region.

So, to summarize. YES, THERE WERE MOUNTAINS. Lots and lots of mountains. If I don't mention how awesome they are, it's because most of the TransAm posts were written months later, heavily abbreviated. By that point I'd seen an awful lot of mountains. What should I even say? Just assume I appreciated them at the time, okay?

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A word about Portland

Portland. It's classy, guys. No, not really classy in the classic sense; No snobbish refinement could I find. My four days of Portland experience tell me it's a very open, fun, accepting city. Eventually I want to see Portland at it's bikey best, because November weather seems to be cutting down the cyclist pack right now. I ridden much, either. It is cold, after all, and being from Minnesota doesn't actually make me any more tolerant of weather.

What I did get to experience in full glory where the Portland food carts. I had no idea what a treat I was in for. Have some more info, here. On 10th and Alder, an entire city block is ringed in colorful carts offering food from all corners of the world. I ran across two other 'hubs', each with an additional 10 carts or so. On top of that, smaller, more mobile stands occupy sidewalks and parks.

I could happily settle into the daily routine of walking down to the food carts every day for breakfast(Banana-honey-pecan belgian waffles!), lunch(The best sushi rice I've ever eaten. Or maybe a bulgogi taco?), and dinner(Never did get a chance to try the Saimin). As it was, my time and funds where limited, but I hope I'll have another chance! Here is hoping for similar offerings in California.

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Food street!

So maybe the fish wasn't the best here, but the rice was amazing. Perfectly soft, sticky and fluffy.

Best taco ever, with a price tag of $1.25. Viva Portland!

Japanese Garden and Atrophied Legs

Apparently, riding 4300 miles on a bicycle, carrying approximately 150 pounds, leaves one fairly well out of shape. A modest amount of walking has left me aching and burning from ankle to hip, and I'm exhausted. That being said, in the face of the world-renowned Portland Japanese Garden I forgot about my misery for a while. Thank you Michelle - had you not treated me to tickets, I would have slunk away from the $10 entry fee and missed out horribly.

Note: A great many of last weeks photos where corrupted on my memory card. Just a few survived of the gardens, but even the best of them didn't really do it justice.

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McKenzie Pass

Starting in Montana, my friends and I have been much warned about Mckenzie pass. Some would have us think it's a horrific climb that will probably be covered in snow, if not closed outright. In truth, it was a memorably pleasant climb. It was sunny in the morning, and not freezing out. It was the perfect temperature, actually, for climbing. From the town of Sister, until the last leg of the pass itself, I was riding through open, airy pinewoods.

I'm always on some level scouting for a place to camp. Even in the morning. Even when I have a hostel or warmshowers host up ahead. I look for places to camp like I identify roadside flowers, talk to cows, and sing the same line of a song over and over because it's all I can remember. It's a nice habit. Sometimes I see places so perfectly ideal to tuck into, that it's hard to just keep on moving. Idaho had a lot of those - all along the Salmon river, well-worn riverside camps, sandy and sheltered. Yesterday, hours of riding along little hills of sand, rock, juniper and sagebrush. This might be the best of all - a mature, breezy pine forest with a thick layer of soft needles on the ground, fragrant the welcoming. I wanted to stop and explore the narrow trails leading back into the woods. I knew what was coming, though, so I kept going.

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I'd already decided that I'd be happy if I could just make it up over the summit. With the glacial slow uphill progress, a good climb takes me all day. Also, the top of Mckenzie pass is a huge, blackened lava flow. Definitely a place worth stopping to absorb. The final stretch of climb was less welcoming. The effects of fire - and probably more frequent rain, pushing over from the wetter west side of the cascades - make the younger trees grow thick. In places it looked like it would be difficult to even walk between them, and the ground was covered with wet logs and debris. At the beginning of the actual pass, truck traffic is denied and the road narrows.

I didn't quite make it to the lava-rock observatory that marks the top of the pass. I might need to climb half a mile or so tomorrow, but that's worth it for a good place to rest tonight. I camped in a basin of pine needles surrounded by black rock, just off view from the road. I didn't really have time to explore much - rain coming, and cold.

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Sisters, OR

It was a nice, peaceful, warm ride to Sister, OR. I've joked that every TransAm journal has a Sisters entry - it's pretty much true. It's the last stop before the famed Mckenzie Pass, and no one wants to start that climb late in the day.

I picked up some supplies along the way in Prineville, where I discovered Grocery Outlet. It's a chain of stores specializing in other chain store's refuse. You know - old packaging, crushed crackers, ect. It was not as cheap as the place in Rawlins, WY, but it had a lot more stuff. I think they're just in Oregon. Now I have all kinds of new food to look forward to eating! I'm serious. It's a huge pick-me-up during the day to know I'll have tasty food when I settle in for the night.

The Thee Sisters and the other mountains nearby where something I've not really seen yet - just a mountain, on it's own, visible from head to foot, snowcapped and huge. The mountain range I'll be crossing tomorrow was clearly visible, too. Thick clouds piled up behind it. These, like watery waves, visible spilled over the peaks before breaking up. The clouds that made it over the range clearly held the shape of these peaks.

