"I can't recommend your doing that bike tour," the doctor said quietly. "There is the danger of re-injury and that of exercising in the heat."

It was Tuesday morning and the neurosurgeon was sending Linda home. But the neurosurgeon knew little of Linda other than what the CT showed. She was not taking into consdieration that Linda's pretty fit nor that we'd leave camp before 7 each morning and finish before the heat of the day.

Nor did the doctor know how much Linda enjoys these cycling/camping/chatting trips. I had pretty much cancelled our reservation on Monday morning. When I arrived at Deaconness Linda was up, showering and planning to go home that same evening. She promptly got Sandy Greene, the organizer of the WBR, on the phone and insisted she was coming even if she could only sag most of each day.

Recovering from a humdinger of a cold, I had my own reservations. My mileage was down. I hadn'tdone a century since June 23rd and the longest trip I'd managed was the Huckleberry ride.

So we were both a little nervous about what we could do. Mead is only 38 miles from Newport but they took us back roads through beautiful rural country that will be familiar to those who have ridden the Autumn Century. We even had a rest stop at Elk at the park.

Linda had some fatigue and took a rest on that first day and finally sagged in. She had seen most of the best scenery for the day but did miss the last 25 mile loop around Diamond Lake. No longer holding back with Linda, I hammered those 25 miles and payed for it the next day.

The second day took us across the Pend Oreille River and north to Ione and Box Canyon Dam. This was a short day around 50 miles and no major hills. I was miserable and quite happy to ride at Linda's pace. She did the entire day. I worried about how I'd do on the tough day with two major climbs to follow on Tuesday.

We camped at Box Canyon Dam on the Pend Oreille river. Most of us took a dip in the little lake and waited for the sun to set behind the canyon walls. It was hot.

Murmurings among the campers suggested many were thinking of skipping the Sullivan Lake loop with its steep climb and instead simply heading to Colville up the Tiger Highway. As a native, I knew better. Colville is beautiful country with pine forests and hay fields nestled around mountain valleys--but it was not Sullivan Lake.

Sullivan Lake

Sullivan Lake sits on the edge of a wilderness area and is one of the strongest images I have of the area from boyhood. We rode along the lake with the sun just coming up over the hills. An hour later perhaps the effect of bright morning light shining through the aspen leaves against the blackness of the hillside would have been less startling. Still Sullivan is one beautfiul lake.

I had a good day despite the two climbs. I managed to ride a bit with a couple about my speed from the lake up the Tiger Highway to the second rest stop. Linda wisely decided to sag up that hill. From the top going west to Colville is mostly, but not entirely, downhill. But we had a strong west wind. Despite Sandy's objections on safety grounds, I parnterned with another couple and one more fellow to pace line into the wind. We arrived in Colville about 11:30 am.

I was a 12 year senior at Colville and while it is no longer a school the building I attended was right next to the park where we camped for two nights. Colville only vaguely resembles the town I knew. The shops have all changed. I probably know some former classmates still living there but I have long since lost contact. I did ride by my old home which has been extensively remodeled and looks nothing like home.

The layover day gave us the option of a 75 mile ride on the course of the Colville Metric Century. Nicky, Debbie, Sean, and Steve and John should remember this beautiful ride to Northport. Sadly we couldn't start early on this longer ride on the hottest day since breakfast had been scheduled for 7 instead of 6. I tried to find someone to leave early with me but had no takers so I we left about 7:15.

I had another rough day especially on the return trip along the Columbia and over Williams Lake road. Temperatures were in the upper 80s, the road was mostly seal coated and the rollers weren't. Linda took the option to sag into camp about 15 miles out when another rider flagged a sag vehicle for water.

Another poignant moment for me. We rode past Williams Lake where my father drowned when I was 23.

I had had two bad cycling days but I knew I could go again and the sags were everywhere. Thursday's ride took across the flood plain that is the Colville Valley. The orignal plan had been to ride over the mountains to Rice on the Columbia river and then down to Hunters. Fresh seal coat forced the organizers to change the route. We still started up the Rice highway.

I'm a Colville native and I've been over that road but I had forgotten the hill. I like to challenge a short hill and I went into spin mode and passed half a dozen cyclists. But the climb didnt' top out at the bend. It just kept going and got steeper. I passed more bikes, saw others stop for a break along the road and even some begin to push.

