Part 5: Cycling Crater Lake Oregon – Day 4

Day 4 was our planned layover day in Sunriver, so things were pretty fluid plan-wise.

Generally when I blog, I re-activate my memories of each day by inspecting my photos and checking out the route map. Of course, today there is no route map per se, and unfortunately there are also no photos as dingbat here forgot to take his camera with him!

So, to distract from this monumental blunder – Look!, here's a picture of a grumpy kitty!



I do remember that an intrepid group of us awoke at an intrepid hour (7:30am), got into one of the vans (driven by the intrepid and insanely gorgeous Stevie) for an intrepid drive up the long downhill of the previous day, and then intrepidly went down it again. It was INTREPID!

The ride was pretty much a repeat of the day before except a little cooler, a lot shorter (I didn't do the not-the-actual-option option), and the tandem terrors Amy and Steve had an even bigger boulder attached to their bike. They are simply unstoppable downhill! This time I caught up with them even further down the road, and only because they had actually stopped! I suspect Steve was detaching and hiding the warp drive they secretly attach to their bike at various opportune moments!

Several other tour members were also along on the ride, but unfortunately because I didn't take any pictures I can't remember who – sorry about that guys. Oh well – Look!, here's a picture of cliche kitty!



After the downhill, Amy, Steve and myself decided to take a wander into the Sunriver downtown area. The previous day, I had spoken to Wilder, the-guide-who-shall-flirt and all round great guy, re: the best place to investigate getting a compact crank installed. Not only had he rung around, he'd also organised for me to speak with one of the guys at a local shop who had a compact 50-34 Shimano Ultegra ready to go. So, it was my task to seek and destroy! (well not the destroy bit).

We managed to locate the place after a little hunting (Sunriver has an unusual layout – in short it's freekin' confusing as all hell!) Boss man was out at a local cafe, so I was sent to hunt him down. Finding my prey I boldly faced him and inquired when he was coming back to the shop to deal with my urgent purchase: equally boldly he told 'me when he was good and ready'. Actually, it was far more civil: I politely inquired and he politely answered, suggesting he would see me at the shop in around 15 mins.

On my way back to the shop I was stopped by a gentleman who appeared to be an official of some kind from the golf tournament that Sunriver was holding over the few days we were there. What followed was one of those surreal conversations where one person (the official) is talking about something, and the other person (me) has no idea what the hell he is rabbiting on about! I think because I was in cycling garb, and looked like I knew what I was doing re: biking, he assumed that I was the policy maker for the Sunriver Council for all things bike? And so he started cranking on about how many cyclists there were about, how they were seemingly conducting their riding activities with no regard to theirs or others safety, and how this type of lawlessness required quick ameliorative action. He wasn't unpleasant, loud or strident, but obviously felt he needed to get his point across to a person of some standing. My role consisted of feigning concern and interest, and an occasional nod of the head.

I am convinced that at the end of the conversation, he left feeling he had more than adequately explained his concerns, had received a fair and unbiased hearing, and that very soon significant changes in biking law and behaviour throughout the Wild West that was downtown Sunriver would result! He is going to be a very disappointed man...

Soon, Boss was back at the shop dragging out the crank and installing it. Amy and Steve had nicely hung around, but as I was going to be 30 minutes or so, and Amy appeared to have seen a shop 'with stuff' that was interesting, I bade them farewell for a short while. Before the install was complete, Steve had re-appeared – I am guessing that 'stuff' wasn't Steve-type stuff!

The guys in the shop were a great bunch with the classic mountain-biker patois and fashion sense – excellent value. Pretty soon the Dean was up and running, and a quick little spin later confirmed all was good with the new crank in place. I was to appreciate it on some of the climbs ahead on my two tours!

Feeling peckish, the three of us headed off to a sandwich bar and acquired some tasty lunch. Amy and Steve generously paid for my lunch – I'm pretty sure that they are well ahead in the treating-the-Aussie stakes, so I'm gonna have to keep coming back on tours just to one day repay them!

Post lunch, we snailed our way back to our rooms. I say snailed, because Sunriver has the most infuriating bike paths in existence: bikes have to give way to cars, pedestrians, various wildlife including migrating geese, and golf officials! (actually, I suspect golf officials are fair game).

