A Whole Weekend of Riding Bikes!

Mountain Bike Oregon did not disappoint again this year! My friend Peter and I arrived late Thursday night and found a flat spot in the growing sea of tents to make camp.

I was a guide this year, so I had to get up early to check in and get my ride assignment for the day. My ride schedule couldn't have been better: "The Epic" on Friday, followed by mellow North Fork on Saturday, and long Middle Fork Sunday. Two hard rides with a recovery day sandwiched in between.

MBO is like summer camp for grownups. You show up with your tent and a bike and they do everything else for you. Your biggest responsibility each day is packing your lunch and getting to your shuttle on time. It's become so well known and loved that both July and August sessions sold out this year.

Notable improvements over last year were added ride options and a new and improved beer garden with all local microbrews. The morning routine is pretty much like this: crawl out of sleeping bag and stumble toward the coffee station; coffee in hand, go inside the pavillion to make lunch from the spread provided; cruise over to the vendor area to secure a demo bike for the day (see, you don't really even need to bring a bike!); refill coffee and stand in line for breakfast; fill up Camelback; get bike and self ready to ride; ride short distance to shuttle.

Afternoon routine: arrive back in camp, either from shuttle or riding in; collapse in chair next to tent to marvel at the surrounding beauty and the wonder of MBO; chat with neighbors; visit beer garden for post-ride beer; catch shuttle to cold showers at the high school; return to beer garden; eat dinner in beer garden; participate in evening festivities such as bike toss and Kiddie Bike Criterium; crawl into sleeping bag.

What more could a mountain biker ask for?

Planes, Trains, and Motorcycles

...oh, and ferries, too!

This weekend I joined Scott on a group Harley ride called "Too Broke for Sturgis." I needed to find a way to seriously limit my time sitting on the bike since that really aggravates my back. So I concocted a plan:

We left the house at 6:30 Friday morning and Scott dropped me off at a coffee shop downtown before heading up I-5 to meet the rest of the group. After an Americano and the paper, I strolled over to the train station where I boarded the Amtrak Cascades to Olympia. Less than two hours in more comfort than you find on an airplane. The train was pretty full, too--a good sign for the industry!

Scott was waiting when I arrived and I strapped on my chaps and leather jacket with body armor to protect against the cool overcast. Since my train was a few minutes late, we didn't make the ferry that the group had a reservation on from Port Townsend and had to catch the next one. But we enjoyed our drive up the east side of the Olympic peninsula, smelling the salt air and admiring the calm bay and the small towns along the Hood Canal. But by the time we got to Port Townsend, I was freezing! The hour wait inside the ferry terminal was a welcome respite and I got my hands thawed out before we boarded the ferry to Whidbey Island.

Motorcycles load first. We strolled the deck checking out the view during the 30-minute ride across Puget Sound. I was disappointed to miss seeing the Olympics due to the low overcast but at least it didn't rain! Once off the ferry, it was just a 45-minute ride northeast to Deception Pass State Park where the group had already set up camp, tents back to back in the flat areas away from the fire pit. It was only 4:00, but everyone was pushing for dinner since they hadn't stopped for lunch. Scott and I had heeded the warning to bring snacks and had quite a feast at the ferry terminal. It was way too soon for us to eat, but we sampled a couple of the local microbrews at Flyers Pub in Oak Harbor.

Sleep was just not to be had, between the people who stayed up late, the ones who got up early, and the ones who snored all night. Scott and I were almost last out of camp at the ripe hour of 7:50. I wisely got coffee at Starbucks before joining the group for breaky at Frank's Place, a veteran-themed greasy spoon that was not at all my style, but suit the rest just fine.

After just a few minutes on the bike, we stopped at Deception Pass, a narrow inlet that separates Whidbey Island from the mainland peninsula that houses Anacortes. A gorgeous spot! Made us want sea kayaks.

Heading northeast was like a walk down memory lane as we retraced some of the steps of Primal Quest '04: we passed Mt. Vernon and Bayview State Park, where we portaged kayaks before paddling back to Orcas Island; we drove up the Skagit River that we paddled 60 miles of in the tandem Neckys; I recognized the bike path near Sedro-Wooley where we did the "ride and tie" before setting off up the mountain for an all-night "bike-whack;" Concrete where we met our support crew after hiking around Baker Lake; Rockport where we launched for the long Skagit River paddle; and Marblemount where I think we had a transition.

Then we entered new territory for me--the North Cascades Scenic Highway. I fly over this region frequently and long to check it out up close. True to form, the PNW "summer" weather kept the clouds low and the views limited. Another disappoinment, although the drive was still beautiful. We stopped for the spectacular overlook of Diablo Lake, and again at Washington Pass. The east side (as usual) was sunny and warm and the scenery amazing!

We had lunch in Winthrop, a faux-western tourist town nestled in the Methow Valley. It reminded me of Montana. The group split up here, some in a rush to get to camp in Wenatchee, and others wanting to linger and soak up the local culture and scenery. Scott and I joined the laggers and walked around Winthrop with an ice cream cone before saddling up again. My back thanked me for the break, but was really glad when the day was over!

The entire Methow Valley is gorgeous, the craggy Cascades giving way to the granite folds of the Okanogan and then to the more arid hills of central Washington. We arrived at Confluence State Park on the Columbia and Wenatchee Rivers shortly before the group left for dinner at a Mexican restaurant. Still full from lunch, we opted for showers (cold) and a trip to the grocery for beer and snacks from the deli. We spent time in camp with a couple from Salem who took camping to mean camping and cooked all their own meals--something Scott and I just haven't figured out on the motorcycle yet. We're still learning how to pack and what can be left behind.

