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Day 30 Pasco to Winddust Park 42 miles
This morning Dilan made crepes, we had a delicious breakfast. His kids Ivy, 10, and Axel, 4, are beautiful toe head babies full of positive energy, poster children for good parenting. They definitaly score one in the get married and have a family column for me. Dilan's and his wife Jen's shop is called Greenies because they started it out as a shop for all the things a "green" minded consumer might have trouble finding. Over the years those products have become more widely available, a good thing in general but it also innevitable reduced the demand for those things in their shop. Now they are a fully operating bike shop as well as a renter of kanoes, SUPs, and bike. Richland is one of the Tri-Cities of eastern Washington along with Kiliwak and Pasco. Three rivers run through the cities and the city has done an excellent job creating public outdoor spaces and multi use paths along the water. I'm really impressed with this town and even more so with the beautiful life Jen and Dilan have created, they are both super fit and good looking by the way. He's 40 and I would have guessed he was my age, she is beautiful and also clearly healthy and active enough to look younger than her years. That night after Dilan left the shop he went with three other guys for a quick 20 mile sprint around the city along the rivers like they do each tuesday night. I joined him afterward for Taco Tuesday $1 Taco Special at the food truck down the road. Chasing a beautiful sunset we rode through town and out through farms and into Pasco where they live, I felt right at home and enjoyed talking about Harry Potter with Ivy, she's also a super fan and had the hard back illustrated text book size versions of the books! They were incredible! I love when I can talk with kids about Harry Potter and not have to downplay my own personal childlike excitment about the phenominon. I didn't even have to set up my tent because they had a trampoline! After visiting a while with the grown ups I called it a night climbing in to my sleeping bag and resisting the urge to have a good jump and bounce session before bed. I absolutely love sleeping on trampolines! Especially when you wake up because you get to just roll around and are immediately doing wake up stretches and starting a morning off right. There nothing like doing Downward Facing Dog in the middle of a trampoline, if you haven't, I insist you try it! Dilan made crepes, it was the best breakfast I've had my whole trip! One I filled with goat cheese, pistachio and peaches, another with almond butter, banana and nutella, and the last with cottage cheese and blueberries. I got a late start and rode through a couple hours of over a hundred degrees but I'd do it all over again for that good night sleep, amazing breakfast, better company and just being in such a warm home. Remember Greenies bike shop in the tri cities if you're ever in east Washington, I know I'll be back, I want to kayak that river! The riding was moderately difficult today, boring and extremely hot. I have started another of Dan Carlin's Hard Core History Pod Casts called the Blueprint for Armageddon. It's about the things that led to world was 1 starting with the assassination of Franz Ferdinand, the heir to the thrown of austro hungary, which im probably remembering in correctly but I know he was killed Serbians who could have had no idea of ultimate ramifications of their actions. And the guy that killed him did so after the mission to do so had already failed until later in that day the vehicle carrying the prince happened to stop on the street, by coincidence, right in front of the assassin who pulled out his gun and shot both he and his wife. Dan described it as if Kennedy was not killed when fired upon in his car in Dallas but instead stayed in the car driving around for a while and stopped in front of a cafe that the shooter from the grassy knoll was walking out of, armed and succeeded at his freak second chance. The chances of this happening and it's role in world history couldn't be written any better if it was made up. I'm loving learning about this old history in way Hard Core History podcast does, it's hours and hours long. I think this series I've just started is 6 episodes each over two hours, perfect for a trip like this because it's hard to consume it all if you have real life interrupting your lessons all the time. As I cam around one turn I saw another bike packer stopped in the shade packing something up, I asked if he was ok and then wished him well and rode on. Then I realized he was coming my direction when he came up behind me and we exchanged encouragements, then when he was pulled over again on a hill I passed him commenting on how hot it was and he confirmed that I had enough water and reminded me to stay hydrated! Eventually after a while of this I saw his bike was outside the only building we had seen for 25 miles, it was the top of a hill we'd just climbed so I also pulled over to check on power for something I think. After a minute or two a women stuck her head outside the little school house and asked me if I needed more water as well? I decided to take the obvious lead and went inside, she guided me down stairs and on past the kids cubbies with finger paint hung all above I met Oliver Heyndrickx in the little boys room filling up his water. He was from Belgium and admitted he had just graduated and was out traveling to run away from responsibilities mounting at home so he was trying to cycle to as many national forests as he could in the next few months. We made our way up to the landing by the entrance where I felt a cold stream of air conditioning blowing against my legs. From one of the lower steps of the next flight of stairs was amazingly cold air blowing from a vent, it felt life giving. I immediately stuck my head down to it and got comfortable, so did he, we were both so hot, it must have been 105 outside and I know I was thirty miles in, he was more. So we sat and chatted, immediate friends, kindred spirits feel, it was we laughed about how neither of us were really sure how to do what we had set out to do. I walked him through how to change a tire, which he has never done in his life. He was confident, adventures, bearded, and excited, I wish we could have traveled more together. Nine miles past the school house though I turned right onto Burt Canyon Road and finally was rewarded for all the climbing we'd been doing with a few miles of down hill. I was headed down to the Snake River, normally when you get to bomb down you get to cool off but today, even over thirty miles per hour, the air was so hot it didn't feel nice at all. It felt like when you open the over and get wave of heat hitting you, I couldn't believe it. Once the river came into sight however and jumping in became a very real possibility I was stoked! I hit the river and turned left watching the giant river boat filling facility come closer and closer. It appeared that semis go through, unload their loads, and then it is piped up into a silo that has a ramp and filling down tube hanging out over the river, where I suppose boats fill up and transport down the river. This type of operation seems perfect out here, today I rode through the biggest farm plots I have ever