Part 16: Cycling Volcanoes of Washington – Day 8

The last day of my tour started early – a bunch of tweens had invaded the heated outdoor spa below my bedroom window and were chattering like a herd of chipmunks.

Still, I'd had a great night's sleep: as Derek had promised, the beds here were fantastic! Pottering around getting my stuff together, I simultaneously got my head around this being the last day of my tours in the NW US in 2008 – man, it cruised by so fast!

Down to breakfast, got fueled up, and then I wandered outside into the beautiful early morning. The temperature was crisp but warming up, the skies were blue, blue, blue, and the place was active with skiers and snowboarders making their way up to the slopes of Mt Hood for a day of fun.

Looking at Hood, it didn't seem as if there was enough snow on it for anything, but of course the scale of the mountain meant that even a smallish patch of snow was actually a large field, more than enough for all.

Took a whole bunch of shots of Hood – here's the most interesting:





The large patch of snow picture-centre is the ski field.





Silhouetted against the clear blue sky traced with jet stream whisps, Hood loomed over the Lodge, its jagged faces cradling a bowl of snow. An amazing view.

Standing on a high retaining wall and looking away from Hood over the lower carpark, the rolling landscape stretched away into distance: this had been our playground for the last 8 days, and it was sad to have to leave it.



Still, leave it we must. As a bonus, leaving meant descending from Timberline the same way we'd come up, however this time the journey would be somewhat less in duration!

With no cars, runners or obstructions of any sort, it was a blitz down the sweetly curving road. A few touches on the brakes here and there where early-morning moisture still frosted the road, but apart from that it was all tucked in and very little pedaling! Awesome! I would've gladly climbed the thing again to repeat that.

The rest of the morning was a lovely ride mostly through rural rolling countryside: cropped fields and orchards abounded, animals head down cropping grass or lying contentedly, roads winding through patches of trees and then opening out into sunlit spaces: idyllic.

The road was nicely up and down, with a series of hills at one point raising a sweat. Called the Devil's Backbone (named I presume after the multiple bumps on a backbone), they weren't as satanic as they sounded, but nevertheless had me backing into the low chaingear on my compact for a good little workout.

At one point, tootling up a hill, a monstrous apparition emerged from the trees beside the road and, baying for my blood, proceeded to charge along the road beside me snarling and slathering. It was a dog – a large dog, and it was hungry for the taste of cyclist! After it gained a little ground ahead of me (which was an admirable feat – its appearance caused me to sit up and take off like I was in the final sprint to the line of a Grand Tour!) it did a 180 and attempted a little nip at my feet. It missed thankfully, and slowed to a trot as I accelerated away.

Looking behind me, I saw Nick not too far back, and decided to turn around. The beast had decided to go back and test out Nick's pace. Unlike myself, Nick was however made of sterner stuff, and faced the beast down – it promptly snuck back into the trees and howled and barked at us from a cowardly distance. Nick and I shared a laugh over my reaction to seeing the dog emerge frothing from the underbrush and we tootled on up the hill together. We very soon came across another pack of dogs of wolf-like appearance: these were ensconced behind a high fence and were running up its inside alongside us, also baying for our meat. What the hell was going on around here? – were they breeding some sort of super hound-from-hell?

I suggested to Nick that we go back and warn others about the dog-on-the-loose: it was a very sizeable hound, and could easily bring down a full-grown buffalo, yet alone a mere cyclist!

So, we did, and spent a very nice half hour or so keeping the dog huffing and barking in the underbrush as the rest of the group came by in dribs and drabs. Nick is a friendly and very intelligent man, and we chatted on a variety of topics to pass time: it was very pleasant standing beside this sunny road engaged in pleasant conversation and performing a community service!

Unbeknown to us, it seems the wolf-like creatures further up around the bend had somehow managed to liberate themselves from behind the high fence, and were terrorizing our same cyclists who we assumed we were protecting further back down the road! Oops!

With the arrival and passing of the final member of our group, Nick and I left the now mostly quiet brute to its shadowy underbrush, and continued our cruise towards our lunch time and end-of-journey spot: Meinig Memorial Park in the City of Sandy.

The final cruise was more of the first, ending with a charming little 2km rise (actually it was a little bugga!) up to Sandy, and from there the park: a 64km journey in all from Timberline Lodge.

Arriving at the park, my bum decided it didn't want to get off the saddle, so I turned 'round and spun off into Sandy itself, aimlessly wandering around as my mind contemplated and resigned itself to the end of another tour...

Post the final excellent lunch, we were ceremonially given our Tour completion certificates. Here's a few pics from the final stop:


Nick, and guides Diane and Derek.


Diane, Lynn, Randy (hidden) and Richard.


Judy, Ron and Barbara.

Piling into the van, we headed to various drop-off points in Portland, Oregon and beyond. I was headed back to Olympia Washington, the end-point of the van's destination, along with Lynn and Richard, and Ron and Barbara; also on board for the entire ride as they'd commenced their journey from there 8 days prior.

