Crusty Cassette

Doug's Slide Show

Corrie's Slide Show

Mother’s don’t let your sons grow up to be cowboys.

Sooner or later they’re going to encounter the Crazies on a bike tour. The cowboy in the Owhyees rolled his eyes when Scott told him we planned to ride Antelope Ridge. The cowboy in Halfway, on hearing our plan to ride a gravel road called 77, grasped Scott’s hand firmly. “You’re a better man than I am,” he averred. “I’ve been up there many times and I’ve been turned around as many.”

Scott just grinned. He’s like that.

Scott and Jen and Doug along with Jim McCracken and Steve Largent had talked me into another “adventure.” They’d done it by lying, of course. It was going to be an all road ride, credit card camping, just pulling the trailers to carry a change of clothes. I knew Steve would want to camp and I figured that’d get Scott and Jen in a tent, but Doug actually made motel reservations for the two of us. And then came the wind report for the road approaching Baker City. Steve confirmed all the trees grew parallel to the ground and Scott found a gravel road alternative. That switched us to mountain bikes. But Jim refused to take a loaner from Scott. Jim dropped out of our little group going a day earlier, staying with the original route and stealth camping. Yes, fully self-supported, he could stop wherever he pleased. I wanted to join Jim and stay on the roads but I balked at the thought of cooking and abandoned him for the Devil I knew.

That’s how I found myself staring at Hot Lake Spa five miles out of Union, Or. The ornate gate blocked a gravel driveway which led to an elegant structure with pillars. The sign on the gate read “No Visitors Allowed.” It was nearly seven-thirty pm, the skies threatened to open into rain at any moment and we had between 8 and 9 hours of saddle time on mountain bikes already this day. And this was our RV lot? Or was it? Fortunately Jen spotted RVs parked a mile or so away. The Spa and the RV place shared a name: Hot Lake. Once that was straightened out we managed to make camp before dark. That was our second nearly 80 mile day in a row.

The first had been from downtown Joseph to Halfway, Or. A few drops of rain couldn’t dissuade us from our ride. We circled around the base of the Wallowas until we crossed the river and began to climb a mountain road. I immediately liked the sight of firs and pines framing the road with snowcapped peaks in the distance. This was a pleasant change from the usual sagebrush rides the crazies kept giving me. In fact

it was just like the tour brochures. The sun came out, a steep ravine on my right, a bank covered in wild flowers to my left and Doug cruising along just a head of me, with those mountain peaks in the distance. Peak Experience.

Rain threatened all day but left us mostly dry except near the pass where mist rather than rain dampened us. We couldn’t resist adding an extra six miles by climbing three miles to the Hell’s Canyon Overlook. It was worth the climb especially for Scott and I who cached our trailers. Jen and Doug insisted on carrying their full loads to the rim.

Hell's Canyon Overlook--7 Devils

Back on the road we had another mile or so of tough climbing before we were treated to 18 miles of descending. That left us only 10 miles from Halfway. Sadly that was on a busy road with lots of rollers and a head wind. That was the toughest 10 miles of the day.

Scott picked up a six pack of Moose Drool while Doug registered us at an RV. A couple on a tandem headed across the US were there as well. A group of Canadians on Bike Friday’s also camped in Halfway. We had a great meal and good conversations and for once I didn’t feel quite so inadequate when talking with cycling tourists. The first day was tiring but beautiful. I was ready for anything.

Scott said he was buying the beer to make up for what was going to happen to me on day two.

At breakfast our second prophetic cowboy shook Scott’s hand. Scott had several options and enquired of the locals as to which might be best. “You could take the steep bad road,” the waitress said, “Or you could go back to the highway and up to 77 that way.” We agreed with her assessment though it would add some miles to a our day. The cowboy who was concerned about our getting lost in the cat’s cradle of mountain roads offered his own suggestion to stay on Eagle Creek which we did. Scott had the routes in his amazing GPS. Though the GPS had to keep re-doing its routes when Scott would take an alternate. As long as I stayed close to Scott, I never had to feel lost, though I seldom had any idea where I was.

At 77 we left the pavement and for a time I thought I was back in the Owyhees but we soon climbed into forests, ravines, and raging streams. Deer peaked timidly at us then pranced out of the roadway. Scott debated mostly with himself over which bird a particular whistle indicated. And the road went on and ever up.

