Alone
Jon and I shake hands and wish each other luck. Immediately, a steep canyon climb transitions into a gravel ridge that falls and rises rapidly. There are no visible cars or towns in the distance; merely a graveyard of wind turbines amongst various dead grass fields. This is where the wind goes to die and be birthed again.
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| The descent into Antelope, OR from Shan |
63 miles in, I arrive at my planned destination -- Shaniko, Oregon. Nearly deserted, were it not for the curious travelers marveling at the ol' Western town. I filter water from a hose and press on, risking isolation. Never have I ever treated water so valuable.
Two hours before sunset is the magic number. Just enough time to settle in comfortably, wherever that may be. This time it is at a county road intersection with deep gravel.
I notice the irrigation next to my three buddies (some cows) for the night. Jon joked about filtering poop water in case we get desperate. The route I am taking is known for extremely limited services and water, not to mention that over two thirds of it is unpaved. Maybe not today... 60 ounces left.
Water Boy
40 ounces left. I took sips throughout the night, and apparently my protein bar breakfast took a lot of water to wash down. I use a slow-to-load Google Maps to identify any sources of water. The terrain is carved out from glaciers and rivers from ages ago. Bingo. A creek 16 miles down my route, next to a small town called Ashwood.
My legs struggle to overcome the morning lull. The smoke from the Western Oregon fires makes the air heavy in my lungs. I pause at the bridge into Ashwood and peer over the side... Nothing. Dried up, save for the thick algae substance bubbling with flies and water skimmers. I knock on doors of the nearly abandoned town... Nothing. I silently hope for a roadside savior, and unwillingly move on.
Miles and miles of barbed wire separate me from scattered puddles of water in the creek bed. I sip at my Camelbak but only get air. It starts to drizzle. I open my mouth to catch a few drops and take a moment to distract myself with the sight of something I haven't seen in a while -- my skin glistening in the rain. It is 45 miles (plus a mountain pass climb) to the next town that I know has services. I am losing hope.
I spot my last chance -- irrigation water. I laugh to myself about the previous night's thoughts and Jon's words. I spend a good time filtering and re-filtering everything. Here we go.
Flesh
His tank top reveals his well-built stature -- and absurd tan lines.
"I got into an accident and ended up with someone else's arms," joking about the remarkable difference between the color of his forearm and his bicep. Josh brandishes his tan fingers, which all have a sharp transition pale knuckles and pale palms (otherwise known as the glove tan). I try to contain my laughter but the beer in my belly removes my hand from my mouth and throws my head back into an uproar of a laugh. He takes a moment to generously sip from his third beer, then oddly takes a spoonful of oatmeal for dessert.
Connor slyly makes a move to claim the bed between the three of us.
"Oh, you would!" Josh teases.
"Go on then!" Connor retaliates in a heavy New Zealand accent.
"Do you two bike through the night often?" June asks them.
"Well, ah, we like to take our time in the mornings," Josh giggles.
"Well with your 110 mile ride to Eugene tomorrow, I'm sure you'd like to check out the Deschutes Brewery in the morning first? They open at 8." Neil's sarcasm first came to me as a surprise. Perhaps it was the soft features and warm voice that made me think he was incapable of teasing. He still manages to be playful and loving.
Michelle steps through the front door.
"Awwhh, you guys are having a little family dinner!" She takes a seat at the table.
She nods towards June and Neil. "Maybe ya'll should stop hosting bicycle tourists," she laughs. She shifts her focus to Connor, Josh, and I. "I always seem to be injured the day before one of you guys rolls through!"
Michelle smirks as she tells us about the time she danced with a guy who was so uncoordinated that he elbowed her in the forehead and caused a good-sized welt.
"Buuuuut, he was kind of cute!" June admits.
Neil teases June throughout the night. I see his hand move to her thigh every now and then. Yawns are passed around the table and we all say goodnight to each other. I hear giggles from behind the bedroom door as my eyelids become heavy.
Peanut Butta
I talk myself through how hysterically awful the road conditions are. "Yaaaaaay, bikes are so fun!.." The washouts and brake bumps pump my arms to the point of irritation as I sink into every crevice. I feel the weight of my bike shift and slow in the red and grey sand. 10 miles of descent is normally something a cyclist looks forward to, especially after a 2400 foot climb. I can't make up my mind whether or not I made the right decision to press on.
I spent a few hours at Newberry Crater gaping at the ancient obsidian, lanky pines, and fish leaping through the air above Paulina Lake. The mass of tourists and lack of available camping spots made it hard for me to breathe in my own space.
I spend the night in an abandoned US Forest Service station. I check all the corroded faucets and the knobs let out a dry and eerie squeak. When I wake, it is below 40 degrees. I had forgotten what it felt like to be cold. The next parts of the route are said to be the hardest. The Red Sauce Forest and the OC & E Trail have a fine mix of gravel, rocks, and deep sand, not travelled heavily enough by cars or bikes to make a firm packed line of travel. I glide over every stretch of Red Sauce, having earned some extra grit from the Paulina descent. But it is the heat of the day that breaks me on the OC&E. 96 degrees even seems to make the rocks melt.
"Like riding through peanut butta," I recall Jon saying. Yes. And how I wish I could just lie down and make peanut butter angels and eat peanut brittle and peanut butter ice cream.
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