seen, some fields rolled on so far they became hills and disappeared behind their horizons. I passed a tiny linger hanger and run way and watched airplanes take over and return over and over making passes dusting the fields with chemicals, one little yellow plain I saw flying over me and returning to reload three times while I was on that stretch. Wheat fields are actually rather beautiful, the wind blows them in all directions and motion and shades of gold is constantly changing direction. I also believe I saw, carrots, onions, and potatoes, root vegitables that I'm not so good at identifying. I am certain that I passed a garlic field, it smelled amazing, a few million heads of garlic filling the air with that aroma that we know so well from it filling our kitchens at the onset something delicious being made, it was unmistakable. It was cool to see the river still being used to transport those harvests, I saw a few massive vessels moving up river while I've been here now but have not gotten to witness a filling, I can see that giants solo and ramp from where I'm camping. I'm right on the river across is a train track and then a cliff that jets up, the move has been getting brighter and higher from the back of that cliff all night. When I left this morning I had I had parts all over and out of place so when I arrived here, after immediately walking straight down the boat dock into the river with all my clothes on, shoes included, I laid out my yoga mat and unpacked everything. I then repacked it all back into exactly the right places, taking inventory, organizing and consolidating. There was a break for another swim some time during my OCD exercise as well and once I was finished I did yoga on the newly cleared mat. Today my on board power system failed for the first time. earlier in the day one of the wires had broken off the metal piece that connects it to the hub. I managed to stop in front of an auto shop and soon a interested guy asked if I needed help, we struck up a conversation and he realized he had a replacement for the part I needed so we got it fixed. However, soon after both the wire had broken of the metal piece we replaced and the other wire was severed. I was baffled but managed to take my time, borrow some duck tape and pliers and get it rigged up better than before. Now the sun has gone down and I need to eat a lot more still before bed. xoxoxo3:46
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Day 29 Sunnyside to Richland 25 Miles 30 miles
Aug 1, 2:14 time, 911 calories, 13.7 avg mph, 351' climbed I was not confident heading off for the day that I was prepared. I only had one CO2 canister to fill a flat if I got one and was in the middle of nowhere, I had searched sunnyside for more to no avail. So I set off hoped for the best. The word of the day is Goat's Head. Any cyclist round these parts will tell it's a vine that crawls along the road side with a little round bud packed full of thorns, each of which is fully capable of puncturing a tire and inner tube. After about 20 miles through ranch land along the Yakama River they got me. That soggy unresponsive feeling that ruins your steering struck first from the rear wheel. It was early but already hot in the sun and there was no shade as far as I could see in either direction. I pulled off the side of the two lane, no shouldered highway and prepared to change a tire aside a boulder that was taller than me. I start by removing my bags now, this took longer to habituate than it should have, but I figured it out the hard way as we stubborn men insist on doing. Next you use your tire lever to pry the bead of the tire off the wheel and allow removal of it and the inner tube. I have also learned from smarter people than myself, to check the tire for the culprit before inflating a new tube straight into another puncture. I found over a dozen of these Goat Head thorns in my tire which lead to an immediate sinking feeling that the front tire must also be riddled with them. I used my last CO2 to finish this job then loaded up and headed out, I positioned myself in the lane to ride and should have taken off but I gave in to scratch my itch of curiosity and check the front tire. I didn't have to rotate but a few degrees before I saw them. Any one who understands tires, punctures and air pressure, myself included, knows that sometimes if you don't mess with a puncture it may hold itself sealed and not deflate. I knew this, I know this but I only remembered this as I extracting a monster thorn from the rubber, this was followed by a hissing sound and the thud of my further sinking heart. It was a slow leak so I got another quarter to a half a mile ride out of it, just enough to find a shade tree to stop at and stick out my thumb. I was hitchhiking again, my favorite character and humility building exercise. When your alone, stranded in the middle of nowhere with nothing to offer except an imposing set of needs you learn lessons that could never be realized in a classroom, a church or a bar. Which brings me back to Thomas Paine, there is no better teacher than life and nature. Greg from the tire store, driving the big company tire hauling truck picked me up after just 15 minutes. I thought to myself "that was easy" and trotted down the road clickity clackiting with my clips under my shoes pushing my bike to make an introduction and let him know where I was headed. He wasn't headed as far as I was but after a few miles of visiting I think he drove me further than he expected initially. He dropped me off at a gas station on the edge of Richland at a good turnaround point for himself. Luckily this was a city, well, the tri cities actually, I was five miles from one bike shop and four from another, I wanted to go to Greenies because that was the shop I called from under the shade tree to confirm they were open and had all I needed. I spoke to Dylan and explained my situation and that I would be needing new tires because mine were full of thorns, he replied "yeah, you're not from the North West huh?" Goat Heads! I started walking to the one four miles away even though it wasn't Greenie's with Dylan it was closer and I was walking. That is until I stuck my thumb out at the third truck that drove by and pulled over too! He was in no rush and let me take my pick so we headed to Greenie's. When I arrived and was reaching for the door Dylan pushed it open recognizing me from the phone call. We made friends as we set the bike up into the bike rack and started breaking it down. We replaced my cheap twenty dollar tires with the tuffest German made reinforced tires in the Continental tire family, new tubes which we preloaded via the removable valve stem with a nylon fluid that works like a liquid rubber when a puncture creates suction that pulls this stuff into the hole and seals it up, as well as a new chain and a basic tune up, cleaning and lube. In total contrast to my feelings this morning starting out I feel fully prepared for the next few hundred miles to the Canadian border and on to my destination, Shambhala. Well worth the two hundred bucks, you can't buy happiness and you usually have to buy preparedness and boy is it worth it! On top of it all Dylan offered to let me camp in his yard when he get off work so I'm sitting at Atomic Ales and Eatery getting my fill and telling you about it.
