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The Gilpins and Inghams from Australia with their futuristic Bike Friday TwinAir Q's - wait, the future is now...photo by Hanz Scholz
BF Homecoming/Cycle Oregon 2003 PHOTO GALLERY shot by Hanz Scholz, Tim Link & Lynette Chiang.
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Day 4: Halfway to Joseph/Wallowa Lake State Park, 83 hilly, cold, wet miles
Da, da, da-da-da-da da, da...
I started out doing the mental can-can, but this was the Day of Reckoning. Four steep climbs and a frightfully long, cold and wet descent that had a couple of hundred of able-bodied people sagged off the mountain with teeth chattering. The rest stayed clustered around three fires (kindly built by local bow hunters) like Aussies round a beer keg at lunch stop. As the crowds gathered around the fires, people exhibited that "airport carousel" behavior: standing so close as to prevent the majority of folks from getting a whiff of warm air, while burning their eyelashes off.
'Everyone let's take one step back and let others get warm,' fell on deaf ears. We managed to educate our cluster to stand side on to get more folks in. The Lord of the Flies flashed across my brain.
Climbing, climbing, climbing all day... and I could not believe the riders who merrily careened down the freezing descents in t-shirt and shorts.
The last 6 miles brought us to the Swiss-Alps like setting of Wallowa Lake State Park, where we'd thankfully rest for a day or do a 101-mile option.
Some BF folks were sagged off that freezing mountain, and sensibly got all cozy and fed before the rest of us rolled in. One who certainly did not take the sag was 70-year old Beverley Anderson from Minnesota. 6 feet of snow against her front door in her home state wouldn't stop her, so why would a bit of cold? Put on a cardigan. She completed the entire tour on her blue New World Tourist, and as far as I could tell always finished somewhere in the middle of the pack. I want to be just like her when I grow up.
Others who put me to shame were tandem couples Beverley and Gerald Monkhern, Dennis and Suzanne Stuhaug, and James House and Nora Timson, all folks in their 60's, 70's, and beyond, who are walking, talking, pedaling examples of how to retire gracefully. My 65-year old mum who dances to techno sent me a note saying 'If it's too loud, you're too old.' For these BF owners, it's like, 'If it's too hilly, get a lower granny gear and shut up.' I salute you all, and if I could ride no hands on a Bike Friday I'd salute you double.
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Day 5: Rest Day in Wallowa Lake State Park
We camped way too close to the toilets, showers and service trucks tonight. The generator that was keeping our wild salmon fit for consumption at the special chef's meal rat-a-tatted throughout the night, shattering the sylvan setting of Wallowa Lake. Imagine, if you will, a divine wedding ceremony in a majestic abbey with a jackhammer at the pulpit. Moral: bring earplugs, and camp a long way from those facilities, even if you have to pee in a bottle.
There was no way I was getting on my bike today. Besides, many petite women had signed up to test ride it.
We took turns manning the BF test ride tent. A 7' giant came by and wanted to test ride. We put him on the one with the tallest stem just to give him an idea and he pedaled off, knees brushing his earlobes. Bike Friday had already built a bike for a 7' NBA basketball player who has been spotted riding around Texas. The man came back. 'I love it! I want one!' Another BF owner-to-be.
A man came by on a trike. Daniel Price, a clean-cut, thinking-man's hobo, lives in a divine hobbit hole by a babbling brook just outside of Joseph. I popped by on my way out of Joseph the next day. He deserves a complete story all to himself (watch this space). He sells his renowned Moonlight Chronicles little hand drawn and written journals about living to live, to 200 subscribers who are living vicariously through him, for $5 a piece.
A deer created a sensation when it sauntered casually through our camp. At one point he entered Ruthy Kanagy's tent clearly on the lookout for trail mix or a digestable recumbent. 'Don't feed him!' said people. Later we found a regurgitated plastic bag under the Bike Friday canopy. If you see a deer with a larynx shaped suspiciously like a 20" wheel report him to 1-800-777-0258.
Dinner was a gourmet affair: wild salmon with all the trimmings. The queue stretched into the night and into the darkness. It was still stretching as the Bike Gallery Bike Rodeo went through its ride roping, wheelieing, limboing paces. Markus reported that their lead mechanic Brett deserved a the equivalent of a bike industry knighthood by repairing the underseat handlebars of one of our rider's Sat R Day recumbents. Brett apparently whipped out a welder and simply welded away. They are a lynchpin of Cycle Oregon and deserve their success. And they also had a single pair of those $75 Shimano cleat sandals IN MY SIZE that I all but caved in to.
