Category: Oregon

Mount Hood from my BnB in White Salmon, WA

Today was a shortish day due to the apparent unavailability of accommodation where I really wanted it further east. The fact is, it’s a desert out there. So I settled for a short day today and a long one tomorrow. But it was still long enough to fill an afternoon with great cycling through more epic scenery.

Today the world slowly changed from mostly green and forested bluffs to almost completely treeless hills covered with golden brown, dry grass. The east side of the Cascades range has a very different climate. I was told that for every mile you travel east of Cascade Locks, you lose an inch in annual rainfall. Even if that is not literally true, since I am now about 75 miles further up the Columbia River gorge, it should come as no surprise that everywhere here looks dry and arid.

I allowed myself a lazy start to the day, enjoying the lovely, lofty surroundings of White Salmon, a small town I think I could happily live in. It seems to have just about everything you could want on its doorstep for every season. It is home to healthy looking, outdoor loving people, many of whom seemed to have congregated at the superb bakery, where you could watch bread being kneaded and baked before your eyes. I phoned home in between two separate, equally delicious brunch sittings, with excellent tea, and reluctantly tore myself away when I felt I had probably overstayed my welcome.

For the first hour I shared a table with Stephen, a retired native of Boulder, Colorado (which is a sister city of Hood River, Oregon, just over the water). Stephen was well travelled and knew plenty about the world. He was recently at his son’s wedding in a Scottish castle that must have been close to Dull! We chatted amicably about different places and he told me he was just recovering from an infected leg that had required an operation and 30 days in hospital. He was going to a local Buddhist monastery to rehabilitate in peace. Luckily he had good medical insurance and – partly due to a hospital administration error – all of the cost of his treatment had been covered. His 30 day bill was an eye-watering 187,000 US dollars. It is no wonder that inability to pay medical bills is the single biggest reason people lose their homes in this country, and why having a job with good “benefits” is so important to everyone here. It made me more grateful than ever for our National Health Service, without which I could not so easily be living this privileged, adventurous life. Never take it for granted!

Mount Hood and the Columbia River

Descending swiftly to the banks of the Columbia River, I resumed my journey easy alongside the freight trains and the wind surfers. It was a bright, breezy day, and the wind was in my favour. It created waves and white horses on the broad river and a lot of people were out enjoying the conditions. The cycling was good and I made swift progress to the next bridge, 20 miles upriver at The Dalles (“Dals”), where I crossed another Meccano bridge to re-enter Oregon. I thought, correctly, this might be my last chance for refreshment, so I pulled into Big Jim’s Burgers, principally because the large sign declared them to be made “with love”. It was a good move. This establishment was close to the Interstate Highway, and it’s clientele were, in general, not at all like those I had seen earlier in White Salmon. This was a different America; but nevertheless one that serves excellent burgers and fries with a smile.

Big Jim’s in The Dalles

Now in Oregon, Google maps sent me on a promising route that wound its way gently through dry, grassy hills up a small valley just out of sight of the Columbia River. It was traffic free and for several miles I celebrated my good fortune. It felt like I was finally in the middle of nowhere, USA, on an excellent road surface and all alone. I was happy.

Then it got interesting. Google maps wanted to send me up a hilly, unsurfaced road next to an old wooden school building. I double-checked: there was no doubt about it. It looked pretty dicey. But there wasn’t another viable way I could take. Which explained why the road I had been following was so quiet: it went nowhere!

Navigation is an issue for the trans-continental adventure cyclist. The paper maps here just don’t go to the level of detail I would like. I didn’t want to retrace my steps all those extra miles. So I gave it a go. The gravel ran for several miles. I saw few cars. I actually saw some tumbleweed blow past me. The road crested the hill and provided spectacular views of the Columbia River above a train bridge, and I could see my destination away in the distance. I rode gingerly with my loaded panniers, mindful of the possible consequences of over-confidence, especially on the steep downhill sections. On a mountain bike it would have been fun. But not in my situation. And then, just like that, I was back on the smoothest, straightest and emptiest of wide tarmac highways, all the way to Biggs Junction, Oregon. Thanks Google maps.

View from my gravel road

Biggs Junction is an odd place. It is where one of the few road bridges crosses the Columbia River, intersecting with the Interstate highway on the south bank. It is more a collection of gas stations, motels and fast food restaurants than a settlement. But, tonight, it is home to me and my bike. My motel is so close to McDonalds that I am using their free Wi-Fi. But this place is something of a relic of a bygone era, now surrounded by huge truck stops and enormous neon signs. I hope it hangs on amidst all this ugly modernity.

