LiveSponge

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Washington Park is very, very dark at 5:30 in the morning. Especially when it is POURING rain. Only an idiot would be riding her bike there at that time, in that weather.

Well, call me Idiot.

Today was the day for the LiveStrong Challenge, a cycling event put on by the Lance Armstrong Foundation to raise money to combat cancer. This is not a ride I would normally do, but my club - Portland Velo - was supplying volunteers to man a rest stop and to ride the course as Ride Marshals. I wasn't sure if I qualified to be a ride marshal, but after answering two simple questions -- Can you fix a flat tire? Can you dial 911? -- I was in. There were a number of routes: 10, 18, 40, 70 and 100 miles. We were supplying marshals for the 40 and 70 mile routes. Needing maximum mileage, I signed up to marshal the 70. Lynne and Jason did too ("But of course," Lynne said when the organizer asked if we would all be riding together). It's amazing we can all ride so well, attached at the hip as we are.

Anyhoo, we need to be at the Nike Campus in Beaverton by 6:45. I told Lynne I would meet her at the top of the hill by her house at 5:45, so there I was slogging (and I mean SLOGGING) up the hill from the Rose Garden to the Zoo, and on over to the Hwy 26 bike path, at 5:30. It was, as I believe I pointed out, BUCKETING down rain. There are no lights on the roads through the park, which are narrow, winding, and poorly paved. Even with my excellent lighting system, I could just barely make out the center yellow line, so I hugged it all the way to the top. Fortunately, there was no other vehicle traffic to worry about. Once I got to the Zoo, the road widened, the pavement got better, and there were streetlights. Whew.

Met up with Lynne, and she and I rode down the hill to Jason's house, where Lynne would be trading her Bleriot for the back seat of Clifford, The Big Red Tandem. We were a wee bit early, and Jason wasn't quite ready yet. In fact, he hadn't even started getting ready. So Lynne and I stood around chatting - fortunately, Jason's porch had a roof to keep the rain off. At about 6:30 we hit the road again and headed for Nikeland. We were supposed to meet our group at the Tiger Woods building. It wasn't hard to find - there's a GIANT banner with Tiger on it on the road leading up to it. We checked in, got our instructions, posed for group pictures, and headed out to the start line, where we waited in the cold, heavy rain for about half an hour before they started letting us go in groups.





Because of the weather, they had decided to cancel the 100-mile route, which would have gone to the top of Bald Peak before heading back to join the 70-mile loop. At first I thought "Wimps! This is Oregon, we ride in crap like this all the time!" But then I took a look around at the riders and so how WOEFULLY unprepared most of them were: no fenders; no rain pants, leg warmers, or tights; summer gloves or no gloves; tennis shoes; non-water-resistant jackets . . . you get the picture. I began to fear that we would be helping a lot of hypothermia victims.

We finally got rolling at about 7:30. The route took us out of Beaverton towards Hillsboro, Forest Grove and Hagg Lake. Many roads that Velo goes on weekly. There was an enormous police presence, blocking traffic on major highways to let us pass - for someone who believes in coming to a full stop at all stop signs it was weird to be encouraged, by law enforcement no less, to run every red light I encountered! We even got to run the infamous North Plains "ticket trap." (although I noted that at that particular intersection it was State Troopers and not the North Plains police waving us through). The route took us on some roads that I would have avoided -- next year we hope they consult with Velo about some safer and more scenic options -- but all in all it was pretty good.

As with most rides of this sort, the rest stops (or "power" stops as the LAF called them) were plentiful, well-stocked and staffed by friendly volunteers. The very first stop was staffed by our very own Velo (the best club in town!), and there we found a secret stash of hot coffee for ride marshals. As Jason has said, I can count on 8 frostbitten fingers the numbe rof times in my life I have drunk coffee, and this was one of them.

The best stop (not counting the Velo stop, toward which I am naturally biased) was without a doubt the Hagg Lake stop, where we were hailed and serenaded by pirates. Pirates who told very bad jokes. Pirate jokes, of course. There was also hot soup and hot cocoa, both of which were very welcome by that point. The rest room had an automatic hand dryer that blew warm air. I tried to crawl under it to dry out.



Leaving Hagg Lake, I was dismayed when my rear derailleur cable suddenly snapped at the shifter end and in an instant I went from 27 available speeds to 3. Fortunately, there was yet another rest stop 5 miles on, and there was a very friendly and talented mechanic who quickly installed a new cable. I was thrilled, because I knew I would have had no time to do it myself or take it to anyone else to do it and I did not want to ride next week's Bingen 200K with only 3 speeds. I hear they have hills out there.