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Day 28 Brook's Memorial Park to Sunnyside RV Resort 50 miles
July 31, 3:49 time, 2,044 caloires, 13.2 avg mph, 1,014; climbed After so many days resting up I was ready to ride. The campsite was great, I went to sleep at sunset reading Thomas Paine’s The Age of Reason, which is blowing my mind, and then was at with the sun at 5:30. This was a great execution of the morning routine so I was able to run through the breakfast and packing like a pro. This was greatly assisted by having a dry tent, I think I’m learning something about dew, I believe dew doesn’t settle through the night as much as it settles in the morning after the sun comes up. It makes sense, if the air around a colder thing heats up then the surface of the thing gathers dew, it’s just condensation I’m thinking. This lines up with my observation and is encouraging me to get up as soon as its light, I really hate packing a wet tent! Adapting my body to routine of the sun is really exciting for me, I have always been a morning person and believed this to be the best way to make the most of the day. I hope that I can keep it up when I get off the road. It makes me think about how much time I have been outside, and sleeping and waking without a roof over my head that normally allows my controlling of light, and so many other things. I am enjoying an learning a lot from the simplicity of a narrow realm of control and adapting myself to nature instead of trying to force all the elements to adapt to my lifestyle. But, don’t get me wrong, I’m also looking forward to sleeping in when this is all over and I’m back in my bed, I need some black out curtains. ;) However this morning I had almost pedaled out of the park before realizing I didn’t have my Garmin computer in its place, I turned around and dug it out of some pocket it didn’t belong in, I’ve got to unpack and reorganize everything soon. Because I am no longer on the coast I no longer have maps and planned routes, instead I downloaded a route on the Ride With GPS app and when I was setting it up I checked avoid highways. This was a bad move. I rode for a couple hours, the last few miles down the same road, I knew I had a right turn coming up and that it was going to take eight miles toward the next town. This road was deep grey gravel with some packed spots from driving but like cars do to roads like this the packed spots were rippled and a nightmare to ride over. I had a little hope that it might turn into a paved road so I went almost a half mile before throwing in the towel and turning around. The way back was downhill and there were several times I was certain I as going to crash as I drifted through the loose surface. Somehow I managed to not though and arrived back to where I started. I happened to just get phone service at this same time so despite the chaos I called mom right away because she hadn’t heard from me in a couple days, and I promised her that wouldn’t happen. She was at a computer and helped find my way, as she has always done so well, even before computers. I’m actually really grateful for this mixup because I ended up cycling through the Yakima Valley hop farms. Eighty percent of America’s hops come from here, they grow all different varieties, the ones hop fans are familiar with as well as ones they developed and cultivated ones found wild. I am a huge hop fan myself and have in the last year become for intrigued about how they grow. My local brew supply store had some for sale in the shop one day that you could grow at home, then I talked with a friend of mine that farms hay about them and we wondered if they’d grow in the Texas hillcountry, surely local Texas beer brewers would pay a lot more for Texas hops than what whoever pays for hay. The field is covered with a grid of rope and wire suspended twenty feet up in the air. Ropes are run from it to the ground, one for each hop vine in the rows. They grow tall wrapping up the vine and reaching for the sun, it’s a beautiful sight to see. I stopped as soon as I did, parked my bike and walked in to inspect what this was. It was a young plot and none of the plants had mature hops on them so I didn’t recognize them right away. I did have a feeling it was hops from the baby buds I found on them, I took a sample to ask someone later but I didn’t have to, down the road was a mature field with towering vines and fully developed fat hops. I was beside myself, my ideas were confirmed and they had been on my mind for such long time so to see it in person felt like the coolest culmination of my ongoing farming lesson that has been this trip. I continued to ride turn after turn through hop farms all at different stages of growth approaching harvest and delivering those delicious betters flavoring my favorite hopy IPAs. All day I had been riding through or along the Yakima Nation Indian Reservation and the Yakima River. I will take this moment to not start ranting about the genocide that created the foundation for our sprawling across this “great” nation and the irony and conflict that I feel about national pride because we collectively choose to ignore this fact……If you stole someone’s TransAm you wouldn’t go blasting around town, blaring Metallica, yelling about it with your mulleted head hangin out the window, flying a flag with you name on it would you? How long after it’s been stolen and passed down to your kids does it become appropriate behavior? This is why I have a hard time with the braggadocios pride on Independence day, why I’ll always bring up smallpox at Thanksgiving, and could only wear an American branded article ironically. Budweiser beer has the word America in the place the brand name used to be, it’s way out of hand. People keep realizing the truth in the line Not all Donald Trump supporters are racist, but all racists are Donald Trump supporters, and they also see them selves as the greatest patriots as well, only adding to my resistance to align where I’m supposed to, patriotism, its a no brainer right? You go all gung ho about where ever your from and allow ideas that’s it’s the best actually hold water. That’s insane, It’s like religions knowing that all the others are wrong and mine is right. Clinging to nationalism, hyper patriotism and rejecting things foreign or different are blatant signs of insecurity and self doubt, in some cases, in my opinion. But since I’m not ranting about the patriotic forgetfulness of the blood on our hands after “founding” our country I’ll move on to my next flat tire. The Yakima river took me into Granger, there are dinosaurs in Granger, all over the town, apparently its a ancient river bed and some of the first fossils were found there. There really cling to there dino identity in Granger, theres