So, our little group trundled away from Sandy and, with farewells, deposited members at various points in Portland before moving onto Olympia where final goodbyes with remaining passengers were said.

It was done – another two cycling tours under my belt. I'd ridden all over the loveliest places in Washington and Oregon by bike, van and train; met some of the nicest people you could hope to be with (including having the joy of catching up with friends Amy and Steve, the Tandem Terrors from the Glacier Tour of 2007, again), and seen some of the most beautiful scenery and places imaginable. That's what a great cycling tour is all about!

So, what's next? Well, still got to do my post-tour days wrap-up, but for now, here in Perth, Western Australia it's sunny, warm and inviting: I'm going for a ride!

Good luck and fortune to all fellow participants of my 2008 Oregon Crater Lake and Volcanoes of Washington Tours, thanks for the memories, and stay safe!

Part 15: Cycling Volcanoes of Washington – Day 7

After a charming evening of rest in my charming room I wake up charmingly late for breakfast: still, it's not like we are going anywhere in a hurry with all this crap weather. Theorizing on some more snoozing, I decide to remain out of slumber, and commenced the ritual packing etc. It was about then that I actually came awake - something warm and sparkling had flicked across the bed for a fleeting second. OMG! - was it, could it be...

Flinging back the curtains, I peered out into – SUN! Fully functional, completely unadulterated by cloud SUN! My time in purgatory was at an end.

Hurling my stuff on myself or in my bag, I thundered downstairs to greet the new day and stand astride my bicycle with unbridled glee, waiting to proceed full steam ahead (well I would have if my bicycle hadn't been affixed to the roof of the van). Of course, this enthusiasm was instantly cut down in its prime – apparently we are vanning for some ungodly duration to our starting off point! I contemplate climbing up on the van, chaining myself to the roof, and refusing to move until my brave and robust protest is rewarded with a special dispensation to ride.

Whilst I am contemplating, others have been to and finished breakfast and are piling their bags around the van – no-one gives a rat's about my puny protest: they are eager to get into the van so they may drive to the start point, get off the van and start riding! Good point.

I cram down some brekky and 'get with the program', clambering aboard the bus and waiting for our departure. Well, before I de-clamber off the bus and go and give my room key back...

Soon we are off, and I check out Skamania Lodge for the first and likely last time. It's nice in a sort of golfy, immaculate-grass, even-the-worms-are-manicured way but it's not my style – too picture perfect.

After a ride of whatever duration (I invoke my powers of an induced vegetable state), we arrive at a nice little parking lot overlooking the Columbia Gorge, and prep for the days ride (some
82 kms) up to Mt Hood. There is a little add-on ride originating from here which a handful of us do – a short but sweet 14kms along a wonderful bike path high on the sides of the valley overlooking the Columbia Gorge. Below are a couple of pics:





It's a great day – sunny, pretty much cloudless and warm to boot - and the out-and-back is lovely. Perfect start! And topped off with a great little set of sharply downhill switchbacks right at the start of the journey proper!

The first 10 miles or so is a twisty, more-than-a-few turns affair so I follow Derek the guide coz he knows his way right? Errr – wrong. He inspects every intersection and fade-away like it is brand new to him: well of course, it may be as he hasn't been at this stuff long. Still, if it was me I'd likely be going anywhere except where I should be so I can't complain. Soon after the start we run thru' Hood River, which has a nasty little hill in it – after the cresting of the first nasty little hill, it becomes a much longer nasty hill! Still, at least it's the start of the day, and my energy levels are up.

Mind you, at the end of the day is a 10km climb up the lower slopes of Mt Hood which is also a nice little climb – 'unequivocally harder' than the climb to Paradise Inn according to Head Guide Diane, so that should be fun!

As we twist and turn in the general direction of where we are going, things heat up and it becomes a very pleasant day indeed. Rolling along a semi-rural road, at one point I hear Charis behind me shouting something out about "Look, it's Mark Adams". I am wondering who the hell is Mark Adams? For some reason I have this impression that he's a quarterback (I have NO idea why). Charis shouts that he's behind me, so I take a peek, but there is nothing even remotely resembling a quarterback hovering nearby, so I start to think it's delirium on her part and ignore all further rantings about this guy. Later at lunch I learn that she was kindly trying to draw my attention to 'Mt Adams' behind us in the distance. It's the second tallest mountain in the State of Washington and pretty much stands by itself, i.e. sticks out like a sore thumb – of course, I entirely miss it!

Tootling along some nice back roads, we come to another series of hills and mountain goat Derek scoots up them, leaving me to hope that this road leads to lunch. Well it doesn't, and as I'm now pretty much by myself, I decide that I'd better consult my map. At some curvy multi-junction it says 'stay right but don't turn right'. What the hell? OK, so I stay right but don't turn right – turns out I should've stayed right by going straight. Amazingly, I don't get lost – all I do is travel a few extra kms, as when I come to a crossroads, I see a bunch of riders up ahead. Pfftt – navigating is easy!

