I pulled a bit of a bonehead move a few days ago – on the way out of Service Creek, Oregon (Population 2). I stopped in the country store to get some supplies, and managed to walk out of the store and hop on my bike without my jacket. We’re currently connecting up with the owner to get my jacket shipped back to me, but until then my new name for the town is “Service Creek (Population 2 plus my bicycle jacket)
Generally, that wouldn’t be a problem – the weather’s been getting better as we entered central/eastern Oregon. But then I woke up this morning to take Angie out for her walk and was hit with a cloudy, brisk and very cool day – low 50s. And I had a feeling I was in trouble.
Fortunately, I had some spare clothes, and layered up a bit, so it wasn’t too bad. But still it was a lousy, cold, damp, dreary day to be on a bicycle.
But wait, it was about to get worse…
About 10 miles outside of town I met a couple riding in from the east – mega-panniers on their bicycles and all – and they looked cold and weary. After chatting for a bit they said, “yeah, it’s been a tough day – 3 major passes.” OK, I was not expecting hills, and I was definitely not expecting the types of hills I was going to be heading over in the next few hours.
First, the climb… this time not to 3,380 feet (my previous ride altitude peak), but to 5,130 feet – there were snowmobile signs everywhere (and I’m told I was lucky to hit the hills on Wednesday, as they were expecting snow above 3,000 feet come Friday). But on a day like today, uphill wasn’t the biggest challenge I faced – and believe me, uphill was a big challenge. No, on this gray cold cloudy day, downhill suddenly became worse than up. Can anyone say frozen toes… and better still, frozen Ted (actually the froze on my toes kept my mind of the chill over the rest of my body – small consolations).
And finally, catharsis. When you ride alone across country, you get to spend a LOT of time with yourself. It’s almost like an extended meditation. There’s tons of time to think about life and everything around you (I actually carry a voice recorder with me to dictate my blogs – and notes – and even chapters of the new pamphlet/book on cancer prevention that I’m writing during the ride). You also get a lot of time to sing to the trees – to remember loads of stories about friends and days gone by – and to ponder everything that’s happening in your life.
Most of these thoughts and memories are really quite nice – since most of life is progressing very smoothly around me these days. But deep down, the worries, the doubts, the problems, manage to peak their head through and WHAM, hit you when you’re not expecting them. I knew coming into the ride that this was going to happen at various points during the ride. I also knew that I’d have no idea WHEN they would happen – and that ultimately, once I processed and worked through these issues, that I’d be much happier and much better for the wear.
Well, given the cold, and the hills, and the accumulation of 11 straight days on the road, I guess today was as good a day as any for a nice pity party. It started with the cold – and the gray – then thoughts about some of the inevitable glitches that come with organizing an 82 day charity fundraising event – and continued straight into my own personal fears and doubts around relationships, and finances, and life.
So here I was climbing massive hills, in crummy weather, in a sad dour mood with tears on and off welling up in my sunglass covered eyes.
Makes for a lovely day on the bike, eh.
But I survived, and in the end I made it through the hills, and the emotional challenges, and finally, once I managed to unfreeze my toes following the last long downhill before my end point in Unity, Oregon – I even managed to make it past the weather. And for the last 5 miles of my ride got to ride along gentle rolling hills under the beautiful end of day sun.
It’s amazing how quickly the sun can help you forget a tough day on the road.
Good night, from day 11 of The Dog Cancer Ride Across America.
And I’ll see you down the road.
- Ted
