Number of flats: 0
Number of bugbites: 0
Number of other touring cyclists: 0
Well, starting a bicycle trip in early May is not without its risks. Things started out quite pleasantly, as only a trip along the Historic Columbia River Highway can be. Carving its way along and through cliff faces, past countless waterfalls, and endless forest, this highway is a cyclist's dream; not only are there generous bike lanes abound, but significant stretches of the highway have been closed to cars for decades, leaving the road to just you and a few scattered pedestrians.
The Columbia River, gorge-ous as ever.
A section of the Highway, closed to car traffic.
I've wanted to do this stretch Oregon for quite a while, but after a previous experience cycling in the Columbia Gorge, told myself I would only ever do it from West to East, as the wind goes. And boy, does it go. I had been enjoying a pleasant tail wind, up until my the morning of my second day, which had me crossing the river from The Dalles to connect up to Hwy 14. By this point, the wind had picked up considerably, and continued getting worse as the day went on. I ended up having to walk my bike across the bridge, and for most of the three miles up to 14; when I tried to ride, it took all of my forearm strength to not be pushed off the road, and I had to lean against the wind considerably. Any time a truck would pass me, though, I would fall over, as though a wall I'd been leaning on had suddenly evaporated. Once I got to the highway, however, it was one of the exceptionally rare circumstances on a bicycle where the wind seems to work entirely in your favour. There was one particularly memorable mile-long uphill stretch where I kept a steady 17mph pace without pedaling. Of course, one of the downsides to all the wind was that it made any stopping/resting nearly impossible; there was nowhere to avoid it, nothing to hide behind, and it chilled to the bone, hurt the skin, exhausted the ears. (Lest anyone think I exaggerate, I will report, sans hyperbole, that the next day's Tri-City Herald reported that windspeeds of up to 102mph were recorded in the Gorge, sections of highway were shut down, more than one town declared a civil emergency, and a windsurfer met an untimely end out on the river.
One advantage of going through the Gorge is that it's the only east-west route that manages to avoid a mountain pass in the Cascades, but I was still surprised at how quickly the climate shifted right on cue; within about ten miles, the landscape changed from verdant, mossy firs and ferns, to the familiar and more subtle ponderosas, sage and burdock root of the eastern slopes.
Admittedly, not the best design for a bike path.
It's been pretty cold at night. Anticipating this, I geared up a bit heavier than my trip last summer: more warm clothes, a tent instead of my tarp, and a new sleeping bag rated 15 degrees lower than my old one. Last night was the first night where wind or rain didn't keep me huddled inside my tent all night, and I took advantage of the clear skies by finding a clear patch of ground amidst the sagebrush to unroll my sleeping bag, and got my first good view of the spring stars. It got into the mid-thirties, I think, but was snuggly warm all night long. I've been fighting off a bug that's been living in my sinuses and throat, but, this morning aside, I seem to be winning that battle.
Other than that, it's been a fairly uneventful trip so far. Water has been suprisingly scarce, though much of the dry spell was through a stretch of Washington that simply had nothing there. As I start climbing elevation through the Columbia Plateau, though, I'm sure that'll change. Fer chris' sakes, I can see snow en them thar mountains, I know there must be runoff!
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