The Scottish Hangover: Sobering up in Ohio

Ohio is not a formidable name. The way it rolls of the tongue, its airy and vowel laden pronunciation evokes the same sentiment of an overly aloof yet jolly, overweight and red cheeked uncle, who is great to visit but hard to take seriously. "But wait!" some Ohioans may say, don’t judge a book by it’s cover or even an uncle by his humor at that. These mid-west apologists are hard pressed to find a solid defining feature which makes Ohio, and even the Midwest, immediately attractive.

It makes sense that snow covered peaks and vibrantly green valleys of the Swiss alps would inspire the likes of Hemingway, a proud product of another mid-west state. Soil fertility and the height of corn in August currently holds a niche market in the business of promoting literary and existential inspiration. If Ohio promotes any sort of literary sentiment, it is the of feeling of escape. Ohio’s early European settlers were escaping the overly populated and opportunity suppressed east coast, the Ohio natives, well...were escaping from them.

In more recent history, Ohioans have taken upon themselves to try innovative yet radical ways to, as the phrase goes, “get the hell out.” Finding their work on motorcycles too slow of an escape, the Wright brothers strapped an unreliable and heavy engine onto a wood and fabric frame and launched themselves skyward. But even having the opportunity to escape the ground into the clouds proved neither fast nor far enough. Ambitions became ever more radical. By strapping themselves to 36 story high metal tubes, filled with explosive material, funded by the government, and built by the lowest-bidder, Ohioans found a way to leave, not only Ohio, but earth itself. Out of all fifty states, Ohio leads the nation in astronauts, and even out of all humanity, the first to step on another celestial body,was Ohio’s own Neil Armstrong.

Perhaps, where Ohio fails to promote inspiration in thought, it rather promotes ambition in action, or maybe I’m just scraping the bottom of the barrel for redeeming qualities. Don’t get me wrong, Ohio is not a bad place to be, in the same way that having a cool glass of water is not a bad experience, and even at times it’s a refreshing experience. But when you have had a juicy steak and a sweet wine, that glass of water on the table is quite forgettable. It’s safe to say I’m suffering from a Scottish hangover, having enjoyed a fair share of experiences and people which make the state of Ohio’s soil fertility and the height of corn in August somewhat bland. But, unlike the likes of Wilbur and Orville, and Glenn and Armstrong, my literal and figurative time of flight has led me back to Ohio. Therefore, I will throw in a lemon, some ice, and a few packets of splenda, and then tell myself the water isn’t actually all that bad.

And The Adventure Continues...

As I looked down the aisle, everyone who had a window seat stared intently out, like a curious pack of meerkats looking over the savanna. But this was no savanna; we were cruising high above the pacific northwest. Passengers pressed their foreheads against the curved paneling in order to catch a glimpse of the snow capped peak of Mount Hood.  As much as I tried to partake in the scenery, I could only violate the personal space of my neighbor so much before I resigned myself to sipping my complimentary coke; quietly sulking in my disappointing lack of a window.  As I finished the remnants of my drink, I grinned to myself as I realized the stark contrast between my current situation and that which I experienced just days earlier. 

Instead of crossing the Cascades sipping a coke at 35,000ft enjoying the comforts of modern flight, the days previous had me conquering these peaks in a much more personal manner; my pace as fast as my heart and legs could work, my weather worn saddle causing me endless consternation.  I couldn’t help but feel slight angst when traveling home at such speeds and comfort; what took me more than a month to complete by my power, was taking me mere hours in a plane.  Regardless, I was glad to be going home.  I had just had the adventure of a lifetime, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I didn’t want this to be the last great adventure. While I didn’t know it at the time, the idea to canoe the Mississippi was planted as soon as one adventure ended

One week from today, it will be a year since I set off from the sandy shores of the Atlantic bent on peddling my way across the nation.  With the ocean behind me and an entire continent to cross, I had little idea what lay in the thousands of miles of pavement ahead, other than sore tired legs and sore rears.  Reflecting back on the ride, I could not have predicted just how much of an adventure it did become.  Such a ride was not merely a test of my mental and physical endurance, but also an opportunity to experience the quintessential America, an America made up of people, each with their own unique experiences, personalities and stories. 