not much really to be honest. I needed to eat and managed to find the only restaurant in town that was inside a little Mexican market and meat shop. I had a great time visiting with the three woman sitting next to me at the second of the only three tables there. I drank a bottle of appeared to be Mexican version of pedialite, that stuff you give to babies when they are sick and need electrolites, which I sure did, it was hot outside. The bonus was it was Horchatta flavored! I love Horchata and used to order the cinnamon rice milk drink at Magie’s, my favorite Mexican joint in my home town. I hope I find that again some day! It wasn’t much further to the next town, I had options, I could have stopped there or gone on but I was in no rush and then my tire popped a quarter mile from the first gas station of the town so it was decided, Sunnyside Washington would be home for the night. I had a hell of a time changing this tire. The one tube I tried to replace it with ended up have a bad valve in it and wouldn’t take air, I only realized this after wasting a buck in quarters and a CO2 figuring it out. When I the bike was finally ridable and put back together I spent a while riding around this big little town. I checked the Big 5 Sports store and the Walmart. Little air guns and pellet guns use CO2 but they don’t screw in so they don’t have threads to use with my tire inflator. So knowing there was nothing left to do I cruised around eyes for a spot to camp. The back of the Walmart had a line of overhead bushes and right behind them was 8 foot lane before a huge endless corn field, it would have been perfect but it was still early, I could use a shower, and didn’t want to not be able to leave my stuff to go eat or get water. Sunnyside RV Resort was a much better option for twenty bucks. I met some wonderful kids too there that were really interested in me, my stuff, harmonica and had all kinds of random ass stories to tell me like, about the bug at school, the treasure he buried in the yard, and the youngest just mumbled stuff constantly. They were are dirty from playing outside all day and not afraid of their curiosity. The six year old gave me a blue magic stone which was one of the half glass marbles from a fish tank, I’m keeping it forever. The guy who ran the place sent me to El Valle for the Lamb Shank and Cadillac Margarita. The lamb was delicious covered in enchilada sauce served with rice and cheesy refried beans, I didn’t need any liquor though so I passed on the Cadillac. I went to bed full and happy I was back on the road and in the full swing of things.
PS. The encouragement from strangers and drivers everyday is amazing, powerful and really helps me push on sometimes when it’s slow. Please take note, If you want to express your excitement about seeing a cyclist on the road and cheer him on, be sure not to begin honking until after you have passed him and he can identify you as an ally by your fist pumping out the window. Ally’s honks don’t sound any different than Asshole’s
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Day 27 Portland to Brooks Memorial State Park 0 miles
July 31 3:49 time, 2.004 calories, 13.2 avg mph 1,014' climbed Portland, as it does, sucked me in, I stayed for almost a week between my Uncle's and my friend Terron's. I was only going to stay at Terron's for two night but doubled that to stay and watch the UFC 214 on paper view which he and his brothers were getting. I'm glad I did, I have always enjoyed UFC, obviously for same bazaar, primal, man reason that had tens of thousands of Romans watching hundreds of gladiators and beasts tear each other apart regularly, I don't claim to understand it but I am glad that it is now a much more tame and civil servicing of our brutal desires. I also really appreciate watching people do things they are very good at and train hard for, my guilty pleasure is the TV talent show extravaganzas that dominate pop culture like the Voice and America's Got Talent. Of all the crap on TV I have nothing to say bad about these types of shows, celebrating talent will always be better than another mindless reality show glamorizing drama and dysfunction. However, cutting to commercial break right before the big moment almost ruins it for me every time knowing how it really is only about money and manipulating us but Grace Vanderveer's performances or seeing anyone be validated with admiration when they are terrified and self doubting is always worth the wait. I love them because they remind us that people are awesome and despite the highly competitive nature of this dog eat dog world we get to see people rooting for people and being excited about positive things, we could us more of that, and I'll sit through the commercials for it. I'll probably complain about capital and consumerism as I do but I'll wait. The UFC is an exhibition of the top tear of overall human athleticism and even if there wasn't something in my wiring that was pleased by watching men hurt each other (a primal things that baffles me and I'm not proud to admit) I would still be intrigued by these specimens of commitment, determination, nutrition, breadth of study, strength, endurance and will. It was different this time because I was right in the middle of personally treating my fitness with more awareness and respect than I ever have. I'm working harder than ever on this trip, observing my bodies adaptations is intriguing, seeing the results is awesome, yet I am no where near the physical capacity or knowledge that a champion fighter has. This heightened my interest when the opportunity arose to watch what was being hailed as the UFC's most exciting ticket ever, so I stayed and me and Terron got to catch up, talk about life, our struggles, our dreams, women, work and we did some really fun stuff along the way. The first night at his crib was low key, I arrived before he was done working and luckily there was a key under the mat (don't tell anyone). I introduced myself to Salmon, his soft, sweet, fat cat and we were soon napping together on the couch. I fully embraced the nap this Portland vacation knowing well enough how much rest my body was asking for. I woke up starving as usual and the house he was painting took longer than usual so I went out to find the German spot I knew he was wanting to take me to. I found Steigelhaus down the street and ordered the pickled vegetable plate, a pretzel of course, and a beer, it was all delicious and soon enough my old buddy showed up and we were thrilled to see each other, a big hug later and we were reunited, it had been years, he and I met when we starting modeling about the same time in Milan, Italy. We've since been all over the place together as we were the faces of Polo for several years and ended up