Greeting from God’s country, in the heart of Eastern, Oregon.
We spent last night in the tiniest town you’ll ever see – Service Creek, Oregon (Population 2… five if you count the three of us, six if you count Angie). Before heading off to bed we spent some time talking with one of the owners of the lodge (and of the town), Kate , and she shared stories with us about how she and her husband had lived in Portland, Oregon, for 11 years before they bought the town of Service Creek and moved out to Eastern Oregon (I’d like to buy a TOWN someday, that would be cool).
And as we talked, she spoke about the land and the region with great reverence – explaining that it was a privilege, she felt, to be able to live among such beauty and tranquility.
And as I rode south through John Day Fossil Beds National Monument, I began to understand exactly what she meant.
This was easily some of the most beautiful country I’ve ever ridden through. A beautiful wide flowing river, surrounded by painted sandstone hills. Absolutely amazing, quiet, peaceful, ancient lands. And the perfect way to spend a beautiful sunny day on the road.
As we came down through Wasco, Oregon, over towards Condon over the past few days, everyone I spoke with laughed when they heard about our route – especially considering some of the hills I was going to face along the way… “Did you get lost?” about half of them asked, while the other half went with the more direct “Are you crazy?”
But as I rode down from Spray (just outside of Service Creek – Population 2) through John Day Park, I knew we had made the exact right choice. Because as insane as those earlier hills had been (and don’t get me wrong, they were pretty insane) , they were the only way to experience the beauty that was unfolding before me.
Not much to report from the ride itself – I mean, what can be better than a beautiful sunny day in an amazing National Monument park.
But there was one of the nuttiest things I’ve ever experienced right at the end of the ride. As we arrived in Daysville, Oregon, where we’re staying the night, I decided to push ahead a few more miles to get a head start on tomorrows ride. And as I rode along this deserted road about 3 miles outside of the town, I crossed this bridge, with a woman at the far end of the bridge holding, of all things – A STOP SIGN. I swear, I thought I was about to be filmed for a “Candid Camera” episode (or held up and tossed in a trunk by some local gangsters) – but it ended up that she was with the local road construction crew that was paving the road about 1/2 mile ahead.
She explained to me 1) that she’d been standing there with her stop sign since noon, and 2) that I couldn’t ride past the freshly paved road with my bicycle and would have to be trucked across in the teams pick-up truck. Now, you know that was completely unacceptable, because, as I explained to her, I’m on The Dog Cancer Ride Across America, not The Dog Cancer Ride Across America (except for 4 miles where I had to ride in the back of a pick-up truck) and I asked her if there was any way that I could ride on through.
“Well,” she said, ”we will be leaving in about an hour, and we won’t be back stopping traffic until 7am tomorrow morning” – and with that it was decided “Midnight Run!!!” – just me, in the dark, on a bicycle, over freshly paved highway, with Ian in the car with the High Beams on riding 15mph behind me – and Nikki on the camera, document one of the most surreal moments in Dog Cancer Ride history…
And with that, I waited for my team to catch up to me, to take me back to town to rest before our midnight rendezvous with the road…
And perhaps the biggest irony of all, for a blog post entitled “In God’s Country,” is that while we were riding through John Day Fossil Beds National Monument we met a lovely park ranger named John – who asked us where we were staying that night. When we told him that we’d be looking for a motel in John Day, Oregon, about 30 miles down the road, he suggested that we stop in Daysville, Oregon (about 7 miles down the road) instead. There, he told us, we’d find a free hostel that caters to Bicyclists riding through town – which sounded wonderful.
And best of all, as I sit here on the pew writing this blog post – our hostel for the night is in the Daysville Presbyterian Church. Welcome to God’s Country!
From The Dog Cancer Ride Across America, Day 9, I wish you a good night. And may your thoughts and prayers be with us.
Bye for now.
Ted Schneck
on the Dog Cancer Ride Across America