Back in my room, Robb is nowhere to be seen, so I have a shower and flip on the Olympics. Amazingly, they are showing VOLLEYBALL! Of for the love of whatever – what is going on? Have all other Olympics sports been eradicated in the hope that China's volleyball teams suck? Well that has backfired, because I can plainly see China winning this particular match I am watching! Fleetingly, some action from the cycling velodrome is broadcast, but it is quickly cut off. Somewhere in a dank, dark basement of a US broadcaster, a recalcitrant TV desk operator minion is dragged off screaming, his re-education re: the wholesome goodness of volleyball about to commence.

Then, up on the tele – Look!, here's a picture of a praying kitty!



Robb rolls in mid arvo after having walked a billion miles around Sunriver then baked himself at the pool, cleans up, and we sit around chatting before the wine and cheese gig held by the guides in their room is scheduled.

The power of imminent wine and cheese, and growling stomachs, fires up Robb and I, and we storm over to the guide's room intent on hastening their preparations. Others are also storming, and the guides, fearing a riot the likes of which not seen since Tiananmen Square, open the doors and let us invade. It's like Genghis Kahn but without the horses!

After some drinks and nibbles, Robb and I decide to hit town and search out a famed Italian restaurant. Robb is keen to get a little peace and quiet, and I sneakily agree, but I have an ulterior motive: back at the guide's room, the remaining 'guests' are to be subject to a night of torture involving tubes that mimic musical instruments (which function by slamming them on other's heads), and the presence of a cute little boy. The guide's evil knows no bounds...

Robb and I locate the joint, 'Marcello's Italian Cuisine', and as we breeze in, the apparent owner sees Robb go by and calls out his name! Robb seems non-plussed, and I am hopeful that Robb has influence and the night is free, but all that happens is that Robb eventually recalls that he'd chatted to this dood at the Sunriver Lodge where said dood also works, and had been given the address as a place to eat.

Well, influence or not, the food is great, the wine is lovely, and the Romanian waitresses are plentiful! Well, there are a couple of them, and I wonder if the Euro-wait-person slave trade is alive and well in Sunriver?

Robb and I talk on – we get along very well, and he is a super-interesting person, intelligent, funny, and somewhat off-the-wall. He is also very friendly, and I am constantly amazed at how he can just talk to anyone and everyone. Great guy!

He and I wander off into the jumble of the Sunriver pedestrian walks, and eventually get back to the room. Soon thereafter it's crash time, and I drift into sleep, dreaming about being hunted, and – Look!, here's a picture of a stalking kitty!

.

Part 4: Cycling Crater Lake Oregon – Day 3

I awake to the strange sensation of a stomach which appeared to have been filled with concrete and has set. The 'babybacks' have decided to demonstrate their power over the forces of gastric acid and ruminations – they are still very much in command in the empire of my stomach.

Well, their plans for disruption of my biking day have been briefly interrupted, as it is our fate this morning that we must VAN again! I figure that whilst I recede into my typical catatonic state on board, Robot Len will come to the fore and grind the babybacks into something readily digestable.

I don't recall breakfast, mainly coz I didn't eat it! – I had ingested enough material to last the rest of the trip. That's the good thing about these tours; you can eat as much as you can possibly keep down each night and feel really crappy in the morning! Still – the crappiness only applied to my stomach: the rest of me was alert and ready to get pissed off about hopping into the van again!

Apparently, the ride in the van involved a stop off at a waterfall complex? Well, I have a bunch of photos of waterfalls, and people at waterfalls, and they fall on the date corresponding to this day? Just to illustrate this, here are two pics – the first is of a waterfall, and the second is of me and roommate buddy Robb.





Strangely enough, the Day Three route notes make no mention of these? Anyway, the pictures I have testify to both the beauty of the place, and its actual existence, so there you go!

After the possible fantasy of the waterfall stop, we actually do stop, and disembark at a place called Camp Sherman. As it sounds, it looks like a place where problem children are interred during school holidays whilst the parents go whoop it up at a far away resort.

The spot we land is close to the mouth of the Metolius River. I say mouth, but it's not: the Metolius simply bubbles up out of the ground in the middle of a nowhere. It's quite interesting – what looks like a gentle stream fills an entire lake. The mouth is quite peaceful: water flows out from amongst dense water plants and bushes and calmly gurgles its way to the lake. Very meditative. I think a few of the group were underwhelmed, perhaps expecting to see a massive geyser spearing out of a hill and pounding through the terrain. I liked it – it was just there.