I'm sure we woke the whole campground when we peeled out at 5:15 this morning for the airport. Scott dropped me off to catch a flight home through Seattle so I could avoid another 7 hours in the saddle on a route I've seen before. Getting on the plane was adventurous, but once airborne, it was two quick flights home for a 3-hour nap! before I went to pick up Tucker from our dogsitters. Scott didn't get home til 3 p.m.--I'm glad I flew!

Suffering from neglect

I've seriously neglected my blog this summer. And not for lack of content; mostly because I'm too busy out doing things to sit and write about them. I've been thinking about doing some catch-up, though, so stay tuned! If you follow me on facebook at least you've gotten the abbreviated versions of my summer activities.

Our "transition neighborhood" gets noticed

Portland's Cully neighborhood--that most locals have never heard of--has gotten noticed recently. More specifically, the Ainsworth Street Collective is a loosely organized group of neighbors just one block north of us. We walk down Ainsworth Street almost every day when taking Tucker to the dog park and know several of the residents there.

Apparently, Sunset magazine has a feature on ASC in an upcoming issue and the group appeared on AM Northwest this morning. Ainsworth is a great pocket in otherwise nondescript Cully and deserves the attention. Hopefully it will slow the demise of our home equity as well!

Check out the links:
http://thelocalizer.blogspot.com/
http://www.katu.com/amnw/segments/46828697.html

Spring has Sprung!

Every year, it seems like I leave for a trip in typically cold, wet weather and come home four days later to discover that Spring has occurred. This year was no different. These were all taken in my yard:

Great day on the river!

What better day to spend a rainy spring day than on the river? The great thing about kayaking is that you're wet anyway, so it doesn't really matter if it's raining.

Scott and I slept in, then went to yoga. Then he had to go to work for a few hours, so I made plans to meet one of our paddling buddies out at the Clackamas. The river was up from all the rain this week and since my boating has been more off than on the last couple years due to one injury or another, I opted for the Class II run (borderline Class III at this water level) instead of the more challenging Class III upstream.

The water was pushy and the waves big (well, maybe not BIG big, but pretty big to my low-water paddling self), but less technical than usual since most of the rocks were under water. The run took just over 30 minutes and left me wanting more; on the drive back to Trevor's car, he asked, "Are you sure you don't want to do the upper run?"

By now, the sun was out and confidence was high, so I agreed to go for it. I tried to cheat the first rapid, at Fish Creek, too far to the right and the edge of my boat caught the eddy line on the turn at the bottom and flipped me; I set up to roll and felt like my boat was turned the wrong way to the current. I decided to try it anyway. I nearly came up, but too eager for air, reached up with my head, dropping me back into the 37-degree water. I set up again and waited a few seconds to exit the turbulent water; tried again and made it. My head was splitting from the icy dunking and I caught my breath in an eddy before continuing downstream.

Just around the corner was Armstrong Bridge, a rapid that looks innocuous enough, but probably gives me more trouble than anything else on this river, including the Class IV rapid at Carter Bridge. I set up to enter just left of center and drift into the main current as it pours over a lip and into a hole that often knocks me over. Today the hole was pretty flushed out and Trevor and I both floated right through into some swirly water at the end.

I managed to go down most of Big Eddy up on my right edge; I stayed upright by dropping my head to the right and working my paddle back and forth until my left edge dropped back down to the surface.

We finally reached Toilet Bowl--a long, rocky drop with three giant waves at the bottom. Today, most of the rocks were covered, eliminating usual picking your way down. I hugged the edge of two big holes on the left side, hoping to make my way farther left to avoid the biggest waves at the bottom. They came crashing in from different angles, big, frothing piles of turbulent foam towering over head. But the current tugged my boat to the right, depositing me directly into the meat of the rapid. Nothing to do but dig in, paddle hard, and hope for the best. The first wave hit me hard in the face, blinding me and taking my breath away with the cold. I blindly plunged my paddle into the water and braced for the next wave.

We were a little high on adrenaline as we loaded boats in the truck. I celebrated a great river run with an oatmeal stout back at home.

It was no surprise that the best part of my day occurred while riding my bike. Friday morning, I finally got around to putting slicks on my 'cross bike so I can use it as a road bike during the non-'cross season.

The tire changing is fodder for a blog post of its own--let's just suffice it to say that after 45 minutes, a blister and a punctured tube, I threw tires and wheels in the truck and drove down to my LBS and forked over cold hard cash for someone else to do the dirty work for me.

Finally, chores done, dog walked, I suited up for a nice long ride on a sunny February day. By the time I rolled down the driveway, the clear blue had given way to a high but solid layer of cloud. Oh, well. At least it wasn't raining.

Fighting the wind all the way down Marine Drive toward Troutdale, I argued with myself about how far I would go. I planned to ride to Crown Point, 25 miles away, but I haven't done much riding the past few months and the wind was taking its toll. I would still get a good workout if I turned back early.

Pushing on, I left Troutdale and crossed the Sandy River, then turned onto the Scenic Gorge Highway, enjoying a reprieve from the wind. A few miles later, I came upon a large man in sweats pushing an old Trek road bike with a flat front tire. I stopped to offer help--I had tools, patch kit and spare tube. He declined the offer, saying he was almost home, but thanked me anyway. We talked for a few minutes.

Over the course of the past year, this guy has lost over 100 pounds. He rides his bike daily from Troutdale to Lloyd Center and back, an hour 45 each way, he told me. He started this on a bet with a friend and feels so good he could never go back. Oh yeah, he quit smoking, too. He was quite passionate about riding and wishing he knew other people who shared his enthusiasm.

It was the kind of encounter that puts a smile on your face. I was inspired to push on to Crown Point after all.