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So, I posted here that I was embarking on a month(ish) long 700 mile mountain bike ride across Oregon (South to North) starting Jul 13th. If you’re friends with me on Facebook, you were the lucky recipients of my daily prep and ride updates. However, I neglected to update you, my friends and compadres here in the collecting world. If you want ALL the updates AND we have met in person, send me a friend request and you can catch up on all the gloriously entertaining posts I made. For those who just want the money shot version of how it ended (after only one day), you may commiserate with me below. But strap in. I write long diatribes and I’m not apologetic about it. I hope you find it engaging and entertaining, but if you don’t, move on to the political posts and have a nice day, LOL. I posted lots of pics on my Facebook page, but they’re no longer on my phone, so you have to view them on Facebook or use your imagination. Here goes:
I’m sorry to report that I’m a quitter. Yes, you heard that right. After only one day and 35 miles (out of 700 planned) on the Oregon Timber Trail, I’ve called it quits and am currently waiting for my son, Steven to come pick me up in Lakeview OR. Yesrerday was VERY hot (95 degrees), and much of the trail (and road) was sun exposed so every bit of shade made you want to say “I guess I live here now”. We started the ride at 6:30am and the first bit wasn’t too bad. I chose the Crane Mtn bypass (gravel road) with 3 others in order to save my legs. The trail was nice but disappeared from time to time so you had to keep your eyes peeled. My shoes literally fell apart (soles came off the upper) about 25miles in. I tried using a bungee cord to hold them together, but to no avail. My only other option was to continue the rest of the day in FLIP FLOPS but those kept slipping off my SPD pedals, so it was difficult pedaling. I also managed to run down my iPhone battery much quicker because I had been using Strava and Ride With GPS apps so they were eating up power at double the rate. No worries because I have a solar charged battery, right? Wrong. Turns out the power button had gotten a long press, so the built in light was burning away all day, leaving the battery with next to nothing. I managed to make it to Mill Trailhead, just off US 395 north of Lakeview OR. Jeff, Rick, and I (all of us over 60) camped there overnight. My hammock and sleeping bag were very comfortable, thank you for asking. I had already announced to them that I was not going to continue as I had no way to power my phone and I couldn’t be sure the solar would charge it sufficiently through the day. I had plenty of food and sufficient water (I purified 6 liters using tablets) to continue, but mentally I lost the desire to continue the challenge. I would have had to ride 15mi back to Lakeview, go to the local bike shop, buy new shoes (if they have size 13) or switch to flat pedals and buy new shoes (again, if they carry 13s). Then ride back up Hwy 395 ~10mi to get back on course. Just not in my deck of cards this time. There were some very beautiful views and I may be back to try again another time. But for now, I’m embracing the suck and will head home to pick my wounds.
Who's ready for Part 2: "The Mud"? I know I am. So, previously on "The Ride", after a long day of 95 degree sun exposure, our intrepid cyclist found himself virtually shoeless. Realizing he had a pair of backup emergency last resort flip flops attached to his backpack, it became his only option of getting out of the forest without riding barefoot on the small bump of an SPD pedal or riding a wild animal bareback through the dense forest. In this episode, we join him after the shoe swap as he anxiously wants to get to camp to sort himself out and get some much needed food and rest. [Inserting carriage return for Jim Follis]
First, a little more background information for context (this is pre-shoe explosion). Rick (one of my riding buddies I met at the start of the ride) and I split from Jeff at mile 23 to take a gravel road bypass (the one with the stock pond shown in an earlier recap). Jeff took the singletrack because he's a 70 year old skinny badass MFer. Rick and I made our way to Crooked Creek Trailhead at mile 29 to use the pit toilet before continuing on to the next part of the trail, arriving there at 2:49pm.
Rick had not downloaded the offline version of the "Ride With GPS" trail map and was unsure of our location and how to get back on the routed trail. I had the offline version running on my phone and knew exactly where we were. I pointed him toward the trailhead directly across the street from our location. Signs and everything. I argued that all we needed to do was ride less than 1/4 of a mile down the trail to the next junction where we would for sure see that we were on the right trail. He was still unsure and actually walked to the road and flagged down a passing truck to ask the local where we were and how to get to the Mill Trailhead, which was at mile 35 where we told Jeff we'd meet up to camp for the night. The local was definitely familiar with the area's roads, but didn't know the names of the trails nor how to get where we were going, and pretty much suggested that if we were lost, to stay on the road for 20-30 miles to get to a nearby town (ie, give up). Rick and I went back and forth until I convinced him that we were burning daylight and needed to do SOMETHING. We finally got going at 3:38pm. Yes, almost an hour wasted at this stop, although it felt good to sit on something other than a bike seat for a bit.
Having never ridden trails in this area before, I had no idea what was in front of us. The day had been filled with long 5-11% climbs (that's steep, people), pushing the bike loaded with 50lbs of gear and a 25lb backpack up hills of loose rocks and dirt. Downhill stretches seemed far apart and of course they don't last anywhere near as long as the uphill climbs.