As we came closer to the end, the route took us by the spot where a member of Velo was killed by a reckless driver earlier this year. There was a memorial ride for him last week, and they installed a '"ghost bike" at the site. I wasn't able to do the ride, and I wanted to pay my respects, so we passed the turn to see it.



The rest of the ride was uneventful, standard Velo fare. We never did have to do much ride marshaling. We told people to leave room on the road for cars; they ignored us. Lynne and Jason helped someone with shifting problems. I checked on a guy barfing by the side of the road. He was okay, just reacting badly to a Power Gel he had just downed. I told him those things make me barf too, offered him some crackers, and rode on once he said he'd be okay.

I wasn't looking forward to the ride back over the West Hills to home, even if it was just over the relatively low Sylvan section. Lynne had offered me a ride home from her place, and I decided to take her up on it. Toward the end I was so tired, wet and cold that I was still dreading just the ride up Park Way to get to Lynne's house. So I was elated to hear from Lynne that her husband, Fitz, who had been marshaling the 40-mile route, had called to say that he had finished up, had gone home, gotten the van and driven it back to Nike to pick us all up. Whoo-hoo. I had no qualms whatsoever about breaking my rule of riding to and from my rides.

We finally got back to Nike, collected our free meal and (even better) free beer, chatted with friends, and thawed out. On the way to the bike corral to collect our steeds, we went by a display for the new Nissan mini-SUV, the Rogue. The exhibitors were touting the heated seats, and asked them if we'd like to test them. Hmm, something warm and dry on which to set our still cold and wet bottoms? You didn't have to ask us twice. We jumped in, they turned on the heaters, we locked the doors and refused to get out. Okay, we finally got out, but only because we had our own warm van waiting. No heated seats, though.



Next week, the Bingen Bikenfest 200km. I hope it's not raining.

The Wind Blew Out My Perm

Or, "Why Am I Only Going 11.8 MPH Downhill?"



Yesterday some fellow OrRando members and I decided to ride one of the local "permanent" brevets. These are routes that one can choose to ride at any time (as long as you give the club administrator enough notice), and I needed to do it to ensure that I stayed on target for my goal of doing at least one 200K brevet per month (if I do it, I get a cool medal!). Ray, RB, Rickey, Bill and Ken decided to come along. Lynne was observing Yom Kippur and so could not join us. At least that's what she said. As far as excuses go, it was a pretty good one.

Anyhoo, the route I decided to do is called "Prairies and Wetlands" and it is a 2-loop, impressively flat ride out of Newberg. The first loop heads southeast to Mt. Angel and back, and the second goes northwest to Forest Grove and back. Because the route was so flat, I hoped to complete the ride in no more than 10 hours total.

I met up with the guys in Newberg a little after 7:00 AM, faffed around in the parking lot for a while and headed out at 7:30. First stop, the local minimart to get a receipt to show what time we left town (and use the bathroom), and then it was over the Willamette River and into the hop fields of St. Paul.



I had a sneaking suspicion that we had a tailwind. There was no visual evidence of wind - no fluttering leaves or bowing grasses - but I was cruising along at 21 mph with little to no effort. I raised this possibility with Rickey and he said "oh, no, we don't have any wind . . " Uh-huh. We got to Mt. Angel half an hour ahead of schedule, having stopped only briefly for two "information controls," got some Gatorade and another receipt, and turned to the northwest to go home. Into the wind . . . .grrr. It still wasn't too bad though - our average speed had only dropped by about 2.2 mph by the time we got back to Newberg. Besides, along the way we got a stark reminder of the dangers of speed.



We were slowed down again when I got a flat in the middle of the bridge over the Willamette - fortunately it was a slow leak, so I could keep riding to the end of the bridge where there was more room to change it. I am getting much better at changing out tubes. Now I just need to work on getting the wheel back on the bike - Rickey had to point out to me that I had the cassette facing the wrong direction as I started to insert the wheel. I am sure I would have noticed that out some point.

Back in Newberg, we needed some sustenance and another receipt - Rickey talked me into going to the Dairy Queen, forcing me to break my vow to wait another 20 years before doing that again (see my previous post about the Grab Bag Brevet re the terrors inspired by the Sheridan DQ). Once again, as in Sheridan, it was like stepping into some weird vortex in which everything and everybody moved at half-speed. At least this time the Children of the Corn weren't there. At least not yet.

