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...
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