Dave rides his bike to school

Above: Lolo Peak, outside Missoula, MT. The mountain is over 9,000 ft tall. This is the first snow-capped moutain I’ve seen on this trip.

Above: Downtown Missoula, MT

Above: Caras Park, in downtown Missoula.

Above: A dude surfing on the Clark Fork River in downtown Missoula (picture taken from Caras Park).

Above: A dude kayaking on the Clark Fork River.

Above: Every Thursday night during the summer, Missoula has a festival with live music and concessions. Missoulians definitely take advantage of the warm weather…

Above: same as above

Monday, 6/26 3pm
Location: Missoula, MT

Coordinates:
46.8959 N
114.0439 W

I started off the day (last Thursday) by climbing up to 5,200 ft. to cross the Lolo Pass.  I was a little concerned about the climb, given how steep it looked on my bike map and also because I wasn’t sure of whether the higher altitude would make it difficult to breathe.  Well, it turned out to be not bad at all.  In fact, in some ways, the climb was harder for the cars; I passed by two trucks that broke down on the way up to the pass.  I have to admit that it did feel satisfying to pass an automobile, for once.  As a courtesy, I gave the trucks plenty of room as I cranked by at 7 miles an hour…

The best part about climbing up to 5,200 ft is that you get to DESCEND afterwards!  I think I went about 10 miles without pedaling.  What a nice feeling!  Oh, the other nice thing about clearing the Lolo Pass is that not only did I cross into a new state (Montana), but I also crossed into a new time zone (Mountain Time).

The only downside of descending was that the lower I got, the hotter it got.  By the time I got to the valley in which Lolo and Missoula are situated, it was almost 90 degrees Fahrenheit.

I pulled into Missoula in the evening.  Unfortunately, the only campsite in town is a KOA, which is like camping in an RV parking lot.  Regardless, I set up my tent and then heading into town for food.  With great pleasure, I happened upon Missoula’s weekly free outdoor concert.  There was a band playing country music, vendors selling all sorts of foods and drinks, kayakers playing in the river, and hundreds and hundreds of people hanging out and having a good time.  Plus, since the sun goes down at 10pm here, there was plenty of time left to hang out before I needed to head back to my tent.

Some other fun things that I’ve done in Missoula:

– I went to an outdoor screening of the movie “Whalerider”.  I was particularly proud of myself for attending this event, because even most of the locals weren’t aware that this was going on.  During the summer, they project movies on the side of a local elementary school every Saturday night.  People just sit in the grass, eat, drink, and watch the movie.  It reminded me of Stern Grove in San Francisco.  I found out about this event after chatting with a guy at Bernice’s Bakery, which is a popular little coffeeshop near the University.

– I visited the headquarters of Adventure Cycling Association.  ACA is a not-for-profit group that advocates bicycle touring at various levels of government, develops bicycle maps (like the ones I’m using) and publishes a magazine about touring around the world on bike.  I’ve been a member of the association for a few years, and their magazine has always chewed at my wanderlust, so it was a really cool experience for me to meet the people who run the show.  Good people.  They took a picture of me and put it on their wall o’ cyclists.  On their billboard, there was an ad for a 150 mile bicycle race on Saturday.  I tried to sign up online, but registration had already closed.  In retrospect, that may have been a good thing…  150 miles is pretty far.

– I went whitewater rafting yesterday (Sunday).  Man, that’s one of the best ways to spend a nice sunny day.  I, along with 4 others in my raft, got dumped into a set of rapids called “Fang”.  I was positioned in the front left side of the raft.  We hit a big wave which sent the right side of the raft up into the air several feet.  Before I knew what was happening, the people on the right side of the raft fell straight down on top of me and knocked me over the side with them.  It was pretty scary for a few moments while we were crashing through the rapids with just our life vests on, but I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.  Our raft also literally ran over a kayaker, which was really scary, because she didn’t come up for about 7 seconds.  However, she was fine, albeit a bit shaken up.

– While in Missoula, I have seen a beaver and her baby building a dam.  I also saw a Bald Eagle while rafting.  Bald Eagles are every bit as majestic looking in real life as they are on TV (or US currency).

I’m meeting up with Tori in Ft. Benton, MT, on July 2nd.  Ft. Benton is only a few days away from Missoula, so I’ve had some time to kill here, which has been a nice break.  However, I depart tomorrow.  I’m hoping to watch a minor league baseball game in Great Falls on Friday night.    

Above: The sign should also read, “Oh yeah, and no food or water (except for the river).” 

Above: A creek flowing into the Lochsa River.