Prior to the start of the ride (surprisingly, given all the vanning it is going to be a biggish day in the saddle) there is an option of doing a short loop around Camp Sherman, with a stop in the middle to see a 'fish-viewing' area. Ask 100 people what they assume a fish viewing area is, and 99 will conjure up something like an underwater glassed area where one can peer into the river etc. Well, that's what our group thought. Turns out the fish viewing area is an area next to a bridge over the river where you stand and uummhhh, view fish? Except there were no fish. They must have seen us coming and made themselves scarce.

Right, enough of this – we are raring to go! Completing the loop, the group heads out onto the roads proper and soon we cut across a major Hwy, cunningly named Hwy 20/126. This is to be our travel route for a while. My roommate Robb seems to have hit the gas – I suspect he was clued up on the fish viewing scam and knicked off early! So, I head off down the Hwy with a view to catching him.

Cruising up behind him after a short interval, we join up and steam away the kms. The Hwy is very busy and noisy, but the shoulder is OK and neither of us are bothered. We are scooting along at a good pace, and at one point enjoy a substantial downhill: I put my head down and push it.

As the miles tick by, I see a sign to Sisters, the town we are heading to for lunch. Except the sign says it's a LOT closer than it should be – 5 miles? At pretty much this precise moment, a silver van scorches by and then skids into the shoulder. "Hello" I say, and Head Guide Mark also says "Hello". He then politely inquires whether we are planning on just going straight to Sisters? At this time my razor sharp instincts tell me that something is astray – I boldly ask if we have missed a turn? Turns out we have, and by some 8 miles past! I suspect Mark is not amused, but I don't give a rat's because, "Life is a highway, I wanna ride it all night long!".

Mark attempts to wither us with a look extracted from "The Headmasters Guide to Intimidation", but we are impervious. Clearly it's not my fault – I didn't even have my route map with me! He ingresses the silver van and guns his way back to his flock – we turn and follow, and have a good old laugh! It turns out Robb noticed the van parked at the turn off the Hwy we were meant to take (which was at the bottom of the downhill we pelted down), and he further notices that Mark is jumping up and down like a pogo stick on speed, but assumes he's just confirming the correctness of our ballistic trajectory! Classic! Robb then cracks me up with his assessment of Mark – "he's a little in the box!". This is Robb to a tee – genuinely funny, smart and groovy, and so far out of the box it's vanished.

At this point in time, I had the distinct feeling that Mark and I may be heading for a clash of wills. However, it was not to be. Mark takes enormous pride in his abilities to organise, and he is great at that. I also realised that it's probably a guides worst nightmare to have someone like me who pays scant regard to actual directions - I am at my best when I am given a route from A to B with nothing distracting in between . But in the end things work out – I understand where Mark is coming from and try to give the impression I am mindful of things, and Mark graciously allows that, whilst I may be unkeen on strict order, I can make some sense out of my internal chaos. Later on in the Tour we have some great chats and share a rather nice Mexican fast food meal when he takes me back to Olympia, Washington in preparation for the following Tour. I grow to like him a lot.

Well, Robb and I trundle back toward the correct turnoff (the scenery is very familiar!) and are soon cruising along some beautiful roads thru' drier horse-ranch style country. It is warming up and the riding is great: sunny and cloudfree skies, and nice roads. The scent of sagebush is sweet on the air. In the distance, snow capped mountains rise up from the horizon, just like below:



Perfect! 16 kms or so sees us nearing the town of Sisters (from the correct side this time) and we prepare to follow the directions to the lunch spot at a local park.

Except we don't. We wind up at the end of a road that turns to gravel, from which a rather tanned and nice looking lady and her fluffy dog are advancing. I ask her were "X" road is, already knowing the answer will be "back from whence you came". It is. Luckily, a small bunch of deer, including 'bambi' style young ones, scoot along the road and make the diversion worthwhile.

We arrive at the park a little later than most, but not late enough that the food has totally disappeared, so we dive in. It's a cute little park, all green grass and trees, and a few of the gang play frisbee whilst I lounge around on the grass.