living near each other in Brooklyn. Oh the memories! There are several things in my life that I have to give credit to Terron for, none less than Yoga! Terron is the one that took me to my first Yoga class at the Bikram Studio in Union Square in NYC. That changed my life. I absolutely would not be who I am or on the path I am had it not been for that. I will forever be grateful to my friend Terron for that blessed gift. We have had a few ups and downs over the years but when I knew I'd be in Portland he jumped to the top of the list of who I had to call, he's one of those guys you know you could call for anything and he'd do all he could to help you. A big part of our relationship is how much each of us discovered our selves and grew up along the way parallel to each other. We were both having exceptional careers in our generation of models and were the stars of our agency for that time. We both owe a lot to our agent (and my dear friend) Jason Kanner, the man who shaped my 20's more than any other and to whom I'm the most grateful! We made a lot of money, we spent a lot of money, we traveled the world, we became NYC locals and unbeknownst to us great friends along the way. The second night I was there Brendon, Terron's older brother, drove us to Salem for Karaoke. The Woods brothers are great singers and karaoke naturals, I wish I could sing like that! They sang the Killers, King's of Leon, Matisyahu, and several other challenging vocalist's hits. I enjoyed the music and, again, seeing people who are good at something they love and going out and doing it as this was not an amateur karaoke night. The next day, after a nap of course, we went to the old swimmin hole Terron grew up in and floated the river for an hour. There was a house there that had a huge telephone pole stuck in the ground, I assume it was there for exactly the reason I observed because it had a small platform mounted on top that a hawk had made a nest on. It was really beautiful, I watched it as long as could, there were two hawks with white heads and black and gray bodies, absolutely regal and majestic. I didn't get to see them fly off or see any others arrive although I kept hoping to. After we got out we recovered the longboards we had stashed in the blackberry bushes at our exit point before we drove down and jumped in so we skated back through a neighborhood, found the truck, and went for prime rib and mashed potatoes, with plenty of Horseradish Cream sauce, just like my brother has always had it and now I guess I'm the same because I ordered a second serving of it! We were sufficiently sun beat and digesting meat, we called it a day. The next day the great idea was to drive half an hour to play disc golf. This is something I have been wanting to do for my entire adult life and never had the chance. Terron is pretty good at it and has a full collection of discs. That is an activity I could, and plan on, really getting used to! It's super chill, it's outside, requires very honed skill, there are endless way to improve, it's basically free and required minimal exertion. Most of my activities require high levels of exertion so I really appreciated the laid back nature of this sport, it's like golf, minus all the country club-ness. After that we made our way to his parents place for the fight, which was everything you want out a fight night you pay fifty bucks to watch. Terron and Brenden are certainly UFC super fans and were great to watch it with. The next day it was back to the real world, err, my real world for the time being. Because I had stayed two extra days Terron drove me 100 miles down the road and up the hill. It was a 3,000 foot climb and I don't have any part of me that tells me I don't succeed if I don't ride every single mile so we road tripped down along the Columbia river on highway 84 then turned north on 97, crossed the river which is the border and found ourselves in Washington state. This was the only part of eastern Washington I have ever seen, Maryhill, an uber famous downhill run that we have had world cup races at every year that was traveling and racing downhill skateboards. We pulled off at the overlook where you can see most of the hill and I had a mini sentimental moment there with all the memories from a very different part of my life. It was weird being there and not having a skateboard or a hundred of my friends, I miss those days, there not over! The nearest town is Goldendale, another easily missed little town if not for that hill. We used to stay in the hotels or campsites there and I know it well. Fifteen miles past that we found the Brooks Memorial state park on the west side of the street and I was "home." I set up camp while Terron napped on the picnic table and eventually we said our goodbyes, I hope it's not so long again until we reunite. I climbed into my tent and read more of Thomas Paine's classic The Age Of Reason, I suggest this for everyone. It's brilliant, it's so many things I have spent the last decade of my life coming to understand all distilled into easily consumed pages and I have been pouring over it, I can't believe this book didn't some to me sooner except for the fact that I know everything that teaches me comes to me at exactly the right time. The title "The Age of Reason" caught my eye at the Nakima RV Resort on a "give one take one"' bookshelf in the laundry room. It sat there amongst fiction and self help books and called to me, I took it, I didn't have one to leave but I was grateful and I don't think my karma will suffer. It took a few days to make time read among all the demanding writing schedule I have made for myself but now that I did I'm hooked! If you have ever struggled with why religion seems to be such a big shitty man made monster now but can't jump straight to nihilism/ atheism then this books for you. Paine essentially shits all over religion while maintaining and true scholar's approach to scientific and rational deduction of knowledge. His point so far is not just that religion is wrong and stupid but that it was flawed from the get go because it was crafted by men in order to make populations more moldable and profitable. We don't need any structure to teach us about God! Creation is the only case that needs to be made or observed in order to understand divinity and our place in it. I'm only in the first half but he's already gotten into the triangle being the foundation for math and then science and understanding the rules of the universe. Namely, the movements of the heavens which parallel the law of physics on earth from which we can understand the magnitude and omniscience of our God, creation, our place, our divinity and reason all without needing any hint of dogma, fundamentalism, sin, shame
