The gentle grunting was emanating from the foot of my roomy Robb's bed. Robb, at 64, has the body of a man approximately half his age . This is NOT an accident of evolution – Robb does about ten million sit ups and core crunches every morning. If he was one of those sea otters that crack crabs on their stomach whilst floating on the water, he would be King of the Sea Otters. He would sneer at the individual crabs, go pounce on the nearest fishing freighter carrying tons of crustaceans, wrestle it into submission and crack IT on his stomach! Robb's abs have abs.
Anyway, this was no surprise, as he had already informed me that he had an early morning routine which involved some physical exercise (I had imagined that exercise to consist of him crawling out of bed, and wrestling his false teeth into his mouth). Turns out it's a lot more strenuous than that. If I wasn't such a lazy-arsed slacker, the sheer guilt of hearing him performing such herculean feats morning after morning would've motivated me to perhaps contemplate some form of morning physicality. Well, that and the fact that I sleep like a log on these trips, hence remained undisturbed until he wakes me at an appropriate time just before breakfast each morning.
Robb is great value – very easygoing and chatty, with an innate sense of accommodating the other person, and definitely a little eccentric. He's a bit like a groovy hippy with latent corporate sensibilities – he says "man", "bro" and "good job" a lot. But he is not at all show – he genuinely is those things and a real pleasure to know. He is also a super tough and gutsy rider who loves a challenge.
Breakfast is lovely, the day is fine and warming up: perfect for cycling. Today is a 100km day in the saddle traversing the Aufderheide Scenic Byway, which sounds impressive and indeed is.
Robb and I saddle up and begin the first of what are many enjoyable rides together on this tour. He is a perfect riding companion – likes the company, but doesn't feel obliged to engage in endless chatter, and doesn't mind at all if one wants to blast away for a while. Throughout the tour we'll ride many kms together, and he indulges me in my need to circle back and see how he's doing: he claims it motivates him, but he doesn't need motivation (he could pull a truck over a mountain) and clearly it's more for my benefit than his.
The journey up to lunch takes us through lovely forests, the road occasionally skirting the sides of rivers. So scenic in fact, that I don't take a single picture! Sorry! In actuality, it feels so good to finally be riding seriously that I forget where I am and just get enveloped in the kms as they roll under the wheels.
Just prior to lunch, the route directions indicate there is a "steep two mile climb to Box Canyon". Immediately after this, they read "Congratulations – you made it". There is no middle message reading "If you don't read the congratulations message, you have died on the climb and have been rolled off the side of the road into the gutter where you will assimilated by nature!". This climb is a steep little bugga. This, and yesterday's climb on which I ingloriously hopped off, convince me that trying to ride up climbs with a low gear of 39 by 25 at 40 rpm is NOT smart – I resolve to talk to the tour guides about finding a suitable bike shop in the upcoming days, and replacing the 53/39 front crank with a compact 50/34 (I refuse the ignominy of a granny – I am seriously stupid!).
After I crest the climb and find the lunch van, I courageously determine that I will go down the hill again to assist Robb in the climb – after all, the poor old sod IS 64! Immediately I get to the top of the hill, the "poor old sod" is there and looking decidedly better than I felt. Hmmm, I resolve never to assist this man again because he makes me look like shit!
Lunch is welcome and yummy as always. The post lunch route talk (which head guide Mark is big on) I studiously ignore – hasn't this guy heard about my legendary ability to turn up eventually even tho' I have no idea where I am going?
More great riding after lunch (mostly downhill) followed by a unique opportunity – there is a chance to jump off a bridge into the water below! Prior to arriving at the place, it sounds like a good idea: the day is warm, the sun is out, and a bridge is just a bridge right? Yeh – right!
OK – a warning. If you are an employee of Bicycle Adventures and did NOT participate in the following folly, for legal reasons please GO AWAY NOW! Also, if you are a member of the legal profession and have in the past, currently, or plan at any time in the future to have any dealings at all with Bicycle Adventures, GO AWAY AND DIE! Now we've cleared that up, let us continue.
Said bridge loomed up and it looked fairly normal. Walking across its span and peering over the side made it seem less normal. Tiny ant-sized creatures on the banks beside the river below screamed up at us that it was perfectly safe to jump off of. Of course it was safe to jump off of – the unsafe part was when you landed in the water a kilometer below at terminal velocity! Compounding this was the fact that the launch place for the jump seemed to be a very specific, tiny part of the bridge marked by some illegible hieroglyphics.
Well, after severe taunting from 'Unnamed Tour Guide No. 1' (aka 'Searingly-Gorgeous' Stevie), gentle persuasion from 'Unnamed Tour Guide No. 2' (aka 'I-get-paid-to-flirt' Wilder – explanation later), and admirable encouragement from the rest of the gang, I arrange a deathly bargain where the three of us will jump off...