After lunch, we pile into the van and head to the start of our next biking route. On the way we pass thru' the town of Bend. It is manicured. It is pretty. It is green. It screams retirement. It is...death! It reminds me of a movie called 'Happiness' (a real little sleeper gem), where one of the actors, Ben Gazzara, plays an older guy living in a retirement community: every time he is on the golf course an ambulance rolls onto the fairways and carts off another guy who has dropped off the perch whilst playing a round! I imagine there are older model Stepford Wives in abundance in Bend.

The van pulls up at Dutchman Flat SnoPark, an expansive parking area close to Mt Bachelor, a wintertime playground which still has a little sno-cone on top!

From here it's a small uphill, followed by a very long downhill to Sunriver, a resort which is to be our home for the next two nights and a day.

The downhill is begging to be flogged, and so is my bike, so I hit the hammer and go for it. It is on this particular leg that I am taught a lesson in the power of the tandem. The tandem terrors Amy and Steve start out just ahead of me at the commencement of the downhill and I have them in my sights. They stay in my sights, except they are quite rapidly disappearing from my sight! They proceed downhill like they are tied to a rope attached to a boulder which is plunging off the edge of the world! I've run out of gears so can't pedal any faster, and no matter how much I tuck down it's bye bye! I finally catch them when gravity combines with a flat surface to turn the tables in my favour. As I approach from the rear, Amy turns around and takes a photo (she is adept at this), and I pretend that I am not dying of exhaustion. Here it is:



A little down the road, and I have recovered, so I decide to take the option ride and peel off to my right at an intersection. Except it turns out that's not the option road! 18Km down that road, I realise that the non-existent T-junction I should've encountered 2 kms ago means I've dicked up 3 times in one day! Still I ride down a steepish hill for two kms just to be sure before turning around and riding up the even more steepish hill to re-trace my steps.

The road to this point was a bit rough, but OK. The other side of the road back is a tooth-rattling, arse-belting shaker! I guess this is the old road side! With my eyes marbling up and down in my skull, I finally arrive at the road into Sunriver, magically manage to follow a complex set of directions (mainly coz I rode on the road, not the designated bikepath) and ended up where I should: at Robb and my digs for the night! A 120km day in the saddle is over.

Most people are well and truly ensconced in their units, but I manage to snaffle a beer (thanks Wilder!) and wander up to the (nice) room, where Robb is showering and preparing for the night's meal.

A shower and short walk later, we are inside the Sunriver Lodge, which looks great, and spend a nice few hours having a leisurely and yummy dinner, myself and Robb chatting and generally having a great time with the guides and various guests. Mark shows he has a humorous side by allowing Stevie to take a photo of him drinking wine, which is a rare event indeed: he even puts on a drunk face which is extremely convincing. Apparently the food service is a bit slow, but I don't notice – I get a little stewed (not too bad) and am impressed by the hard working waitress Sue (Hi Sue!).

Afterwards, we doddle along the short walk back to the rooms, and a plan formulates amongst a few to be driven up to Dutchman Flat early-ish the next morning (thank you to the charming Stevie) to once again flog the downhill section of earlier that afternoon. My thoughts wander to attaching an ACME rocket Wile E. Coyote-style to my back to get my revenge on the tandem terrors...

Part 3: Cycling Crater Lake Oregon – Day 2

Amazingly, the ultra short bed at Westfir had not interfered with my sleep, and I awoke to the gentle sounds of nature: slight breezes whispered, birds twittered with the promise of the new day, the house popped and tinkled as the sun warmed its expanding joints, and the gentle sounds of grunting filled the air...errhhh, what?

The gentle grunting was emanating from the foot of my roomy Robb's bed. Robb, at 64, has the body of a man approximately half his age . This is NOT an accident of evolution – Robb does about ten million sit ups and core crunches every morning. If he was one of those sea otters that crack crabs on their stomach whilst floating on the water, he would be King of the Sea Otters. He would sneer at the individual crabs, go pounce on the nearest fishing freighter carrying tons of crustaceans, wrestle it into submission and crack IT on his stomach! Robb's abs have abs.

Anyway, this was no surprise, as he had already informed me that he had an early morning routine which involved some physical exercise (I had imagined that exercise to consist of him crawling out of bed, and wrestling his false teeth into his mouth). Turns out it's a lot more strenuous than that. If I wasn't such a lazy-arsed slacker, the sheer guilt of hearing him performing such herculean feats morning after morning would've motivated me to perhaps contemplate some form of morning physicality. Well, that and the fact that I sleep like a log on these trips, hence remained undisturbed until he wakes me at an appropriate time just before breakfast each morning.