I was beginning to enjoy myself. The climbs were steep but short followed by swooping falls. Doug complained about all the ups and downs. We were at odds. I like the roads for the steadiness of the rhythm but here the variety of ups and downs was invigorating. Doug, on the other hand, wants that long steady climb more characteristic of the road. Go figure.

Ahead of us the roads seemed always just to have enjoyed a shower. For a time it looked like we’d miss the rain altogether, but on the west side as we descended so did the rain. Cold, wet, tired and with nearly 30 miles to go yet, this ride was becoming a grueling grind.

As the descent became a farm lane the rain stopped only to be replaced by a headwind. Finally on pavement again at Medical Springs, we still had 20 miles to Union and another 5 or 6 to camp where there’d be no dinner.

Could we get pizza and beer delivered? Should we eat in Union before getting to camp? Nice to have a shower first. Could we find a place to camp in town? With showers? These questions Doug and I put to the lady at the mercantile/liquor store/espresso stand. “No” seemed to be her only answer. Doug ordered a mocha and I a fruit smoothie and we stepped back into the grey weather to wait for Jen and Scott who were about 20 minutes behind us. We settled on pizza in town without beer (none served) and I got to carry the left overs in the Burley. Our 65 mile day had become 79.

Those leftovers served to get us on the road for another 6 miles in the morning in a light rain until we got more substantial breakfasts at a Flying J. The route today would be flat, mostly, through Elgin to a campground on the Wallowa river called Minam. After two fully loaded 80 mile days, our legs complained everytime the road rose 1 or 2 percent. The valley would have been picturesque surrounded by blue mountains had the lowering rain clouds allowed us to see the mountains. The long, straight, flat route was deadening and I complained. Doug suggested I complained about climbing and I complained about flat. He didn’t like my offer of rollers for variety.

None of us had much energy. Fortunately the day promised only 40 miles. In Elgin we’d pick up food for lunch, dinner, and breakfast as well as the essentials of a half-rack. Still under rainy skies, I envisioned a nice morning spent waiting out the rain in a coffee house. Instead the crazies hammered the nearest market for hamburger, veggies, oatmeal, and sundries.

Doug makes hobo dinners

The burgers and veggies would end up wrapped in foil roasting in the fire pit—hobo dinners, Doug called them. The oatmeal we ate Monday morning. The sundries, well—you put in two days of 8 to 9 hours in the saddle—and you’ll have some idea.

From Elgin to Minam was less than 15 miles but with more of Doug’s favorite, ups and downs. Scott took off with the beer up the first hill. We soon dumped the rain jackets and all of us wished we’d seen the last climb of the day.

Two miles of bad road doesn’t quite describe the scattering of pot holes like a mine field designed to take down an unwary cyclist pulling a Burley. By going very slowly I managed this most unkind treatment to arrive in beautiful campground near the Wallowa River. Scott and Doug strung up a Kelty Tarp just in case it rained. Instead it gave us shade. The day turned balmy, we put on the shorts and . . . took naps. Doug kept asking me if I wanted to ride some more. I didn’t.

Look closley to see the nappers

During lunch a timid deer approached. Startled at the slightest turn, the deer persuaded us to sit very still and even toss her a corn chip or two. Coy, she approached, then danced back finally taking chips from Doug’s hand, then snatching the last of my sandwich from my lap. Yep, the deer was a rat, a camp robber. Later she came back with two mates playing coy and looking for a handout.

In bed my 8:30, we were up and on the road shortly after 6 am. No rain to start but we soon caught up with it. 40 miles to Joseph most along the river and 1 or 2 percent. It should have been easy. It wasn’t. We lost Doug in Wallowa. Jen, leading, wouldn’t stop. She seemed fixed on something called the Blue Banna in Losteen 8 miles further on. Turns out all three men had wanted to stop. Only Doug had the nerve to take a bathroom break and eat a snack.

On top of that, feeding Jen a two shot latte gave her supernatural energy. Scott said he’d had to “decouple from that caffeine powered engine” who had not only caught up to us after stopping to take off her coat, but passed us and set a fast pace toward Enterprise.

And like a dream the crazies did manage to find an extra hill and a bit more gravel for me by cutting around Enterprise along the foothills to Hurricane Creek.

So mothers, if you let your sons grow up to be cowboys, tell ‘em to avoid crazies on bikes.

Mike ended up handling last Springs Bike Festival pretty much on his own. We hadn't intended it that way, but that's how it happened. fortunately it was a success with Folletts showing bikes and the Ellis Clan coming out en mass for the poker run.

