0708 - Halfway - Rejuvenation? Or Last Hurrah?

July 8, 2022

0708 - Halfway

The town in Oregon, not a progress report

Monty and Michael

"GOD DIDN'T PUT ME HERE to make money for doing good deeds." said Monty, a weathered man with a walrus mustache, a permanent squint in his eyes from years of being outdoors, and sunglasses perched atop the visor of his ball cap. He and his much younger compadre Michael had just offloaded the bike and me from the back of their battered, much-used pickup truck after hauling me up and over the summit of the 1,600 foot hill that separates Richland from Halfway.

They had passed me, going the opposite direction, a while earlier (with a cyclist in the pickup bed), headed into Richland on some errand. Now they were returning and had stopped to offer me a lift. "You've still got two miles to go to the top", Monty had said. "Do you want a lift? "I'm going to say 'YES, please!'" was my reply. I had been playing the 100 foot game, and had just finished a guard rail breather when they came by.

I could see the road climbing and climbing, switching back on itself a couple of times. Follow the faint dark line from left to right and back to the left...

Another view of the climb from which I was saved, by the kindness of a stranger.

I was not the first rider to have paused at this guard rail, apparently.

It wasn't just the climbing. The temperature was nearing 90 degrees and there was no shade to be had.

Michael and I hoisted Odysseus into the back of the pickup, and I clambered aboard to hold him in place. Perched atop the tool box, and with my calves securing a propane cylinder that was loose in the bed of the truck, up we went. The 50-60 mph breeze generated by the truck's progress felt REALLY good, and helped cool me. The back window of the cab was open so I could converse in a limited fashion with Monty and Michael, but the wind made it a bit hard to hear what they had to say.

Once over the crest and partway down the back side, we stopped at a turnout and I dismounted, to continue the ride into Halfway. I sent them on their way with many thanks, but Monty steadfastly refused any other expression of gratitude.

The ride from there to Halfway was easy, of course, being nearly entirely downhill. I had originally planned to stop in Richland, but had arrived there early enough in the day that it seemed reasonable to press on for another dozen miles. And with Monty's help, I got into the Halfway RV Park at a reasonable time

After having spent several days in near solitude, yesterday and today have been anything but. Yesterday's already been chronicled so let's stick to today's cast of characters. You've already met Monty and Michael; now let's rewind to the start of the day.

Ray and Tiffany

First up were Ray and Tiffany, who came into the coffee shop in Baker City just behind me, and just as I was starting the day's ride. I had left the hotel fairly early- just after 6 - but had stopped after only a mile for coffee and "breakfast", in the form of a delicious chocolate chip muffin.

They're both trim and athletically-built, the result of many years of diligent work in the gym and in vigorous outdoor activities.

Tiffany and Ray. I really enjoyed the time we spent chatting. Hope you did well in your Ironman, and that the rest of your working vacation is enjoyable.

While waiting for our orders we drifted quickly through the "UQs" (usual questions: where from, where to, how long...) but it was evident they were eager to hear more so we adjourned to the comfortable Adirondack chairs on the cafe's patio. Once there we settled in and spent a very pleasant hour (perhaps longer) in conversation. They're on their way to Salem to do an Ironman triathlon, followed by three weeks of other outdoor recreation. (The kayaks on the top of their SUV hinted at what at least some of that will be.)

It's a shame there's most of a continent between us because we got on very well and enjoyed one another's companionship and company. They were also quite knowledgeable about the areas I'll be passing through this week, and shared some tips and information.

Finally, since we all had places to be, we parted company and went our separate ways. I hope you guys do well and enjoy your trip.

Roadside "attraction"

I'll depart from the people-I-met-today theme momentarily, to share a few of the many photos I took in and around Baker City. They've got a public art project on, apparently, featuring statues of African animals scattered throughout the downtown blocks.

A rhino stands vigil atop one of the downtown buildings.

And of course no exhibition of African wildlife is complete without a lordly lion.

Just a mile or two from town is the biggest collection of vintage farming equipment I've seen. It's interesting not only for the scope and variety, but also for the contrast: the machines are neatly arrayed in rows and columns, and the aisles between them are obviously mown regularly, but the grass has grown tall and thick around the various artifacts themselves. It'll take hours with a hand mower and string trimmer to get that all knocked down.

Even before I got to the open air farm equipment "museum" I chanced on this collection of three generations of Jeep.

"Power of the Past" is something of an oddity. It's clearly meant for public display and appreciation - the artifacts are neatly arrayed - but it's also showing obvious signs of neglect.