Robb is great value – very easygoing and chatty, with an innate sense of accommodating the other person, and definitely a little eccentric. He's a bit like a groovy hippy with latent corporate sensibilities – he says "man", "bro" and "good job" a lot. But he is not at all show – he genuinely is those things and a real pleasure to know. He is also a super tough and gutsy rider who loves a challenge.

Breakfast is lovely, the day is fine and warming up: perfect for cycling. Today is a 100km day in the saddle traversing the Aufderheide Scenic Byway, which sounds impressive and indeed is.

Robb and I saddle up and begin the first of what are many enjoyable rides together on this tour. He is a perfect riding companion – likes the company, but doesn't feel obliged to engage in endless chatter, and doesn't mind at all if one wants to blast away for a while. Throughout the tour we'll ride many kms together, and he indulges me in my need to circle back and see how he's doing: he claims it motivates him, but he doesn't need motivation (he could pull a truck over a mountain) and clearly it's more for my benefit than his.

The journey up to lunch takes us through lovely forests, the road occasionally skirting the sides of rivers. So scenic in fact, that I don't take a single picture! Sorry! In actuality, it feels so good to finally be riding seriously that I forget where I am and just get enveloped in the kms as they roll under the wheels.

Just prior to lunch, the route directions indicate there is a "steep two mile climb to Box Canyon". Immediately after this, they read "Congratulations – you made it". There is no middle message reading "If you don't read the congratulations message, you have died on the climb and have been rolled off the side of the road into the gutter where you will assimilated by nature!". This climb is a steep little bugga. This, and yesterday's climb on which I ingloriously hopped off, convince me that trying to ride up climbs with a low gear of 39 by 25 at 40 rpm is NOT smart – I resolve to talk to the tour guides about finding a suitable bike shop in the upcoming days, and replacing the 53/39 front crank with a compact 50/34 (I refuse the ignominy of a granny – I am seriously stupid!).

After I crest the climb and find the lunch van, I courageously determine that I will go down the hill again to assist Robb in the climb – after all, the poor old sod IS 64! Immediately I get to the top of the hill, the "poor old sod" is there and looking decidedly better than I felt. Hmmm, I resolve never to assist this man again because he makes me look like shit!

Lunch is welcome and yummy as always. The post lunch route talk (which head guide Mark is big on) I studiously ignore – hasn't this guy heard about my legendary ability to turn up eventually even tho' I have no idea where I am going?

More great riding after lunch (mostly downhill) followed by a unique opportunity – there is a chance to jump off a bridge into the water below! Prior to arriving at the place, it sounds like a good idea: the day is warm, the sun is out, and a bridge is just a bridge right? Yeh – right!

OK – a warning. If you are an employee of Bicycle Adventures and did NOT participate in the following folly, for legal reasons please GO AWAY NOW! Also, if you are a member of the legal profession and have in the past, currently, or plan at any time in the future to have any dealings at all with Bicycle Adventures, GO AWAY AND DIE! Now we've cleared that up, let us continue.

Said bridge loomed up and it looked fairly normal. Walking across its span and peering over the side made it seem less normal. Tiny ant-sized creatures on the banks beside the river below screamed up at us that it was perfectly safe to jump off of. Of course it was safe to jump off of – the unsafe part was when you landed in the water a kilometer below at terminal velocity! Compounding this was the fact that the launch place for the jump seemed to be a very specific, tiny part of the bridge marked by some illegible hieroglyphics.

Well, after severe taunting from 'Unnamed Tour Guide No. 1' (aka 'Searingly-Gorgeous' Stevie), gentle persuasion from 'Unnamed Tour Guide No. 2' (aka 'I-get-paid-to-flirt' Wilder – explanation later), and admirable encouragement from the rest of the gang, I arrange a deathly bargain where the three of us will jump off...

'Unnamed Tour Guide No. 1' and I do a joint assault: we hop on the guard rail, launch off together and, a surprisingly long time afterwards for what is only really a thirty foot jump, we hit the water. The water itself is actually rather nice - a bit chilly perhaps - but the effect of the impact is not all that flash: seems I didn't quite keep my legs together, and the force of the water impacting in unmentionable regions has tried to force my riding shorts up someplace where they shouldn't go. Ouch! Still, it passes and No. 1 and I retreat to the banks, just in time to watch No. 2 more theatrically leap from the rail. He survives!