Rejoining Lynn, Richard and Charis, I then spy Mt Hood in the distance. Just like Mt Adams, it stands proud of the landscape, and looks wonderful: I grab some snaps at various intervals as we slowly wend our way toward it.







At the 50 km mark, it's the pulloff to lunch at Sherwood Campground. After another superb lunch, I wander off to checkout Sherwood's claim-to-fame – it has a pit toilet. Well, it's a fame of sorts – the toilet is indeed 'the pits'. Bleh!

Lunch demolished, it's back on the bike for the rolling cruise to the bottom of Mt Hood. The route follows a couple of Highways – Hwy 35 and then Hwy 26. Fairly major roads size-wise, but not all that busy, so the surface is good and the cycling very pleasant. The rolling nature gives a good spread of out-of-saddle pumping up rises, followed by streamlined tucks downwards – my favourite type of road. Somewhere along the way we pass back into Oregon - Hood is Oregon's tallest Peak. Here's the Wikipedia info:

Wikipedia – Mt Hood

Arriving at the bottom of Mt Hood, I start the climb: 10 km at around 7%. Almost immediately, I'm confronted by lots of official looking cars by the side of the road, and soon a small but increasingly steady flow of people running down the other side of the road. They are suitably attired for running, and hence I assume it isn't some involuntary mad scramble from an impending eruption, but nevertheless it's still weird. Soon, the trickle becomes a flood.

Whilst I'm definitely having to haul up the climb in my next to lowest gear (34/23) and getting more than a little sweaty, my exertion is clearly nothing to those who are running down the hill. Most of the runners look pretty fit, but they are definitely in pain, with contorted faces being the order of the day. One guy approaches me with what sounds like little whimpers of agony emanting from his mouth at every footfall – as he gets closer they become screams, and they aren't that little! Is it really that hard to run down a hill?

Of course, the answer is yes: it's clearly friggin' painful! Turns out that this is the annual 'Hood to Coast' relay – some bizarre 317 km 12 person tag-team relay of torture an amazing number of people from all over the States and indeed the world come to each year, either as competitors or spectators. Check out the Wikipedia entry below:

Wikipedia – Hood to Coast

I was told later that teams who have done the relay before and who have acquired a new member or two always let the 'new meat' do the first leg of the relay – which just happens to be the 10km run down from Timberline Lodge, Mt Hood. Crafty buggas!

So, as I'm toiling up the hill, a multitude of runners are suffering down it, so I'm actually feeling quite buoyed by all this! Along with the runners are large quantities of spectators cheering them on, with all manner of shouting, music, instruments, whistles etc. It's really cool!

Guide Derek cruises up alongside and cunningly pushes me into the red by talking to me and making me respond. His treacherous deed completed he scoots off up the hill! I scoot after him and manage to keep him in sight – mainly because at this stage around half way up, the climb levels back for a couple of kms to a less steep 4-5%. Rounding a bend, a bunch of spectators by the side of the road cheer on Derek as he passes them, and then turn their attention on me, urging me to chase him (they are clearly under the misapprehension that I am catching him!) Feeling that this is a close as I'm ever going to get to acquiring a bunch of fanbois, I oblige them by knocking it back a cog, getting out of the saddle and trundling past them at a stirring 15km/h. They rise as one in a huge cheer! Simultaneously, the road rises back to 7%, and 50 meters further on I crap out and plant my bum back in the saddle – their disparaging boo's and foul utterances fade in the distance.

From there to the summit it's a grind – the last portion of the climb is indeed the steepest, but still quite enjoyable. Sadly, the runners up this high on the course aren't suffering as much – they've only just started – so their non-agony isn't providing the panacea that the lower courses did for me.

Passing the exit to Timberline Lodge is a bummer – but you only realize afterwards. The Lodge is pretty much there, but the entrance curves past, and then around and up, so it's still another 800meters to the final parking area. Finally made it having to thread my way through all manner of people still milling around – as it was mid-afternoon, I assume some runners still had to leave on their journey.

Found the van right outside the lodge and downed a well-earned beer, and then sat back to cheer on others as they arrived. Lynn arrived straight after me, but she looked like she could do it again. Hubby Richard waltzed in later – he commented that he'd had to "take Granny out of the cupboard and give her a whipping": I spat my beer out through my nose with laughter!

As we gathered around the van, Derek re-appeared, having changed into some more casual gear (shorts, t-shirt, flip-flops) and proceeded to practice his track stands near the van. He was extremely impressive - I eagerly kept my camera ready to grab a snap in case he hit the deck, but it was not to be. At one point an older gentleman came up and stood a couple of feet away observing this. He seemed mesmerized and stayed for several minutes. By the way he was swaying, I was willing to bet he'd bite the dust before Derek! Anyway, it turns out he was less fascinated with Derek's track stands and more absorbed with his attire: he seemed to think that Derek had ridden up in nothing more exotic than shorts, a T, and a set of flip-flops! Here's a pic:



Everyone who completed the climb rolled in fairly soon, and we all wandered off to our various rooms after collecting our keys. I had a lovely little room at the end of one wing – it overlooked the pool and a stand of pines. It also had a hot shower, and I luxuriated in it for the next 15 minutes before dressing and heading off to the restaurant for a great meal with the crew.