So what's the problem? Too many hot dogs.

The solution: have Nicki host a hotdog ride.

The forecast wasn't cooperative but it didn't keep a crowed from showing up to consume those hot dogs.

Good ride too. Mike wanted to do something different than a Lewiston Loop and suggested Waha. We don't ride that direction much any more. I don't care for an out and back and the Waha store has been closed the past couple of years.

Although the store is reputed to be open again, we never found out. That pesky forecast began to look all too real off to the west.

When several of us reached the top and turned around, Mike insistsed we ride on. I knew that meant "ride until you're wet." Sure enough I felt rain drops before anyone even suggested going back.

Mikes Riddle and Warnock dove off Waha leaving Scott Whitely and me to fend for ourselves. Even a stop under a tree came too late to prevent my feet from getting wet. Only a miler further on, though, and the pavement was dry.

Tha's when Mike had another brainstorm. "Want to extend," he asked. He meant ride up McIntosh. Scott was going this way anyway back to his house. I had already ridden this hill on my way out to the Riddles. I had ridden at my most leisurely pace keeping the heartrate below 150. I set about doing so again when Wrong-Way Whitely stood up and sprinted for the top. To be fair, on a double, you really have to stand up. Of course, I had to chase him.

Scott and Mike Warnock gave me a pretty good workout this afternoon.

Once again thanks to Mike Riddle for the Bike Festival and a special thanks to Nicky for once again opening her house to the bike club. We took full advantage of it.

For the ride of it.

Corrie

Just beginning the climb from the Grande Ronde to Flora

Doug's SlideShow

Corrie's Slideshow

"Where's the tip jar?"

"Didn't you see the guy behind you?" Doug pointed out.

The RimRock cafe near the Joseph Overlook isn't quite that upscale but close.

The men's room had hand lotions and creams, tissues and candles and no paper towels. Instead, we had tightly rolled linens. I felt guilty about using them. I'd be in trouble at home for such a thing.

In the dining room the rustic appearance couldn't disguise the absence of paper napkins. The large cloth napkins wrapped the silver including both a dinner and salad fork.

No one but the crazies showed up at Chief Looking Glass park in Asotin this morning at 8. Scott, Jen, Doug and their comic relief on a mountain bike, me drove over to Bogan's and started promptly at 9 am.

A month ago they had done this ride in shirtsleeves and sunshine only to find the ground near Flora covered in snow--a winterwonderland but with dry pavement. It sounded good to me by comparison with say Eagle creek or Owyhee. I had hoped we'd see other riders this morning. Bill Arnold hasn't been out for a couple of weeks and he'd have loved this ride. But, no, the word is out--probably my fault--and everyone stays away from the crazies.

yeah, there was a hiil, short one. Only 11 miles.

This ride did require fitness but was easier than the Pomeroy effort last week. From Bogan's we headed toward Troy, Oregon on a paved road. Some climbing got the heartrate up early and then we hit gravel for a spell and back to pavement until about 16 miles out we crossed the Grand Ronde. The road turned to gravel and the sign said 11 miles to Flora. The road to Flora joined the Buford grade just short of the RimRock and Doug wanted to try it.

Scott wanted to know if any land was for sale.
Doug suggested Scott might like this piece.

We'd worried about heat but instead we were treated to the threat of thundershowers and the promise of rain. When the sun broke through, things warmed up nicely. the rest of the time the headwind kept us cool but not chilly. At least until we got to Flora. the jackets came out even before we started to descend. It was cold, windy, and yes, a few drops of rain annointed us.

It made me think of the Last Joseph Ride when we'd huddled en mass on the small porch of the RimRock out of the driving rain. I was a bit concerned that we should head down immediately and save lunch for after we were off the bikes. I didn't like the idea of waiting for the rain to come in.

The wind had picked up and drove sideways at us as we crossed the flats above Buford Grade. And then we descended over occasionally wet pavement to Bogan's where the crazies had milkshakes and I had a Henry's. No accounting for taste, I suppose.

Okay, so we did a little climbing.

But I'd had enough of foofoo drinks (that's for you, Chris)and linen napkins. This is the sort of ride that requires a cold beer.

Jen's rear derailleur needed tweaking and my bike had a nice creak but we had no other problems. Just yer Elegant, Upscale Bike Ride.

For the Ride of it Corrie