Above: Rapids on the Lochsa River.

Above: A guy drowning on the Lochsa.  Actually, this guy is trying to surf the river waves.  Coincidentally, I met this guy two days later in Missoula.  He’s the summer intern at Adventure Cycling Association. 

Tuesday, 6/21 9pm
Location: Powell Junction Ranger Station, ID

Coordinates:
46.5116 N
114.7221 W

Today’s mileage: about 67 
Tomorrow’s destination: Missoula, MT

65 miles with no food, water or civilization.  All uphill to about 4,200 ft.  Today consisted of mile after mile of the Lochsa River.  The weather was nice, although a little hot.  It was easily the prettiest full day of biking I’ve ever experienced. 

The Lochsa River has around 100 sets of rapids in the length that I saw.  It’s a whitewater rafter’s paradise. 

The climbing turned out to be easier than I had anticipated.  It was uphill all day, but it was pretty gradual, so it didn’t feel like climbing that much.  I just used a lower gear, and I felt fine. 

Not much else to report on today, just miles and miles of good biking.

Above: The Clearwater River.

 Above: This is where the Lochsa and Selway Rivers combine into the Clearwater River.

Tuesday, 6/20 9pm
Location: Lowell, ID

Coordinates:
46.1438 N
115.5961 W

Today’s mileage: about 65 
Tomorrow’s destination: Powell Junction Ranger Station

The scenery today was incredible.  I spent most of the day riding through the Nez Perce Indian Reservation.  As far as I could tell, there wasn’t much of a difference between being in the reservation and not being in the reservation.  Indian reservations are independent nations, with their own laws, aren’t they?  I assumed that traveling through a reservation would feel like traveling through another country, but pretty much it just feels like traveling through a different county.  There are signs when you enter and exit.  Besides that, the road is the same.

I stopped in Lowell, Idaho.  I’m not sure if Lowell is technically a town or not.  According to the welcoming sign, 23 people live there now (the 24 is scratched out).  There is a gas station, a café/motel, and an RV park.  However, the memorable feature of Lowell doesn’t involve the buildings or people.  Instead, what’s cool about Lowell is that Lowell sits on the side of the river where the Lochsa and Selway rivers conjoin to create the Clearwater river.  All three river as really beautiful, and it’s really neat to see the two river coming together into one larger river. 

Plus, Lowell is on the edge of the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness Area, which is the largest wilderness area in the continental U.S.  It’s bigger than Yosemite, Yellowstone, etc.  I don’t remember how many acres comprise the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness, but it’s enormous.  The best part is, vehicles are prohibited.  You can’t even ride a bicycle into Selway-Bitterroot.   As a result, it’s almost untouched, unlike the National Parks.  Aside from a very brave hikers, very few people ever enter Selway-Bitterroot.  I’d love to come back here someday and hike around for a few days in there.  That’d be an incredible experience.

Above: I can’t remember where I took this photo, but I thought it was good.

Above: My ascent into the Blue Mountains.  Winchester, Idaho, is situated at about 4,000 ft elevation.

Above: Winchester Lake State Park.

Above: Things could be worse…

Monday, 6/19 10pm
Location: Winchester, ID
Coordinates:
46.2350 N
116.6255 W

Today’s mileage: about 40 
Tomorrow’s destination: Lowell, ID

My stop in Winchester, Idaho, today was carefully thought out.  There were 3 primary reasons for stopping in Winchester.  First, even though I only traveled 40 miles, I rose  3,500 ft vertically.  The bulk of the ascent was at the end of the day, so I figured I wouldn’t want to go much farther than Winchester anyway.  Second, Winchester is located at about 4,200 ft elevation, so I thought that maybe sleeping at higher altitude would prepare me for climbing up to the Lolo pass on Thursday.  Third, with a name like Winchester, I figured that it had to be an interesting town.  As it turned out, I was right.

Before I get into that, lemme just mention that the Winchester Lake State Park is a nice little spot.  The campsites are right on the lake, motorboats are prohibited so it’s quiet, and there are few mosquitos.

OK, back to why Winchester is an interesting town…  Basically, it’s just how you’d imagine a town in Idaho named Winchester would be.   