So, we're about 29 miles into the day's ride with another 5 miles to go. We're in a beautiful steep walled canyon following Crooked Creek, and the trail was a lovely flowing singletrack downhill. This is the stuff I love. It was about a mile into this that my shoes originally gave out (see part 1).
I tell Rick to go ahead of me (he's WAY more cautious of a rider and I'd rather play catch up than ride my brakes behind him when I could be enjoying the fast stuff). I finish putting my bungee corded cycling shoe mess together and jump on the bike. A short while later I had to switch to the flip flop flim flammery (again, see Part 1).
At this point, I've got nothing but open track in front of me and I'm enjoying the hell out of the ride. The flip flops are hanging in there and I don't need to do much pedaling. It's later in the day and the sun is behind the cliff walls, but there's still plenty of light and now the temperature is quite pleasant. But, no rider can be 100% rewarded with only happy thoughts. In my head, I'm preparing for the inevitable rock or stick to get kicked up and smash my open shoed toes. If you've ever ridden a mountain bike at speed, you've hammered your feet from time to time with stuff that kicks up in front of you and you are always wondering what universe of physics can make such a small rock slam into your foot so hard. It H-U-R-T-S.
Thankfully, that doesn't happen. I've got creek on one side, trees on both sides, and I'm passing open fields below cliff walls filled with grazing cows, ears tagged and happily munching green grass and drinking from the creek and rivulets feeding it. I yell out in my best cow accent to try to talk them into running away to save their grass-fed lives, but they are oblivious and don't respond, treating me as I'd treat a shooting star. I'm amazed at how many cattle are down here and wonder how they get them in and out with such steep walls on both sides.
I'm happily zigging and zagging around trees and rocks, leaning left and right to flow through the damp, curved trail. Splashing through feeder creeks and mud patches. A few times, I had to drop my seat (I have a lever that operates my seat like an office chair) and lean back to ride through some muddy areas where water had come down from the hillsides and mixed with clay, which cattle tromped through making "post holes" as they call them. These are not rocky/pebbly creek beds one can usually ride through pretty easily. These are sticky, uneven strips of mud clay. Speed CAN be your friend here, but it can also make you stop hard and throw you over the handlebars if you hit the heavy stuff wrong and your front wheel digs in or gets buried into a big rock under the muck.
It was at one particularly long (20 feet wide?) mud patch where I got myself in trouble. There was a wide rut cutting through it (probably from Rick's tires as he went through before me) and I thought I could take advantage of that by hitting it at speed, riding with my weight to the rear, and popping through to the other side. Unfortunately for me, I didn't hit the rut quite straight on and my front tire got outside the rut and buried itself hard into the muck. I felt the sudden deceleration and since I was no longer clipped into my pedals and only had flip flops, I couldn't grind my way out of the mud and I knew it. I put my left foot down to dismount and walk my bike the rest of the way through, and I sunk at least 8 inches. I was still carrying forward momentum and as my body leaned forward and left, my 25lb backpack (which I had not fastened the lower belt on) flew up and forward, pushing my head and body hard left and down. I found myself face down in clay mud mixed with cow sh*t, cow p*ss and I'm hoping SOME lovely spring water mixed in.
The term "I've fallen and I can't get up" definitely applied here. My left foot and leg were pinned under my bike along with my front wheel. The side of my helmet is mushed into the mud, which pushed its way through the ventilation holes to my hair, but my face missed eating this mixture by about an inch. My hands are still on the handlebars, but my left bar end was buried deep in the sticky along with half of my arm. The 25lb backpack is now on my head and neck. I'm exhausted and can't find the arm/shoulder strength to push myself up. I stop struggling and just relax a moment to figure out what to do. I've got to get my feet out but need my left hand to stabilize myself for leverage. I can't move that arm through the mud. The backpack is like an annoying nephew who wants to wrestle and won't let go of my neck, and I can't reach any buckles to remove it and I am not in a position to wriggle out of it. My right arm and leg are the only things that aren't stuck and muddy. I end up having to roll to the left onto my back, shoving the backpack into the wet, sloppy, muddy mess. I still can't move my left leg, and pushing my right foot into the mud is met with little resistance and I'm just pushing mud into a pile and not getting any traction in my lovely new cycling flip flops.
Eventually, I manage to use my free hand and leg to push the frame of the bike up and around the front forks so I could sit up a bit and start to extract myself. Giving up on trying to save anything from getting muddy, I rolled over onto all fours to crawl out from under the bike. The suction holding my left leg in the mud was stronger than I anticipated but I finally worked it free, losing my floppy flippy in the process. The mud was deep, but underneath it all was a layer of large/round, and small/sharp river rocks. My knees are too old and I weigh too much to be crawling around like a baby on hard ass rocks. I had to search with my knees for soft mud to push against as I literally waded through mud that was now almost a foot above my knee to get away from the bike that was still laying on its side behind me. I managed to extricate myself but, naturally, both flips were in the flop at this point and I had to go back into the mud to find them and dig them out. My gloves were packed. The side of my helmet was packed. My pedals were packed. My ass was soaked and caked with mud. Luckily, by falling to the left, my gears were spared most of the injustice. I spent about 5 minutes digging clay out of every orifice it was stuck in, scraping and shaking chunks away enough for the bike to operate without grinding mud and grit into the works.