The rest day probably gave unattached folk who've been chasing the rear wheels of potential suitors to finally rendezvous. The classified ads were a catalyst for this mating game. The newsletter instructed all in search of Mr/Ms Right Now to congregate in the beer garden, pointing out that the singles were the ones 'without wedding rings'. 'Are you supposed to take off your wedding ring?' I asked incorrectly.
There is a fun ride in Australia called the Deadly Treadly. It is unique. A small, adults-only ride (on account of the camping being next to a pub each night) where the joke is that on the first night 300 tents are pitched, then 200, then 100, then.... After doing 60-85 miles a day, I had barely energy or inclination to brush my teeth let alone indulge in any in-tents activity. But I guess I should speak for myself zzzzzzzzzz.
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Day 6: Joseph to La Grande: 85 downhillish miles.
This was a day of fast and furious pacelining. It certainly helped being downhill most of the way. We all got into town early enough to have a Show'n'Tell at pow-wow. Or was that yesterday? No matter. I'll tell you about it here.
We asked folks to bring one examples of some neat object or technique that enhances their cycle camping experience. We got several:
Alan Scholz showed his swivel pop up razor, and a wind up cell phone charger that gave 6 minutes of talk time for 2 minutes of winding. Plus it was an LED light to boot. Hey, isn't that how phones started out?
Theresa Scholz showed her Swiss Army Knife with fork and spoon attachment. Well now, how on earth can you eat campsite fondue with a bottle opener?
Mori produced a pair of collapsible chopsticks from a neck pouch-the wooden ends screwed into titanium handles. We asked him if he had tried them on the fig Power Bars.
Maki had a solar battery charger the size of a pack of cards.
Ken Kyobashi had a pair of those Shimano cleat sandals I covet. If only they were just a leeetle more elegant, I could wear them with a cocktail dress. Teresa Ojeda confessed that on the near-arctic vertical descent her hands were so cold she went down without brakes. She did, however, turn her Camelback hydration pack around to her front as a windbreak. The practicality and ingenuity of women.
Beverley Anderson showed a neat visor you can Velcro to your helmet, giving you a pretty effective windshield. 'But you can only drink half your bottle of water with it on,' she said.
Bernie Crosby, who says he suffers from skin cancer, wears a full SPF30 suit that is light and comfortable to ride in. I did not get the name.
I offered a tip based on two facts: 1) It's horrible to put on cold clammy clothes on a freezing morning in your tent, and 2) Lying flat on your back is bad for your spine - you're supposed to stick something under your knees to flatten out your spine and stop it from arching. So: stuff all the clothes you are going to wear the next day into your Thermorest stuff sac, put it under your knees in the sleeping bag, then next morning, your clothes are body temperature and your back is straight.
A helmet cover also doubles as a seat cover when you park your bike in the rain, and for women, a shower cap.
And so on...
Speaking of showers, they were hot and steamy. I know I am in North America when I turn on a tap saying 'H' and it follows through, even in a campsite. The outdoor washstands were a hoot - an eye level mirror and open space underneath meant that the head of someone brushing their teeth on one side appeared stuck onto the body of the person on the other - see the photo gallery above for an example.
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Day 7: La Grand to Baker City, 60 miles or thereabouts.
I didn't ride today. But others said it was pretty tough. Not so for Bill Mork, who was the first Bike Friday across the finish line riding one of our demo green Pocket Crusoe.
Dan 'what brakes' Fallorina and his fast-cleated compatriots breezed in shortly after.
And then the packing began. Boxes, bags, and a whole load of Bike Friday folk taking their bikes apart and popping them in their suitcases.
'What's the disadvantage of a Bike Friday then?' asked a woman directly, looking on.
'Um, well, the look of it, if that bothers you,' said Hanz.
Aha. Small wheels.
Doing anything in life out of the norm - and being able to face your detractors - takes some doing. Strangely, this does not seem to faze the average Bike Friday owner, who statistically is over 48 years old, has time and cash to travel, and is secure enough to buy a strange little bike and, frankly my dear, not give a damn.
'Yeah, but they just look W-R-O-N-G!'
We all turned to the man who was eating at our picnic table where a gaggle of BF owners were busy discussing how well their bikes served them on this trip.
'That's a good thing,' said Suzanne Stuhaug, who'd stokered her way up the hardest hills with hubby Dennis on their Tandem Traveler XL. 'They look funny to some, but BF folk don't care. You have to be secure.'
This really revved up Mr Big Wheeler.
'What, you're not saying just because we don't ride one we're insecure? @#$%@#%^$ (inaudible )'
Upon which he gathered up his half eaten meal, muttered something about moving to another table, and did just that.
Touché.
Little wheels make you fly.
Thank you Jerry Norquist and the team for welcoming the Bike Friday 2003 Homecoming to Cycle Oregon.
Copyright 2003 Lynette Chiang. All rights reserved.
