Part 10: Cycling Volcanoes of Washington – Day 2

Day 2 of the tour, and the promise was for more hot weather – VERY hot!

Had a great breakfast at the Iron Horse – it's amazing the quantity of trinkets, memorabilia, etc this place has re: trains specific to the area.

Today was a longish one in the saddle – around 120-odd kms in all, so we started off fairly early. It was also a ride with lots of turns and direction changes, which for me meant keeping someone in sight who knew where they were going!

I'm struggling to remember any specific details of the morning's ride: I recall it being a little cloudy, not too hot, and over rolling terrain, but that's about it. No pics in my camera, so I'm guessing the terrain was fairly unremarkable!

I do recall tootling along and having a nice chat with Charis – during which we tootlingly managed to get off the official route and do an extra little loop of around 8 miles or so. It was pleasant enough – thru open green farm fields. Charis is a very charming and intelligent lady, so the time passed quickly as we chatted. We both pestered a farmer about where the hell we were, and both times he muttered something which distilled down to "over there a ways – and stop bothering me!" We rejoined the offical route just behind Nick and Judy – we'd caught a glimpse of them crossing the road some distance ahead, and so did a little team time trial to catch them.

We stopped for lunch after around 55km – apparently! *shrug*

I do remember the afternoon ride to our night's destination of Birchfield Manor – it was HOT! Erm – 105 degrees F I believe!

Most of the afternoon's ride followed the Yakima River, which flows through the Yakima Valley - here's some pics below:





The Yakima Valley snakes its way through rather sandy and dusty terrain for what I can attest is a considerable distance. The valley is a sizeable 'V' trench at which whose bottom the river resides. The road follows the valley, cut into its side. On a sunny and generally windless day, one would imagine that the heat inside the valley floor would rise up and generate air movements which, flowing across the river surface and taking up its life-giving moisture, would be cooler than the surrounding air. You can imagine that all you like, but apparently things in the Yakima Valley work differently... Here, the entire energy of the sun concentrates into the narrow space of the valley, compresses the air into an impenetrable barrier, and then proceeds to cook all that dwells within: plants, animals, man-made structures etc. Brown was the prevailing colour – except for the river, which appeared to be a molten-lava red, and the road surface, which was a shiny liquid black.

At first the group comprised a nice little pace line – but that wasn't going to last long. It soon became apparent to me that the only chance of survival was if one got out of there as soon as possible – i.e. pedal for your life. So I did.

Lynn and Richard, a stellar pair of cyclists, had also independently arrived at that conclusion and started to draw away into the distance, so I quickly decided that they were salvation and must be followed at all costs. Best decision I made all tour – we rolled along together winningly, and soon were progressing out of this hellish landscape, dodging molten pools of asphalt as we went.

At one point, it was decided a short trip down to the river was required in order to get wet. We duly scooted down to the next parking area, ignoring the many 'Yakimarians' doing laps of the parking lot in their huge trucks, lying about on the small river bank searing their flesh, or bobbing about in the river on tire tubes which appeared to be being swiftly carried away by the rapid flow. Parking my bike beside the brick structure which was presumably a toilet - well it was, coz the toxic fumes emitting from it proceeded to melt my jersey! - I slid down to the river and dunked what remained of it into the water and drenched myself. Walking back to my bike I dried nicely, and by the time I'd remounted and made my way back to the road I was moisture-free and unhindered by whatever cooling effects I may have experienced! Truly frikkin' pointless!

Saddled up, we squinted our eyes, hunched over our bikes, and commenced the slog to a mythical 'Fruit and Cider' Shop, which apparently signaled the end of the torture. This shop was, on paper, some 55 kms from our lunchstop: in hindsight, I think they meant 'light-kilometres', as in how far light travels in said distance. It just seemed to take forever: the road was sticky and the air heavy. Luckily, at one point the van materialised out of the haze ahead (it passed us?) and I salvaged some cool water out of the back and dumped it on my head! Not being totally brain-fried, I also drank and refilled my bottle.

Eventually, after many years of toil, we reached the 'Fruit and Cider' Shop and retreated into its shaded and air conditioned interior. Lynn, being the gracious and kind-hearted person she is, bought me a cold can of Coke, which saved my life, and fueled me up for the final 16 km journey to Birchfield Manor.

Yes, this wasn't our stopping point – we'd been told the van wouldn't be here for a considerable period of time, as its role today was one of saving lives (an admirable goal), and so we decided to make our own way to the Manor as it possessed the Holy Grail of the parched cyclist – A POOL!!!!

Running on autopilot, I followed Lynn and Richard as they navigated their way along a bunch of twists and turns to the Manor. At one point we cruised on a bike path alongside a river – it was under 100 degrees I'm sure, so really pleasant!

Turning into the drive of the Manor, my senses were on high alert looking for any indication as to the direction and distance of the pool. And then, it appeared! And then, I was in it! Amazingly enough, I'd actually taken the time to get off my bike and remove most of my gear before I crept in. I say crept because the pool was comparatively cold, and required the 'centimetre by centimetre' entry technique – if I'd have jumped in in one hit, I'm fairly certain my heart would have exploded through my chest and fled. As it was I reached a 'certain' level (round about one's waist) and then just went for it. Here's a pic:



It was Nirvana! Later, as others started to filter in, and then the van with its all important cargo of beer arrived, it was Nirvana plus Beer! We alternately swam and sat for what seemed like hours – it was just so good!



At one point, we were joined by the Manor's dog – a young Rottweiler who's name I've forgotten - who was a charming brute, and mooched around stealing food, playing and eating ice!: the beast loved ice.

I took a pic of a number of the bikes (mine included) acting as clothes hangers whilst their parched owners frolicked about in and around the pool. There were more titanium bikes in this group than I'd seen in my entire life – half a dozen, which I thought was noteworthy.



After hours in the pool, I eventually decided to make my way to my room, a wonderful second story one with view over the pool, and a SPA! So, I spent another hour or so in it!

Dinner that night was at the Manor itself. An award winning dining establishment, the food was magnificent: the Manor was an absolute god-send after a scorching hot day. Everyone was in good spirits – I guess you get grateful when you travel through Hell and survive!

Part 9: Cycling Volcanoes of Washington – Day 1

Part 9 and onwards of the blog will cover my tour of the Volcanoes of Washington running from the 16th-23rd August.

Once again, all my pics can be found at:

Volcanoes of Washington Tour 2008 Photos.

And for details of the trip itself, please visit:

Bicycle Adventures.

Friday 15th was the final day of my previous Tour, and there was a fair bit of travelling involved in order to make the start of the Volcanoes trip the next day! Luckily for me, Bicycle Adventures had been extremely co-operative in getting this to happen: it involved riding back in the van from our finish point of the Crater Lake Tour all the way back to Olympia, Washington (the headquarters of Bicycle Adventures) and an overnight stay there before being picked up bright and early by the new van and guides, and making our way to Seattle, the start proper of the tour! Phew!