Ryan, Michelle and I stayed with warmshowers hosts Steve and Karen. They made us an excellent dinner, and we where able to wash ourselves and our clothing. I briefly considered getting some new brake pads at the store in town, but decided to put it off again. There aren't that many more long descents, right?

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Is it a cloud or a mountain?

Ochoco Pass, OR

Another short day of climbing. I picked up some snacks and stove fuel in Mitchell, and left nice and early. Well, early considering it takes half the day to warm up, now...

These Oregon mountains are rough. Colorado has all the fame for elevation, but really it wasn't that much climbing. Once you get up one mountain, you don't go down until you're nearly into Wyoming. The nasty climbs where all over in a few miles. Now, however, I'm hitting the 15+ mile climbs. With the U-haul, anything over a 4% grade feels awful, so it's been slow going.

It was dusk when I hit the top of the Ochoco pass, and already the temperature was down to 39 degrees. Too cold for the long descent. I found the first likely pull off, still in national forest land, and set up camp before my hands froze. Previous visitors had left a huge mound of firewood, so for once I had a massive blazing fire.

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Camped in plain view on National Forest Land. The road is an unpaved forest service road, with very little use. Maybe three cars drove out during the night.

Mitchell, OR

I've not had a real breakfast for a while, but this morning I had plenty of time while waiting for my bike to de-frost. I really did not want to ride a frosty bike... Barbie the dog gave me an enthusiastic farewell when the time came.

Today involved lots of climbing. None of it was really marked on my map. At least now I HAVE a map. The days are so short a long climb takes up most of daylight for me, now. Oddly, though, when I reached the top, in full dark, it was comfortable out. 48 degrees, and no wind. It felt much warmer. The five miles of steep downhill was nervewracking for the condition of my brakes in the dark, but at least I was not frozen through by the end of it.

I caught up to Ryan and Michelle in the tiny, old fashioned town of Mitchell. Their tent was lit and and flashing with colors - watching a movie inside a small tent looks funny from the outside. I almost didn't set my tent up, but rain was a concern and the picnic shelter didn't provide enough shelter without moving the table and sleeping in the center of it. The table, of course, was loaded with gear food and bikes. Who knows how cold it could still get, anyway.

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Really neat canyon in the John Day Fossil Beds

Did I climb it? No, but I wish I had, now. Some of those shoes where perfectly serviceable! Really, who would miss a pair...

Michell City Park, photo taken the next morning.

The Bike Inn - Mt. Vernon, OR

Thick frost covering my tent and bicycle slowed me down this morning. It was 19 degrees out when I scraped the ice off my thermometer and packing up stiff, frozen gear sounded miserable.

I did none the less get on the road before 10am. The sky was clear and it felt likely to warm up. A few weeks ago, I'd keep my cyclocomputer on daily mileage, for something to look at. Now it's usually on temperature, so I can cheer myself up by watching it rise as I ride down the mountains. Before long it was in the 50s again, and sunny. Out of the Malheur National Forest, I rode into a beautiful, golden valley. The downhills are getting to be stressful with my slipping brakes - I might actually have to replace the pads soon. They've made it pretty well through the last 8000 miles...

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Despite my moderately early start, the day got away from me. I stopped a little too long in Prairie City, eating cheese and crackers. When I got to John Day, the sun was at the horizon. Three cyclists riding back into town suggested I call it a day at Mt. Vernon. I knew about the accommodations, there, but I've been looking forward to the church run bicycle hostel in Dayville. More then just a church where cyclists can camp - it's set up more like the awesome hostel in Hutchinson, Kansas. Pushing on, in the dark and cold, an extra 25-or-so miles was clearly a bad idea, though, so I called the woman who runs the Bike Inn in Mt. Vernon.

Let me point out that my desire to reach Dayville has nothing to do with the quality of the Bike Inn in Mt. Vernon. It was just a goal I got attached to, a place I'd looked forward to seeing, and nostalgia for the places we slept in Kansas and Wyoming. The Bike Inn is wonderful, and the lady who maintains it is a sweetheart. She was out of town, tonight, so it was just me with the chickens and dog. I took a long shower, had a bucket of buttered noodles, and watched Dances with Wolves. Here is to a frost, ice, and snow-free morning...

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Inside the Bike Inn

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Baker City Windmills

We spent the day with Wade, who is building wind turbines on a land lease. He took us up into the towers, then back to his family ranch for an amazing meal prepared by his folks, all with food sourced from their own land. I'm an astoundingly poor writer, and this was a real gem of a day, so I'm just going to leave it to memory. Here are some pictures of the wind farm, though!

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Into Oregon

Oregon, the last state on the TransAm... the first state I've rode in with ocean on the highway map. Here are a few shots of my last few miles in Idaho, and the first day in Oregon.

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The Brownlee Dam.

Riding along the Snake River.

Morning near Halfway.