An overview of a small fraction of the collection. Some of the items are at risk of being entirely submerged in tall grass.

Safety guards and covers are for sissies. You should know better than to stick your fingers, hands, or arms in there while the machine is running.

I couldn't figure out what the purpose of this item was.

Alright, let's get back on the road.

Always. Especially if there's a good chance for an interesting picture. Sorry about the finger on one side: I got careless.

Fanny

You've already been introduced to Fanny (pronounced fah'-nee) in previous entries. She's the French woman who is working her way east, having started in Oakland CA and ridden up the coast to Astoria before turning east to head for the Atlantic. When she gets there she's thinking of turning north and heading for Maine.

Being half my age, half my weight, and carrying about half of what I'm lugging around, she's naturally a faster rider than me, and covers more distance in a day. I'd lost track of her several days earlier so was surprised when, as I was stopped to fix a flat ($#!@!**#^@!) she pulled up alongside me.

She had taken a rest day (maybe two) in Baker City. In fact, unbeknownst to either of us, we'd spent the previous night in hotels that face one another across the road at the edge of town. She was also unaware that another guest in her hotel was the Swiss fellow I had met previously and had had lunch with the day before.

Once assured that all was well with my bike, she mentioned that she was headed for Halfway, a dozen miles beyond Richland. I told her that if I got to Richland at a decent hour (i.e. still had time to press on) I'd consider doing the same. Then, once again, she was gone down the road.

I stopped in Richland for lunch, and confirmed that she'd been through as expected. The woman at the cafe told me Fanny had planned to spend the afternoon in the shade at one of two parks in town rather than tackling the big climb in the full afternoon sun, which gave me the opportunity to leapfrog her once again. You already know how that turned out; Fanny arrived at the RV park about two hours after me.

Dave

I had stopped at the Oregon Trail Monument, and across the road at a place where the ruts from the westward-bound wagons are still plainly visible, even now 160+ years after the last one rolled past.

A bird of prey circles lazily overhead, gaining altitude on the rising air.

It's hard not to see the Monument, as it sits atop the crest of a hill right next to the road.

Without the inscription on the plaque, I'd never have realized the migration west had begun as early as it did.

Odysseus poses in front of the sign that describes the deep ruts created by thousands, or perhaps tens of thousands, of settler's wagons.

You can still easily make out the remains of the Oregon Trail in this area.

Dave had passed me earlier in the morning, and was also pausing to see the ruts. He opined that riding a bicycle from Oregon to Maryland was more effort than he was interested in putting out, but he wished me good luck along the way.

Unknown road angel

The Oregon roads have not been kind to my bike tires. Some miles past the OT Monument, in the later morning and just at the crest of a hill, I flatted again. The cause, as it has been in each of the previous instances, was a piece of sharp gravel that wedged itself into the tread of my tires and then gradually penetrated the tire casing and inner tube through repeated contact with the road as the tire rotated.

I found and patched the leak but as I was re-inflating the tire something went pfffffft!!!! and it went flat again, much more rapidly than it had to begin with. Frustrated, I once again removed the wheel, dismounted the tire, and set about correcting matters. While I was doing so, a fishing guide whose house sits at the crest of the hill came down on his four-wheeler to check on me. "You've been here longer than I thought you would be", he said. "Are you okay?" I told him I thought I would be, but that if things got out of hand I'd not hesitate to come up to the house for assistance. He agreed, and disappeared back whence he had come. I never had the chance to ask his name or get a picture. Too bad, but bless him as a Road Angel with all the others.

Lemonade Stand

When I checked in to the RV park (done at the affiliated motel a bit up the road) the woman who registered me mentioned that her daughter had set up a lemonade stand. Not one to discourage private enterprise in the youth of the nation, and harking back to the days when I did the same thing at that age, it was a pleasure to have a slice of watermelon and a moment's rest.

Eight years old and cute as a button. Her folks were watching from the porch and agreed to allow me to post this photo.

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Consecutive days without a tire problem: 0

Today's ride: 55 miles (89 km)
Total: 305 miles (491 km)

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John PickettUse a $1 bill as a boot to cover the inside of the tire where the puncture happened. It’ll keep the hole from further damaging your tube
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2 years ago

Keith AdamsTo John PickettI've booted tires when punctures got too big, but never think of it for pinholes. I've got strips of Tyvek as a permanent part of what goes in the wedge pack, so I can save my money for candy and ice cream.
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2 years ago