I stopped into a restaurant/bar at about 5pm for dinner.  A veil of cigarette smoke greeted me at the door, but I reasoned that the experience would be worth a few carcinogens and toxic fumes.  Even by 5pm, the small place was fairly busy, so it seemed like a good spot to soak up the local atmosphere, so to speak.  I bellied up to the bar and ordered a French Dip sandwich and the soup of the day.  To my right sat two men in their early 50’s.  One was wearing a camoflage baseball cap, a filthy denim shirt, and jeans.  Someone later referred to him as “Hair-azz-ment”, but I never caught his real name.  I soon gathered that he was a farmhand who lived about a quarter of a mile away.  Next to him at the bar sat Mike, who had a full beard and was wearing a beatup brown hat, much like the one that the father in Beverly Hillbillies wore.  The bartender, a rotund blond lady in her mid-thirties, asked me what kind of beer I drink.  I thought for a moment and answered, “Guiness, please.”  Hair-azz-ment leaned over with a struggling look on his face and said, “Guiness.  I think I heard of that before.  Hmmm.  Is that like Mickey’s?”  Mike broke in and said, “No, no, Guiness is one of them goddamned dark beer.  You like dark beers?  I can’t drink that shit.  I like light beers.  You should try a local beer.  We’ve got some good fuckin’ local beers here.” 

Ah yes, I forgot to mention that every other word in Winchester is a cuss word.  

The wisdom of Mike’s suggestion was apparent, so I ordered a “Moose Drool”, which is an amber ale out of Missoula.  Mike informed us that his favorite beer is Pacifico, only he referred to it as “Pa-CEE-fico”.  He explained that in Mexico, an ‘i’ is pronounced like an ‘e’.  As a result, the correct way to pronounce “Pacifico” was “Pa-CEE-fico”.  He enunciated “Pa-CEE-fico” several times clearly to make sure we understood.  I was tempted to point out that according to Mike’s explanation, “Pacifico” would be pronounced “Pa-CEE-FEE-co”, on account of the second ‘i’.  Given that Mike and I were such new friends, I decided not to push the point.  Meanwhile, Hair-azz-ment muttered “Pa-CEE-fico” to himself several times amid sips of his Keystone Light.

Mike and Hair-azz-ment went on talking with each other as I tasted my first Montanan beer.  Within seconds, they were chatting about one of Mike’s bulls, who had gone missing for several days.  Recently, the bull turned up in a nearby rancher’s plot.  “I’m glad that son-of-a-bitch didn’t head towards Washington, like that one did some years back.”

To my left, sitting silently, was “Scary Larry”.  Or at least, that’s what the bartender called him.  Scary Larry stood about 6’3”, was rail thin, and only had about half of his teeth left.  He was pushing about 75 years of age, and shook whenever he took a sip of his Pepsi.  I decided that the weather seemed to be a safe conversation topic, especially in this farming area.  I asked Scary Larry if this year had been wetter than normal, since all of the rivers that I’d ridden past seemed to be flowing pretty high.  Well, not only is weather a safe conversation topic, it’s a popular one.  For the next 15 minutes, Scary Larry went into a a full profile of the region’s different seasons, including the timing and quantity of various meteorlogical events, such as wind, rain, snow and hail, as well as which crops were suitable for planting here.  I asked Larry if he grew up around Winchester.  His reply was something to the effect of “Yes. Anyway, back in the 60’s it used to snow much more than now.  There was this one time when it took us fuckin’ six DC-4 Cat’s about 12 hours to pull a goddamn plow but two miles!”  Then he went on about certain snowstorm in which he was sent out to rescue either two cows or two people (Scary Larry mumbled A LOT, so I didn’t know which he was talking about), and it took them until one in the morning to get them “assholes” rescued.  The story involved hitting the cows/humans with “swetches” (also known as sticks or “switches”), but somehow that still didn’t  clear up whether he was talking about cows or humans. 

At the other end of the bar, a man who looked no younger than a hundred and twenty smoked on his cigarette.  Every few puffs, he’d haunch over in fit of coughing that sounded as if he were gargling mouthwash.  As soon as he was able to breath again, he’d suck on his cigarette some more. 

Behind the bar there was a large open room which was used on the weekends to house a live band.  Tonight, around 10 people, roughly eight men and two women, were using the room to play a poker tournament.  The apparent organizer was a potbellied bald man with a moustache and glasses.  I think his name was Bill.  Within thirty seconds of opening his mouth, Bill mentioned about four times that he had been in the Marines and that his family contained a member of every branch of the military.  He cited every war that his family has fought in.  He paused to make sure he included every one: “World War I, then Korea, then World War II, then Vietnam, and Iraq”.  Quite an impressive list, despite not being in chronological order.