Derek had remarked on several occasions in the days prior to our arrival here that Timberline had the best beds. He was right! I'd planned to watch a little TV before sleep, but I don't think I even reached for the remote after I lay down: it was lights out on a great days ride and a great climb!

Part 14: Cycling Volcanoes of Washington – Day 6

Day 6 has just one photo associated with it – the intrepid bunch who rode all day in the wet, rain and cold. Here they are:



From L to R: Nick, Judy, Diane, Kathy, Richard, Randy, Lynn and Charis.

I am not in the photo – I am content to stay dry and warm in the van! I am tired of rain! I am a woosie, weak and worthless (I am dry and warm). I am pathetic and a loser (I am dry and warm). I am an object of derision (I am dry and warm and HAPPY).

Memories of the day:

• Guide Derek chuckling at my description of rain as 'rain' as we first stepped outside the Inn that morning - he considered it mere mist. Me chuckling at Derek as he climbed done from the van after hauling all the bikes up there - him sodden and frozen;


• All those riding that day fully waterproofed and ready to go having to climb into the van, to go down from Paradise - deemed too wet, cold and dangerous by Head Guide Diane;


• Taking the pic at Longmire National Park carpark;


• Me dry and warm and HAPPY;


• Stopping for a coffee at a little place somewhere and boosting the trade substantially - also leaving the floor looking like a pipe had burst;


• Randy, having placed a plastic bag around his foot and inside his shoe to keep said foot dry, displaying the bag, still in situ: now looking like he had a large fishbowl (complete with water) on his foot;


• Me dry and warm and HAPPY;


• Travelling through forest with tree branches bowing under the weight of water spilling over the road, and Derek having to drive in and out of them to avoid hitting the bikes on top the van;


• More rain;


• Me dry and warm and HAPPY;


• The van stopping at the lunch spot and Derek laying out the tiniest orange road cone as a sign post on the road;


• Wandering off onto the trails at the 'Watchable Wildlife Picnic Area' and having a nice little tootle around the forest whilst it wasn't raining;


• Arriving back at the lunch spot to find Derek and Randy trying to find the (non-existent) gas hose to connect the gas bottle to the portable barbecue (for the boiling of water for the pasta lunch). This involved pulling apart the portable barbecue, the trailer and anything else that may contain the hose, or something with which to jury-rig a hose. We did not eat pasta...;


• Everyone gathered under the sheltered pergola whilst it rained, wondering where Richard had gone -he'd missed the minute orange cone. His wife Lynn assured us he'd turn up - he did;


• Piling back into the van for a 2 hour drive to Skamania Lodge;


• Discovering the mass conspiracy that is the Mt St Helens eruption - coz it was neither seen, heard about, nor discussed. I'm assuming it was stolen by aliens back on that day of May 18th, 1980 and a huge cover-up concocted to camouflage this seering truth: WE ARE NOT ALONE!;


• Arriving at Skamania to relative warmth and sunniness, a nice meal and an even better sleep;


• Me dry and warm and HAPPY - ALL DAY!

The End

Part 13: Cycling Volcanoes of Washington – Day 5

Tink, tink, tink... "raindrops keep fallin' on (the metal sill of the window outside) my bed".

Grrr – awoke late, grouchy and grizzly like a bear just emerging from the world's worst hibernation. The incessant pounding of the drops outside my window had changed pitch, but not frequency or volume for the entire night. I extended my sixth sense outside my room and felt...a certain degree of moisture in the air! A peek around the curtain confirmed this – the mist tendrilled around the closer peaks and wafted down to hang like cotton around some of the taller trees: if it had been Christmas I would have been happy. Oh well, at least with the rain in the air, staying inside would be a pleasure! A true layover day at the Paradise Inn it was to be!

Up, and rugged up, I wandered downstairs to a brunch of buffalo stew (very nice, but my heart ached for the poor beast) whilst casting my eyes around the large foyer of the Inn. Speaking of beasts, the place was jam-packed with the human variety. Hmmm, clearly most others here were of the same anti-water, slack-arsed bias as me. OK, unless I wanted to succumb to good old crowded-cabin fever and go all 'Jack Torrance' on the general populace, I needed to find a distraction.

Of course – the ultimate obsessive person's distraction: clean your bike! The sheer anality of this folly was demonstrated by the fact that I was perfectly happy to locate Derek, force him with veiled threats of carnage (after Diane had knocked back my charming request for same) to go down to the van, myself in tow, through considerable rain for a distance of several kilometers (OK - meters), collect a bunch of wipes and some towels, and trudge all the way back wet. No problem, for I was to be OCCUPIED!