I hopped back on, knowing I was only about 2 miles from camp. About a hundred yards down, I came upon a cut in the streambank with a 3ft deep pool. Not wanting the mud to dry, I spent the next 30 minutes cleaning the bike, washing my gloves and clothes, and bathing naked next to the trail since I didn't know if there would be water where we'd be camping. I didn't get things anywhere near "clean", but good enough to move on. Fortunately, no other riders passed by or they would definitely wonder what the hell I was doing at that particular spot by myself.
I was mad at myself for not being more cautious. For not buckling the bottom strap of the backpack. For spending time cleaning myself instead of getting to camp as quickly as possible. Nevertheless, I reassemble my temporary life and get back on the trail, riding into camp at 6pm. I briefly tell my buddies what happened. Rick had already told Jeff about the shoe incident. We were all pretty wiped out so I didn't elaborate on my cleaning ritual and they seemed more absorbed by their own aches and pains to care about mine.
I boiled some water and prepared a bag of dehydrated Kathmandu Curry with extra water for volume. While that was steeping, I took all of my dirty items to the nearby creek, including the muddy backpack and the still clogged up bike, along with some clean, dry clothes and took a second bath. The water was shallower here and the creekbed had lots of logs and large boulders, so it was more a splash bath than a soak. I don't even remember if the water was cold or not. It was what it was and I didn't care.
It felt good to get into clean clothes. I strung up my hammock and got my sleeping bag ready. First time I ever used one, and it held up just fine. Quite comfortable as well. Much better than being on the ground, even with an air pad mattress like I was used to. I added a peanut butter and jelly protein bar to my dinner menu and washed it down with the remains of a water bottle filled with an electrolyte solution.
All 3 of us experienced cramping throughout the evening, which is quite normal for an effort like we just made. I introduced my traveling companions to Hyland's Leg Cramp pills, which I swear by for immediate relief. Rick refused to try them, saying he had already taken triple strength electrolytes throughout the day. What?! Mkay. Jeff, who had been massaging some bad cramps for at least 15 minutes, was wiser and popped a few under his tongue and announced that they worked as advertised as his cramps disappeared. Rick still didn't take any. Poor bast*rd. I had to take a few doses over the next few hours myself as cramping returned. Each time, Hyland's did the job so I never had any really BAD cramps.
After taking care of the usual camping chores (unpacking this, repacking that, hanging food up high), we laid down to sleep. I had downloaded some netflix movies and a couple of kindle books to my phone, but had zero power on my phone and no aux battery to recharge it. I'd known I was low on power but figured I had enough to get me through the night and I'd just recharge from the solar panel the next day. I didn't want to take any of Rick's external battery power because he was going to need every bit of it over the next few days. There are no towns to recharge at for a lot of upcoming miles and he didn't have a solar panel.
So, I did what I was out here to do in the first place. I laid back, stared at the clear, starry sky through the tall pines, and listened to the wind gently moving the tree tops back and forth. I reflected on the events of the day and although I knew I was not continuing on, I quietly appreciated the fact that I had a grand adventure, did something none of my friends or family were doing (and most probably would never do), and appreciated that I was alive, healthy, not lost, and able to get back to civilization under my own power. I already used all of the pictures I took on the ride, so I'm sorry you had to read all this without captioned images to break things up. Believe me, there are SO many things I wish I could have taken pictures of, but I was quite aware of my power situation and didn't want to burn any of it up on vanity or humor.
The next morning, we got up, made breakfast, packed up our stuff and headed out. We were less than 2 miles from Hwy 395. The OTT goes along 395 toward Lakeview, which is where I was heading to wait for my wife or son to come get me. When we got to the turnoff where Rick and Jeff split to continue the ride, we said our farewells and I pedaled away on the smooth paved shoulder of the highway. Very little traffic, so no danger of getting hit. I arrived at Hunter's Hot Springs where Gayle and I spent the night before the ride. I knew they had a restaurant and ordered up breakfast while I charged my phone, watched Oregon's only geyser erupt every few minutes, chatted with Jen (waitress) and Mike (owner), and waited for my son to arrive and rescue me.
He and I chatted a lot, but I also slept a bit, thankful that he was driving and made time to come get me as Gayle was not feeling particularly well that day and was happy to not have to make that 8hr round trip drive.
In my next installment (you didn't think this was it, did you? Bwahahahahahahahahahaha), I'll go over the pros and cons of the tech I used before and during the ride. I'll discuss what I'd change, and what I'm thinking as far as future adventures go. I'll try not to be too redundant with regard to the posts I made prior to the ride. Until then, thank you for reading my little diaries and I hope you find them to be interesting, funny anecdotes that offer a glimpse into my sometimes crazy and always diverse world. And if you ever want to join me...
Below is a flyover of my ride:
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