I don’t remember what set him off, but before long, he began preaching to the entire bar “And you see, that’s why we’re safer having a Republican president.  But we need to stop paying for the fuckin’ United Nations and just turn Iraq into glass.”  The lady playing poker broke in an said, “Well, come on Bill, what about the children?”  He responded, “Well, them kids just grow up to be like their parents!  That’s why I’m a strong believer in ‘Kill em all and let God sort em out.'”  Strange, I think the president of Iran said just the same thing about us the other day.

Finally, sitting between Scary Larry and the gargling smoker was a trucker wearing a white Stetson, a black leather vest over a Western-patterned button down shirt, and black cowboy boots.  His moustache was twisted in a corkscrew on both sides of his mouth.  After I put Willie Nelson on the jukebox, he told me, “You’ve got good fuckin’ taste in fuckin’ music, son.”  He seemed like a nice guy, although his conversation topic of choice seemed to be the various bar fights he’d been in.  From the look of his gnarled fingers and fat knuckles, I took him at his word.  In one such dispute, he related how he was about to throw a guy through the door.  He paused and emphasized “through” the door, not “out” the door.  The bartender chuckled in agreement.  Apparently she had convinced him to reconsider, so he just let the guy go.  Another of his stories involved the ‘asshole police’ who arrested the kid (“well, I guess he ain’t exactly a kid.  He’s 45 years old”) across the street, who allegedly shot a bullet through his ex-girlfriend’s hair during an argument.  “It’s bullshit, ’cause I know he wuddn’t do nothing like that.  He’s not a mean-spirited guy, he’s just a drunk Indian,” the trucker reported.

The last thing I heard as I left the bar was the bartender telling the trucker, “The cat attacked Grandpa, so he made me go outside and shoot it…”

As I was saying, Winchester, Idaho, is an interesting place.  A goddamned interesting place indeed.
 

Above: This was about the most exciting view of the day. I thought the colors were pretty cool.

Sunday, 6/18 10pm
Location: Lewiston, ID
Coordinates:
Didn’t get a reading

Today’s mileage: about 68
Tomorrow’s destination: Winchester, ID

To begin, I’m actually writing this entry a bit retroactively. I got a little lazy this week in terms of my blog entries, so I’m catching up now (Friday).

In any case, the segment from Dayton, WA to Lewiston, ID wasn’t the most exciting of the trip. It’s pretty much just farmland and rolling hills between the two towns. In fact, part of the trip today was pretty awful:

I stopped for lunch in a little town called Pomeroy. Since it was Sunday, combined with the fact that there’s not a whole lot in Pomeroy, my only option for lunch was a local grocery store. I grabbed some food and sat down outside under a little vestibule in front of the store. As I bit into my burrito, I noticed that my shirt was covered in what looked like seeds. Since I’d been riding past wheat fields all day long, this didn’t seem odd to me. Without a thought, I attempted to brush off the seeds with my free hand. To my surprise, the “seeds” began swarming around. Ah! Those weren’t seeds! They were flies! No. Worse, they were FLEAS! Yes, the kind that torment your dog. Needless to say, being covered in fleas is niether the most appetizing way to eat lunch, nor the most pleasant sensation. I got out of Pomeroy as soon as possible, and I didn’t look back!

I had the pleasure of switching maps once I reached Clarkston, WA. I always feel a rush of accomplishment and pride when I move on to a new map. Plus, switching maps also meant that I had reached the border of Idaho. Since I’d never been to Idaho before, it was fun to check off another state.

Trivia Fact: Hells Canyon in Western Idaho is the deepest river gorge in the lower 48. When I first read that, I figured that there has to be some sort of catch, because there’s no way it’s deeper than the Grand Canyon, or else I would have heard about it before. I assumed that the catch had to do with the definition of a “gorge” versus a “canyon”, but it turns out that the catch is in HOW you measure depth. Several days later, I learned that if you measure from the bottom of the river to the river banks, then the Grand Canyon is much “deeper”. However, if you measure from the bottom of the river to the highest point along the river, then Hell’s Canyon is “deeper”. Hell’s Canyon happens to be situated alongside some mountains, so if you measure from the river bottom to the top of the mountains, it’s pretty darn deep. Well, I wasn’t too impressed with that technicality, and I imagine most other people aren’t either. Hence, most of us haven’t heard of Hell’s Canyon, Idaho.

