Leading up to the launch of my memoir Hangry: A Startup Journey, each month I released a state-by-state recap.
For the original post, click on any Day number heading.
Day 66: Cambridge, ID to Halfway, OR
The mild temps yesterday allowed for a single, continuous ride, rather than splitting into a morning and evening ride. Aside from my small cooking of Jetboil pasta, I had zero motivation to accomplish anything useful, so I vegged out with a book for five hours.
The mountains here are much more heavily wooded than the higher elevations in ColoradoAfter a week and a half of trepidation, today was the day for Hell’s Canyon. We were up and out well before 7 am today to beat the heat. I was able to take my time enjoying the views in the mid-90s. The views today were yet another unique landscape, with mountains thrust up dramatically from the resevoir., Wyoming, and Southern Montana. We wound our way up Lolo Pass, past a rushing river and the devastating impact of a large wildfire from a few years ago.
Passing over the Brownlee damn, I’ve entered Oregon, my final state. With the Rockies finally behind me, I can finally turn West. 450 miles following the sunset and I’ll complete this journey across the United States.
Day 67: Halfway to Baker City
My destination for the day was Baker City. The ride was the kind to just get done – lots of steep hills, 100+ temps, and a hairdryer headwind. I charged through the 54 miles with a single-minded determination to get the ride done.
For the first time on my journey, I had the sense that I’d seen all this landscape before. One notable exception to the monotony was Glasgow Butte cutting into the clear blue sky.
Just shy of Baker City, I had been planning to stop at the National Oregon Trail Interpretive Center. Having followed the trail for 2,500 miles, I was excited to see the artifacts of those who’d gone before me. Unfortunately, the center is about 750-feet above the road on a plateau, which elicited a hearty “Frick it!” from all involved.
The last six days have been grueling int he heat, so Paul, Terry, and I discussed if it was best to take a rest day. We settled on a rest day tomorrow and getting to the coast on a compromised date from both of our original plans.
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Day 69: Baker City to Austin Junction
We were up before dawn to race against the heat. The race started with the sun coming up over the horizon and the three of us shooting out of Baker City. We’ve left the arid Hells Canyon behind as we continue to ascend into the Willoma-Whitman National Forest.
Screeeeech! Hit the brakes! That looks like a super nifty railroad museum over there. I hopped off the bike and snapped a few pictures of the various passenger and freight cars lying about. As I was leaving, a gentleman came along and invited me back to the depot to see the steam engine process. I restrained my internal jumping up and down as the engineers invited me into the cab!
The inside of a steam engine cab is HOT as the steam pressure builds. With the engine finally ready, we steamed over to the waiting passenger cars. The operation of coupling the engine to the cars was surprisingly smooth. The whole experience was one of the coolest things I’ve ever experienced.
My train stop caused me to lose my race against the heat. Fortunately, coming off a rest day, the 1,000 feet of steep climb wasn’t too bad. Finally over the two hills, I enjoyed a nice “hair dryer wind” downhill. I rolled into the Austin Junction general store and restaurant. To my delight, a few really tough looking Harley riders were cooling down with root beer floats.
Day 70: Austin Junction to Dayville
We’ve accepted that nothing we do to avoid the blistering temps is working. Anything we try still results in the rides being something to get through rather than enjoy. BUT today was wonderful! Determined to actually enjoy some of our ride, we committed to a 4:00 AM start time, allowing us to experience 40 miles of beauty before 9:00 AM.
Stopping at the Silver Spur Diner in Mount Vernon, OR, the owner Dale made us feel welcome right away. The food was good and plentiful and we lingered over our coffee for about an hour. We hopped on our bikes for about the easiest 20 miles we could have hoped for. With a 20 MPH headwind and no humidity, it helped to fight the 100 degree weather.
As we entered Dayville, everything about the little shops and main street say ‘welcome’ in all the little nuances that seem important. You can tell the city is really trying. So many of these small towns have just thrown up their hands and given up. But not Dayville.
We’ve heard all manner of great things about the Dayville Presbyterian Church, which runs a hostel for bike tourers. We knew we could look forward to showers, wifi, laundry, and a relaxed atmosphere in a cool environment.
Day 71: Dayville to Ochoco Lake
Today’s ride was seriously challenging. Two 2,000+ foot passes through the Ochoco mountains. Temperatures over 100 degrees. No shade and little water. Fortunately, we had a good pancake breakfast provided by the Dayville Presbyterian Church.
By 5:30 AM, we were fueled up and rolling. The foothills of the Ochoco Mountains are carved through by beautiful gorges, revealing mesmerizing rock strata. The mountains and buttes present sharp relief against the clear morning sky. The while scene is kissed by the sun rising behind our backs as we pedal closer towards the Pacific.