An hour of occupation hence, I had acquired an entourage of 5 other tour group members also seeking the bliss of dirt removal, and decided that it was getting too crowded and wipes-ridden underfoot. So, I resolved to go outside!

Best thing I ever did: whilst it was misty and damp, the air was crackly with cleanliness, and the clouds, mist and sun fooled around with each other over the surrounding peaks, light playing across the environs in fantastic ways. Liberating my camera, I spent a couple of hours wandering amongst the buildings, climbing on rocks and squelching through puddles just absorbing the views and atmosphere, and snapping pics. Rather than crap on about it, I'll just post some:

















The changes in visual moods were immediate and dramatic: one minute I was in the Alps, with Julie Andrews and the curtain-clad kids skipping and rolling around the high meadows: the next poor Julie was cut down by a giant Visigoth striding downwards from mountains as brooding and vengeful as he was, intent of knocking every last shred of joy out of those hills of hers.

I was fairly wet – but who cared: it was a vividly imagined Karmic payback for Ms Andrews!

At one point I came across a bunch of people who were shooting pics for an outdoor clothing brochure: it was vastly stereotypical, with the camera dude and his tons of equipment; lighting-guy with his lamps and reflective umbrellas; the director pointing at shit; a rock-jawed male model with perfect hair, skin, teeth and what I imagined would be piercing blue eyes; a flitty clothes person doing little preening tweaks of the model's 'after-ski' clothes to best present them; a make-up person who seemed to be applying stuff from a distance of about 10 meters. It was all a little wanky but I actually noticed that the model was, in fact, doing all the work: performing on queue, waiting patiently, ignoring perfectly the flap around him, and doing these really fascinating 'robot' moves where he'd stride up the hill towards the camera and then instantaneously, as if he'd been switched off, come to a stop in an 'action' pose. The sense of animation he conveyed with such economy of movement was pretty amazing. I briefly contemplated launching a rock to intercept his bare head, just to test if he was indeed human, but if he wasn't, they're making very realistic cyborgs nowadays! Anyway, was very impressed with the dude!

Wandering away, I spied what looked like the distinctive cupola shape of a flying saucer: I made my way over to the Paradise Visitor Information Centre.



Quite an amazing shape, and what I thought was by far the most interesting building I'd seen in a long time. Stands out like a sore thumb against the surrounding vista and other buildings (I don't know how I missed it when I rode in the previous day – I suspect it just never rose above my sub-conscious perception given I was semi-dead) but I love its imposing alien shape, quirky austerity and simplicity.

They are building a new Information Centre in keeping with the rest of the architecture of the place – it looks like an Amish barn. Hopefully they keep the old saucer as a big "f" you to all those who are so intent on homogenizing the 'Alpine' architectural experience into something resembling a run-of-the-mill outdoor poster designer's wet dream.

The building is getting somewhat run down, but even in that state it holds a wealth of delights: gentle curves and sweeps, somewhat labyrinthine internal routes, buttresses, upper windows that make you feel like you are looking out of a submarine into another world, aspects always receding into the distance as you traverse, spaces compelling you to travel forward. Its sense of kinetics was strong as, dare I say, its innate organic-ness: it looks like it was grown.

The place had a wealth of information about Mt Rainer and surrounds, but I confess I didn't investigate: I was just fascinated with the building itself.

Arriving at the top level, I slowly 360ed around the circular floor, looking out at the views as they spun around the building and I: I could have stayed here much longer. As could what I assumed was a resident rodent – a squirrel flitted and twitched around the upper area picking scraps off the floor, not at all perturbed by people or walls. He looked like he'd found a cozy niche, and I envied him his groovy pad!

I stayed inside for a while longer – I was getting cold, and the day was passing but my water-phobia had come back. It was raining outside and I hopefully waited for a break – after a while I decided a little more water was acceptable and, exiting the UFO, I trotted back to the Inn, my room, a shower, and a cheerful meal with fellow tour members.

I hadn't seen Mt Rainier, but it really didn't matter: I was happily envisaging the 'Saucer' glowing and oscillating gently under a faint moon, contemplating a journey back to its place of origin...temporarily lodged in this cradle of peaks, it looked other-worldly and yet strangely acclimated.

Part 12: Cycling Volcanoes of Washington – Day 4

Another Day, another potential soaking! Arose to an overcast morning with an imminence of rain in the air. Our target today – 'Paradise'! (well the Paradise Inn at the foot of Mt Rainier).

It was a biggish day in the saddle: 102km with a lot of climbing, and 3 passes to go over. Well, actually 2 to go over and one to go down to! - A climb of some 640 meters from the Lodge to Chinook Pass, a descent from Chinook of 227 meters to Cayuse Pass, a big descent to 580 meters altitude at our lunchtime stop of the 'Grove of the Patriarchs' in Mt Rainier National Park, and then make all we'd climbed and a bit more (some 1018 meters) to 'Paradise' (cue godly lights and swelling grand music). In all, some 1.6kms of altitude gain – yeehah!