The van ride back from the Crater Lake Tour to Olympia was spent in the company of Head Guide Mark. Contrary to my early instincts of Mark, he proved to be a great personality and guy – clearly my issues with him were more of my own doing: I'm not big on planning to the nth degree (at least not whilst ON tour!). He and I chatted pretty much not stop for the 5 or so hours the trip took. This included a stop off a a fast-food Mexican place somewhere (the names escape me – both the locale AND the food-place!) which was wonderfully clean, and had great food. Pity I can't give 'em a plug by name!

So, after a long journey and amusing stories from Mark re: the life of a guide (and he's been doing this sort of thing a long time hence there were plenty!), he deposited a grateful me at my overnight place of the Phoenix Inn in Olympia. Thanks Mark!

It was getting on by this time, so a shower, a quick organisation of my stuff etc, and I was ready to hit the sack for the early rise tomorrow. I rose a LOT earlier than needed – just couldn't get back to sleep after waking in the early am's. So, it was a little wait before I trundled downstairs with my gear and the Dean in tow in preparation for pickup.

On the dot of when it was meant to (7am? Maybe), a familiar silver van pulled up, and I met Diane and Derek, the Guides for Volcanoes. Only two guides and 1 van this time, as travel size restrictions within some of the parks means only a max of 10 people can do the Tour.

Now, I could be wrong, but I think there were 2 couples – Lynn and Richard, and Ron and Barbara – also aboard/boarding at this time. My lack of clarity says nothing about their memorableness, and everything about my somewhat brain-addled state!

So, myself plus an indeterminate number of others (but I'm guessing 6!) piled in (us and the luggage) and on (the bikes) the van for the 90-odd minute trip to a hotel in Seattle where we would pick up the remaining 5 (or thereabouts) guests. I'm confused now, but it improves! Let's just say by the end of the trip to Seattle and just prior to us heading off to our first point of call, there were definitely 10 guests (Judy and Nick, Randy and Cheris, and Kathy rounding out the guest numbers) and 2 guides in one van towing one trailer!

Our destination was our accommodation of that night – the Iron Horse Inn at Cle Elum, Washington. From there it would be an out-and-back cycle thru' the town and along the Teanaway River.

The Iron Horse is a historical house with a railway theme: the house itself is chock-full of interesting train memorabilia, and further in service of the theme, has a number of train carriages spread throughout the property which serve as lodgings.

Here's some pics of the place, including one of the carriages:







Pretty cool – I wanted one, but given that I was to be rooming by myself this tour, I was in the house itself (still extremely nice!)

So, after an excellent and much needed lunch (I'd skipped brekky!) and socialising (I painstakingly put to memory all relevant names by incessantly repeating them in my head ad-nauseum), we got set up to hit the roads. But first – the route talk! I skilfully appeared to listen whilst having a little nap – why stop now? Pretty difficult to get lost on an out-and-back, even for me!

One little hitch about the day – it was warm: REALLY warm. And getting warmer. MUCH warmer. Apparently it had been high-ish 30's Celsius the day before, and was tipped to go even hotter! Hmmm! Just to be safe, I backed off the tire pressures a bit whilst the tyres were cool, and filled up the water bottles with ice and water.

Tootling out of the Inn, we set off through downtime Cle Elum, which looked and felt surprisingly like some of the country towns in my State's wheatbelt where I'd spent some years as a kid: 1 large, wide main street, square layout, railway tracks tracing one edge of the built up area, etc.

This day, Cle Elum was host to a car show, so the main drag was closed off to traffic, and lots of cars of various vintages lined the street. We figured the closure didn't count for bikes, so ambled up the middle of the drag, checking out some excellent rods, mods and restores as we went. At one point there was a really loud bang, and I assumed it was a firecracker, backfire, celebratory gunshot! or something – I later found out that it was the inner tube of one of our party's bikes exploding! On checking, Nick found not only his tube dead, but a rip in the tire carcass as well – luckily a bike shop was nearby so repairs were effected eventually! This was the start of a run of flats for Nick and his wife Judy throughout the tour.

Once thru' the cars, we picked up pace along the route – I was doing the usual 'I don't have my route map visible so follow others' trick. At some point I knew we'd get onto a road which simply went 'out-and-back' and then I was safe – as long as I remembered the route back from that point.

Because basically everyone else on the tour was a couple, I felt a bit weird about crowding them. It was also clear that the riders on this tour were used to riding in groups, but weren't sure about others, so they weren't all that keen on mixing it immediately with unknown quantities, which is fair enough. So I did the old hover around but not too close thing – depending on the pace I could stay in gaps or get out front and hang by myself.

As we got into some nicer rural horse ranch type stuff, the road became a little rougher (but still OK) and the temperatures became hot: hot enough that I decided that, rather than let the water in one of my bottles superheat, I was going to drink it now! Which is fine, except for when you still have a way to go before the return! But thinking is not my strong point.

After around 16km, we hit the road that went out-and-back, so I thought I'd take off. It was a nice road – undulating with a decent surface, and shade in places. From here it was going to be a 36km or so return to the same spot, which seemed fairly short to me. Apparently the road turned to gravel at some point, so I wasn't going to get lost!

It was a nice ride out – hot but not hugely so, and with enough rises and dips to get a good rolling pace going, plus some nice farm-and-fields type views. And bugga all traffic! Plonking along, I was enjoying myself, although the heat was noticeable, particularly when a couple of bits of the tarmac got a little wet and softish looking!

Reaching the gravel, I dutifully turned round and grabbed a quick drink from my remaining bottle, which I just as dutifully spat out: it was hot as! Hmmm, 34km back to the accommodations with boiled water and not much else. Oh well, best take it slightly easier! I'll just stay in the shadier parts of the road.

Fine in theory, but this was real-life, and in this realm, the sun changes angle in the sky and past shade on the road disappears! As I cycled back, passing others on their way out, it got increasingly hot, decreasingly shady, and suspiciously head-windy! Plus my sunscreen felt like it was about to give out!

OK – dilemma: do I take it easy and slug it out, or try and run like a vampire from the rising sun? After another tentative taste of my water bottle, I decided I'd rather die of exertion than exposure, so I doused myself with half of the hot water that remained in my bottle and made a run for it!

Suffice to say that I made it with dry bottles, mega-sweaty clothes, a killer thirst, and my sunscreen on its absolute last legs! The day had turned into a bit of a scorcher! But, as per usual, the saving grace at the end was a cold beer: well, coldish. There were a bunch of bikes already stored in the gazebo, so it looked like some people had smartly turned around earlier at a point just short of irradiation: not-so-smart-me plopped my bike in with the rest of the herd (see below) and scooted upstairs to my shower!