Needless to say, by the time we left Newberg we had gone from being 1/2 an hour ahead of schedule to 1/2 an hour behind. No problem, I figured - we'll just spring on the flats and make it up. Famous last words. The first 20 miles weren't SO bad - a little longer on Hwy 99E than I would have liked (a nice autumn Saturday is not the best time to ride your bike on the shoulder of the main route through Oregon's Wine Country - go figure), but otherwise uneventful.

Our first control was an information control in Dayton - in the park there is a blockhouse from a fort that had originally been built near Grande Ronde but at some point had been moved to Dayton. Our control question was "What year was the blockhouse rebuilt in Dayton." There was hint to look at the Historic Site near the bathrooms for the answer. Problem: there was no such sign. There was a commemorative plaque, dated 1971, so that was my guess, but there also was a sign on the blockhouse itself that mentioned the "fort" being "moved" to Dayton in 1911, and Ray and RB liked that one. But was "moving the fort" the same as "rebuilding the blockhouse"? Rickey, ornery as ever, wanted to use the date the fort was FIRST built - 1856 - despite our pointing out to him that it was in Grande Ronde at that point . . . Much time was wasted by all debating these fine points. I finally went with 1991 AND 1971.



From Dayton we headed out onto Hwy 47, and descended into the 9th Circle of Hell. 20 miles of highway shoulder (and I use this term charitably) directly into an incredibly stiff constant headwind, with the occasional sneaky cross-gust to make it interesting. I was faced with a tough choice. Try to maintain my own pace, which was a bit faster than the boys were going (not because I am generally faster than they are, more that they were riding sensibly and I was not), which resulted in me trailing off the front without a windbreak, or falling in behind the guys and using them to block the wind. I went with choice number one, until I got to the point in which the wind pushed me backward until I was behind them . . . .



By the time we got to Forest Grove (102 miles into the ride), I was whipped. We stopped at a pizza joint - the guys got slices, I wasn't hungry (about 25 minutes later I would regret the decision not to eat, when I bonked on North Valley Road).



By this time it was pretty clear we weren't going to make our 10-hour goal, so we stayed at the pizza joint longer than we normally would have. Rickey had leg cramps, and none of us was all that eager to get back on the road. But we finally saddled up and headed out. After some initial confusion over street names, we made it out of Forest Grove and headed southeast to Newberg. Finally the wind was at our back, and would be for the last 23 miles of the day.

The only real hills of the ride were in those last 23 miles, though; a series of rollers that on a good day can be a really fun roller coaster ride. This was not a good day. I was tired, hungry, and my rear hub had finally given up the ghost. The free wheel was shot, and some suspicious "crunchy" noises accompanied every rotation . . .but we finally made it back to Newberg, and only half an hour outside of our goal. Next up, the Bingen Bikenfest on October 6. Today I bought new wheels, so at least I shouldn't have to hear those crunchy noises.

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

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For the last 8 years, I toiled in the salt mines of private practice, dreaming of the day when I would have a REAL vacation. (Trust me on this, young Jedi, when the on-campus interviewers tell you about their firm's belief in "balance" and the importance of leisure time, they are LYING.) Anyway, this year those dreams of leisure came true, when I left private practice to take a job with the State and used that career shift as an opportunity to take a month off in between jobs. Of course, my idea of leisure may not be the same as yours - here's how I spent my summer vacation:

THE BOOK DRIVE

For the last three years I have organized a book drive for the benefit of the library at a nearby women's prison. Last year's drive was so successful that we were able to stock TWO libraries, and I won an award. Usually running the drive meant spending my evenings and weekends sorting through the donated books and delivering them to the prison a few boxes at a time on those rare days when I could be a little late to the office. As a result, it was often a 4-month period from the beginning of the drive to the final delivery. This year, however, I was able to devote two full weeks to the collection, sorting and delivery process and got it all done at once!







THE GARDEN

This year's summer crop:
"Purple Romano," "Kentucky Blue," and "Jade" beans;
"Dusky," "Casper," and "Little Fingers" eggplants;
"Pizza," "Holy Mole," "Long Thin Cayenne," "Korean Hot," and "Lipstick" peppers;
"Super Marzano," "Beaverlodge," "Cherokee Purple," "White Currant," and "Saucy" tomatoes;
Pumpkins, Delicate and Buttercup squash
Strawberries
Garlic



PUTTING FOOD BY . . .

