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 9: Cycling Volcanoes of Washington – Day 1

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

Once again, all my pics can be found at:

Volcanoes of Washington Tour 2008 Photos.

And for details of the trip itself, please visit:

Bicycle Adventures.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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







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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part 4: Cycling Crater Lake Oregon – Day 3

I awake to the strange sensation of a stomach which appeared to have been filled with concrete and has set. The 'babybacks' have decided to demonstrate their power over the forces of gastric acid and ruminations – they are still very much in command in the empire of my stomach.

Well, their plans for disruption of my biking day have been briefly interrupted, as it is our fate this morning that we must VAN again! I figure that whilst I recede into my typical catatonic state on board, Robot Len will come to the fore and grind the babybacks into something readily digestable.

I don't recall breakfast, mainly coz I didn't eat it! – I had ingested enough material to last the rest of the trip. That's the good thing about these tours; you can eat as much as you can possibly keep down each night and feel really crappy in the morning! Still – the crappiness only applied to my stomach: the rest of me was alert and ready to get pissed off about hopping into the van again!

Apparently, the ride in the van involved a stop off at a waterfall complex? Well, I have a bunch of photos of waterfalls, and people at waterfalls, and they fall on the date corresponding to this day? Just to illustrate this, here are two pics – the first is of a waterfall, and the second is of me and roommate buddy Robb.





Strangely enough, the Day Three route notes make no mention of these? Anyway, the pictures I have testify to both the beauty of the place, and its actual existence, so there you go!

After the possible fantasy of the waterfall stop, we actually do stop, and disembark at a place called Camp Sherman. As it sounds, it looks like a place where problem children are interred during school holidays whilst the parents go whoop it up at a far away resort.

The spot we land is close to the mouth of the Metolius River. I say mouth, but it's not: the Metolius simply bubbles up out of the ground in the middle of a nowhere. It's quite interesting – what looks like a gentle stream fills an entire lake. The mouth is quite peaceful: water flows out from amongst dense water plants and bushes and calmly gurgles its way to the lake. Very meditative. I think a few of the group were underwhelmed, perhaps expecting to see a massive geyser spearing out of a hill and pounding through the terrain. I liked it – it was just there.

Prior to the start of the ride (surprisingly, given all the vanning it is going to be a biggish day in the saddle) there is an option of doing a short loop around Camp Sherman, with a stop in the middle to see a 'fish-viewing' area. Ask 100 people what they assume a fish viewing area is, and 99 will conjure up something like an underwater glassed area where one can peer into the river etc. Well, that's what our group thought. Turns out the fish viewing area is an area next to a bridge over the river where you stand and uummhhh, view fish? Except there were no fish. They must have seen us coming and made themselves scarce.

Right, enough of this – we are raring to go! Completing the loop, the group heads out onto the roads proper and soon we cut across a major Hwy, cunningly named Hwy 20/126. This is to be our travel route for a while. My roommate Robb seems to have hit the gas – I suspect he was clued up on the fish viewing scam and knicked off early! So, I head off down the Hwy with a view to catching him.

Cruising up behind him after a short interval, we join up and steam away the kms. The Hwy is very busy and noisy, but the shoulder is OK and neither of us are bothered. We are scooting along at a good pace, and at one point enjoy a substantial downhill: I put my head down and push it.

As the miles tick by, I see a sign to Sisters, the town we are heading to for lunch. Except the sign says it's a LOT closer than it should be – 5 miles? At pretty much this precise moment, a silver van scorches by and then skids into the shoulder. "Hello" I say, and Head Guide Mark also says "Hello". He then politely inquires whether we are planning on just going straight to Sisters? At this time my razor sharp instincts tell me that something is astray – I boldly ask if we have missed a turn? Turns out we have, and by some 8 miles past! I suspect Mark is not amused, but I don't give a rat's because, "Life is a highway, I wanna ride it all night long!".

Mark attempts to wither us with a look extracted from "The Headmasters Guide to Intimidation", but we are impervious. Clearly it's not my fault – I didn't even have my route map with me! He ingresses the silver van and guns his way back to his flock – we turn and follow, and have a good old laugh! It turns out Robb noticed the van parked at the turn off the Hwy we were meant to take (which was at the bottom of the downhill we pelted down), and he further notices that Mark is jumping up and down like a pogo stick on speed, but assumes he's just confirming the correctness of our ballistic trajectory! Classic! Robb then cracks me up with his assessment of Mark – "he's a little in the box!". This is Robb to a tee – genuinely funny, smart and groovy, and so far out of the box it's vanished.