After a chillingly cold shower (I hope we weren't meant to be observing water restrictions!) and a nice read on the bed, I put on my sartorial best (which is pretty shabby!) and headed off with the rest of the guests - apparently all had survived - to the eatery of the night.

Post a lovely meal, Head Guide Diane suggested we crash a little cafe which had great icecream. Drooling in anticipation (it was still very warmish) we shuffled off to the cafe – which was closed! Well, according to the sign on its door it was open until 9pm, but clearly no sign was going to stop this place from closing at 8:40pm!

So, given that pretty much everything else in the place seemed to follow the same convention, we were resigned to going without icecream.

Until someone suggested Dairy Queen – or 'DQ' as it seems to wish to be known as now. I think the corporation shortened the name so as to remove the spurious mention of the word 'Dairy', because as far as I could tell, there was nothing remotely resembling dairy products in what squeezed out of their dispensers!

I've never had 'DQ' before – I never will again. If I was roasting in the fires of hell and in unspeakable agony, and someone offered me a 'DQ' to chill out, I'd refuse it. Quite apart from the fact that it doesn't taste like any icecream I've ever had, I'm pretty sure that icecream isn't meant to taste anything like it does!

Having all purchased some variation of the same white stuff, we'd wandered outside to consume it (which soon proved to be a grand folly!). Richard, an older chap with a killer sense of humour, and an awesome rider to boot, set off a chain of witticisms which had me choking with laughter, on top of choking on this stuff. He spoke about 're-purposing', which appeared to be a naval term for resurrecting something past its use-by date for another purpose, and it went from there. We arrived at a plausible theory about why there was no-one alive who knew the formula for making this stuff, ergo, there was no longer a need to know, as the huge bin outside the place (which was full of 'DQ's' in various states of unconsumed decay) had a pump and piping at the bottom of it which sucked the sorry mass back into a tank where it was chilled, it multiplied and was re-dispensed! Richard was to have us all laughing many more times throughout the tour.

We ambled back to the Iron Horse and went off to our respective abodes. After a very hot first-day ride we were all interested in sleep. I hit the sack and nodded off to images of robot cows hooked to massive machines extruding lines of a substance whose ingredients are forever a mystery...

Part 8: Cycling Crater Lake Oregon – Day 7

Day 7 – final day of our adventure!

On my previous tours last year, I'd got a little blue on the final days: stuff about leaving a group of people you'd come to regard, the finale of the occasion etc. Although it's still a little sting, this time I felt good, focusing on the positives rather than what I'd really miss. One thing on this trip I'd learned is that occasionally, amazing things happen, and you get to see people you admire and appreciate again: the appearance of Steve and Amy, my friends from the 2007 Glacier Tour testified to that. If you read this Amy and Steve, my eternal gratefulness for your presence on tour: it was such a bonus to have you there.

OK, that morning I'd decided to cement my immortality (or some such foolish notion), and follow thru' with an earlier idea that Steve and I had had re: swapping jerseys. I'd spied a jersey that Steve had worn several times thru' the tour – a great looking iradescent white, green/yellow one I'd admired from afar. We decided we'd swap and I'd give him one of my Perth specific ones.

So that morning at breakfast, I took my 3 Perth-specific ones down to breakfast and let Steve choose which one of mine he wanted. Murray, another cool guy on tour, decided to get in on the act, and wanted to exchange one of his unique ones for mine! Cool!

So, Steve ended up getting my 2007 Perth Great Bike Ride jersey, a 53km cycle around the Swan River foreshore from Perth to Fremantle and back – check out the website below:

Perth Great Bike Ride Website.

The cool thing about this jersey is that it has a map of the route on the back – so not only will Steve have a jersey which no-one he's ever likely to ride with in future has ever seen, but he can market Perth to the world! In return, I got his gem of a jersey which commemorates the 2007 charity ride from Tiberias to Jerusalem in Israel for the Children of Alyn Hospital – a wonderful prize.

Murray scored my 2008 Perth Freeway Bike Hike jersey, another great ride in Perth along the freeway system – website is below:

Perth Freeway Bike Hike.

Murray reciprocated by giving me an extremely unique jersey for the Harrisburg Bicycle Club - awesome! Turns out this one has done a fair bit of travelling with him, so I promised that whenever it travelled again, I'd take pics to show its journeys are continuing!

Finally, because of all the help he'd been to me on Tour with chasing down some equipment (plus being such a nice all-round fun guy), I gave guide Wilder my 2007 Freeway Bike Hike jersey. He'd already payed me – his continuous outrageous flirting with female wait-persons had shown me techniques with the ladies I'd never dreamed of! (Unfortunately, I doubt they'd work without the user also possessing Wilder's boyish charm and personality!)

I've resolved from now on to try and make this exchange a tradition – hopefully it will continue!

So, exchanges and brekky over, we saddled up for the last day's ride, which nicely, was almost all downhill! (Lucky for me, as I was starting my next tour, The Volcanoes of Washington, the very next day!).

I took a last look around the Crater from the first pull-in near the Lodge and then set off downhill after the others. The following 24kms rolled very quickly under our wheels – after an initial few little climbs around the Rim road I think I might have pedaled casually once or twice, but only to remind myself that my legs were still attached to the cranks.

Most of us stopped at the sign indicating the North entrance to the park – below is a pic of Steve, myself and Murray in our exchanged jerseys (obviously I'm only wearing one of mine – Steve's – as it was a little hot to put on two!). Also below is a pic of me holding my bike over my head – a tradition with me. Exhibiting rare intelligence, I'd removed my water bottle from my bike prior to this feat – the last time I'd taken such a picture ( 2007 Glacier Tour at the Canadian Border), the bottle had detached and bounced of my head!





Turning right off the main road, we transferred to the bike path running around a beautiful body of water named Diamond Lake. The pace slowed right down and we pleasantly ambled our way around the lake, stopping at various points like a boat ramp, and a little stream:





It was all lovely forest/meadow style growth – an excellent way to wind down the tour.

At one point , we came across three men in camouflage gear with huge bows: fortunately they weren't hunting cyclists. They told us to 'watch out for the bear' – Umm, OK? Later we learned from Karen that she had had a baby bear cross the bikepath right in front of her – of course, she wondered where 'Mummy' was!

After trundling around the bike path to Diamond Lake Lodge, we exited the path and hopped onto the last 16 kms of roads we'd travel on this Tour, our destination the lunch spot and finishing point of Clearwater Falls. Those last 16 kms were pretty much another downhill fang, so the Falls came up pretty quick. Here's a pic of me at the falls in my newly acquired jersey from Steve:



One final lunch (as per usual delicious), a quick trek around, and then the 'Graduation Ceremony'! In a lovely surprise, Head Guide Mark handed out a commemorative 1859 Crater Lake quarter, minted in 2005 and encased in plastic. Wow! Here's the guides at the Falls – (l to r, Wilder, Stevie and Mark):



So, just like that, it was over! We still had a van ride back to Eugene and then Portland, where we'd drop off various guests and say our goodbyes, and I was in fact staying in the van all the way to Olympia, Washington for an overnight stay in preparation for my pickup the next day for the start of my 'Volcanoes of Washington' Tour. (I'll cover those details in a following post). But, that was it!