Whilst the day was overcast, it didn't yet have that rain chill in the air, and the general consensus was that it wouldn't rain: hence I put on my warmest gear, but left my rain stuff in the saddle bag.

After a somewhat disorganised brekky – I'm not sure Tuesday was a breakfast day at the Lodge, at least in the minds of resident staff! – the group got organised and slowly trickled out of the Lodge and headed immediately upwards to Chinook Pass some 46 kms up the road. I was last to leave – I'd spied a patch of blue sky heading from the direction we would be travelling and convinced myself it would hang around (I was clearly delusional – why would a patch of blue sky heading my way decide to turn around and follow me from whence it had come?).

Shuffling out, the road began a gentle rise which continued for some time: it was pleasant, cool, the road was smooth and the riding was good. Cloud was around but seemed out of reach, except to the taller mounts that surrounded us on our road – they were whisped by light fluffs:



As I progressed up, the gentle incline didn't present much of a hindrance. I'd decided at the start of the day that I'd do the climb like I normally do – nice and briskly so that when I arrived at the ultimate destination I'd curse myself for not having taken it easier! I don't do much climbing at home, so have no idea what to do – I figure if it isn't hurting like hell, then you aren't going fast enough!

So far I wasn't hurting, and I was chugging along quite nicely. I hadn't got to the 'Road steepens' part of the route map at the 32km mark yet, and indeed the road hadn't (steepened much). I'd slowly trundled past a variety of the group and everyone was happy – all was good.

Well, except for the fact that the clouds seemed to be getting lower – a lot lower! I decided to stop and take a few pics of the imposing peaks surrounding me, but that's when I noticed that I couldn't see them all that well, or rather, not at all. The ceiling here was pretty low – around about my ears I'd say! Riding head up now, the lack of ceiling became a lot more obvious and it was only going to get moreso, as I'd reached the 'Now you're climbing' part of the route map (just past the 'Road steepens' bit).

And indeed, I was now climbing: 7 degrees worth at a guess. Not too bad, but definitely sloggy. Managed to catch glimpses of peaks when cloud patches broke up, but nothing with snow on it: they were well into the solid cloud base. Here's a pic of a lower peak:



The steeper part of the climb to Chinook was only around 13.5 km, but the road was getting wetter, and so was I: the faint drizzle in the air was penetrating. I slowly caught and passed first Richard and then Lynn at the pointy end of the group, and the fact that they were wearing rain jackets made me think. Still, I certainly wasn't cold, and the major source of wet was off the road, so I kept on. Around 7 km from the top, I got hit by a shower – now I was definitely wet and decided that the rain jacket was required. A stop to put it on and then I was off again, only for the sun to appear and start making sweat big time! OK, stop and rain jacket off and continue. Shower! Jacket again – then Sun, followed by sweat! Oh please! Finally decided that as I was wet already but not cold, I'd stay wet!

Naturally enough, as I neared the top of Chinook, it got cold as well as wet: oh man! Passing the parking lot at the top, a guy next to his car gave me a 'Good job' welcome, which made me feel better. Thanks dude!

Just around the Pass, the silver BA van appeared, and I decided that, given the shower had set in, the jacket was going back on and staying on! Head Guide Diane was driving the van and concurred – it was a longish downhill to lunch and the chill factor was going to rise significantly. She gave me a sympathetic look and rhetorically asked 'How about this weather?'. She looked a little sad for me – well I imagined so anyway! Not sure why - I mean it's not like she controlled the weather right?

Standing at the van shivering, two more figures emerged from the mist: Lynn and Charis had arrived looking calm and collected, and like they loved it! They may well have done.

The three of us left a couple of minutes later, and started what without question was the coldest, most miserable 21km of my cycling life! It was pretty much downhill to the lunch spot, but if I'd imagined that going down was going to be enjoyable, I was quickly dispelled of that notion!

It became clear pretty quickly that it was going to be a wet, chilling, and slippery descent. Some of the descents were reasonably steep, but the combination of chill and slippery road conditions meant it was a balance between getting it over with, and preserving life! I opted for the getting it over approach, and let the bike run on as much a possible: as long as my fingers weren't actually freezing solid and my brakes weren't actually visibly wearing away my rims, I kept the speed on the high side and, shivering and shaking, made it down the road-works strewn descent in fairly quick time.

Which turned out to be a fairly lunatic idea – I spent the next 20 odd minutes at the lunch spot waiting for the van to appear, shivering in my Sidi's. As a consequence, I have no idea what the 'Grove of the Patriarchs' was, or consisted of. Tall, old trees I'm guessing.

After lunch, which remains a mystery but I am sure was nice, I did a complete change of clothes, and donning the rain jacket, headed off after the others. It was a further 34km to 'Paradise', most uphill, and of course now that I had the rain jacket on, it was no longer raining, hence I got sweat soaked. But damn it, it was staying on this time!