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Day 26 Otis to Portland 63 miles
5:28 time, 2,153 calories, 2,257′ climbed, 11.5 avg mph
Waking up under the bridge was peaceful, I stretched and put a pot of water on as the rock cliff around the bend was slowly coming to life with the light chasing off the shadow. My little campsite was even more beautiful and appreciated in the morning. The tank of fuel I had went out on me, luckily it gave just enough heat to make a luke warm bowl of oatmeal and a barely hot cup of joe, exactly all I needed. It wasn’t that cold so the morning moved along quickly and was lugging my bike back up the hill to the road at 7:30, only to realize my front left tire was low again and needed air. I figured it was time to change the tube since this recurring situation was getting worse. I did in record time and was peddling inland 15 minutes later. I was off the Pacific Coast Bike trail, no longer had my trusty maps for direction and was on my way to portland. It ended up being less than the 100 miles I thought it would be and was much more in the ballpark of a single days ride rather than two. The girl at the fruit stand gave me my first hint. She was another character that I’ll always remember, she was beautiful, blonde with a great big smile and a heart of gold. She worked the family fruit stand out front of their homestead by the barn along side the stables. I jokingly told her I was there for my $6 pony ride like I could read on the sign, it was a little too early for them though she responded with a laugh. She complimented me on my snap on pocket knife and told me about this old fork lift company that made the ‘84 camper sitting in the drive way, it was especially cool for an RV but not as amazing as her knowing the heritage of this farm brand that made a camper for a few years. I hung out for a while just continuing to cut up and eat fruit and make small talk with the worlds cutest, most quintessential country girl, it had been a long time since I had fresh fruit or chats with pretty girls so I was in no rush. Especially, not since the close call I just had that inspired me to stop at the fruit stand in the first place, I must have been no more than a foot away from a giant RV and then pick up truck that passed. Someone had dumped a truck load of gravel in the shoulder and I had to go around it, there was no one in the lane when I did and they certainly didn’t adapt as I was clearly just inside the white line, either they’re completely oblivious or complete assholes, either way they should have their license taken away for being terrible people. I’ve decided there are two types of people in the world, those who go out of their way to accommodate the cyclists they share the road with and the ones who don’t. There is no middle ground and if you don’t slow down and provide a few feet of space than you are a shitty person. Anyone who can't make room for their fellow man when the consequence is death is a piece of shit, yet you’d be surprised how many people express anger or shitty attitudes about having to share the road, which in their mind is only made for cars, and there’s a special place in hell for them, The Asshole Hell Hotel.
My oatmeal and my fruit stop didn’t sustain me that long but I knew I was pedaling until Mckennyville 40 miles in. normally I stop around 20 for my first meal but I knew If I was making it to Portland today I needed to be stretching things out. Outside town I saw the usual blue signs that alert you to the services provided at the following exits, there were the usual garbage junk food signs and a cute blue logo for the Good Harvest Bakery. I knew that would be my stop, I needed something hearty and healthy and good harvest had the right ring to it. I was not disappointed, right as you walk in and get in line someone offers you a slice of bread, one of several choices, I picked cinnamon raisin and applied a nice big smear of the real butter they had sitting out on my side of the counter. Every bakery should be giving away sample slices, I can’t believe I haven’t seen this before. I ordered a roast beef sandwich with blue cheese spread on fresh sourdough and had kettle cooked cheddar and horseradish chips with a sparkling blackberry drink. I was happy, I was half way there and the rule about afternoon winds no longer was a thing being off the coast line. I started texting with my Uncle Rich asking for the address of their place, my first destination in Portland. It was looking like it would be an 80 mile day. As I finished my sandwich one of the bakers approached me with a brown bag, we had chatted earlier about my trip, I arrived before the lunch rush so we were able to talk for a while and make friends. He was dropping off a load for me to take and said, Here this is hearty you’ll be glad you have it later! It was a full load of wheat bread chock full of nuts. The thing probably weighed over two pounds, which I wasn’t excited to carry since I was just getting happy with myself for pairing down my load weight, but I was thrilled that he was taking care of me and offering this gift that I would have to show up with to my families house as they were taking me in. Uncle Rich suggested that I meet them at a spot down the road a little way so I didn’t have to hit the freeway at rush hour, that shaved off about ten miles so I didn’t mind. I peddled on and things started to actually look much more country before you could tell you were close to the city. When I did hit my turn off I managed to make it to the right road I was supposed to meet him on and then my phone died right as I realized my stomach was pulling at me to fill it again. I noticed a little pub that would surely be able to handle my end of day Hamburger and IPA diet so I pulled in, ordered just that and waited for my phone to charge up. They met me there and we loaded my gear in the van and went for one of only a couple car rides I’ve been on this month. It is so nice being with my Aunt and Uncle, I have been thinking about them a lot lately. At one point about twenty years ago they fell in love with Portland and finally just did what it took to move out here, a long way away from their families and lives. I told them I really get that now, the pacific northwest is magic, and I understand that decision now, I certainly didn’t then, but now even wish my self I could make my way this way.
Aunt Shelly made a whole roasted chicken for dinner with salad and green beans, we sat at the diner table with their son Zack who is back from his first semester at college, I enjoyed it so much. There’s nothing like eating dehydrated bags of food alone under a bridge in the sand to make you appreciate family, a home, a dining table and a hot meal! Aunt Shelly even did my laundry, wow, so grateful!
