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!