Pedaling Pilgrim Blog Home

My mother-in-law and any other naysayers will be happy to know, we left Corvallis this morning each carrying 40-50 pounds of gear, provisions, clothing, water… Compared to travelin’ light yesterday, the day start feeling sluggish though we were pretty fresh even after 56 hard miles yesterday. A mile after leaving the Hotel Corvallis, we hit a one mile 7% climb that served notice how difficult hauling this load will be across the Rockies.

Most of the day was road riding, sometimes with a narrow shoulder. But there were only 2-3 idiots who seemed aggravated by our pedaling presence (guess what they were driving); most drivers slowed down, gave a wide berth, or even followed a long distance behind until they reached their destination.

A few miles from Salem (Oregon’s capitol city) we picked up a paved multiuse path for several miles through the city. At one point we saw a couple picking berries next to the path; Geeto asked what they were picking; the man said, “Blackberries, but it’s too early.” The woman said, “They’re still green.” We stopped 100’ later to find bushels of blackberries ripened to perfection. We learned from a passing dog walker that these were invasive Himalayan blackberries that the state is attempting to eradicate. But even for me, a raspberry hater and blackberry averse personality, these were good. After eating like grizzlies just out of hibernation, we rode away wondering: 1) Why is Oregon wanting to eliminate these delicious natural morsels? 2) Why was that elderly couple trying to dissuade us from discovering their deliciousness? 3) At what point will these alluring treats bring forth their scourge on our digestive systems?

30 miles into our day, we rode through the center of Salem where there was a family friendly art festival next to the splash park: picture for yourself balloon animals, face painting and children’s laughter as they stomp on water spouts. No photos as we already exhausted our unplanned stop at the blackberries, but it was a nice scene that left us with a good feel about Salem.

5 miles later, we left our fantasy biking environs and reentered the commercial world: we made stops at 7-Eleven, REI, and Target. It’s not like we’ve been living in the wild for months, but this setting seemed unfamiliar, repellent, wrong…

15 minutes later, we arrived for a 2:00 pm lunch at the Hitchin’ Post on the outskirts of Salem. The menu featured a 2-pound burger, which was tempting, but we were sort of full from blackberries. They didn’t have High Life, so we settled on Coronas with our 1/2 pound burgers.

Quick aside: my friend David Jones saw the Dork Disc on my bike and sent me 95 rules that any self-respecting biker should follow. Rule #47 says: “Cycling and beer are so intertwined we may never understand the full relationship. Beer is a recovery drink, an elixir for post-ride trash talking and a just plain excellent thing to pour down the neck. We train to drink so don’t fool around. Drink quality beer from real breweries. If it is brewed with rice instead of malted barley or requires a lime, you are off the path.” We’ll need to work on this: yesterday someone not named Matt bought a six pack of Budweiser; today we plunked limes in our bottles; though we also need to work on several other infractions of the 95 rules.

Feeling way too full, in the 90 degree heat of the day (that’s 32.3 Celsius DJ; or is it 32.3 Stones? I forget your silly UK units), we plowed 20 sluggish miles to the Champoeg State Park. I was fairly spent and took some time to recover. I was thinking: this day was somewhat typical; we have much harder days just around the corner; maybe 31 hours of compelling that boxy U-Haul beast across the country really will be my downfall. But, after setting up camp, showering and downing a liter of H2O, I was returned to my normal abnormality.

We mustered the energy for 1.5 mile bike to a nearby winery. There, we three shared a bottle of sparkling rose at the Lady Hill winery, listening to Norah Jones, and we hoped Matt wouldn’t include this testosterone-free scene in the blog. (The good, the bad, and the Lady Hill ugly.) Geeto also managed to knock his water glass over within seconds of it being poured; that’s 3 nights in a row one of us old men spilled a drink.

Tomorrow we have a recovery day; it seems early in the journey but our friend Jonathan Ayers lives in Portland and we can’t pass up the opportunity to stay in his she-shed (maybe we’ll bring a few bottles of Lady Hill sparkling rose). Strava folks, here’s the plan; Day 3: Champoeg to Portland

Our first night camping looks to be a good one. Temperature should be in the 50’s, it’s bone dry, and nothing but the sound of crickets talking back and forth in rhyme.

For song selection tonight, I have two. After the ride dedication to Dad today, I was happy to have the opportunity to encounter a particular wildlife road casualty. Normally, you don’t have to look and you don’t have to see ‘cause you can feel it in your olfactory. But, this polecat must’ve been descended from Flower of Bambi fame, as he had no smell. At any rate, here’s another song that my dad used to sing and play on the guitar; I figured I’d use this sometime on this trip; seems appropriate it was today: Dead Skunk

As we ride along and experience the days together, we get to “enjoy” our differences. Geeto complains too much about his poison ivy and bought ridiculous sunglasses that make him look like a 70’s porn star; Mark rides too fast when he’s in lead position and loves to display his camel toe look when off the bike; I blow my nose on the rider behind me and have a tendency to show off my best asset. When you spend concentrated time with people in a new element/experience/environment, even people you know and love very well, it takes some time to get into a synchronous groove. So, I feel this song from Joe Cocker is appropriate for us now, as “we’re just learning to live together… until we die.”: Space Captain