Doing this blog is such a great way of recalling all the great experiences I had on tour – during the hectic days on tours, things tend to blend and blur into each other, and the chronology and details of the various tours get swapped around and generally inter-raveled. Viewing my and others pics (thanks to all those who put up their pics online) clarifies the events, and brings many memories into life that are otherwise missed. Of course, I'm not saying I can accurately recall EVERY detail of the tour, and a certain license is employed occassionally, but I think what I've outlined is a pretty accurate description of the great times had and wonderful people met.

To ALL those on the tour, thank you so much for the camaraderie and good times: the group experience is what makes the tour so fantastic. Special acknowledgments to my roomy Robb – you are the man! - and to Amy and Steve for their friendship and presence: it meant so much to have you there!

Also major thanks to the wonderful guides Wilder, Stevie and Mark: the tour was the success it was because of your tireless work, cheerful dispositions and unique personalities.

Finally, thanks to all at Bicycle Adventures: 4 down and a lot more to come!

If you want to find out more about the Crater Lake Tour, any of the tours Bicycle Adventures does, or the company itself, head to their website! I sincerely believe you won't forget a moment you spend on one of their tours!

Bicycle Adventures Site.

Coming up – my hazy recollections of the "Volcanoes of Washington" tour!

Part 7: Cycling Crater Lake Oregon – Day 6

It's a layover day, but it ain't no rest day! Around the Crater rim we go – well, at least on the roads around the rim. And it's either up or down – no flat spots :)

Up at the reasonable time of 7:30 for the morning invasion of the lodge restaurant for breakfast followed by the preparation for riding. No packing today as we are at the Lodge tonite, so yay!

It's another beautiful day – the weather has been nothing short of superb on this trip – and everyone is doing the Rim Ride. We are a hardy lot!

We are heading in a clock-wise direction around the rim to the North and back around. Whilst the road is up and down all day, the slightly longer and steeper climbs are on the last part of the ride – who dreamed that route up?: that's right, Guides!

It is a guides biological imperative to seek out unsuspecting victims and attempt to break them. So far our guides had been unsuccessful, but they seemed particularly chirpy today?

Ok, out of the Lodge and retrace the route we came in on, and immediately there are climbs, but that's OK: we aren't stuffed yet! I stop off at the top of the first climb and take yet another picture of the stunning vista of the Lake and Wizard Island:



Next, Robb and I pull into the first major lay-in (where I had the squirrel encounter of the previous day) and Robb takes a photo of me sitting imperiously on the sharp end of a log, unconcerned about the massive vertical drop quite a safe distance away. I had hoped the angle would have foreshortened the apparent closeness of the cliff to something akin to 'dangerous proximity', but Robb has managed to acquire the pic in such a way that I merely look like a bit of a knob sitting on a lump of wood! (as can be plainly seen below:)



As can also be observed, this day I wore my 'Maple Leaf' Canada jersey that I had purchased during the Glacier, Banff, Jasper tour I did in 2007. I purchased this on the day that myself and young roomy Jacob were subjected to the weirdness of the township of Lake Louise, specifically our discovery that seemingly everybody native to the township spoke 'surfer dude-ese' (see this blog entry for the complete story: Glacier, Banff, Jasper Day 5).

Unstrangely enough (given that I now had a giant maple leaf and the words 'Canada' emblazoned on a jersey so searingly red that firefighters automatically felt compelled to dowse me) I had several encounters with other people during the ride around the Rim inquiring as to which part of Canada I was from, including one rather awkward one where a bunch of people at our lunch stop halted their car and cheeringly enquired as to my hometown in Canada, rattled of theirs before I replied, and then looked strangely wounded when I got out, in an Australian accent, that I wasn't actually Canadian. I got the sense that they felt that one shouldn't be wearing such a Jersey unless one actually WAS from the place. Their confused and hurt looks almost made me want to rip it off there and then.

Anyway, I'm not up to lunch yet: it was still early morning, and the elevational ping pong had just begun.

Immediately, it was obvious that Crater Lake had a rather abundant supply of butterflies: there were in fact, shit-loads of them! Largish, Monarch-looking ones (well, they were orange!). These creatures were everywhere, and in such proportions that on downhills where any speed was gathered, they actually posed a slight hazard to the more exposed parts of the face. After one such downhill, a person following me mentioned that I was riding a little erratically: in one of my more genius moments, I'd figured that I could predict the intersection paths of many hundreds of butterflies and myself simultaneously, and thus strategically avoid them! I will still claim that I hit less this way!

The road swooped and dove nicely, and after around 17 kms, Robb and I pulled into a car park above 'Cleetwood Cove', which is the launch point for the boats that do hourly cruises around the lake. (In the picture of me above sitting on the fence, you can just make out on the lake surface a tiny form which was one of these boats. They look like 2-3 person boats: they actually hold around twenty people, each in their own seat. The Lake is a long way down from the rim!).

Whilst we weren't going to do a cruise, we did want to wander down and check the joint out. The guides had cunningly deposited the hiking boots of the persons wanting to see the Cove with the Park Guide at the carpark, so we equipped ourselves and, after a warning from the guide that you needed to take water as it was dry and dusty on the way down, off Robb and I went just behind Greg and Elliott. Crossing the road to the start of the trail down to the Cove, more posted signs warning of dire consequences regarding the failure to take water with you had me wondering what was in store. The next sign explained nicely: the climb down to and up from the Cove was apparently equivalent to climbing a 20,000 storey building via its stair well (perhaps not 20,000 storeys, but certainly a lot more stairs than I'd ever climbed in my life). It also cheerily informed us (underneath several pictograms consisting of a skull and crossbones, the skeletons of dead humans, and a number of stick figures hand-etched into the sign which I presume was the daily mortality count) that it was a mile down, and a mile up. Pffftttt – easy!

Obviously this mile was not a vertical distance – I don't have a clue what that actual distance was, but the trail was naturally enough a switchback style one, hence the mile measure.

The walk down was pleasant enough – indeed slightly dusty and a little warm in the exposed places, but I saw no carcasses of unsuccessful hikers, so proceeded on. At one point near the top of the climb, a guy ran past us down the trail (deliberately I might assure) and then some time later before we had reached the bottom, ran past us again UP the trail. He looked fit. I assume he wasn't going to be a statistic of this appallingly difficult challenge, particularly as he wasn't even bothering to raise a sweat whilst motoring past at some inhuman pace.