I managed to stay in the saddle and enjoyed a breather as the road slackened a bit. I could see a group ahead of me and forgot about those behind. We started to climb again and then came around a corner and began to descend. I breathed easier and looked for the cyclists ahead of me. No where? Had they formed a pace line? Hammered off across the flat so fast I'd already lost them? Could I have missed a turn?

I kept going. It was downhill. But when it began to climb again I began to think about the route. A string of cars descended the hill I was climbing. I flagged down the last of them, a group of kids in a black Trans-am.

"Is there a road that turns up here toward Orin?" I asked. They said there was but thought it was a couple of miles further. Since my computer reads high, I thought that might be about right. The road got steeper but I started off wtih renewed confidence. But thlen the road started doing 10% or 12%. I didn't like it. When I started down, I stopped. There was no one ahead of me, no one behind. If I kept going down, I'd end up in Rice on the wrong side ofthe mountains from the rest stop in Chewelah.

I turned around climbed up and then began desceding the same five miles I'd just climbed. A car exited a gravel driveway and I flagged him down. He was befuddled by what I wanted since I was coming from the wrong direction. "The only way I know to get to Chewelah is to go clear down the valley . ."

"I don't want to go back to 395," I said. "Is there a road called Marble Valley Basin somewhere ahead?"

He thought there was and he was right. Fortunately I was feeling strong and had lots of downhill. I recrossed the flat and found the turn I had missed and soon spotted a few riders ahead of me. I had the added charge of being able to pass bikes pretty much all the way through Marble Valley to Chewelah.

Though it was a good day, I had 10 miles on everyone and saw no point in climbing the 8 miles up to 49degrees North just for the sake of the climb. I had done plenty of climbing for one day.

The rest of the day took us along the East side of the Chewelah Valley over nasty seal coat and then across 395 to Valley and Springdale along more seal coat. I was feeling pretty played out when a young (Jim would call them svelteL) couple passed me and I tagged on. They pulled me for several miles until they faded on a steep climb. I finished the day right on the edge of what of what I could do but feeling good.

Linda had found someone to ride with and chatted the entire way from Chewalh not even noticing the heat.

They warned us that we should lock up our bikes in Springdale, but the only excitement we had was a bit of a rain shower--some called in a rain-fly drill. In the morning the clouds were gone but not the wind. Sadly it came now from both south and east just where we were going to return to Mead.

Again I found myself on a portion of the Autumn century route. I fellow on a mountain bike and another on a road bike passed me at the top of a long climb just out of Springdale and I decided to see what I could do. I got in the drops and passed them going up the other side. But at the top here they came. If I can't beat 'em, I thought, maybe I should let them pull me for a ways.

It worked. We traded off for several miles and made good time until I recognized the climb we were about to make--the back side of Double Trouble. I knew I couldn't sustain the pace and dropped back to watch that road equipped mountain bike rider climb out of the saddle all the way to the top. Once again I was on my own.

Just before the only water stop of the day I had a close enounter of the dog kind. I heard the master's whistle before I saw the brown dog come bounding out with "pet me" on his mind. I was descending and had no time to evade. I did hit the brakes but steering left would have taken me into his path; steering right into the ditch. I must have scrubbed most of my speed. I hit the dog's right hind quarters and he gave a yelp. I hadn't been thrown, the wheel still turned. I didn't stop to see about the dog. Actually I didn't care.

I made sure someone was ahead of me before I left the stop. I didn't want to miss another turn. I couldn't keep him in site though and the rider behind me caught up. It was Tom Giesen from Moscow. We rode along together back to Mead. He dropped me going down into that valley at Wandermere but we regrouped climbing up to Hasting Roads from the river when he stopped to make sure he was on the right route. I was on the Autumn Century route and Kew exactly where I was for a change.

But six days of cycling was enought for me and for LInda. I had thought to do the 8 Lakes ride on Saturday and we had taken a room rather than drive straight home. We took in "Sicko" at the RiverParkSquare AMC theater in the afternoon, had a great dinner, and crashed about 7:30. I wasn't interested in any more riding.

Colville through Springdale to Mead was dry with farm fields and country roads. Pretty enough but Mead to Ione along the Pend Oreille river and around Sullivan Lake was some of the most beautiful cycling I have ever done.

On the way home, Linda asked me to take over driving. She was experiencing some disorientation, the first in several days. Strange how that works. She has a three week extended illness pass from work. I can bike for 6 days and 400 miles but I can't work? Strange.