I learned how to make jam and jelly (don't ask about why the strawberry sauce is "sauce" and not "jam") - Clockwise starting from center: blackberry jam, habanero jelly (peppers from last year - it's amazing how well they freeze), candied and pickled watermelon rind, strawberry sauce, pickled eggplant (really more like a tapenade) and dilled beans.



. . . AND MAKING SOME TO EAT IMMEDIATELY

I perfected my "no knead" bread.




BIKE CLASS

I took a bicycle repair class from a local mechanic, Tori Bortman - here she is pointing out the attributes of the hi-tech "poke-o-meter" that she presented to me at graduation.



A TRIP TO THE COAST

Greg and I took the dogs to the beach - they played in the water, we hiked and drank beer







AND, OF COURSE, I RODE MY BIKE.

12 rides, 732 miles . . . .some with ferries

Oh, Canada!

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I've been to Canada many times over the years, but never by bicycle. That changed as of last Friday, when I joined 1299 other cyclists to ride from Seattle, Washington to Vancouver, B.C. on the Cascade Bicycle Club's "RSVP" ride. RSVP stands for "Ride from Seattle to Vancouver (B.C.) and Party." The ride was started over 25 years ago and is still going strong.

It was not hard to convince me to undertake this journey; I would be going to my favorite city in the world via my favorite mode of transportation, and seeing new sights along the way. I was joined in this venture by my buddies Lynne and Jason. They had both done the ride before, but were as excited as I was to get going.



The ride started at Magnuson Park in Seattle. Fortunately for me, Magnuson Park is less than 5 miles from the home of my brother Kevin and his wife, Tammy. [Shameless Plug: Kevin is a very talented blues musician who plays at various spots around Seattle - if you have a chance, you should check out his shows]. So on Thursday I drove up to their place, through some of the worst traffic I have ever encountered. At one point I considered pulling over, hopping on my bike and going the rest of the way two-wheeled. I very well may have were it not for the fact that it was also BUCKETING down rain (not a good omen for a bike ride).

The ride start opened at 6:30 Friday morning. My goal was to be pedaling by 7:00. I was, of course, awake by 5:00 and ready to go by 5:30. Just a little anxious. I managed to twiddle my thumbs until 5:45, but still ended up arriving at the start by 6:00. This means I had plenty of time to use the blue rooms, drink some tea, use the blue rooms again, collect swag, use the blue rooms again, find Lynne and Jason, use the blue rooms again . . . .

The ride would take two days. The first night we would be staying in Bellingham, home of Western Washington University. Lynne, Jason and I had all arranged to stay in the WWU dorms, and we dropped our luggage off at the truck headed for those dorms. Skip was tying orange flags to the bags to identify them as "dorm" bags so that they wouldn't be dropped off at one of the hotels accidentally. If that were to happen, it would be up to us to go find them because, as Skip said, he was "there to be helpful, but not that helpful." Shortly after putting his bag in the ever-growing pile, Jason decided he needed something out of it. Fortunately, it was still somewhere near the top.



Jason's luggage squared away, and final trips made to the blue rooms, we were ready to hit the road or, to be more accurate, the Burke Gilman Trail. The BGT is a multi-use path that stretches a little over 14 miles from Fremont to Kenmore. Apart from the tree roots that have lifted portions of the trail, and the stop signs every 50 feet in certain stretches, the trail was a joy to ride and the scenery spectacular.





In fact, I liked the BGT so much, I turned around and re-did it. Well, not exactly. What really happened is that my cyclometer decided to hop off my bike at some point when I was not looking, and I backtracked in a vain attempt to find it. I had stopped to take a picture and Lynne and Jason had just passed me - I told them I would catch up with them, but then realized I had no bike computer. So I hopped on my bike and started back the way we came. After a little less than 1/2 an hour I gave up. I never found the cyclometer, but I did give myself an extra 10 or so miles, and 45 or so minutes (the "or so" would be because I had no cyclometer to be exact!!), In any event, it gave me the chance to revisit some oddly labeled restrooms we had passed on the way:

. . . I am WOM, hear me roar . . .

After leaving the BGT, we wound our way through some relatively uninteresting road construction and Edge City landscapes in Bothell and Woodinville until suddenly, after climbing a hill and rounding a corner, we were smack dab in the middle of the Republic of Bucolia, aka Snohomish County.



