The transition we experienced crossing the Idaho/Wyoming border represented much more change than we anticipated. Moving west, the separation of Idaho and Wyoming is divided by one final high mountain pass before the lower lying hills of the western continental US. However, geographical change has been the essence of this trip, so it comes as no surprise, nor have we found much difficulty in adjusting. The transition which caught us by surprise is all too familiar to us as northwest natives, but difficult to adjust to while living outdoors; this transition is fall, and more specifically: Rain. Our first full day in the state of potato production began with a late morning shower, which brought on enough chill to dig out the rain pants; the first time since leaving San Francisco. This minor rain event was merely a precursor to the trying weather we would face in the final days of our journey.
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The following day began with a quick and easy twenty miles, but by eleven, it was clear we were in for a storm. Information from the weather forecasts and our friends from home were loud and clear: The first big storm of the season is moving your way. It began by producing crosswinds and headwinds as it blew our way, and once the precipitation arrived, we then enjoyed rain as well. Presently, our outlook on an aggressive schedule became bleak as we sat wet footed and exhausted. That night, camping west of Arco, ID in the Craters of the Moon, we were lucky to have enough dry weather for dinner before the bedtime rainfall.
We awoke to a cold, cloudy, but dry morning in the Craters, with enough time to tear down camp and eat before the precipitation once again struck us disappointed. Quite literally, the first click into our pedals was an alert to the clouds, and to our dismay, snow began to fall. At just over three miles from camp, we reached a visitor center near the top of the pass, and pulled in for our first break of the day. The combination of wet socks and gloves from the previous day numbed our fingers and toes in an unfair disadvantage. Lucky for us, the visitor center had two heated electric hand dryers, which presented an opportunity to warm and dry things before pushing downhill and below the snow level.
This will remain as one of the most trying moments of the trip. As the snow continued to accumulate outside the visitor center, we were forced to wonder what weather would lay ahead. Had our trip ran out of time as the early winter weather fast approaches? How many more days could we handle the cold, wet weather? Would we risk our health by continuing? How would we get home? Of course, none of these questions were mentioned aloud until days later.
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Thirty five miles beyond the visitor center, at a highway junction just south of Sun Valley, ID, we took refuge from the endless bone chilling drizzle in a rest area to fix a broken spoke. As we sat inside, we could all but foresee our ability to suit up and go back into the rain. Meanwhile, the constant rotation of people passing by, themselves struggling with the gap between their vehicle and the entrance to the building, were intrigued and sympathetic to our situation. As one hour turned into three, a return out into the rain seemed less and less likely; we decided instead, at the risk of breaking an unspoken rule, to pitch our tents in the grass at dusk. Having noticed the pity of the passers by, I had convinced myself that no officer of the law could be heartless enough to evict us under the current circumstances. Sometime around eight or nine, we still hadn't resorted to moving outside, and the cleaning lady arrived for her evening obligations. With absolute insistence, she told us to roll out our sleeping bags inside, and not camp in the wet grass. Her official approval was enough to bring on an excellent and worry free sleep, indoors. The next day we woke to warm, dry gear, and precipitation free--but windy--conditions. Enough good weather to successfully complete the stretch into Mountain Home, ID for our final rest day.
Our time in the rest area produced a variety of emotions and memories, not all bad. Although the continuing misery of the weather left us reconsidering an early ending to our trip, for the second time in one day, we were reeling from the welcome we received to stay. I must also mention the characters funneling through this rest area at the junction of US 20 and Idaho 75, us included. They were obviously as intriguing to us as we to them, and in many cases this circumstance provided a unique opportunity to glimpse into the lives of those passing through this part of the world.
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For our ride out of Mountain Home, ID, we had great weather to begin the final push to Bend on the way to Portland. At almost exactly 100 miles from Mountain Home we crossed back into Oregon and found a yard to camp in right on the border. Having a warm, clear day boosted moral and gave us a positive outlook on the next four days to Bend. Sensing our proximity to home was another reason to celebrate and feel accomplished; the distance to home had been reduced to less than the breadth of one state. However, the next day we once again experienced the wrath of fall as we pedaled out of Vale, OR into a twenty mile stretch of rain; enough to saturate our gloves, socks, and shoes for the rest of the day, and into the next. In these times, with the end so near in sight, the present is a hard thing to appreciate. Fortunately, this turned out to be our last bout with steady rainfall, making our final days into Bend dry to say the least.
With two nights left to Bend, the scenery started becoming familiar to Dan, who previously traveled this stretch of highway 26. Spending so many nights out on the road, often camping only when a suitable place was discovered, it felt like the final two nights would be a breeze in our own backyard. Unfortunately, as dusk began to set in on us ten miles west of John Day, the publicly owned ranch land we expected to find was non existent. Enter Oregon's chance to surprise us with kindness and opportunity. As we learned from a passing motorist, nine miles west of us in Dayville there was a bike hostel facilitated by the Dayville Presbyterian Church. When we arrived at the church, a kind lady was waiting for us to give a tour of the available shower, kitchen, laundry, and computer. They even keep a large bag of pancake batter on hand. This positive anecdote of kindness in our own state left us feeling proud.
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In two more days on the road--one long, one extremely short--Dan and I reached his hometown, Bend. Before shedding our gear, we took our time riding around town to parade our accomplishment. Two days later, I left Dan in Bend and began my two day finale to Portland. For this stretch, I took advantage of a support vehicle to carry all my gear, call me a cheater if you want.
There was significant temptation to finish the trip with Dan in Bend, and ride back to Portland in my support car. Mainly, it was the conflict with my ego which left me questioning my decision to continue; as if the rest of the trip wasn't enough, I have to prove myself in the final two days. Truthfully, the main motivation behind completing the loop was to ride routes previously travelled, creating a perspective by linking all the new territory of the last six months to my own location. I was also interested in rolling over roads I know for the observation of my fitness level after six months of constant riding, compared to levels of previous years. In hindsight, I'm glad to have stuck to my commitment; the last two days provided an excellent opportunity for reflection and enjoyment.
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I want to thank all my Bend friends for the excellent hospitality during my layover, also Dan's father for buying us a deliciously satisfying dinner on our last night out. I expect to spend the next week or two preparing final reflections, anecdotes, and memories to share as I close this epic chapter in my life.
Thanks for reading.