The climb was once again a litle 'grindy' but the cloud had thinned out, and the views were lovely. Disembarking to take a pic, I found my camera had acquired a thick mist inside its viewfinder, and I couldn't see a thing! It didn't appear to want to dry out anytime soon, hence my lack of pics of that lovely section of road: winding tarmac cut into steep mountain sides with numerous little waterfalls, and expansive views across valleys!

Winding up one side of the valley, I could see ahead in the distance a series of switchbacks on the other valley side: the road to Paradise! Hmm – looked like Hell! :)

The road we were on did a U-turn at the top of the valley and followed those switchbacks. At the top of this valley at the U-turn was Box Canyon, which has to be the world's thinnest! A narrow notch cut into the mount side, it passes under a little stone bridge perched over its top: peering over the edge presented the following view poorly captured by my now unmisted camera!



It's way more spectacular than that – the narrowest of slots holds a torrent some several hundred feet below: it made me seriously consider getting off the little bridge as soon as possible!

Charis and Lynn went past whilst I was on the bridge – they looked dry and happy! So why was I wearing my rain jacket? After taking it off and setting out after them, I soon found out why – they were stopped by the side of the road putting theirs back on!

Well, to be perfectly honest, I couldn't be bothered again: I was already wet thru' a second time, it wasn't far to 'Paradise', and stopping meant I was only going to lose that amount of time being inside where it was warm, so I just plowed on. Up the switchbacks and I'd arrived! Well, not quite, as anyone who knows anything about any specific paradise will know it takes a little more attaining than that! It took a little over 3 more kms of attaining, along which I suspect was the steepest part of the climb all day, and which was definitely the coldest!

'Paradise' (in reality the Paradise Inn) finally crawled into view, and I made a bee-line to it across a crowded parking lot which wiggled around some significant construction points - Paradise was in need of a renovation!

I'd made it, and in hindsight, it was a great (if a little wet) ride. Parking my bike in a closed off area, I returned outside to watch Lynn roll in, and then quickly decided that each succeeding person coming in could watch the next – I was heading for the large fireplace to swoon over its large metal grate!

The Inn was packed with people – hikers, and more serious climbers looking to ascend Mt Rainier, which was apparently around here somewhere. In my entire time at the Inn (1 layover day, 2 nights and 2 mornings) I didn't see it once, shrouded as it was in mist and cloud. Some claim to have – I suspect they were delusional! The fools were climbing to a non-existent myth!

What wasn't a myth was that miraculously, my room (although in the non-renovated section) had a bathtub, in which I spent the next several hours lazing in piping hot water: glorious!

Tonight was dinner on our own: I was kindly invited to join Ron and Barbara, and Randy and Charis, and had a very pleasant meal amongst some charming people. Poor Barbara had been fighting a virus for a few days, but had soldiered on, and displayed admirable fighting qualities – she was a lovely lady and I hoped the layover day at the all curative 'Paradise' would do just that!

Arrived back at my room to find the in-room heater had worked its magic – the place was toasty warm, and I settled into bed, tired and looking forward to sleep. Which eventually came and went, and came and went: 'Paradise' had conspired to place outside my window a large sill of sheet metal which resonated like the percussion section of a full-blown orchestra to the sound of each drop of water off the roof! I can now fully appreciate the sheer inhumanity of the Chinese Water Torture. I eventually got off to sleep, counting the drops as I, and they, fell.

Part 11: Cycling Volcanoes of Washington – Day 3

After the swelter that was Day 2, the light rose onto a different Day 3: slightly chilly (well, compared to yesterday) and overcast, and with the chance of some light rain as we progressed along the Naches River into Cliffdell. From the lows of Yakima, we'd slowly make some elevation to the endpoint of Whistlin' Jack Lodge, with a hump in the middle to ascend and descend.

Slept like a log – all the swimming and spa'ing of the previous afternoon had worn me out – so woke raring to go. Fueled up and ready, most of the group decided to forgo the short 13 km van ride into Yakima proper and instead get there via cycle power along the route that some of us had traversed the day before, a relaxing and peaceful bike path by the river, followed by a few kms along Yakima streets.

There was a bike shop along the way that was a planned stop – a house converted into a cool little place which was stocked (and soon unstocked) with various treats: power gels, lip balm etc etc. The owner kindly offered to check out my bike's bottom bracket – it had seemed to acquire a little gap on the crank side between the bearing shell and the BB itself – but it turned out to be an non-issue. Meanwhile, I'm pretty sure he had the busiest Monday morning ever sales-wise!

Rolling into the Fred Meyer ( I dunno – a department store maybe?) parking lot, the official start of the day's short ride (60kms), most people unrolled into the nearby Starbucks to – go to the bathroom! Don't think anyone purchased coffee...

The day was definitely cooler than the previous one, and in fact looked a little like rain, so my choice of a warmer, long sleeved jersey felt good. I guessed (correctly as it turned out) that it wouldn't rain before lunch, so I was set. As was everyone else.

