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 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...

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...