Triumphant, we gather on the banks and let the adoring fans take our photos, the evidence of which is below:





Post-leap (actually, Wilder does another leap for reasons I still have not fathomed), people climb back up on their bikes and re-commence the journey to the night's destination. I am a late leaver as I attempt to dry my cycle shorts by sliding along the bridge's metal guard rail, in similar fashion to how a dog attempts to rid itself of worms.

After a while, I catch up to Robb, and he and I spend the rest of the time scooting in and out of lovely canyoned roads running alongside what I believe is Cougar Reservoir ( I didn't spy any attractive older women, but I guess they stored them somewhere?) The roads are perfect and the views wonderful – of course, I once again have no pics!

We eventually ride into the McKenzie Riverside Cottages (perversely a collection of delightful 'homelets' nestled alongside the lovely McKenzie River) and we immediately assail head guide Mark for our hard-won right: Beer! We park ourselves and our two bottles of liberated stuff on two chairs on a grassy area beside the river and imbibe, looking at Mark zoom about in a golf cart, and wondering after 30 or so minutes where the rest of the gang is.

Turns out Mark hates Robb and I, as the rest of the gang have been ensconced on one of the 'homelet's' patios overlooking the river, and are nibbling on eats and getting boozed up! (see pic below). So Mark, that's how it's to be...



Once the dust has settled, it's time for allocation of cabins/homelets. Because Robb and I have somehow incurred Mark's wrath, we are separated and he gets his own little shack to himself whilst I am...thrown in with the guides! WTF?

Still, the house is nice, as you can see...



... and I get to have THE BIGGEST ROOM! Haha – sux 2 b u guide doods!

Dinner is at the 'Holiday Farm' restaurant. Lovely little place with big tables, cheery atmosphere, cute waitpersons etc etc. It is here that Wilder's remuneration deal is made clear: he is the world's biggest flirt with the ladies, and I figure no-one can be that blatant about it without being paid by the attempt-to-score! More maddening, the man is GOOD! His obvious puppy-dog-eyes, compliments-galore approach soon has the wait-girls flocking to do his bidding! I make hay whilst the sun shines and politely ask one of the ladies for a beer, stating charmingly that I'd make do with her much-appreciated recommendation: she looks at me with the loathing reserved for someone who has just been observed biting the head off of a cute fluffy kitten! Damn you Wilder...!

Talk turns to ordering, and Wilder makes repeated reference to something called 'babybacks' I think (the mind boggles). Anyway, turns out you can get these things in either half or full dose. Pressed by Wilder and the you-killed-a-kitten waitress, who both assure me I can consume a full portion of these, I demure and order same.

Soon thereafter, what appears to be the carcass of half of a full grown super-animal coated with around 1,000 gallons of a barbecue sauce variant appears in front of me. OK, this is to be divided amongst the whole table, right? Apparently not, for soon after the same mound arrives in front of Wilder.

These things are ribs, most likely from a prehistoric giant-sized version of what we know of as a cow. I know why these beasts became extinct – their meat became so dense and heavy that the were glued to the surface of the earth by gravity, and were picked off at leisure by the carnivores of the time. Who incidentally also became extinct via this act of consumption.

After struggling thru' HALF of one of these things, my stomach shut down and refused further input. Cunningly, I passed off the remainder to my good friend Steve, keeping a straight face whilst telling him they were delightful.

Post dinner, I dragged my now considerably heavier body back to the house. Arriving, I attempted to sit down but failed. Apparently the highly dense matter I'd consumed had gravitated to the lowest point of my body near my ankles, and I was like one of those punching-bag clowns that return to standing position no matter how hard you knock them over.

Whilst I exaggerate slightly, those things were HUGE!

Karen and Sandra, two charming ladies on the tour, arrive and are roped into playing some card game by Mark, along with Stevie. They try and persuade me to join in, but I've managed to sit and stay down, so there's no getting up.

I finally roll off to bed and am asleep in seconds: my body has decided to shut my mind off from what it must do to repair itself from the effects of the 100km ride and, mostly, the 'babybacks'.