As I went in search for dinner, I came upon a stop sign, and a kid on a motorcycle crossed the intersection in front of me. The reason this event stuck out in my mind is because the kid looked like he was barely 16. I remember thinking to myself that allowing a 16 year-old drive a motorcycle has got to be the dumbest thing a parent (or the law) could possibly do. Two days later, when I reached Lowell, Idaho, I was flipping through the local newspaper and I saw a short article that caught my attention. On Sunday evening, precisely when I was in Lewiston, a 17 year-old boy riding a motorcycle was killed in a collision near the state park where I stayed. I have no way of knowing whether it was the same kid that I saw. After all, there could be tons of teenage boys in Lewiston with motorcycles. However, I couldn’t help but think that perhaps I had seen that kid in the last few moments of his life. And maybe it wasn’t just coincidence that that particular kid had caught my attention at that moment. Hmm. It gave me the chills.

Here are a few pics from the car show.  Click on the images to see a larger version.  (the one on the right is my favorite)

SATURDAY, SATURDAY, SATURDAY!  ONE NIGHT ONLY!  AT THE COUNTY FAIRGROUNDS!!

Above: Before the actual demolition derby part, they run about 10 car races.  Each race is about 6 laps, and there are almost no rules.  You can crash into opponents, run them into the concrete barriers, or even team up and crush cars.  (Click on the images to see a larger version.)

Above: You win some…. (Click on the images to see a larger version.)

Above: You lose some….  (Click on the images to see a larger version.)

Above: And, well, sometimes you have to be towed off the track.  (Click on the images to see a larger version.)

Above: The beginning of the actual demolition part of the derby.  All the cars start off facing the outside of the track.  The last car running wins, and you are disqualified if you don’t crash into at least one car every minute.  (Click on the images to see a larger version.)

Saturday, 6/17 10pm
Location: Dayton, WA
Coordinates:
46.3145 N
117.9903 W

Today’s mileage: about 30
Tomorrow’s destination: Clarkston, WA

In anticipation of the mountains that I will ascend this week, I went to the Post Office this morning and mailed home all of the things that weren’t worth their weight, in terms of usefulness on my trip. For example, since I’ve only used my camping stove once, I shipped off my stove, cooking pot, cannister of propane, dish soap, and instant oatmeal. Also, I got rid of my wool sweater (it’s light, but it takes up a lot of space). I probably only shaved off 3 or 4 pounds, but I’ll bet that when I get to Lolo Pass (5,200 ft), I’ll be thankful for any drop in weight.

The ride to Dayton was brief and pleasant, yet not too eventful.

My solitary reason for stopping in Dayton today was to visit Dayton’s annual car show. Actually, “car show” is an understatement. It’s an entire festival of shows and car-related events. The moment I entered the town, I knew that stopping in Dayton had been a brilliant decision.

Main Street was closed off so that cars could not enter the center of town. Or, should I say, so that only waxed and polished cars could enter town. Lining both sides of Main Street were cars from every era, starting with a 1902 Oldsmobile “Horseless Carriage”, to a 2006 Ford Mustang, and everything in between. Hotrods, cruisers, sedans, coupes, pickups, low-riders, you name it; there was something for everyone. Well, something for everyone who likes good ‘ole American cars. You don’t show off an imported piece of scrap metal at a car show in Dayton, WA!

As a Corvette fan, my favorite car in the show was a mint condition 1958 two-tone convertible (all ’58s were convertibles, of course). However, some of the deuce coupe hotrods and 70’s muscle cars were sights to behold as well.

Without a doubt, the highlight of the entire day came as a total surprise. As the car show was winding down, I went off in search of a place to stay for the night. I had heard that they might let me set up camp in the county fairgrounds, so I headed off in that direction. To my great surprise and delight, as I entered the fairgrounds, I saw the following sign: “Demo Derby tonite”. That’s right; I had stumbled upon perhaps the most reckless, destructive, loud, dirty, and yet ass-kickin’, of all American traditions: the demolition derby.

Having never attended a demolition derby before, there was simply no chance that I could miss it. I paid my $10 and walked in the gates. What I encountered there was a spectacle of smoke, mud, oil, and tobacco-stained wifebeater T-shirts.

I must remind you that I grew up in Houston, Texas, where I attended the rodeo several times every year. However, in terms of civility and refinement, the Dayton Demolition Derby makes the Houston Rodeo look like the San Francisco Ballet. Just a few things I witnessed:
– A 6 year-old boy lighting the cigarette hanging from his mother’s mouth.
– A woman yell, “You need a f#$%’ing driver’s license to race in the derby? That’s f#$%’ing bullsh*t!”
– A grown man crying in joy when his buddy won $100 in a race.
– A female driver ram another driver into a concrete barrier, after which the other driver’s car caught on fire. Moments later, the man next to me exclaimed, “Finally! Jamie’s hasn’t been herself tonight. She’s usually more aggresive like that. I’m glad she’s back to normal.”