Before I started the ride I was asked by many people, why? I find myself hard-pressed to find a simple answer.  The quick answer is simply, because it’s there, because I think I can, and really, why not?  Human nature is inclined to exploration, the pursuit of seemingly frivolous feats. But I’m inclined to say that if we always had to give an answer as why, Instead of assuming the attitude of “Why not?”, the human narrative would probably be more practical albeit far less interesting.  John F Kennedy summed up the “why not” attitude well: “But why, some say, the moon? Why choose this as our goal? And they may well ask, why climb the highest mountain? Why, 35 years ago, fly the Atlantic? We choose to go to the moon…not because they are easy, but because they are hard..”   

Like many ideas, canoeing the Mississippi started as a short passing thought, a pondering of what I could accomplish next. The thought stayed, it grew. It evolved from the fantasy of vagabond into a plausible and tangible reality. In a little less than a week, a year to the day of the start of my trans America ride, my friend Toby and I will set out from Lake Itasca, Minnesota with our sights set on getting to New Orleans.  Even now, I don’t know if I feel more excited or nervous about the challenge that lies ahead.  Am I crazy? Well, that’s up to opinion.  People pursue what they value. My wife and I have made the choice to value making memories and pursuing a life that challenges and changes us in the hope that such investments will be worth much more in the future. I hope to keep a consistent blog about the adventure, and hope you will enjoy the journey along with me. For those who wish to follow the adventure, the travel blog address will be downoldmanriver.blogspot.com.

“Only those who attempt the absurd accomplish the impossible.”

Down The Cascades, Almost There

We left our host home on the outskirts of town with cloudy skies and a light drizzle of rain. Our wonderful hosts, Steve and Karen, made us an enormous and delicious breakfast of eggs, pepper bacon, and waffles. Almost a mile down the road I noticed the same tire on Sauder’s bike that has been giving us problems was wobbling again, another loose spoke. We pulled into Sisters and were lucky to find a bike shop open on Sunday. We spend about a hour fixing the wheel and repacking our things. By the time we were on the road again it was 11 o’clock. This had us worried because we were planning on doing 100 miles to the town of Albany, but we also had some pretty large climbs over the Cascades.

Almost straight out of Sisters we began to climb up the Cascades. Traffic was heavy on the route but the wide shoulders provided us with some sense of security. Our route included two mountain passes. We conquered our first peak winded but relatively ready for some miles, we noticed dark clouds building around us, which meant rain. The descent after the first pass was incredibly steep, we hit speeds past 40 mph before we leveled out at the bottom. We also noticed around this time, 20 miles in, that we had completely forgot to pack any significant amount of food. Digging in our bags we came across a few packs of peanuts and some energy gel packets. After a few miles of flat to rolling roads, we began our second climb, the last out of the Cascades and into the valleys on Oregon’s west coast. It was chilly and raining, something we are getting used to. The forests around us were filled with tall Juniper and Ponderosa pines which seemed to reach as high was the surrounding mountain peaks. We climbed for what seemed like a long time until we reached a sign , 6% grade for 11 miles. We had thought we had only had 4 miles left to the top, now it appeared to be 11, at 6% grades. We hunkered down for a long climb.

However, the road began to fall, we misinterpreted the signs as indicated a climb, not a descent. For the next 11 miles we flew down the cascades, winding around mountain sides and hoping we would not crash. It was raining hard at the same time making visibility through our sunglasses very limited. Traffics was moderate as well so we had to be on guard for everything from gravel to potholes to sharp turns. I never have experienced going downhill for so long at such a speed. We traveled 11 miles in 20 minutes, a new record in my mind. We went from high mountain forest of pines to a an almost rainforest environment. The rain on this side of the cascades was much more intense than the east side. Within minutes we were soaked. Our panniers barely keeping our things dry. By this time we were at 50 miles and had only eat a few peanuts, were quite hungry. We rode another 20 miles before we finally found a place to eat.

Long story short, we made it to our destination right before dark. We are staying with a mutual roommate’s family in Albany, OR. I can almost smell the Ocean from here. We are 67 miles from the finish of this long journey and I am somewhat nervous about ending it. Since we traveled 104 miles yesterday we are taking a rest day here. We have a few days to kill before we fly home so urgency to get anything done is low. So that was our day yesterday, today will be a lazy day for us, a much needed lazy day. Here are some pictures. 