At this point in time, I had the distinct feeling that Mark and I may be heading for a clash of wills. However, it was not to be. Mark takes enormous pride in his abilities to organise, and he is great at that. I also realised that it's probably a guides worst nightmare to have someone like me who pays scant regard to actual directions - I am at my best when I am given a route from A to B with nothing distracting in between . But in the end things work out – I understand where Mark is coming from and try to give the impression I am mindful of things, and Mark graciously allows that, whilst I may be unkeen on strict order, I can make some sense out of my internal chaos. Later on in the Tour we have some great chats and share a rather nice Mexican fast food meal when he takes me back to Olympia, Washington in preparation for the following Tour. I grow to like him a lot.

Well, Robb and I trundle back toward the correct turnoff (the scenery is very familiar!) and are soon cruising along some beautiful roads thru' drier horse-ranch style country. It is warming up and the riding is great: sunny and cloudfree skies, and nice roads. The scent of sagebush is sweet on the air. In the distance, snow capped mountains rise up from the horizon, just like below:



Perfect! 16 kms or so sees us nearing the town of Sisters (from the correct side this time) and we prepare to follow the directions to the lunch spot at a local park.

Except we don't. We wind up at the end of a road that turns to gravel, from which a rather tanned and nice looking lady and her fluffy dog are advancing. I ask her were "X" road is, already knowing the answer will be "back from whence you came". It is. Luckily, a small bunch of deer, including 'bambi' style young ones, scoot along the road and make the diversion worthwhile.

We arrive at the park a little later than most, but not late enough that the food has totally disappeared, so we dive in. It's a cute little park, all green grass and trees, and a few of the gang play frisbee whilst I lounge around on the grass.

After lunch, we pile into the van and head to the start of our next biking route. On the way we pass thru' the town of Bend. It is manicured. It is pretty. It is green. It screams retirement. It is...death! It reminds me of a movie called 'Happiness' (a real little sleeper gem), where one of the actors, Ben Gazzara, plays an older guy living in a retirement community: every time he is on the golf course an ambulance rolls onto the fairways and carts off another guy who has dropped off the perch whilst playing a round! I imagine there are older model Stepford Wives in abundance in Bend.

The van pulls up at Dutchman Flat SnoPark, an expansive parking area close to Mt Bachelor, a wintertime playground which still has a little sno-cone on top!

From here it's a small uphill, followed by a very long downhill to Sunriver, a resort which is to be our home for the next two nights and a day.

The downhill is begging to be flogged, and so is my bike, so I hit the hammer and go for it. It is on this particular leg that I am taught a lesson in the power of the tandem. The tandem terrors Amy and Steve start out just ahead of me at the commencement of the downhill and I have them in my sights. They stay in my sights, except they are quite rapidly disappearing from my sight! They proceed downhill like they are tied to a rope attached to a boulder which is plunging off the edge of the world! I've run out of gears so can't pedal any faster, and no matter how much I tuck down it's bye bye! I finally catch them when gravity combines with a flat surface to turn the tables in my favour. As I approach from the rear, Amy turns around and takes a photo (she is adept at this), and I pretend that I am not dying of exhaustion. Here it is:



A little down the road, and I have recovered, so I decide to take the option ride and peel off to my right at an intersection. Except it turns out that's not the option road! 18Km down that road, I realise that the non-existent T-junction I should've encountered 2 kms ago means I've dicked up 3 times in one day! Still I ride down a steepish hill for two kms just to be sure before turning around and riding up the even more steepish hill to re-trace my steps.

The road to this point was a bit rough, but OK. The other side of the road back is a tooth-rattling, arse-belting shaker! I guess this is the old road side! With my eyes marbling up and down in my skull, I finally arrive at the road into Sunriver, magically manage to follow a complex set of directions (mainly coz I rode on the road, not the designated bikepath) and ended up where I should: at Robb and my digs for the night! A 120km day in the saddle is over.

Most people are well and truly ensconced in their units, but I manage to snaffle a beer (thanks Wilder!) and wander up to the (nice) room, where Robb is showering and preparing for the night's meal.

A shower and short walk later, we are inside the Sunriver Lodge, which looks great, and spend a nice few hours having a leisurely and yummy dinner, myself and Robb chatting and generally having a great time with the guides and various guests. Mark shows he has a humorous side by allowing Stevie to take a photo of him drinking wine, which is a rare event indeed: he even puts on a drunk face which is extremely convincing. Apparently the food service is a bit slow, but I don't notice – I get a little stewed (not too bad) and am impressed by the hard working waitress Sue (Hi Sue!).

Afterwards, we doddle along the short walk back to the rooms, and a plan formulates amongst a few to be driven up to Dutchman Flat early-ish the next morning (thank you to the charming Stevie) to once again flog the downhill section of earlier that afternoon. My thoughts wander to attaching an ACME rocket Wile E. Coyote-style to my back to get my revenge on the tandem terrors...

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

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

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

Oregon Crater Lake Tour 2008 Photos.

For details of the trip itself, please visit:

Bicycle Adventures.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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





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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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





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

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

That, and more, coming up...