Home Sweet Gorge

With cooler temps, perma-gray skies and the falling of leaves, my go-to spot for hiking becomes the gorge. As previously stated, I abandon the Gorge with glee come the summer months: too many people, too much heat, and too much humidity combined with the lure of the high alpine opening up is far too potent a cocktail to resist.  Every year, though, come fall and winter, the gorge calls me home. It’s blustery, cold, wild and abandoned. 

lonely trail

Andy and I recently took some time to revisit the Historic Highway, driving up the long, winding old road to Multnomah Falls (always a pleasure), then biking the Mark O. Hatfield West trail near Hood River. After biking the Hood River portion of the biker/hiker only trail, we (originally) intended to check out the newly completed portions of the trail from Cascade Locks to John Yeon State Park. Then Andy took an unexpected header-over-the-handlebars early on that portion of trail, so, like before, it will have to wait another day.  

Andy spoiler pic

Mark O. Hatfield Trail

JOHN YEON STATE PARK TO TANNER CREEK
Columbia River Gorge National Scenic Area, Oregon
~9.8 miles, ~620 feet elevation gain

Continuing in the theme of previously thwarted attempts: later that week I went back to explore a segment of the Columbia Gorge 400 trail from John Yeon State Park to Wahclella Falls trumped by construction last year. Like before, Upper McCord and Elowah Falls didn’t disappoint, and my only company for the day was the remaining vestiges of vine maple color and electric green mosses. It’s a long and lonely, lovely section of trail and exactly what I needed that particular day. 

Upper McCord Falls

Elowah Falls

On a Random Note...

...today I learned that Oregon City has a municipal elevator.

It was a lovely, twenty-ish mile bike ride to my friend's house via the 205 Multi-Use Path and some pieced together streets. One flat tire, a stiff head wind, a little lost and one elevator ride and hill climb later, and I made it.

Was nice to be on the bike again.

Oregon City Municiple Elevator (not my picture: from Genshi on Flickr)

Sauvie Island Ramble

Sauvie Island (Portland, Oregon)

~27 miles

*Whew.* I passed my finals. (And to those of you who would scoff, yes, there was doubt).

Most of my classmates would agree, it was the quarter from hell. There was just Not. Enough. Time. To think that until last week I hadn't been hiking since April 1st flabbergasts me. With finals done, the rest of this week has been about pulling together the loose ends of my life I've neglected over the last ninety days. With obligations and chores finally, finally finished, I woke on Friday morning in something of a daze of what to do? After putzing about, still somewhat stupefied from my week, I called a friend last minute for a bike ride. 

Deliriously. Happy. To. Be. Done. With. Finals.

Ten miles north of Portland, sitting smack-dab in the middle of where the Willamette River, the Columbia River and the Multnomah Channel meet, lies Sauvie Island. At 26,000 acres, it is one of the largest river islands in the United States, and Portlanders love what has become a cherished recreational area. Sauvie boasts a plethora of U-pick farms (it's STRAWBERRY SEASON!), hikes, wildlife sanctuaries, waterways, and beaches (one of them for nudies). 

Although I've been on Sauvie a number of times (kayaking, fruit and veggie foraging and buttock hunting on the nude beach), I've never biked around the island. And anytime you find yourself on the island, you are sure to be greeted by little, colorful jersey parades pedaling the rolling, agricultural landscape. It's absolutely charming. Time to try it out.

Mount Saint Helens from Reeder Road

Marut met me in the little parking lot just off where the Sauvie Bridge spits you out onto the island proper. It was hot. I layered in sun block, then hopped over to the one port-a-potty in the lot (apparently reserved for TriMet bus drivers only) and somehow convinced Mr. Nice Bus Driver to let me use it. There are plenty of public honeypots along the island, but I suffer from hamster bladder syndrome, and this couldn't wait.

Business taken care of, we headed north on Sauvie Island Drive and connected with Reeder Road, ultimately headed towards the northeast end of the island, then retracing our path back to complete the loop via Gillihan Road. The afternoon passed in miles spent admiring rolling farmland, and watching the herons and ospreys contrast sharply with the giant barges making their lumbering way across the Columbia. 

bike picnic on the beach

Oh. And RULES OF THE ROAD: stay single file. Or you might get pulled over by a sheriff like Marut did for yakking at me too much while enjoying the day. [GRIN].