The first part of the day was fairly low-key, with us trundling along the valley on roads cut high into the sides – they offered some great views of the surrounding countryside. We slowly started to ascend up to the plain above the valley - on the route map at the 4.2 mile mark a left turn started us on "a 3 mile two-stage hill climb" which ended at the 6.1 mile mark. Huh??!!! Well, route maps aren't always dead accurate. Anyway, it was a nice little climb, which was indeed about 3 miles up a windy road with a nice little kicker at the end. I was accompanied up the hill by Derek, the young guide, whose turn it was to ride today. Great, friendly guy who was built like a lean greyhound: perfect riding physique. He chatted whilst I wheezed and we made it up the climb – he scooted up the last bit ahead of me as I think he was afraid he was going to start going backwards if he stayed with me!

Along the climb we came into orchard country – apples to be precise. Rows and rows of trees greeted us, but unfortunately no fruit. We traveled thru' these for the next couple of miles along some fairly dodgey roads – either very bumpy asphalt, or extremely thick and loose stone. I'd left Derek at the top of the hill so he could do his 'shepherd of the flock' thing, and tootled after Lynn and Richard who'd passed us as we'd stopped.

Cycling along behind Richard on the loose stone, I copped a rock right on the end of my nose, so decided I'd drop back a bit. Which I duly did – only to be pelted by a bunch of stones flung up by a truck passing in the opposite direction! Bleh! This loose rock was really shitting me!

Thankfully it was over soon, and we got back onto some semi decent road, including a nice steepish swoop down a twisty section. After that it was a short blat up to the lunch spot at the 40-odd km mark - a pullout alongside the Naches River.

Lunch was lovely as per usual, but I didn't like the spot at all: sure the river was nice, but we were parked alongside an almost vertical cutout into the cliff, which seemed to be composed of VERY loose rock, dry dusty soil, and nothing holding it together. Even on the far side of the road from it, it loomed very near, and the fact that there were some fairly hefty boulders at its foot which had decided they liked resting on the ground rather than clinging to a cliff face didn't re-assure me. I spent the entire lunch with one eye cocked toward the inevitable avalanche! Here's some pics of this appallingly unstable region.



That is seriously LOOMING!



Further away looming!

After lunch it was a very straightforward slightly ascending 22km trundle to our next point of call: Whistlin' Jack Lodge. Apparently 'Whistling Jacks' is another name for a Marmot – whatever that is? I didn't see one, either here or elsewhere but others apparently did: consensus is they are hairy and dark?

The day had got increasingly cloudy, and as we bopped along the gradual incline to the Lodge, it also got increasingly dark. Pretty soon, it started to spit and the road got damp, and then wet. Traveling again with Lynn and Richard, the three of us were slowly heading into the tail of a rain storm going in the same direction, so whilst there wasn't a deluge falling from the sky, the roads were definitely getting wet, and so was I. Along with the water on the road came a flow of a milky white substance – oil and petrol dried on the road started to emulsify and blend with the moisture, and turned things slippery as well. Getting out of the saddle up a rise, my back wheel spun for about half a revolution and tweeked sideways and I smacked my knee into my elbow.

Now, I love cycling but I HATE getting wet – OK, not hardcore I know, but I ride for pleasure so this was starting to get me feeling shirty! After all, it was a holiday! And I come from Australia where rain is still greeted with wonderment and a sense of novelty!

I decided that I was going to get into the Lodge ASAP, and eased to the front of our little group to speed things up. After a few moments, Lynn and Richard had dropped back a little so I thought I'd tone it down a bit and let them catch up – glancing around after a short while they still were behind, so I grudgingly slowed a little more. Ok, third glance behind and now we are definitely crawling along. Richard then politely informs me that they are trying to keep out of the rooster tail of water I'm spraying up! Oops! Feeling like a true dick, I scuttle off to an acceptable distance forward and let them travel along at a decent pace as well! As further days will prove, both Lynn and Richard can handle anything thrown at them and lap it up, and as long as they aren't being sprayed by some knob's rooster tail, seem to love getting soaked!

Arriving at the Lodge, I tear into the carpark and get the key to my room in record time - whilst I'm pretty wet, my bike is wet AND dirty: horrors! I immediately cadge a towel off guide Diane and drag the poor beast (my bike, not Diane) into my room where I spend the next hour or so drying it off! Only a rather violent bout of the shivers clues me up to the fact that I'm slightly wet as well, so it's into the hot shower and then some dry clothes.

It's still only early afternoon, so I hit the Lodge bar for a few cold beers and a quick catch-up of the Olympics. It's horsey stuff – dressage and jumping: not my style, but at least it's not volleyball!

A quick toddle around the Lodge itself – a nice little place situated alongside the lovely river (pic below) - and then back to my room for a read before dinner at the Lodge's restaurant. Strangely enough, marmot wasn't on the menu?



Some of the others had partaken of the hot tub somewhere on the premises soon after arrival and spoke well of it, but I'd seen enough water already and so skipped it. Snug in my bed that night, little did I know that various forms of water (drizzle, sprinkles, showers and rain) still had somethings planned for me...