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...
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