'Unnamed Tour Guide No. 1' and I do a joint assault: we hop on the guard rail, launch off together and, a surprisingly long time afterwards for what is only really a thirty foot jump, we hit the water. The water itself is actually rather nice - a bit chilly perhaps - but the effect of the impact is not all that flash: seems I didn't quite keep my legs together, and the force of the water impacting in unmentionable regions has tried to force my riding shorts up someplace where they shouldn't go. Ouch! Still, it passes and No. 1 and I retreat to the banks, just in time to watch No. 2 more theatrically leap from the rail. He survives!
Triumphant, we gather on the banks and let the adoring fans take our photos, the evidence of which is below:
Post-leap (actually, Wilder does another leap for reasons I still have not fathomed), people climb back up on their bikes and re-commence the journey to the night's destination. I am a late leaver as I attempt to dry my cycle shorts by sliding along the bridge's metal guard rail, in similar fashion to how a dog attempts to rid itself of worms.
After a while, I catch up to Robb, and he and I spend the rest of the time scooting in and out of lovely canyoned roads running alongside what I believe is Cougar Reservoir ( I didn't spy any attractive older women, but I guess they stored them somewhere?) The roads are perfect and the views wonderful – of course, I once again have no pics!
We eventually ride into the McKenzie Riverside Cottages (perversely a collection of delightful 'homelets' nestled alongside the lovely McKenzie River) and we immediately assail head guide Mark for our hard-won right: Beer! We park ourselves and our two bottles of liberated stuff on two chairs on a grassy area beside the river and imbibe, looking at Mark zoom about in a golf cart, and wondering after 30 or so minutes where the rest of the gang is.
Turns out Mark hates Robb and I, as the rest of the gang have been ensconced on one of the 'homelet's' patios overlooking the river, and are nibbling on eats and getting boozed up! (see pic below). So Mark, that's how it's to be...
Once the dust has settled, it's time for allocation of cabins/homelets. Because Robb and I have somehow incurred Mark's wrath, we are separated and he gets his own little shack to himself whilst I am...thrown in with the guides! WTF?
Still, the house is nice, as you can see...
... and I get to have THE BIGGEST ROOM! Haha – sux 2 b u guide doods!
Dinner is at the 'Holiday Farm' restaurant. Lovely little place with big tables, cheery atmosphere, cute waitpersons etc etc. It is here that Wilder's remuneration deal is made clear: he is the world's biggest flirt with the ladies, and I figure no-one can be that blatant about it without being paid by the attempt-to-score! More maddening, the man is GOOD! His obvious puppy-dog-eyes, compliments-galore approach soon has the wait-girls flocking to do his bidding! I make hay whilst the sun shines and politely ask one of the ladies for a beer, stating charmingly that I'd make do with her much-appreciated recommendation: she looks at me with the loathing reserved for someone who has just been observed biting the head off of a cute fluffy kitten! Damn you Wilder...!
Talk turns to ordering, and Wilder makes repeated reference to something called 'babybacks' I think (the mind boggles). Anyway, turns out you can get these things in either half or full dose. Pressed by Wilder and the you-killed-a-kitten waitress, who both assure me I can consume a full portion of these, I demure and order same.
Soon thereafter, what appears to be the carcass of half of a full grown super-animal coated with around 1,000 gallons of a barbecue sauce variant appears in front of me. OK, this is to be divided amongst the whole table, right? Apparently not, for soon after the same mound arrives in front of Wilder.
These things are ribs, most likely from a prehistoric giant-sized version of what we know of as a cow. I know why these beasts became extinct – their meat became so dense and heavy that the were glued to the surface of the earth by gravity, and were picked off at leisure by the carnivores of the time. Who incidentally also became extinct via this act of consumption.
After struggling thru' HALF of one of these things, my stomach shut down and refused further input. Cunningly, I passed off the remainder to my good friend Steve, keeping a straight face whilst telling him they were delightful.
Post dinner, I dragged my now considerably heavier body back to the house. Arriving, I attempted to sit down but failed. Apparently the highly dense matter I'd consumed had gravitated to the lowest point of my body near my ankles, and I was like one of those punching-bag clowns that return to standing position no matter how hard you knock them over.
Whilst I exaggerate slightly, those things were HUGE!
Karen and Sandra, two charming ladies on the tour, arrive and are roped into playing some card game by Mark, along with Stevie. They try and persuade me to join in, but I've managed to sit and stay down, so there's no getting up.
I finally roll off to bed and am asleep in seconds: my body has decided to shut my mind off from what it must do to repair itself from the effects of the 100km ride and, mostly, the 'babybacks'.