Going up

Coming down

3 Days In Oregon

We have finally made it to some remnant of civilization, if civilization is defined by cell phone service, McDonald’s and Internet access. So that explains the lack of updates for the past few days.  So I will recount the past few days and events.

                 The last you heard of us we were staying the night after a long cold day in Mt Vernon OR. While we were planning to ride the next day, we were so comfortable where we were staying at in the Bike Inn, that we convinced ourselves to take a much wanted but not needed rest day. It was good to wake up knowing that the day ahead would consist of being lazy and grazing on food. We had made 6 grilled ham and cheese sandwiches for the road before we decided to take a rest day. We popped in a an old VHS movie, Gladiator, and sat eating our sandwiches. Because the Bike Inn runs off donations, the owner asked us to mow her lawn. Within an hour we had fulfilled our donation and the property had a freshly mowed law. Afternoon snack consisted of a pint of ice cream each and another movie. We had supper at the local café, burger and fries and milkshakes. At the end of the day, we were horrified at how much food we ate.

                Waking up the next morning I could not have kicked myself harder for deciding to take a rest day the day prior. It was cold and rainy with a mild headwind, far from the warm sunny day we decided to rest on. Regardless, we pressed on toward the small town of Mitchell. We had heard there was free camping. We met up with a brother and sister from Cincinnati doing the cross American trail. We chatted for a long time with them exchanging blog information. Soon we were passing cyclists every 5 or 10 minutes.   We stopped at a gas station to pick up some lunch and water. The parking lot greated us with over 30 other bikers. They were part of supported cross country tour, mainly consisting of older retirement aged people.  We got to chatting with one couple, surprisingly the man routinely cycled past rosedale, a small world it is. We ended up climbing for most of the day, weaving through red rock canyons and their winding creeks. The descent into Mitchel was long and steep, a good reward for a day of climbing. Mitchel is more like a little village than a town. Because it lies on the trans am trail, they have allowed free camping in the city park. Pulling in the town was surprisingly busy. Music was blaring from local cafe, which was  de facto the local bar, and men and women in leather and chaps were milling around the center of town.  Apparently, an annual party of motorcyclists was in town, equipped with large amounts of alcohol as well as food. It was soon apparent that it would be hard getting to sleep.

The alcohol fueled environment did however, make these intimating  strangers quite friendly. Our neighbors in the park invited us to their camp site, shoved bratwursts and beer into our hands and hounded us with many questions about the ride and more than enough advice about upcoming sites and routes. Also camping in the park was an Italian man exploring the US. Our drunk neighbor war more than excited to find out he was from Italy. Maximilian, an Italian mortician, wore a cowboy hat and spoke with the most stereotypical accent I have ever heard. I’m sure if you would have cut off his hands, he would have had a speech impediment.  It was nice being able to socialize with people than ourselves. We went to bed full of food and ready to sleep.

We left Mitchell knowing that we had a long day of climbing. The sun was out in full force, which while better than rain and cold, it made climbing slightly uncomfortable. A few water bottles later, we finally crested the top. We were disappointed that our reward was not a steep fall like what we just climbed, but rather a long and gradual descent. We chased a small creek all the way to the town of Prineville, just north of Bend. We stopped at McDonalds for some cheap calories and free A/C. here I saw a warm showers host was in town of Sisters, around 40 miles away. Steve and Karen said they would start biking toward us and then bike with us to their house. The last forty miles went well enough, the first half I had noticed that Sauders rear wheel had a bad wobble to it. Upon closer inception, we found a broken spoke. While it is a simple issue, correcting it is quite complex. We were lucky that the next town, Redmond, had a bike shop. We spend 20 minutes fixing the tire and went on the road toward our hosts. We met our hosts by the road and now as a group, headed to sisters. The road to Sisters was amazing. All along the horizon the peaks of the Cascades rose up, reminding us that we have to climb them tomorrow.

So that has been a condensed version of the last few days. We have 160 miles left in this trip so that is exciting. Here are some pictures!