My Other Bike is Shadowfax

REACH THE BEACH 2012

American Lung Association charity ride

Newberg to Pacific City, Oregon, ~80 miles

5:30 am on a cool, but clear Saturday. M arrives at my house and loads my bike, along with four others, into his truck. We pick up three additional riders, one family member and Burgerville breakfast sandwiches on our way to Newberg. In Newberg, said family member becomes the most intelligent person in the vehicle as she then takes off to drive the truck to Pacific City. The remaining five of us clip into our bikes and begin pedaling our way to the coast.

Newberg start: still clean

Last year I bought a bike. It was supposed to be for fun rides and commuting. I've been chased by geese, dodged bunnies and dogs, and lost battles with some railroad tracks. I commute to the OHSU tram regularly for the trip up to school. I'm a poser cyclist. My dear friends, M&A, love road cycling and triathlons. Somehow, somewhere, sometime a few months ago, they persuaded me to participate in Reach the Beach, a fundraiser for the American Lung Association, that involves biking from various start points to the coast. For the last five years, it's been a family affair for them, typically involving a Newberg start which puts the course at 80 miles (85ish when you include the in-town Pacific City mileage that is getting to and from a rented beach house). 

Funny how anything that is a few months away feels completely do-able. The closer you arrive to the doing, however, the less do-able that anything feels. Today, I'm wondering if I really can keep up with the four other people I am with, or whether I'm going to be calling Andy to come scrape me and my sure-to-be-jello-limbs off the side of the road somewhere.  

44° and sunny in Newberg made for a cool beginning to the ride, but the rolling hills of the Oregon wine country quickly warms us up. It's beautiful country, punctuated here and there by little farm houses, front yards in full bloom with the newly arrived spring. I've driven here many, many times, but taking the countryside in via a two-wheel point of view is so very different. I consider myself a hiker and not a bike person, and experiencing the road from bike, touring the countryside that way, has never really occurred to me. Yet rolling up and over and down the hills between Newberg and Amity into the Willamette Valley, I am completely enamored and becoming addicted to the feel of my bike eating up the miles, chatting in easy camaraderie with my friends and their family.

I will admit it definitely helps to be on a fully supported ride- rest stops with water, electrolyte replacements, granola bars, PB&J sandwiches and cookies every ten to fifteen miles makes the day much easier. 

A&M: love these two crazies

Amity to Sheridan lies deep in the heart of Willamette Valley agricultural land. The road feels built for cyclists- flat but curving, hugging the invisible property lines of farms. At one point, as we pass the Brigittine monastery just outside of Amity, I seriously contemplate stopping for truffles. Random fact I learned many, many years ago. But seriously, these gentleman make The. Best. Truffles. Ever.  

Upon hitting Sheridan, approximately forty miles into the ride and the halfway point, I am officially on the longest bike ride I have ever accomplished. M&A had been taking me on training rides prior to RTB, but I had only ever made it up to thirty-five miles. A fifty mile weekend was kaboshed by illness, and school mayhem/homework chaos sabotaged another planned long training ride. But, as A so quaintly stated before we set off, by Sheridan it's just a far to go home as to complete the ride. So, Sheridan becomes the committed point. 

Still life at Sheridan rest stop

 

Sometime after Sheridan, the long, gradual winding climb over the Coastal Range begins. I have been dreading the hills, and although I slow down to tortoise speed on a few climbs, mostly I am finding myself in the cycling zone, and no one is more surprised than me. I am in love with the day, with the scenery, and sharing fantastic company on a journey I really wasn't sure I could complete, but am finishing strong. Suddenly, without warning, I find myself cresting the coast range, sixty miles into the ride, a long downhill portion stretching before us and Pelican Pub beer in Pacific City calling our names. 

cresting the Coast Range

The five of us finish strong, even given the rushing headwind that fills the final fifteen miles to the coast via Highway 22. The air changes, now salty, cool and fresh as we turn on to the famous 101 and make our way along the final, remaining miles to Pacific City. The road is lined with families and cowbells, honking, hollering and clanking as approximately 3,000 cyclists wind their way to the finish line. It's pure chaos at the Pelican, my legs are sorely confused being asked to use different muscles to walk (what's that?), and we're all cheap, one beer dates at this point in the day.  

Pure cyclist chaos at Pacific City

I love my friends.