Snohomish County is very, very pretty. I soon reached the Snohomish Airport, and remembered that Lynne had said something about the "Buzz Inn" restaurant there being a traditional stop for them. I pulled in, hoping she and Jason might still be there eating breakfast, and found them getting ready to pull out. Excellent timing. I would later find that Lynne had left a message on my cell phone as to their whereabouts. Some day I will learn how to use that thing. It would later turn out to be the bane of my ride, as I tried desperately to meet up with an Internet friend who was on the ride. My only means of finding him was via cell phone, and mine suddenly decided to commit battery suicide. I had, of course, not bothered to bring the recharger with me. I never did meet up with him, and am sad about that.

In Snohomish we hooked up with the Centennial Trail. Another multi-use path like the BGT, the CT is a lovely trail EXCEPT for the really annoying barriers (presumably intended to slow bicycles) at intersections. Barely passable on a single, they are impossible to negotiate on a tandem, so Lynne and Jason had to go off-road to get around them. Unfortunately, at the third of the barriers, their "off-road" passage took them completely off the road and into a ditch.

A ditch filled with nettles.

Fortunately for them the nettles were soft and broke their fall.

Unfortunately for them, the nettles were, well, nettles.



Our next stop was Arlington, with lunch at the Bluebird Cafe. Bicycles and their riders were everywhere - it was a little like Sturgis, with Lycra instead of leather. After lunch, we stopped at a drug store so that Lynne could score some Lanacaine to help tune out the nettle "twinging" she was experiencing (Jason will be apologizing for a very, very long time). Out of Arlington we climbed up past Lake McMurray and Big lake (imaginative name, huh?) on our way to Mt. Vernon and the first "official" rest stop of the ride. Each day had one "official" rest stop, but also a number of mini-stops. Although the ride was described as primarily "self-supported," there was very little danger of anyone going hungry or thirsty.

After Mt. Vernon, it was on to Bow fro one more mini rest stop, and then to Chuckanut Drive, the high point of the day (apparently both literally and figuratively). Chuckanut Drive is one of the prettiest roads I have ridden to date. An extremely gentle climb of less then 10 miles, it skirts Samish Bay, and there are frequent turnouts from which to enjoy magnificent vistas.





After the climb up Chuckanut it was all downhill to Bellingham, the end point of the day's ride. After a stroll through the Western Washington University Campus to enjoy the sculptures,





and a lovely pint (or two) at the Boundary Bay brew pub,



I was ready to hit the sack in the WWU dorm.



The next day we were up bright and early and on our way to Canada. I rode hard the first 15 miles or so, just to get my blood flowing, but stopped for breakfast with Jason and Lynne at the Dutch Mother in Lynden, Washington - another RSVP tradition.

On the second day of RSVP, the Dutch Mother restaurant sets out a breakfast buffet for bikers.



Hundreds of cyclists file through in a couple of hours' time, and at $8.95 a head the Dutch Mother manages to feed them all. More "eggs and pancakes" than "loaves and fishes," but still fairly miraculous.



And then it was on to Canada. Surprisingly enough, they let me across the border. I could have sworn that TRFKAF was on a watch list because of his artificial testosterone use, but I guess not. I had met up with Jason and Lynne in Lynden for breakfats, and we stuck together to cross the border, and then off and on for the rest of the day.



The trip from the border to Vancouver was not nearly as nice as the trip from Seattle to Bellingham. I determined that the first day of RSVP is "all about the ride," and the second day is "all about the destination." In Canada, we rode a number of very busy highways, competing for space with some very big trucks. By the last 1/4 of the ride, I was more than ready to be done! There were some high points, however. Fort Langley is one of the cutest towns I have seen, we got to ride a ferry, I ate "licorice tiger" ice cream for the first time at Rocky Point, and we didn't get rained on.

Riding through Vancouver proper was interesting. It helped that I have a LOT of urban riding experience (i.e. I know how to "take" a lane when necessary). It also helped that Greg and I have spent many, many hours wandering around Vancouver on foot over the years. I knew all the streets we were to take, and I knew all the tricks to taking them. Unfortunately, many of my fellow riders had clearly never ridden in a city before, let alone an enormous city, and I saw a LOT of stupid biker tricks take place. Happily, I reached the finish line unscathed and treated myself to an extremely tasty veggie burger at the end.