I couldn’t help but think to myself that demolition derbies appear to be a bit, um, dangerous. On the other hand, nothing gets a crowd going better than screaming engines, flying dirt, and violent collisions. God Bless America! If Alexis de Tocqueville were alive today, he’d have much to write home about.

Finally, in an all too fitting coincidence, there’s a single-screen movie theater in town which is open four days a week and offers two viewings per day. On the marquee today (and I could not have planned this if I had tried), in large black letters, is none other than the recently released animated movie “Cars”.

Above: My last view of the Columbia River before it heads north.

Above: Farmland west of Walla Walla, WA. A farmer told me that these are alfalfa fields. It smells like perfume.

Friday, 6/16 7pm
Location: Walla Walla, WA
Coordinates: couldn’t get a reading

Yesterday’s mileage: about 56
Today: Rest day in Walla Walla
Tomorrow’s destination: Dayton, WA

I rode into Walla Walla, Washington, after a fairly uneventful day’s journey. My plan was to check in to a cheap motel that offers a computer for guests to use, so that I could check email and update my blog. However, after 4 unsuccessful attempts to find such a motel, I gave up and checked into the cheapest motel I could find. Everyone said, “Oh, don’t worry, the library is open until 9pm.” Perfect! Well, except that the library really closes at 5pm. Doh! The café with Internet access was also closed, so I gracefully conceded defeat on that quest and decided to just explore the town instead.

As it turns out, Walla Walla is a groovy little town. There are vineyards/cellars/wine bars all over the place, there’s a fun ice cream/candy store right on Main St., several coffee shops and bakeries, and there are a few decent-looking restaraunts within a few blocks of one another.

Anyhow, after seeing the 5th wine merchant or so, it occurred to me that maybe I was in the middle of a wine region. So, as I was walking back to the motel after dinner, I decided to poke my head into a wine bar that had a bunch of people sitting outside on a patio, sippin’ wine and kickin’ back to some funky tunes.

You wouldn’t believe the characters I met there. Before long, I was talking with everyone at the bar! One guy owns and runs a 600-acre farm nearby, one guy works at a concrete plant and also operates www.wallawalla.com (if that’s not an unusual combination, I don’t know what is), one guy publishes a wine review magazine, one guy owns a vineyard, one guy was the cook at the bar, and so on.

I started telling some stories (stop snickering, Mike) and they started telling some stories, and pretty soon the guy who runs the wine review publication hands me a bottle of wine and says, “Take this bottle of wine, drink it on your trip, email me your review of the wine, and then I’ll publish your review and sponsor you on your trip.” Knowing a good deal when I hear one, I snatched the wine and his offer of sponsorship. Granted, the offer was coming from a guy at a bar who had had a few glasses of wine, so who knows what’ll come of it. It was pretty cool nonetheless.

I started chatting with this one guy from Montana about which route to take from Missoula to North Dakota, and he planted a gem of an idea in my head: travel by canoe! Apparently you can rent canoes in Great Falls, Montana, and float them down river eastward, and leave your canoe there when you get out of the river. The rental company takes care of the rest. It might be interesting to transport a steel bicycle in a canoe, but hey, is drowning any worse than getting run over by a big rig on the highway? Er, scratch that. I mean, “but hey, I’m sure it’s perfectly safe”.

Everyone in the bar had an interesting history. The bartender, for example, grew up in Alaska in a house that she helped to build, and her family didn’t have electricity until she was 10. They lived off the land, and she was homeschooled until high school. Then, she managed to get a music scholarship to a historically black college in Alabama. In the school’s history, she was the 17th white person to graduate. You know, that’s the kind of thing I just don’t hear about in my normal everyday life.

I also found out that there is a big classic car festival happening this weekend in Dayton, WA, which is the next town that I’ll pass through. So, I think I’ll probably plan my day tomorrow around arriving in town for the celebration.

When it was all said and done, I stayed at the bar until closing time. Oh, and by the way, I cracked open the bottle of wine and drank it at the bar with my fellow patrons, who kindly offered me bits of literary genius for my wine review (like this gem: “At the wine’s foundation is the acidic soil of Washington’s Paloose region.”). Hey, I told the wine guy that I have no idea what I’m talking about, so I had to get some help!