Reaching the bottom, we found a lovely little Cove nestled below a higher rock boardwalk which we paraded along. The water was amazingly clear, a stunning aquamarine a little way out to shore, and slowly deepening into dark blue. Robb, Elliott, Greg and I ventured further along and came to a cliff overhanging the Lake. Being supreme daredevils, we calmly strode towards the cliff's edge and took turns taking each other's group photo as we stood like conquerors atop Everest. Our confidence was buoyed by the fact that the cliff was a mere 15 foot or so above the water.



Looking over the edge, the water was piercingly blue, and visibility seemed to go on forever. It looked especially inviting and we pondered going for a dip, but weren't sure. We ended up not doing so, but several people from a later group did go in, and I regret not doing so, especially as the walk up was hot and dusty!

At one point whilst we were photo-posing, a member of one of the tour boat crew wandered up to our neck of the woods(where a number of people were idling/sitting etc) from the dock 500 metres or so away and inquired as to whether there was anyone booked on the 12:30pm tour. After a few repetitions of this, a man, his wife and two kids who were sitting eating lunch replied in the affirmative. The guide then indicated that the boat was actually waiting for them: it was 12:35pm. This seemed to piss the father off, as he walked by mumbling something about finishing lunch to no-one in particular – meanwhile 20-odd other people were cooking on a stationary boat at Lake's edge? Huh?

We decided to head back up the climb and cycle our way to lunch. Suffice to say that I don't recall spending anywhere near as much time hiking down as I did going up! It was dry, dusty and hot plus – I ran out of water! I was going to end up another stick figure scratched into the sign, a testament to the life-threatening ability of the male of the species to ignore sound advice!

Of course, I did make it, and without drama, and dragged my tired legs back to the car park Ranger's shack where I'd left my cycling shoes, making sure to give no clues to the Ranger as to my deep desire to throw down litres of water.

Naturally, the biking to lunch was pretty much uphill all the way, but with very nice scenery (including some great spots to view the rim walls as per the pic below) so it progressed fairly smoothly.



The few downhills were liberally sprinkled with the ever-present butterflies/kamikazes. Also naturally, the lunch spot 'Cloud Cap Overlook' was one of those locations where you climb up to a flat, think you've made it, only to have a final little extra grind to the actual place. This occurs with regularity: a reminder of the perversity of the route planners.

Mind you, some people on the tour seemed to love this, Sandra and Tedi in particular. I think Sandra enjoyed it, but it was hard to tell: Sandra smiled at everything. If Sandra was Joan of Arc at the moment of her death she would have been smiling! I attempted at one point to get Sandra to look serious for a photo, but my camera's shutter speed just wasn't quick enough to catch it!

Tedi is one half of the Tedi and Ed show: an older couple who were having a perpetual love-in. The way these two enjoyed each others company was a pleasure to see. Tedi seemed to reserve her biggest smiles for the steepest climbs. At first I thought it was the thrill of the accomplishment, but later I suspect it was because when she got to the top, she got a bunch of hugs and kisses from Ed – the harder the climb, the more she got! They were a delightful couple and their easy-going, joyful nature always 'elevated' the group.

Lunch atop one of the highest spots on the rim was spectacular (both lunch and views) but so was the warmth. The sun seemed to be intensely close up here, and so I wandered off a way down into the vegetation off the parking area, and picked a nice cool shady spot under a little grove of trees and had a catnap! It was really lovely.

Post-lunch saw an optional ride of an out-and-back 20km down to a place called 'The Pinnacles': a 1500 feet elevation drop to be regained. Robb and I decided to do the downhill and wing it from there re: how we felt about the reverse climb. Greg and Elliot also came down.

The Pinnacles is an interesting formation of thin columns or spires which rise from the side of a valley (see pic below). They are the result of gas/water/steam columns rising from the ground in times past and mineralising the soil along which they traveled. This harder soil column remained when the softer surrounding soil was eroded away by water activity in the valley/gorge.



Robb, Greg and I decided to do the ride back up from the Pinnacles, a drag of around 5% for the 10 or so kms. We were aware that the remaining 20 or so kms back to the Lodge was also basically uphill but thought 'what the hell'. The ride was pretty nice – fairly covered and in green forest, with a road that was fairly bumpy (moreso than when coming down it at speed) but we progressed well, Greg and I having a nice chat about various things.

After a while, I decided to turn around and see how Robb was doing, so Greg went on his way and I circled back. He was doing it a little hard, but we carried on and he showed his character and toughness. He really is a great guy – he had done some big days of climbing throughout the tour, but he simply knuckled down and kept it going. He is very much like me in that regard – if you are going to do it, just do it the best you can.

Back on the Rim road we were joined by guide Stevie. It was a riding day for her and she promptly showed both of us how to do it by grinding up the rest of the way to the Lodge with nothing less than a 39/23 combo. Meanwhile I am wimping it out on a 34/23! She is one admirable lady, and looks like a natural on the bike: a minimum of fuss and a maximum of outcome.

There was a fun downhill of about 4 km on the final run, and some nice speeds were got: a good little rest before the final climb to the Lodge.

Robb was grinding it out nicely, and my thoughts turned to the Tandem Terrors: where were they? Given their infinite superiority on the downhills I had to take every opportunity on the uphills to remind them of their mere mortality! Stevie saw a bike ahead on an uphill corner, and with her graciously volunteering to keep an eye on Robb, I decided to pick it up and investigate. It was Karen, and she informed me that the Terrors were a little up the road! OK, time to take a serious dig. Knocking back a cog, I put it in, and managed to tag on to them on the last rise. Victory! Cruising past, I carried on along the road only to find them not behind me. Emerging from the little loop the road had taken, I spied them up ahead having gone along the path that cut-thru the car park I'd just triumphantly dawdled along! Haha – foiled! Still, I begrudge them not their ascent – riding a bike that sometimes steers like the Titanic across that shortcut was a feat worthy of a medal.

Flipped around and quickly came across Robb trundling up the last rise – he is a machine! We pedaled the last km into the lodge together and enjoyed a well deserved coldie from the cooler!

Some 78kms and 5300ft of climbing (plus a 2 mile hike down and up the rim) from the start of the day had gone beneath our wheels, and it had been wonderfully spectacular and well worth it. Thanks Crater Lake!

Part 6: Cycling Crater Lake Oregon – Day 5

Today is a big day – we are riding to, and up, Crater Lake!

Whilst the route map has us being deposited at Dutchman Flat SnoPark once again, driving the long uphill section some of us have twice come down, a bunch of us decide that we will get up it under our own steam this time. So, for some it is an early start, and it will be a nice ride before lunch: around 30km to the SnoPark (pretty much all uphill), and then another 46 (mostly downhill) to the lunch location.

The tandem terrors Amy and Steve have been up and gone before Murray, Elliot, Greg, Wilder, Robb and myself set off: what they gain on the downhills, physics claws back from them in the climbs.