The Bike Inn doubled as a small farm

The Bike Inn

John Day Canyons

Brother and sister going cross country

Well balanced lunch at the summit of a long climb: Jalapeno chips and left over pancakes

Steve and Karen met us on the tandem Recumbent

I had to use a pay phone for the first time

A perfect end to a good day

A Couple Days in Oregon

For the past few days we have been trudging through the Oregon wilderness. When one first thinks of the state of Oregon, “desert” “Dry” and “heat” is not the first words that come to mind. However, that is much of the climate of eastern Oregon. After visiting the bike shop in Ontario, to make sure that nothing major was wrong with Sauder’s bike, we pressed onward into the hot and dry desert. Temperatures were close to 100 for most of day, and we constantly were drinking water to replace the fluids we were losing just to keep cool. Anything green in the area was the cause of irrigation. We soon reached the town of Brogan, along with a sign that said that the next services were 42 miles away. After stocking up on snacks and water, we set up for a few hours of climbing. The heat continued with us for a while as we crept up the dry and barren mountain sides, stopping every so often to catch our breath and rehydrate. We must have stopped too much that day because we pulled into the goal town of Unity as the sun was setting. We were tired, thirsty and very hungry. Every restaurant was closed and there as only one little gas station. I pulled up by the door just as the lady was locking it. My heart sank. Would we have to make do with chewing gum, a few peanuts and lukewarm water tonight?

I like to think it was my good looks that got us in the store, but it was most likely an act of pity from our dirty and tired faces. Dinner would be a bag of BLT flavored chips, Ice Tea, and Alfredo Pasta. The campsite which we were told was 2 miles away was actually 8 more miles, and the cost, which we were told as $7 was actually $22. Luckily, when we realized that such a price was beyond we happened to conveniently set up camp by a large group of other cyclists as well as having no money in our Wallets. Cooking dinner turned into an adventure. I learned that cooking half a pound of pasta with a minimal amount of water. Regardless, slightly chewy pasta as much better than a growling stomach.

The storm and wind which sent us to bed was still there in the morning, but this time with rain and cold. Temperature had dropped to the low forties and the pattering on the tent fly made it clear that everything outside of the tent was entirely soaked, including the clothes I set out to dry. We decided to try and wait out the rain. The rain never went away, but only died down, the cold staying in its same place. Pulling myself out of the sleeping bag and into the cold and wet world was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. Sauder and I discussed that this is probably why babies cry so much when they are born. There they are, resting in a warm and comfortable environment, only to be thrust into a cold and uncomfortable world. I would cry too.

We had to back track a few miles to the last town to grab breakfast because we did not know when we would have food next. Apparently we had missed breakfast time and had to settle for chicken sandwiches in place of pancakes. When we finally were making progress it was noon. A very late start, especially when we knew we had two large climbs for the day. We had purchased some gloves at the store simply because our finger tips were freezing off in the wind; these gloves were a life saver, until it started to rain. The rain came as we were making our first climb, a long and winding path up a mountain surrounded by towering ponderosa pines. The higher we went the colder it got. Getting to the peak was exciting; we knew that we had a few miles of descent to enjoy. However, 30 seconds into our ride down, we found out that it would not be fun at all. The cold temperatures, rain and high speeds created a quite painful experience. The rain were like little bullets stinging as they hit us, the icy air like knives making our faces go numb, the wet road soaking our shoes until they weighed heavy. There is not much one can do other than grin and bear and hope you get to the bottom soon.

It was actually a relief to be climbing again; the extra effort warms the body and gets blood running into the frozen hands and feet. But a couple hours later we found ourselves descending, this time prepared to handle he pain.  At the bottom of this mountain we found a small coffee shop in the town of prairie city, we spend at least an hour trying to regain feeling in our hands and feet while sipping warm mochas. The last 15 miles to the small town of Mt Vernon were perhaps he most enjoyable of the day, the rain had taken a break the temperatures had warmed up, the only reminder of the previous ordeal being the snowcapped peaks around us.  Our goal was a warm showers host who runs the “Bike Inn”, essentially a second house on their property which they let touring cyclists use. It is donation based and provides showers, beds a kitchen, TV and movies. Luxury when out on the road. Also staying here this night is a couple from Portland who are doing a large loop around the area. They were gracious to let us share a meal with them and we sat around talking about biking, babies, cancer and ups and down of Portland, Quite a good time of fellowship and biker camaraderie. Well, I should sleep, we want to do 80 miles tomorrow and I need the strength. So here are some pictures!.

 Hot day

High Desert, Climbing Ahead

Boys in Boise

Awkward wave to Jackie

Mountains we came down from