By the time I walked back to the motel, I hadn’t done my laundry, written my day’s entry, nor updated my blog. I also didn’t plan out where I’ll be for the 4th of July, which I had wanted to do by yesterday. In practical terms, I didn’t accomplish anything yesterday. On the other hand, I heard some incredible stories from the people of Walla Walla, Washington, and I created some new ones of my own in the process. And, after all, isn’t that what a cross-country bicycle trip is all about?
Musings:
– Every day, I get passed by a half a dozen Walmart big rigs, regardless of where I am, or what highways I’m riding down. Every once in a while, I get passed by a Safeway truck or a Sysco truck, but by and large, Walmart trucks are the single most common truck that I see. They’re everywhere. As a result, I think it’s time to rename our nation’s highways to more accurately reflect how our highways are used: instead of Interstate highways, they should be called “Interwalmart” highways. From what I can tell, highways mainly serve to transport goods between Walmarts and people to/from Walmarts. And in between Walmarts, you basically have gas stations and mini-marts that allow people and vehicles to fill up during their journeys to/from Walmarts.
– My friend Rob Lee gave me a great tip recently on how to amuse myself while riding. He said that as cars and trucks drive past, you should preface the name of the vehicle with “anal”. Well, it may be a 3rd grade potty game, but damn if I didn’t giggle for 20 miles as I played. Some examples:
Anal Explorer
Anal Probe
Anal Ram
Anal Wrangler
Anal Expedition
Anal Excursion

Well, you get the idea. The Europeans (and some of the Japanese companies) must have been learned about this game years ago, because they cleverly named their cars giggle-free names. Audi, BMW, Mercedes, Volvo, Saab, Lexus, Infinity, etc, all use stupid numbers to name their cars (eg, 325i, SL 500, A4, LS400, etc.). Oh well, I’ve still got the American SUV’s to provide miles of amusement!

 Above: Who needs gas anyway?

Above: Here’s the view from my tent as the sun was setting in Umatilla, OR.

Above: Here’s how we do sunsets in AMERICA, darn it!

Wednesday, 6/14 7pm
Location: Umatilla, OR
Coordinates:
45.9242 N
119.3280 W

Today’s mileage: about 90 
Tomorrow’s destination: Walla Walla, WA

Today I experienced the fastest cycling conditions that I’ve ever seen.  The roads were smooth, the terrain was pretty flat, and I had a 30mph tailwind all day long.  Riding with a 30mph tailwind is one of the most satisfying sensations you can experience on a bicycle.  You can imagine what the other most satisfying sensations on a bicycle are.  Actually, if you do know what those are, please let me know because I’m pretty much just happy when my arse doesn’t hurt. 

The only downside was that today was the first day that I would consider hot.  It wasn’t Houston hot, but it was hot enough to make you wish your bike came with AC.

The scenery was pretty bleak (it’s dry and rocky here…  No more trees or waterfalls), so there wasn’t much to look at except my bike computer, which read 25mph for much of the day.  That alone was exciting for me.  In fact, I was making such good time that I decided to ride past my original destination and cruise all the way to Umatilla, which is about 25 miles farther than I had planned to go. Ending the day 25 miles ahead of where I expected to be… now THAT’S a satisfying sensation on a bike! 

Musings:
– If you’ve ever wondered what I do to entertain myself while I’m riding my bike all day, here are a few random incidents that provided a break from the non-stop thrill of riding for 6-8 hours a day:
1) Yesterday, I was riding through a residential area in a small town, and a Chevy Tahoe drove past me.  As it got about 50 yards in front of me, it suddenly started making some terrible hissing noises.  It looked like it was dragging a white plastic grocery bag.  After a few seconds, the engine cut out, and the truck pulled to the side of the road.  WARNING, the following will be unpleasant for animal lovers…
Moments later, I reached what I thought had been the grocery bag.  To my surprise, it turned out to be a little white kitten (don’t ask me how a kitten looked like a grocery bag…  on the other hand, who expects a car to be dragging a kitten underneath).  Anyway, the kitten had somehow dropped from underneath the truck and basically bounced to the side of the road.  It certainly appeared to have taken a quick trip to kitty heaven.  I applied my brakes and stopped at the car.  The lady driving the Tahoe had lifted the hood, and there was another cat hiding in the engine bay!  She didn’t know what to do, because: the cat was still alive, it was clearly terrified, and she didn’t want to get attacked.  Well, about a minute later, someone she knew drove up and the two women drove off to get some help.  I didn’t stick around to find out what happened, but as you can imagine, the woman was quite shaken up.
2) As I was riding along today in the middle of nowhere, a military fighter plane came screaming over me and then disappeared as quickly as it appeared.  It reminded me of Fleet Week in San Francisco, because it did some sort of cool low-altitude “hey, look at me, I’m a badass in a fighter plane” maneuver and then vanished behind a cloud.  Or maybe it just flipped on the stealth switch and became invisible.  Or maybe I imagined the whole thing.  You’ll have to decide.
3) A train chugged past me, and I got the conductor to honk the horn.
4) I stopped at a mini mart, and it had one of those silly machines where you pay a quarter to weigh yourself.  That’s got to be the dumbest vending machine ever invented.  On the other hand, I paid a quarter to weigh myself, so perhaps I’M the dumbest person ever invented.  In any case, it had a height and weight chart, which divided people into 3 categories: small build, medium build, and large build.  I guess “large build” is stupid vending maching lingo for “fat”.  The tallest the chart went was 6’4”, which is how tall I am.  The range for “large build”?  195 lbs. – 211 lbs.  I weighed in at 212 lbs.  Huh?  I’m off the charts heavy?  If I built those stupid vending machines, I’d team up with Jenny Craig and post ads whenever the person fell into the fat category…  Business School, here I come!
 