The day is perfect: absolute clear skies, cool but not cold, and likely to warm into a something approaching hot (but that is later). For now, we amble off and start to warm up. It doesn't take long before the road commences to crank upwards – it never gets more than about a 6% incline, but it's a long climb best taken at a steady pace. I was able to get speeds of around 65km/h coming down it, so it's a nice little rise.

We need to get to the SnoPark soon after the van which is ferrying the others does, but it won't be an issue. I'm hoping to beat it there, but I don't quite make it: it passes me on the final short hill just before the turn-off! Bleh! Still, it was a great ride – a good warm-up for the climb up to the Crater Lake Lodge which awaits later in the afternoon.

Below is a pic of the van and riders at the SnoPark, with Mt Batchelor in the background:



From here it was basically downhill to the lunch site, and what a lovely downhill it was! Fast, smooth and wide roads. Almost perfect!. I say almost, because I've discovered the drawback to the compact crank I had installed. Going up the morning incline, it was great: gave me gears in reserve, and a much closer set of ratios out back with the front 34 set selected, so keeping up the cadence is fine. Downhill, the 3 less teeth on the 50 set makes an amazing difference in terminal pedaling speed – reaching 50km/h at 50/12 sees my legs going at what seems like hamster-wheel speeds, and a hamster on speed at that! The inclines aren't enough that I can just tuck and keep gaining speed, so the most I ever see is a 72km/h. Still, who's complaining? - I know I won't be when I do some of the climbs on the Volcanoes of Washington Tour.

There may have been a rise or two, but I don't really recall: the scenery (all woods and mountains) whizzed colourfully by. What I do know is that the lunch spot rolled around pretty quickly! At one point in the ride we passed a climb up to our left, and I was pretty sure I'd seen it before. I had – it was the hill I'd gone down when I rode the not-the-option option ride coming into Sunriver 2 days ago! Hmmm, so that's where I'd got to.

Arriving at Crane Prairie Campground (so named for its complete absence of cranes – either bird or machine – and prairies), I sniffed out the lunch table and charmingly harassed Stevie about food whilst she attempted to do her job, which is getting food. The guides are pretty much used to this stuff, and they circumvent these attempts at begging for food by putting out the "stuff which tastes good, but is bad for you", namely chips, M&Ms, anything which is 90% fat etc. So typically, gluttons like me fill up on the bad stuff and then suffer: there is method in their actions!

The day has warmed up nicely, and there is even talk of taking a dip in the lake, but having stuck my hand in, I think not: it's not THAT warm!

After lunch, we take 'the Boys' group and 'Sisters' group photos: the drag-queen group is ignored. Here are the sisters doing their thing:



Lunch having been and gone, we must hop into the van for a drive to our starting point for the afternoon's task: a climb up to Crater Lake Lodge.

According to the notes, it's a 13.7 km climb from the Northern edge of the Crater Lake Park boundary to the Crater rim, with a total elevation gain of 381 metres – a pitiful 2.8% rise. From the start point we travel on relatively flat ground for a while – in fact for what seems like quite a while! We pass an area of completely barren terrain which is the 'Pumice Desert': it consists entirely of pumice, the very light aerated rock, thrown up by the explosion of Mt Matazama (which was the mountain that blew its top to create Crater Lake) some 8000 years previous, and it looks dry, hot and eery.

The ground remains relatively flat for most of the route and only ramps up in the last 6kms or so, where it gets a little steeper than 2.8%! I still had a couple of gears in reserve on the rear cassette with the 34 up front, but I wasn't traveling at warp speed!

It is a wonderful ride, the views from the climb across the surrounding country are spectacular, and the views from the (close and unguarded) edge of the road down some fairly steep drops are also interesting! One would definitely not want to take a trip off the edge.

I was really starting to get into the climb, and when I crested a bend in the road, saw a slight downhill, and the familiar silver van parked in a lay-out, I decided to just keep going as there was some more climbing ahead. Not, as it turned out, a whole lot more. Another crest and bend and a second layout appeared. This one I decided to investigate, and was glad I did.

The entire brilliant vista of Crater Lake lay before me, and it was wonderfully spectacular. This layout was on the rim almost directly above Wizard Island, the new crater rim which is slowly growing out of the lake, and it all just looked so fantastic. Below are a couple of pics which don't do it justice, but shows something of what I gazed on:





Snapping photos, the time ticked past and I figured after a while I should get going. Walking back to my bike, a squirrel decided to check me out. I'm always fascinated with these things and tried to get a pic for quite a while, but the critter wouldn't pose for me. At one point he ran up a fence post and sat about 2 feet away, but scuttled down as soon as I raised the camera. Finally got a pic (below) of him peering at me from below my bike.



As I started to walk the bike the not inconsiderable distance back to the road, my roomy Robb trundled by, closely followed by the van. I caught up to Robb and we spun the last few minutes into the Crater Lake Lodge parking lot just behind the van, and scored ourselves a well earned beer.

The Lodge was a pretty typical style, with high entrance and wings running off to the rooms and the dining facilities. Quite grand and nice to look at, it is our home for two nights. Perched on top of the rim as it is, it has amazing views of the lake, and after having been to our charming room and showered, Robb and I caught up with some of the others on the 'esplanade' at the front of the place and watched the shadows play over the lake and the crater rim: very beautiful.

We soon were granted admittance into the dining room which was large, open and warm: like really warm! Had a great meal of venison served by a very charming Romanian waitress. Hmmm – hadn't I seen several of her fellow nationality in Sunriver just scant days ago? And amazingly enough, her name was exactly the same as one of the ladies at the Italian restaurant: Stefania! This was all a bit nefarious! Of course the far more boring and real-life explanation was that a bunch of them come over on exchange and work at resorts during the summer months – a likely cover story!

After the meal, and having acquired a considerable hike in body temperature from the general warmth of the dining area, Robb and I took a quick walk around outside before heading back to our room. With over 100kms travelled, and a fair amount uphill, I was looking forward to a long snooze in preparation for the ride around the rim tomorrow.

Anyone chasing some more info on Crater Lake can go here for starters: Wikipedia Crater Lake entry.

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'.

Part 2: Cycling Crater Lake Oregon – Day 1

Awoke at the Heathman Hotel in downtown Portland, 8th August, raring to start my trip of cycling to and around Crater Lake in Oregon!

As per usual, my sleep had been interrupted and short – I always get nervous before the first day - but I felt OK, and was looking forward to meeting up with the guides and crew for this trip.

Up for hours before the kick-off time of 8:30am, I alternated between making sure everything was OK with the bike, my suitcases, and the Olympics (MORE freekin' volleyball!)

Wandered down into the lobby at just before 8:30, parked all my gear outside, and I think I was the only person waiting for pickup at this place (honestly, I can't remember!).

What I do remember is a familiar silver van pulling up outside the joint, and even more eerily, a familiar face peering at me from out of it! I know that face!!! It is Steve, a member of the previous years Glacier Tour that I did! And exiting the van is his wife Amy! Wow – what a great moment!