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DAY 25 Beachside to Otis. 22 miles
July 23
2:49 time, 418 calories, 1,030’ climbed, 7.8 avg mph When I went to bed there was a fog so thick you couldn’t see past a few trees but when I woke up and opened the tent I could see straight to the oceans waves crashing on the beach. It was perfectly clear morning and there wasn’t even dew on the tent so I wouldn’t be having to pack a wet tent, which I detest. Everything was going well, I had placed everything for coffee and breakfast in the tent’s vestibule so I could have it before getting out. It made for a quick and enjoyable morning. I was cycling out of the park making good time until I realized the front tire was low on air, it didn’t take long to find some cool young dudes cruising the site on their bikes who had a full size pump, a hot commodity when you really want to get up to full pressure. I was ready to tackle the day, and then I turned north on the 101 and was immediately hounded by a strong head wind. I get up early to ride to avoid just this, I was screwed. I rode less than twenty miles before I knew I was hating this and it was futile. As I approached a big long bridge over Newport bay I decided it was much to risky to ride over the bridge with the traffic and the winds so I walked my bike up the bridge. That was the first time I had to like that. I heard a local estimate it was up to 35 mph. The Rogue Brewery was right there under that bridge, it’s a huge facility right on the water, I thought about stopping but it seemed like too big a deal and the bridge was looming over me. Instead, when I got into town I saw another small local brewery and I threw in the towel, I decided I was going to go in there and find a ride through this mess of traffic and wind. The guy I sat next to that was the first person I met ended up taking me. We struck up conversation because I commented on his portfolio of his drift wood sculptures (@shiftwoodsculpture). He was quite a rad artist, he built kinetic wood balancing pieces on the beach, and the bed of his pick up was full of driftwood. As I had lunch and sampled the beers we got on the topic of instagram as a tool for myself in business and he as an artist. I shared my experience with him and started an account for him and populated it with photos of his photos. He was really grateful for the help and it was a piece of cake for me, It was a excellent experience where I was able to offer a currency of help in trade for the ride I received, we both felt good about the deal and how our day was turning out. We laid all my pieces among the wood in the truck and made our way north, however I left my sprouter and the back up battery, major fail, I was discombobulated because I wasn’t packing the bike up as normal. I didn’t realize it until we got there. He drove me to Otis and we stopped several times along the way at magnificent overlooks, he was scoping them for driftwood harvest. He dropped me off in a field that was obviously the site of a music festival that was being cleaned up. There we met a character named Michigan Hillbilly, it was also patched on the back of his leather vest. At his left side was a holster for a throwing hatchet, on his right was a big Crocodile Dundee sized fixed blade knife and set of throwing knifes in three different sizes. His dark leather Cowboy hat was curled up tight on the edges and matched his boots. His sunburn was concerning but I sure he hasn’t seen a doctor in years, to confirm his melanoma, not between the tight schedule he keeps running around working all the biker rallies and old white guy music festivals. Hillbilly was straight out of a comic book, old wild west show, you couldn’t have made him up and it turn out as good as the real thing. He directed me to a bridge over a river under which I’d find a good place for the night and instructed me on how to head inland toward Portland in the morning. Again I was headed to gorilla camping under a bridge by a river and I felt good about it! His wild look didn’t concern me, I trusted Hillbilly, especially for living off the grid kind of shit. His bright blue eyes told me he meant well, I believe that, and boy would I not want to be on his bad side. I set up camp on the sandy river bed and ate two dehydrated meals with a cup of joe, met some people that were cooking chicken down the river a little bit, and was in bed after dark, falling asleep to the sound of the shallow rapids rolling down stream.
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Day 24 Oregon Dunes KOA to Beachside State Park 68 miles
July 22 6:30 time, 3,064 calories, 3,363' climbed, 10.5 avg mph The couple from Alberta who were on their way home from a Harley Davidson rally were up shortly after me. He and I had a lot of great conversations about sailing, he was a big sailing enthusiast and also spent years at a time building models of famous old boats. He would build everything down to the pulleys from scratch and by hand. I could tell he was excited I was exited about his hobby and he was very proud to show me pictures of them and the beautiful cases he builds to display them when I asked. You have to keep them covered, if they get dusty their ruined, they are way to fine and detailed to be cleaned. Their little pop up bed towed behind her tri-bike and was a really cool design, it was like a pop of camper but just the size of queen size bed when folded out and the entry expanded with nylon to make a vestibule you could stand in to get ready to climb in. The only reiterated how much I love Canadians, at one point he was literally wearing a Canadian Tuxedo, denim pants and shirt, with his hat featuring an embroidery of a bald eagle backed by a waving american flag. Although I do not understand why the bald eagle is our symbol in USA because the only times I have seen one is in Canada. In all the places I have traveled around the world I meet Canadians, they are simply the best travelers, always great ambassadors of where their from and appropriate adaptors of where they are. When we said goodbye that morning he shook my hand and said to me "you really added to our trip." I was honored, what a meaningful thing to say, full of honest expression, direct and not overly emotion, classic old man, whoever is his grandson is a lucky guy. On the road by eight I was determined to make up some of the miles I lost backtracking the day before. I rode through Lakeside, Winchester bay, over the Umpqua River at Gardiner, and into Dunes City before stopping after 30 miles. Well actually I stopped once before at a little bakery because the draw bridge up ahead was raised and there was a line of traffic stopped through town up to the bakery so I dipped in and grabbed and Odwalla green juice and a mini loaf of Zucchini bread that I munched on all day. The stop in Dunes City was to get cash because I remembered the call yesterday during the rain cover fiasco from the bank saying they were sending me a new debit card, the old one had been compromised and