Above: This is a bike trail??

Above: A train snakes up the gorge. 

Above: East of Hood River, OR.  They say that for every mile East that you go, the annual rainfall drops by an inch.  From what I saw, that’s not an exaggeration. 

Tuesday, 6/13 9pm
Location: Deschutes State Park, OR
Coordinates:
45.6304 N
120.9092 W

Today’s mileage: about 70 
Tomorrow’s destination: Crow Butte State Park

By far, the most fascinating thing about today was the dramatic change in the landscape as I rode east.  I began the day only about three miles from a waterfall, and everything around me was green and damp.  By the end of the day, the hillsides had become brown and almost barren.  Parts of the Columbia River Gorge here look like a scene from West Texas.

I keep surprising myself with how freakin’ long it takes me to get on the road in the morning.  I slept until 8am, and I didn’t get on the road until 11:30.  On top of that, I got a flat a few miles after leaving, so I didn’t really get going until after noon.  I’m going to try my best to get on the road by 10:30 tomorrow.
At about 3pm today, I stopped at a Dairy Queen in Hood River for lunch (Blizzards are engineered for the nutritional demands of high endurance sports activities, in case you didn’t know).  Hood River seems like a cool little town.  Lots of windsurfing, and there’s a good local bike shop.  Anyway, at the Dairy Queen, a guy wearing spandex walked up to me and told me that today is the first day of his cross-country bike trip.  He started in Portland this morning, and he’s heading to North Carolina.  The guy, named Reid, is amazing/crazy!  His flight into Portland arrived at 2am last night, and his first day of riding today was 80 miles.  He’s planning to average 100 miles a day.  Did I mention that he’s in his 50’s?  He’s traveling a lot lighter than I am, but that’s still incredible.  Somehow, he has managed to limit his belongings to around 20 lbs (versus my over 50 lbs).  Plus, he’s riding a carbon fiber race bike.  I sure hope the bike doesn’t break down on him.  He rode off ahead of me, but a few hours later, I rode by him in The Dalles, as he was walking to dinner.  The chances of me riding by him just as he was walking to dinner seem really small, but on this trip, coincidence seems to be the norm.  We’re both planning to camp out at the same spot tomorrow night, so it’ll be fun to chat with him there.

I’m camped out right now about 20 feet from the banks of the Deschutes River.  The temperature is perfect, and there are no mosquitos. There’s a family in the campsite next to mine singing songs, and the dad is strumming along on an acoustic guitar.  Luckily, they’re pretty good.  Things could be worse… 

Above: Waterfall in the Columbia River Gorge.  Christophe is going to kill me for not using my tripod;  if you zoom in, you can tell that it’s a little blurry… 

Above: another waterfall in the gorge…

Above: The cliffs of the gorge. 

Tuesday, 6/13 9am
Location: Ainsworth State Park, OR
Coordinates:
45.5945 N
122.0535 W

Yesterday’s mileage: about 40?
Today’s destination: Deschutes State Park
 
Tori left bright and early this morning.  Man, it’s hard when she leaves.  Saying goodbye from an unfamiliar city is especially tough, because I felt all the more alone when she was gone. 

I decided to do a fairly short day, and as I rode east along the Columbia River Gorge, the scenery validated that decision.  Once you get out of the urban area around Portland, the scenery along the river is spectacular.  My parents had told me that the gorge was pretty, and they sure were right.  I rode past numerous waterfalls, some just trickles and others were hundreds of feet high.  I’m going to make a mental note that I should plan a long weekend trip to come back to Portland again and spend some more time both in the city and in the gorge.  Of course, the only downside of both is the copious rain and cloudy weather.  Well, I guess you don’t get waterfalls without rain…