Steve and Amy are the tandem terrors, and wonderful parents of a great kid whom I got to room with in 2007 – Jacob! Sadly, Jacob is not on this tour – but then again, he'd probably heard that I was coming, and decided to stay away! It is a great moment, and one that cements this tour as memorable before it begins. We are to share many great little moments along the way...

Here are they and myself immortalised digitally later on that first day:



I really do think the the world of these two – they are the type of people you meet occasionally in your life who become immediate favourites – it's a 'sympatico' thing. Amy is just such a fun person, and Steve is an absolute rock and straight-up guy. I was SO happy...

Anyway, things are organised, I get to meet Mark the head guide (who immediately unimpresses me with his headmaster routine, but then as the tour progresses, so converts me with his personality, strength, and organisational ability), Stevie the bombshell lady guide (I immediately wish I was 18 years younger, but she proves adept by managing to charm old farts like me as well), and Wilder the other male guide (who is pretty much undescribable and a treasure because you can't describe him! - the word unique was invented for him), and we are off on...A FREEKIN' VAN RIDE!

This is one thing that drives me NUTS about tours – at some point, one must van up to get to strategic points. I literally go insane, and the robot Len has to take over in order to project a human appearance and maintain the charade, whilst real Len goes mentally ballistic and chews off his own lips! I really don't remember any of these van trips because I literally disconnect.

I DO remember that we get to a place called the Red Lion Inn at Eugene, to pick up the remaining guests (including roomate Robb – more on this great man later),and then DRIVE some more to some place where the tour starts with lunch. I vaguely recall that at one point we go past large bodies of water (I believe they are called dams), and that at one point it showers briefly, which discussion centres on re: a bad omen etc.

BUT, we arrive at a place called Greenwater Park, where we are liberated from van hell, and robot Len gets a pic cracking a bicep before he is put back into stasis for the next van trip (pic of Robot Len below):



After lunch, we have an out-and-back ride which seems to have a very fish-oriented theme: we pass fisheries, ride on fish-named roads such as Fish Hatchery Rd, cross fish-ladened rivers like the Salmon River, which is positively teeming with fish (well, this is an assumption – I didn't stop to verify this), and so forth.

It is a lovely ride, and because the Perth winter has been so bleak and wet that I haven't been able to ride for 4 weeks, I immediately formulate a plan to do every optional ride on each day that is available. The optional ride on this day involves an 8 mile ride up (it is indeed UP) a rather battered tarmac which ends in...a gravel road! There is nothing to see, it just mutates from semi-acceptable 'road' to dirt. This road is poetically named “Rd 2147”! Presumably it's the 2147th road like this in the region. Here is a pic:



Still, it's a nice little climb, punctuated by yawning chasms in the road (which are cracks), and massive boulders astride the road (which are avalanches). I pass two tour-mates, Greg and Elliot, going to the dirt road from whence I have come some two miles ago, and charmingly inform them they have two miles to go, neglecting to mention that they will see...A DIRT ROAD! I am a certifiable bastard!

Post-climb of wrecked-road, I continue on the original path, and come across Wilder, our enigmatic tour guide, lounging on a bridge above a river. He points me up the road, saying “it goes up there – when you hit the gravel, turn back”. WOW – two roads which end in gravel in one day: such treasure's abundancy has me giddy with joy! Below is the river over which he lorded:



The journey up to, and back from, the second gravel prize is nice: wooded and cool, uphill one way and (amazingly) downhill the other. I pass various tour members already making their way back from the glittering gravel end-point (I hold my tongue regarding the double pleasure I've enjoyed this day), and, reaching Valhalla , I gaze wondrously at its gravelly treasures before reluctantly making my way back along the road and beyond, to where the fabled “Blackberry Bushes” await.

Head Guide Mark has informed us that at some point on the journey towards our night's resting destination, there are blackberry bushes (well, I think they were blackberries, but I could be wrong – Oregon seems to have more names for berries than Eskimos have words for 'snow') of such mythic abundance and taste that legends have spawned re: their magical properties. It is said in these parts that a giant creature, part fish and part-gravel road, upon consumption of said berries, re-incarnated as a self reliant bicycle, and can be seen on a moonlit nights careening endlessly up and down roads which end in dirt!

Well, the bushes did exist, the berries were lovely, and they certainly attracted the attention of our group. I arrived at said bushes to find a group of my tour mates genuflecting at the foot of them and muttering some weird incantations before plunging in and plucking the ripe fruit from amidst the cruel thorns. I myself did plunge also, and emerged with a fistful of fruit which I stuffed into my gob – very nice! Post-tour pics suggested that this may have been a reckless act on my part – below is a pic of Elliot and Greg looking like two pissed-off bears that have just noticed some interloper has scored some of their precious fruit!:



Having survived the wrathe, a bunch of us continued the quest to our night's digs. Along this path was a little hill – a little bastard of a hill that ground upwards ever steeper until my weak arse decided I couldn't 39 by 23 gear up it anymore. For the first and last time of the tours, I got off and walked the remaining 100 metres to its top. Mythical berries indeed! Where was your abundance of powers now, foul fruits! I remain ashamed to this day!

After 67kms of riding, the night's digs was a gorgeous little B&B called 'Westfir Lodge'. Wonderfully, the magical beer cooler had appeared, and I decided to wash away the foul poison of 'berries' with the know powers of beer!

Westfir is a gorgeous house with rooms full of memorabilia and amazing furniture, lovely owners, and vicious corgis! Well, there were several corgis who lounged at what were clearly their customary locations under various pieces of furniture, and their very specific expressions suggested they did NOT wish to be disturbed whilst at these designated locales. Being a vehement anti-royalist, I am aware that the Queen of England employs corgis as attack dogs of vicious temperament, so I wasn't taking any chances!

Later, after a lovely meal, my roomate Robb and I took a little waltz around the streets surrounding Westfir and within minutes we were...back at Westfir! OK, so it's not that large a place (wherever it is) but that's not its fault.

Robb had been at pains earlier in the evening to feel like he needed to apologise for the size of the beds at Westfir: my glimpse of them seemed to confirm they were normal single beds. As we retired to our room for the night, it became more apparent why he was concerned: they appeared to be built for a person of height around 170 cm – I am 185 cm.

Still, with the fatigue built from climbing roads-to-gravel, and consuming less-than-mythical berries, I seemed to fall asleep alright.

Only the next day's adventures would test this...!

And so it begins...2008. Part 1: Cycling Crater Lake Oregon - Prelude

OK – the time had come to fly, fly, fly away little starling...(points if you guess the movie!)

For those who don't wish to read my perfunctory account of my travels, below is a link to the collection of photos I took whilst on the Tour: please gaze at your leisure.

Oregon Crater Lake Tour 2008 Photos.

For details of the trip itself, please visit:

Bicycle Adventures.