Approaching Keyes Creek Summit, we met a trio of cyclists starting their journey headed east. After a 15 minute conversation, they casually mention a fire that closed the road they had just come across.
Wait. What? The fire! What? How did this come up at the end of the 15 minute conversation?
Arriving at the roadblock, we got the real skinny. Jonathan and Jerry had arrived 12 hours earlier and were waiting out an opportunity to get across. They had turned down a ride across by ODOT, in order to preserve their perfect bike only record. Since I had already accepted a ride earlier, I let it be known in no uncertain terms that I’d be happy to take a ride if one became available.
The fire continued to flare as afternoon winds fed it. Every agency involved came to tell us we should really think about another option, telling us to “go back.” Going back involved 180 extra miles of backtracking through areas that might also flare up.
On the change of shift for ODOT, the workers headed back across the the pass to the west offered me a ride. We got Persephone loaded up in the back and started towards the fire. From the first bend, the smoke intensified. Mike, who was driving the truck, took a deliberate pace as we wound our way up the mountain.
The smoke became very dense, making it difficult to breath. I began seeing isolated burning stumps and branches, then we entered a full on blaze. The entire adventure played out in reverse as we left the most active area of the blaze. It became clear to me the others who were waiting it out to bike through weren’t going to make it across. There was simply too much smoke.
I thanked the ODOT workers profusely as Mike dropped me off at the other end of the roadblock. I rode the next 20 miles to the campsite, connecting with my brother Steve around 7:00 to check for other fire issues in front of me. Lots of fires burning in Oregon, but my path west is likely free of flames.
About five hours later, the Brits showed up. They ended up grabbing a ride from ODOT too, and I’m ecstatic the Brits have joined me this morning. We’ll continue our journey to the Pacific together. We’re down to 260 miles left. Less than 6% of the trip. One more mountain, then all downhill to the sea.
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Day 72: Ochoco Lake to Sisters
Today was more of a series of cafés, pubs, and restaurants then an actual ride. After yesterday’s blazing time yesterday, Paul, Terry, and I were ready for a nice restful day. The town of Ochoco Lake is much larger than a lot of the little spots we’ve seen over the last thousand miles. Good Thyme Café gave us a perfect spot for a lingerable breakfast.
We completely disregarded all our hard-earned lessons about dodging the heat, embracing the strategy Frak it! We didn’t leave the diner until noon. The road west was hot and heavily trafficked, only making it about 12 miles before plopping down at a fruit stand for our undeserved lunch.
An hour later, we reluctantly picked ourselves up for another 10 miles to Redmond. As soon as we entered the town, I got separated from the Brits. I snagged an iced coffee and plopped on a patch of grass for an hour, while they found a proper tea shop with kettles and scones. I texted them I’d meet up with them in the next town.
The next set of miles were very challenging. My map had me crossing something called Deep Canyon, which filled me with mild trepidation. After I passed the canyon of misnomer, I found myself finally seeing a landscape that started to resemble the Pacific Northwest that I’ve always expected out of Oregon.
Finally arriving in Sisters, OR, I found the Hop and Bean. The siren call of this coffee and beer oasis was alluring to me. I cooled off with some hoppy wonderfulness while I waited for the Brits to appear.
Over beers, we discovered we’ve only used a motel 3 of the last 18 days. So, we opted for the Best Western. They took pity on us and gave us a great rate, but put us to work hauling their wagons around.
Day 73: Sisters to Eugene
The pre-penultimate day of my grand adventure across these United States was wonderfully joyful and fulfilling. In the distance to the south, the Three Sisters Mountains proudly display their snowy raiment. Today was to be my final ascent over a mountain pass of the trip. I covered my odometer to focus on the journey rather than the destination as I made this final climb.
Day 73 and I remain flabbergasted by the unique landscape I’ve crossed. Only yesterday I had been surrounded by desert brush and punctuated through with heavily irrigated pastures. Today I’m surrounded by lush ferns and vines in the undergrowth of truly massive pine stands.
Near the top of the path, recent (1,500 years old) lava flows have drastically altered the landscape and vegetation, leaving behind vast fields of volcanic rock. On the edges of these fields, brave little saplings cling to the rocks to make new formations.
After a longish hour, we began our descent. Persephone has always loved the downhills, so I sped off in front of Paul and Terry. The first 2,000 feet of elevation drop happened startingly quickly as I wound down the tightest switchbacks and hairpins of the whole trip. I stopped twice to cool down my hot brakes. Each time I stopped, I found myself having a hard time letting gravity take over again as I enjoyed the beautiful surroundings.
As we cycled, the mountains became less grand and the river valleys more lush. There was a symmetry to this area that strongly resembled the tidewater section of Virginia where I had started my journey a lifetime ago.