expect the new one in the mail in a few days, in Solana Beach, 1350 miles away. So I got a wad of cash just in case, I still need to have a debit card send to Portland. Several things happened when I rolled into Florence, the first was the pot shop. I was knowing full well I had a long way to ride and over the last few days was starting to feel strong muscle fatigue toward the end of long rides so I decided to stop and see if I could find a solution that wasn't anti inflammatory pills. I walked out with a bottle of cannabis extract of CBD in coconut oil. 131 mg of CBD and only seven mg of THC. This I could take a half a ml of at lunch and ride through the end of the day with the pain, and it worked! I rode a long, hard day and felt the best I have of any days after a 70 miler. Another thing that happened here was I was low on air, I rode through one RV park scoping the possibilities with no luck then I saw a tire shop. I rode up and around along the bank of service entrances and saw one guy near me, we made eye contact, he had a numatic drill in his hand, and I asked him if I could get some air. At a tire shop air is simply the force that allows all of their tools to work, so to ask for air, is well, like, asking for air, no big deal. He was more than nice about it! He said, "yeah but do you have the ..." and he hesitated right as I answered him before he had to finish with a resounding "yes" as I was parking my bike and retrieving what was needed. I applied the air pump adaptor and we fell into the usual conversation about my trip. "where you coming from?" "what?" "no way!" "how far you going" " you know that's against the wind don't ya?" Things brings me to a point I have observed for a long time, nod you're head if you agree, the guys that work at tire shops are the nicest most professional guy I come across in service roles. (here this turns into rant about the "good old days" and the confederate flag, see if you can follow along, its quite ridiculous) With his parted hair, pressed mechanic's shirt and handson smile this guy should have been in the start of some of romantic comedy as the local small town guy, he says his yes mam's and no mam's, meets the girl from out of town, they fall in love that summer but her daddy won't have it and rips her away from what her heart longs for. they correspond through letters until she runs away and they jump in his restored muscle car and ride off into the sunset, he treats her right, he doesn't become some depressed, self loathing, womanizing piece of shit, this is a love story! Set in classic Ameriana with old cars, home town values, hard work and where you don't see it, but on the other side of the tracks is the happily segregated parts of town for the brown people, school and church and cemetery, like separate but equal... you know. The one where "it wasn't racist, that's just how it was" and some times they lynched people, and didn't go to jail for it, that kind of separate but equal. The kind of unapologetic sentiment with which some southerners are protesting taking down statues of Robert E Lee across the south because it's "Their Heritage" Some parts of Germany don't keep the swastikas on their local flag because when you make some of the worst decisions as a population in modern history you tuck your tail and humbly ask if you can go on, you don't get to wave your fucking flag. You don't get to keep your symbols and some fond memory of the good old days as if they weren't stained by the facts of life as experienced by the suppressed, abused and owned at that time. But it's taken until 2017 for white southerners to have to face the removal of the confederate flag from their flags, license plates and city centers and even that is being protested as violating the heritage and culture! Yes, Fuck Yes, we want to violate the heritage and culture so much that it is blatantly taught as insane and a deep black scare of how terrible we can be as a people. We don't get to wash it away saying that's just how it was, fuck that, I really want to be sure I do my part to insure that the facts of the southern heritage do not get white washed and that children do not get taught that it was anything less than a monstrosity committed by none other than those children's very ancestors. The Germans have done an amazing job owning up to the shit their forefathers did and we need to do the same and have a conersation in a way that does not distinguish one philosophy of evil as different from the other. Why is the Holocaust known no well as the crime against humanity that it is but America can barely converse about the slavery that we build this nation upon. I wont even start on the genocidal foundation we build with our treatment of the previous tenants of this land, but we don't really talk about that. anyway, sorry for that, I just got distracted by imagining that classic Americana, it was quite disgraceful, but way off topic.... After I met that friendly mechanic and got air I stopped by Sand Masters in the same town, Florence. Jack Smith told me to stop there because his friends own it, I wish I had know sooner, I would have loved to spend a half day there. They rent sand boards to ride on the dunes, like snowboarding on the sand. I've gotta go try that one day! We visited a while then I was back on the road. The Yachats brewery was a great brewery, I had a big healthy falafel salad which I had been missing, a good beer, a cup of salmon and smoked jalapeño chowder and flat melon kombuca. It was all delicious but I was baffled why such a killer shop that did so many things so well didn't bother to do anything to carbonate their kombucha, it was great buch, the honeydew melon flavor couldn't have been done any better but it was flat as water. I was so tired from the day already I could have fallen asleep there on the table I was at. I had conversation with several people around me for a while and used my muscle roller until I finally worked up the energy to go. By the time I did a thick fog had rolled in. It was cold and misty riding to the campsite, so much so that I had water droplets on my lenses and it was dripping off my helmet. Technically not my first ride in the rain but it still was wet riding home through that cloud. When I checked in the ranger offered to stick me with the others or a secret spot he described as the little hobbit nook, it was tucked in some dense woods away from the hike and bike site, which was right on the road. A tiny path took me past an old picnic table surrounded in over head plant growth to a small tent sized clearing where the back side had a narrow path right onto the beach. By far the coolest camp site I've had yet. I hung up my tent to dry a little because it was wet from the night before, then I showered, set up for the night and climbed in. I made an intricate system of lines in the ceiling of the tent in order to hang things to dry, the mist and dew outside wouldn't allow it to happen there so I had to improvise.
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