Then I met up with my friend Steve, and his daughter Laurel. Steve and Laurel had never been to Vancouver before, so I dragged them around town before heading for a filling and delicious dinner at the India Bistro on Davie Street. After dinner, Laurel hit the sack and Steve and I took a walk along the seawall to Yaletown and then back to the hostel we were all staying at.

The next day, Sunday, we were up with the dawn to load our bikes on a truck and ourselves on a bus to head back to Seattle. They had moving vans for the bikes, each wrapped in its own little banket, and "Greyhound" style buses for us.





In past years, the buses filled with bikers had reached Seattle long before the trucks filled with bikes. Not this time. Thanks to Homeland Security and two or three busloads of non-US citizens ahead of us, we spent close to three hours not moving an inch in the line at the border. But we finally got across the border and, two hours later, were reunited with out bikes in Magnuson Park. All told, it was loads of fun.

More of my pictures can be found at:

http://tinyurl.com/24835w

And you can find Lynne's version of events at

http://lynnerides

Disappointment? I think not.

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On Saturday last, my riding buddy Lynne and I decided to break in our new, matching, "Randonneurs of China" jerseys by taking them out on one of the Oregon Randonneurs' 200 km "permanent" brevets. This particular route went from Clatskanie, Oregon to Cape Disappointment in Washington and then back to Clatskanie by way of Astoria, Oregon (and the very, very long Astoria Bridge that connects WA and OR over the mouth of the Columbia River).



Clatskanie is little over 60 miles east of Portland, but the fastest way to get there is by heading north (!) to Washington and then crossing back over the Columbia by way of the Lewis & Clark Bridge out of Longview. Fortunately, we were doing this bit by car, because that Longview Bridge is a nightmare for cyclists.

The brevet started with a quick 9-mile sprint from Clatskanie to Westport, where we were to hop a ferry back (!) to Washington. We got a slightly late start, and then had to stop for some road construction (we got to be the "pilot" bikes when our traffic line was allowed to go), but we nevertheless made it to the ferry landing with time to spare, thanks to some marvelously smooth new pavement and little to no winds.



Road construction was the theme of the day, with the riding surface ranging from gloriously smooth new pavement on Oreogn Hwy 30 to agitating (literally) fresh chipseal (which appeared to have been laid over perfectly good smooth pavement) on Washington Hwy 4 to nerve-wracking grooved and scored pavement outside Ilwaco WA (the "Grooved Pavement Ahead" sign was for some mysterious reason placed AT THE END of said grooves . . .) on US 101 to the inches-deep loose gravel on the Stringtown Road detour from Hwy 101. Guess which one we finally decided to go around . . .



Apart from the ever-changing road surfaces, and occasional spurts of heavy traffic, the ride was a pleasant romp (if you call miles of endless climbing a romp) through various river valleys on our way to the coast and back. We passed through a few small towns, most of which, judging by the road names, were founded by Finns. Until we reached Highway 101 at the WA coast, there was very little in the way of motor vehicle traffic - that changed once we hit the coast. Lots of RVs made riding on the 101 somewhat challenging (it is a narrow highway with little in the way of a shoulder).

As usual, Lynne and I stopped to take lots of pictures.



The coastal stretch of the journey was lovely. Miles of salt marshes gave way to the Willapa Bay and then we hit the fishing town of Ilwaco. The fleet was in, but the sun had finally come out and we were able to shed our cold weather gear.



We reached the bridge to Astoria about 87.5 miles into the ride. The bridge is very long, with an elevated section on each end, and a long (really long) flat section close to the water in the middle.



The shoulders were narrow, but did not have as much debris as I had feared. Lots of dead birds, though. Fortunately, we had a tailwind to helps us up and over, and the motorists passing us were, for the most part, polite enough to give us room. There were quite a few periods of no motor vehicle traffic, so that we could actually stop worrying about getting hit and enjoy the view. Nevertheless, we were happy to get off the bridge and into Oregon - 3.5 miles later.



The ride from Astoria back to Clatskanie was pretty damn perfect - a blistering tailwind made the hills seem flat (well, all except that climb up to the Clatsop Summit - with three false summits, that one pretty much sucked, but the 2.5 mile descent at 36-40 mph made up for it).

128 miles
9088.5 feet elevation gain
9 hours, 12 minutes, 45 seconds in the saddle (and another 3 hours of general faffing around)

The rest of my pictures are here:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/cecilanne_r-s/sets/72157601403268327/