Yet despite all the traffic noise and surrounding oddness, from my window I am treated to the most spectacular of view west along the Columbia River, with Mount Hood still dominating the horizon. I will leave it behind tomorrow. And I’ll miss it.

Some days are just exceptional from start to finish. Today was one of those. And not just the weather, which has been simply amazing now for two straight months. That has become almost an expectation. Today served up much more.
It began with a healthy breakfast that included proper leaf tea in a teapot, at the amazing McMenamin’s Edgefield Hotel, an old Poor Farm given a new lease of life (Google it). Here, the night before, I had enjoyed an amazing outdoor salt water hot spa pool. The whole place is a work of art and oozes character and personality.

But cycling had to occur at some point. I managed to get away while it was still morning and almost immediately set out along the fabulous Historic Columbia River Highway. Built by the 1920s, this was the first “good road” along the vast Columbia River valley, which separates the states of Washington and Oregon in the most dramatic fashion. The Columbia River flows down from the Canadian Rockies; but this lower east-west flowing section is a huge body of water, probably half a mile or more wide and well over a hundred miles long. It runs west from the arid, desert-like eastern portion of the Pacific Northwest, through the Cascade mountains, to reach the Pacific Ocean a little north of Portland. It is a breathtaking, bright blue sight and I felt this gorge would be a good way to start the journey east. And so it proved.

The old scenic highway was almost traffic-free and a delight to ride. It took me to over 600 feet above the river, where there were a couple of scenic lookouts. Then it plunged down hairpin bends to the water level, where it stayed close to the railway and the newer Interstate highway. Hereafter, in just a few miles, I must have passed at least half a dozen spectacular waterfalls on the south side of the river valley. Any one of these would be famous in Britain. Perhaps the biggest and best was Multonomah Falls; but honestly they were all top class.

Stopping so often slowed me down, of course, but this was superb country not to be missed. I rolled into Cascade Locks, where I had started out on the Pacific Crest Trail on 25th June this year, around 4pm. Just in time for lunch, then, at the local microbrewery. The beer situation in the USA is unrecognisable from the country I first knew 38 years ago. Today you can get excellent, locally made beer pretty much everywhere, it seems. I look forward to putting that to a stern test. So far, however, so very good!

Refreshed and recharged, it was time to ride across the Meccano-like Bridge of the Gods to the north side of the Columbia River, and the state of Washington. The bridge spans a narrow part of the gorge where there was a landslip around 500 years ago. The name comes from Native American stories of a natural crossing point; but over time the force of the river turned this landfall into roaring whitewater cascades, later tamed for shipping by the building of locks (hence the name of the small town). From here, after cycling nervously over the metal grill road surface of the bridge, I was able to follow the flat north shore, also alongside a railway, until I was level with my journey’s end today at White Salmon, 30 miles away. There were no bridges in between. This is a serious waterway.

There were, however, freight trains that seem to run with great regularity along both banks of the river. In the USA these are seriously long. I rode alongside a stationary train, waiting for a signal, and counted 2 engines pulling 65 flatbed wagons, each with 2 shipping containers. That is a lot of train! They rumble slowly along; but cover huge distances, running through day and night. They take priority over the few passenger trains here. They have the most evocative, wailing horns and I find them a fascinating part of the nation’s transport infrastructure. You can’t possibly capture the almost endless length of a freight train in a photo, although from across the water I did get some idea of how far they stretch.

Spot the train on the other side

My other entertainment in the last couple of scenic hours of cycling was a section of several short tunnels. Cyclists were instructed to stop and push a button by the roadside before moving through each tunnel. The button activated a flashing road sign to alert motorists. The tunnels were wide enough for two vehicles to pass; but not overtake me as well. I was glad of the extra precaution.

But overall, again, the riding was a pleasure. The roads were good, the traffic not too busy and there was generally plenty of space at the side of the road for me to stay out of everyone’s way. Long may that continue.

My destination this evening, White Salmon, is a delightful spot. It looks south across the river gorge from high up on a bluff to the larger town of Hood River on the south bank. Rising imperiously above to the south is the epic sight of Mount Hood, all 11,250 feet of it, complete with glaciers, dwarfing everything else around. When I arrived in town I was greeted by another cyclist, Wesley, who looked much younger and fitter than me. He came out to meet me later for a beer and I learned that he almost became a professional racing cyclist. He certainly looked the part. He’s just moved out here from Seattle and I have to say it feels like an amazing place to live if you like the outdoors. I could imagine bringing up a family here like Wesley will soon be doing. There is a lot to like!

And so ends a great day. I will awake to morning views of Mount Hood and then make my way gingerly to the bakery in the small but attractive town centre, because it’s there and I can. And then I’ll do a bit more cycling through this enchanting part of the world. In the sun.