Before one gets to ones cycling adventures in the North West US, one must fly from Australia, in a bloody big jet, packed to the cans with stinky, sweaty, smelly other persons...I really hate flying!

Short tale: hop on a plane in Perth, Western Australia and travel to Portland, Oregon, USA via Narita International Airport, Tokyo, Japan: a journey that takes some 24 hours and 20 minutes (including a 5 hr 20 min stopover in Narita), and robs me of my sanity, respect for the sanctity of human life, and tastebuds!

Long story: it's too long and soul-crushing to relate, but potentially could have involved a psychosis, a rampage, and some chopped liver...

Thanks to the squiggly little Dateline running down the Pacific, I leave Perth on August 3rd , a Sunday night at 11pm, and get into Portland on Monday, August 4th at 8:20 am – Cool, 24 hrs apparently packed into 9! Unfortunately, that meant I had to stay up another 12 hours at least in order to adjust my internal clock!

Well, the info-torial on the plane said “to avoid jet lag, drink lots and get out in the sun”. My thoughts immediately strayed to finding a bar that was outside and getting baked, in both senses.

But, first, the little matter of finding my way to Universal Cycles, the dudes who I had arranged to have my newly minted Dean titanium-framed S&S coupler bike shipped to and built!

Being totally anal, I had all the info at hand! Shuffling from my hotel into the sunny Portland day (mid 30's Celcius and sunny), I followed my Google Maps printout directions and struck out for the joint. A surprisingly short 15 minutes later (well not that surprising – I rang the shop just before I left the hotel and received GPS-accurate directions), I had found the place, and immediately assailed the owner Mike re: my machina. Mike took me to meet Mark, the resident Dr. Frankenstein, and - “It's ALIVE!!!”.

OMFG – it was a thing of sheer beauty! I salivated a lot, mumbled some shit, and generally stared goggle-eyed for about 20 minutes. Coming to (the residents in the workshop had hit me on the head with a torque wrench in order to “reset your circuits dude”), I gradually gained my senses and began to resemble a typical human being.

Spent the next couple of hours getting things squared away fit-wise etc, and was just about to take the thing with me when I discovered a little wrinkle: here in Oz, bikes have their front brake lever on the right side, and their rear brake lever on the left. Well, I wasn't in Oz – I was in freakin' Portland, and things are different here buddy! Mindful that, in a panic situation on-road, my initial instinct would be to grab a handful of rear brake, which would mean front brake under the current set-up, I decided to leave it in Mark's hands to render a swap. I was to be without bike for another day - bleh!

Trudged back to the Hotel, showered, changed into something that wasn't crusted onto my body (yes, I was STILL in my airplane clothes!) and with thoughts turning to the “plenty of drinks and sun” advice, I stiff-legged like some zombie down NW 23rd and into paradise: a paradise known as the Casa Del Matador. A “Tex-Mex” cuisine and Tequila Bar, it kicked my arse more than once during my stay in Portland. This day, I partook of a spicy tomato soup, tortillas, and then, some hours later, a huge plate of nachos! Plus vast amounts of local microbrews. If you're in Portland – go there: it's that simple! (Altho there are absolutely NO matadors!)

Fantastic – I also managed to wake in the correct hotel the next morning! As I wasn't scheduled to get back to Universals to pick up the bike 'till the afternoon, and given that I'd seemed to get 9 hours good (alcohol induced) sleep and appeared to be semi-functional, I decided to walk around Portland to see what I could see. A couple of pics below of some of what I saw:





Five hours later, after seeing what I could see and walking many kms (the river boardwalks are great for this!), I arrived back at the hotel in the early afternoon, showered and put on the cycling gear to go get the new treadly and shake it down!

It was still gorgeous and panting to go! After profuse thank you's to all and sundry, and a pic with Mark the builder (see below), it was off for a leisurely spin around Portland!



Portland is a magic city for bikes – bike lanes everywhere, masses of riders, and car drivers mindful and courteous of bikers. I've said it before and I'll say it again – the car drivers in Perth are egomaniacal morons with god complexes in tin boxes!

Shake down done, I cruised back into the hotel for another shower, sauntered off to the Matador for more gorging, and then back into bed early in preparation for a train trip the next day to Olympia, Washington to...meet a mystery woman!

Well, she will remain a mystery to you, dear reader, but I had chatted some already, and was keen to catch up with this intelligent and witty lady! Plus, Olympia is the capital of Washington, of historical importance, and my inquisitive mind was on a quest to...oh, please!

Biked to the Portland train station the next day, boarded the 'Coast Starlight' and spent a pleasant 2 and something hours chatting to a nice guy from who-knows-where-in-the-US about many things.

Deposited at Lacey, Olympia, I saddled up and headed in the direction of the capital, directions I had again google-mapped in my hot little paws. I arrived at my destination, the Phoenix Inn in Olympia some 40 minutes later with no idea how I got there! I blundered into an urban area, looked for a tallish, square building in a place with very few tall buildings, and found it!

Had a little time to kill before I and ML (mystery lady) met up for a ride, so I decided to catch up with what was happening in the Olympics on tele. As in every other subsequent attempt to garner the least amount of information at all about the world's largest sporting event, I got to watch a shitload of ads, and a bunch of volleyball: this time, beach volleyball. I swear to deity, EVERY time I watched anything on the tour re: the Olympics, all I saw was friggin' Volleyball, beach or indoor variants!

OK – into my cycling gear, onto the new bike (which I was IN LOVE with) and a pedal around the hotel carpark waiting for ML to show up. Minutes later, a sparkling bell-like voice with the cutest accent called out my name, and ML was there. In person, and in cute (seriously cute) cycling gear!

Over the next hour or so, ML dragged my sorry arse around some of the loveliest cycling spots of Olympia, proving herself a fine cyclist and host. I panted and wheezed and generally kept up, and had a great old time!

Afterwards we had a lovely meal and hours chatting over some wine and coffee (well I think so, but I could've been hallucinating) – ML is gorgeous in all senses of the word. Hi you! :)

Next day, I pottered around Olympia on the bike, taking up time before I rode back to the train station for the journey back to Portland, seeing the sites etc. ML and I caught up for lunch – sigh – and then I headed off.

Proving I did actually attempt to see parts of Olympia, here's some piccies:





After a quick pedal back to the train station, I had some time to kill, so sat and checked the bike over. One of the spokes was somewhat loose, so I tightened it. Spin wheel. Hmm – giant freekin' buckle!!! Spent the remaining time before the arrival of the train sorting out this giant buckle and turning it into a very small one, with the further intent of getting it seen to by a professional (which I never did – some more riding seemed to totally straighten the thing!)

After a rather more boring train ride back to Portland (which was punctuated by incessant stops for freight trains) I alighted and biked back to the hotel, got my stuff, and transferred to the hotel from whence my Crater Lake tour was to depart the next day.

That, and more, coming up...