0709 - The people you meet - Rejuvenation? Or Last Hurrah?

July 9, 2022

0709 - The people you meet

Some you expect, others not so much

TODAY WAS THE DAY I expected to cross with my acquaintance John Pickett. He and two friends have been riding the TransAm west, to complete a journey they began together some time back. I've been following their progress on John's blog (rootchopper.com) and he's been following me here, so we knew we were approaching one another and would likely intersect today.

I had departed Halfway as early as I could, foregoing the usual oatmeal and coffee breakfast I make when camped, in favor of a couple small tortillas slathered with peanut butter and rolled to make a peanut butter "wrap". Although quicker and easier to prepare, I think this was a mistake because I simply had no "go" for most of the day.

That was especially discouraging for two reasons: one, the morning and early afternoon should have been an easy roll, being gently downhill all the way to the Idaho state line, and two I knew the end of the day would be a long, difficult climb. If I couldn't manage the easy stuff, what did the "sting in the tail" portend?

Still ride I must or I'll never get anywhere, right? I made my way into Hell's Canyon where, surprise, surprise, I flatted again. This time, however, it was the rear wheel and not the front as had been the case on all previous occasions. Rear wheel flats suck.

John Pickett, Mark, and Corey

But I got it changed and, just as I got everything remounted on the bike (the best way to deal with a rear wheel flat is to unload all the bags before dealing with the flat itself), up rode John's riding companion Mark, followed shortly by Corey. They had been warned by John to be on the lookout for me, and knew I'm riding a Bike Friday, so they were pretty sure who they'd just encountered. A moment later John himself joined us and we had a great, albeit brief, roadside reunion of sorts.

Roadside meeting with Mark, Corey, and John, as anticipated.

We shared some information about the roads and conditions where we'd recently been (and where the opposite party was headed), and John recalled having met Russ Loomis, another westbound rider, a day or two before.

Russ Loomis

I had met Russ the previous day, before getting to Halfway.

Russ left Dover, DE on 30 March, his 70th birthday. He plans to cross the continent and then turn around and ride back to the Atlantic coast. His wife is also traveling, towing their small teardrop camping trailer. They don't spend every night together but link up periodically so Russ can have a day or two of rest. Power to you and Godspeed, Russ.

Mark and Sue

While we were paused, John asked whether I had yet met Mark and Sue, westbound riders they'd been leapfrogging for a while. I said I hadn't, but John thought they'd probably be along later in the day so I was on the lookout for them.

Sure enough, a few hours later as I was working my way toward Oxbow, along came a couple more westbound riders. We stopped (it's what you do when you meet another touring cyclist, after all) and went quickly through the UQs. A few moments into our conversation I had a realization: I knew Mark from an entirely different context. "You're Mark Pfefferle." I said. He confirmed that he was, but clearly he hadn't yet recognized me. "I'm Keith Adams." "OH! I didn't recognize you without your tandem."

Mark Pfefferle, a colleague from way back.

This meeting made my day. It was all the more pleasant for being so utterly unexpected.

Mark and I were colleagues in the early 1990's, and hadn't seen one another in probably 25 years. Even in those days he was a dedicated rider, even having gone so far as to live car-free for over a year at one point. We reminisced for a few minutes, and I gave him one of my "leisure cards" (I no longer have business cards, being retired) so there's a chance we'll reestablish contact since he lives in a suburb not far from me. Before that, though, he'll have gotten to the coast then turned north toward Vancouver and possibly Banff. I think he may be planning to ride back to Maryland via the Northern Tier route, or some parts of it at any rate.

Buoyed somewhat by the serendipitous and utterly unexpected meeting with an old acquaintance, I found new energy and got down to Oxbow then eventually to the Brownlee Dam on the Snake River.

Crossing the dam I left Oregon and entered Idaho.

Time to color in another State on my "Visited States" map...

It was a bit of a grind (nine percent climb for several hundred yards) getting away from the dam itself, but then there were several miles of undulating road along the Idaho side of the Brownlee Reservoir. At several places there are campgrounds owned and operated by Idaho Power and Light. I checked at a couple of them but had no luck finding an available space, so there was nothing for it but to keep heading toward my planned destination, the USFS Brownlee campground several miles and a few thousand vertical feet up from where I was.

The late afternoon wore on into evening. I'd go a quarter mile and stop, then repeat. On some occasions I simply got off and pushed. I wasn't making fast progress but I was moving slowly toward my goal. Finally, at around 6 p.m. (Idaho is in the Mountain Time Zone, so I'd "lost" an hour when I crossed the river), I saw the welcome sign at the entrance to the campground.

A very welcome sign. Less welcome was the "1 Mile >" indicator at the bottom. I wasn't really *there* yet, after all. Nertz.

The mile from the highway to the campground is actually 1.4 miles. It's hard-packed dirt, so not difficult riding, but it's also a 5 to 7 percent uphill drag, every inch of the way. Just what I needed at the end of a long hard day. Ugh.

Still, there were compensations. Chief among them was the solitude. I might have been the only person for miles around, as the campground (11 simple sites with picnic tables and fire rings, a single hand-operated pump, and a pit toilet outhouse) was entirely empty but for me. And, it's also got zero cell coverage, so I was off the grid for the night. That made it easy to take care of the necessities of life (set up tent, unpack, draw and filter some water, fix dinner, get myself cleaned up with a sponge bath) and settle down for the night.

There's a creek that flows through the area, providing a soothing rush of background sound that soon lulled me into a deep sleep.

Knowing I was possibly in bear country, and certainly in raccoon ("trash panda") and opossum habitat, I had looked unsuccessfully for a way to hang my food out of reach before retiring. Finding none I did what I could: put everything on the table and covered it with my largest cooking pot, inverted on the picnic table. I knew that would be no deterrent or even a momentary blockade for a determined nighttime visitor but it was what it was.

Sure enough, around 1 the following morning, I heard the pot getting moved around. "Get out of here!" I shouted from inside the tent, then opened the flap and shone my camping lantern around to see if I could spot the intruder. Nope. Closing up the tent again I lay waiting for the inevitable return. A few minutes later I heard the noises again, and repeated the demonstration. I also got out of the tent and "fortified" the situation by placing my waist pack and water backpack over the temptation. I could only hope that would be sufficient discouragement, and that my nocturnal visitor was not in fact a hungry or curious bear. Then I drifted off to sleep again, and knew nothing else until the following morning.

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Consecutive days without a tire problem: 0

Today's ride: 44 miles (71 km)
Total: 349 miles (562 km)

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