**To those of you who donated, a huge THANK YOU. Signature events are one of the main ways the American Lung Association raises dollars to support it's research, education, advocacy and community service on various lung diseases. So while it's a supported ride, those of us who ride pay for that privilege, and fundraised dollars support the mission. Thank you, again.**

The Historic Highway

HISTORIC COLUMBIA RIVER HIGHWAY STATE TRAIL

Columbia River Gorge National Scenic Area, Oregon

As a child, I remember loving the woods. I spent countless hours roaming leaf-strewn trails and passing the time barefoot in muddy creeks; I caught lizards and bugs, built forts and invented stories. I was almost always alone. Yet I was never bored, and I was never lonely.

I have felt very much like being alone this week. I have needed time to sink into thought in preparation for the enormous transition which lies ahead. After wrapping up some miscellaneous tasks yesterday, I took the afternoon today to visit the Historic Columbia River Highway State Trail on my little black and white bike. Although also open to hikers, I think it is experienced better from a two wheel point of view.

the Coyote Wall seen from the Columbia River Highway State Trail

The entire length of the 70+ mile Historic Highway runs in segments from Troutdale to the Dalles; however, there are two broken sections isolated specifically for hiker/biker use where cars may not transgress. I drove out to Hood River first to explore the Hatfield West Trailhead portion of the trail to the Mosier Twin Tunnels. A roughly five mile tour each way, it did not disappoint. 

Mosier Twin Tunnels

The personality of the gorge is spectacular and ever-changing. It shifts character with the seasons, with the altitude, with the longitude. Here, on the eastern half of the gorge, it takes on a brilliant gold color, oak trees dotting the basalt cliff sides, the Columbia unnaturally still and glassy on this particular afternoon. The miles passed quickly on clean, well-tended pavement, and I soon found myself at the Mosier Twin Tunnels portion of the trail. 

I love history. I love imagining Model T's rolling their slow, noisy way through this landscape, marveling at the magnitude of the geology surrounding them.

Next, I drove to Cascade Locks and hooked up with the second, unbroken section of the Historic Highway traveling west. Two miles from Cascade Locks, just prior to Eagle Creek, I was thwarted by a 'Trail Closed' sign, apparently for rock blasting. Damn and blast. Oh well, back the way I came. These miles are some of my favorite: here, the gorge takes on that unique, mossy, damp, gloomy personality that pervades its western half. This is the wind-ridden, sometimes violent, landslide prone territory I love so much to explore in the winter months. Somehow, the gorge feels most alive in the winter. It is stripped down to the elements of nature, all wind and water and no compromises.

Old bridge near Ruckel Creek

Turned back before Eagle Creek, I had to migrate again yet westward, towards the Tooth Rock Trailhead. Here, I had the option of returning east for a return to Eagle Creek or heading west towards Moffett Creek. I chose west initially; not having a map in hand, I felt I vaguely remembered the trail continuing for longer than it did. I soon happened upon the Moffett Creek bridge, where the trail abruptly ends. Nothing spectacular or memorable to report about this section of trail. Essentially it parallels I-84 and there is not much else to it, unless you are a blackberry fan, in which case there are plenty of berries.

By now, I was tired and hot, so I chose not to bike the remaining section of trail east to Eagle Creek. D'oh! Big mistake as I discovered upon returning home. The final miles I did not bike are home to the Tooth Rock viaduct, an engineering marvel in its day. Nowadays, I-84 blasts its way through Tooth Rock, rather than perching its precarious way along the side of the basalt giant.

Bridge of the Gods

Another day, perhaps.

Even prettier

even prettier on day five

I didn't even know bruises could turn this color. It's like the colored milk left over from eating some nasty food-dyed child's cereal, only on my thigh. Gross.

I also made a new discovery yesterday. While biking to work in Gresham along Portland's Springwater Corridor, I discovered that geese are evidently open to attacking cyclists. Little fuzzy goslings? Pretty cute. Their parents? Not so much. Matter of fact, I'm starting to think geese are downright evil.

Maybe my bike has a poltergeist that is out to get me. First train tracks, now geese, all within two weeks of beginning to ride again. We'll see how this cycling to work/ reducing carbon footprint/ fattening my wallet experiment goes.

I'm purty

MAX tracks, bikes and I do not  get along. OUCH.

P-town

Oaks Amusement Park

Is there anything better than Portland in the sun?

I think not.

Sometimes we need a little impromptu vacation time. Today, it was simply too damn beautiful to be inside. So instead, I left work early and took my first, much coveted, long bike ride of the season.

I love this town.

two dear friends were married here

East Bank Esplanade & the Steel Bridge