We had decided to push on to Eugene, but it was now 7:00 PM and we had 30 miles to go. We needed some special motivation to get us to our new target. Time to drop a Pie Bomb. What’s a pie bomb? you ask? Back in Missouri, Jerry and Jonathan revealed to us that when they were facing a particularly big mountain pass, they would each eat a Hostess Fruit pit, inducing a gut-wrenching sugar rush that afforded them the power to push through to the top.
I pedaled over to the local café and bought a massive 14” triple-berry home-baked pie. The proprietor went to put this monstrosity into a pie box when I held out my hand dismissing the need for such frivolity. This monstrosity of a pastry was going to be completely inside the stomachs of four grown men in less than 15 minutes.
As we struggled out of the parking lot and onto our bikes, we attacked the 28 mile slight downslope to Eugene. The landscape flew by us. With the cool air around us, and a churching furnace of pie filled fury in our guts, we screamed through the 28 miles in 92 minutes. It was the most joyful and exhilarating ride of my life.
Day 74: Eugene to Swisshome
Eugene is a well-intentioned town of biking lifestyle lovers… with a little further to go on implementation. The many bike paths are well maintained and superbly marked. Unfortunately, they end abruptly with no warning. Fortunately, as we cycled out of town, the shared use road bike lanes gave way to a long cycle and jogging only path that winds its way through a wetland wildlife preserve.
The ride was the the subdued beauty of the Oregon coast. Beautiful conifers towered above us as we cycled through terrain that was alternately rivers, lakes, and pastures. The road was narrow, which made for some tense traffic situations, but we take it in stride as we approach the end.
I tried to resist seeing the “last blue mailbox” and “last hill over 150 ft” and other such trivial final milestones. But ultimately the signs around me were literal rather than metaphorical.
Around 7:00 PM we setup camp behind a church in Swisshome. We are just 13 miles from the coast as the crow flies. Over dinner, we all put our gadgets away and reminisced about the people we’ve met on the trip. The stories piled up on top of each other as we each remembered a long chain of wonderful humanity all the way back to the Atlantic.
Day 75: Swisshome to the Frickin Pacific Ocean
Over the last 75 days, I’ve daydreamed of what the moment would be like. At various milestones, I caught glimpses of what this would be like. Crossing the Mississippi. Cresting the Continental Divide at Hoosier Pass. Creeping along the blazing sun in Eastern Oregon. At times, I’ve become very emotional imagining the ending.
Arriving after 4,157 miles in total, I experience this life moment in solitude, as I had begun it. My experience was very different than I had expected. I looked down at the waves lapping gently against my toes.
“Well…that’s done.” None of the emotional fireworks and blazing glory of my expectations came to pass. Maybe I should just stand here for a few minutes and see if something deep wells up. … … … ‘Nope’ … … ‘Nada’ … … ‘Zilch’ …
Then I finally came to a realization. I was actually having a very profound reaction. Peace. Simple, subtle, and satisfied. I feel at peace.
About five hours later, the Brits showed up. They ended up grabbing a ride from ODOT too, and I’m ecstatic the Brits have joined me this morning. We’ll continue our journey to the Pacific together. We’re down to 260 miles left. Less than 6% of the trip. One more mountain, then all downhill to the sea.
About five hours later, the Brits showed up. They ended up grabbing a ride from ODOT too, and I’m ecstatic the Brits have joined me this morning. We’ll continue our journey to the Pacific together. We’re down to 260 miles left. Less than 6% of the trip. One more mountain, then all downhill to the sea.
Order my new book
Epilogue
When I started this ride, I knew it would be more than physical. It would be emotional and spiritual as well.
Sure, I’ve changed physically. I dropped from 214 pounds to 188. My legs have become insanely strong and my heart stronger.
I’ve changed emotionally. Before the trip, I was stressed about the IPO, merger, and leadership transition at GrubHub. I was frustrated about the trends that go along with a company getting larger and going public, and my role in the unhealthy shift away from employee benefit to shareholder returns.
The most ethereal of changes has been the spiritual journey. It has been a slow change, composed of imperceptible increments. Conversations with people, both strangers and my new close friends, have taken deeper turns. Of all my conversations, both inwardly and with my traveling companions, the most important has been the exploration of faith and doubt. I’ve often marveled the evangelical Christian completely cemented in their beliefs and emotionally overflowing with joy. I’ve also had a perplexed respect for the peaceful atheist. But for myself, faith and doubt exist in a complex counterpoint. They are not mutually exclusive, nor are they polar opposites. Rather, they exist on several levels: rational, emotional, and something deeper.
On this journey, that something different has been experiential. In the sum of all these experiences, the pendulum swings to ‘Yes’ in answer to the questions: “Does God exist? Does He care? Does it matter?”
I began on the Atlantic, and I ended in Peace.