The best of times, the worst of times (not in that order)

I had survived my first night in the middle of nowhere.  It had rained all night long, but I was snug and cozy and (especially) dry.  I patted myself on the back at my terrific planning and glanced approvingly at the laptop, as well as the iPod whose purpose was to provide paperless murder mysteries for the new millennium traveler.

There was no question that I had a big climb ahead of me.  Obviously that called for a big breakfast.  I fixed myself a hot bowl of Maple & Brown Sugar instant oatmeal, and enjoyed a couple of cups of Earl Grey.  It had stopped raining and I could cook outside again.  I just knew it was going to clear up for a fantasy day of sunshine and fabulous scenery.

I packed up camp in my typical overly meticulous manner, sweeping out any pine needles that had the nerve to get into my tent.  I didn't really look at my watch until I was ready to record statistics.  Uh oh.  It was 11:30 am.  And then it started to rain.

Plan B immediately went into effect.  I put on all my rain gear: helmet cover, rain jacket, rain pants, pannier covers, saddle cover, and finally rain booties.  The booties were a bit difficult to get on and I couldn't do it standing up.  So I leaned against my bike which was itself leaning against a dumpster.  Two nanoseconds after leaning,  I found myself flat on my butt.  After twenty seconds of bewilderment, I noticed that the dumpster was on wheels and had rolled back about two feet.  I wouldn't have been all that upset, but the fall broke one of the buttons off my Garmin GPS and scratched the screen as well.  That really aggravated me.

I would have sat there and stewed but by now it was 12:00 noon.  So I started riding in the rain.  Two passes awaited me: Rainy Pass at 4,855' (1480 m) and, if that weren't bad enough, Washington pass at 5,477' (1669 m).  For any Bay Area residents who might be reading this, the best frame of reference is Lake Tahoe, which is situated at about 6,000'.  But  imagine the distance from San Francisco to Lake Tahoe as only 45 miles.  Uphill.  That's how steep it was.

I had badly miscalculated the time and effort.  Or, closer to the truth, I hadn't done any calculations at all.  I blithely figured that I "always" average around 10 mph, including time for snacks and photographs, accounting as well as for the inevitable hills in the Bay Area.   There are 61 miles between Newhalem and Mazama, so figured blithely, that meant six hours.  There are zero (I mean zero) services in between, not even water.  The climbing only stopped four times.  I hated each downhill because you lost a few hundred feet in elevation that had to be regained.  Sure the scenery was lovely, and there were dramatic waterfalls and gushing streams and turbulent rivers everywhere.  Who cares?!  It was uphill and miserable.  I reverted to my "just get through this" Zen mantra: breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out.  Keep those pedals turning.  Don't think about the miles.  Don't think about the elevation.  Just pedal.  Not that I had any options.  Either I made it to Mazama or else.  I had no idea what the "else" was. 

At the highest elevations, there was still snow. I reached the crest of Washington Pass (5,477 feet) after 45 miles of near-continuous climbing, and it was already 8:30 pm. That's right, no typo: PM! Most of the day I had cycled in the rain. No services whatsoever. I lived on Cliff bars throughout the day, and ran out of water towards the end. The last 15 miles were all downhill at a frightening 32 mph when it was almost totally dark out. I don't know what the air temperature was, but I was freezing.  I would have paid (almost) any amount of money for a soft bed and hot water.

All's well that ends well

I stopped at the first place I saw.  Frugality wins out.  It was a really fancy resort and it cost way too much money.  It is dark now, but I can still see and hope drivers can see me.  I cycle into Mazama around 10:00 pm.  I had lost track of where Mazama was exactly because I couldn't read the speedometer or the GPS anymore. 

The Mazama Country Inn was actually closed up, but there were two women who were cleaning up the kitchen before going home.  They opened the door for me in spite of the fact that I must have looked like The Terminator in a Goretex suit.  They checked me into a room (with a shower), and Jennifer --- a young lady from Palou --- was kind enough to offer to fix me a salad.  I figured that was better than nothing, but I was wrong: it was a lot better than nothing.  She had some grilled chicken she microwaved and put on top, and gave me a mini loaf of warm bread.  I was in heaven.  I sat in my room and ate dinner at 10:30 pm still wearing my rain suit.

Things get even better

In spite of the fact that I didn't go to sleep until 1:00 am, I woke up as usual before 6:00 am.  Then I went back to sleep until 8:45.  My body ordered: give me pancakes, and I obeyed.  I kept thinking I would be on the road in half an hour, but all my camping gear had been unpacked to dry out (it was damp when I folded camp the day before).  Besides, although there was no phone in the room, I learned belatedly that there was wireless. 

I broke yesterday's record.  I didn't get on the road until 2:00 pm, but I was packed and everything was dry (the shoes, thanks to the hairdryer).  I cycled for an hour, mostly downhill, and by then my body ordered: hamburger.  And again I obeyed.  I also called the guy, Tom, who advertised on www.warmshowers.org that he had a hot shower and a big yard for camping for any bicycle tourist.  Hmmmm.  Maybe my weekly rest day could come early, and it would look more like a short day with a hot shower at the end of it.  This sounded good.

Tom has a comfortable home on the outskirts of Winthrop, WA, with a killer view of the mountains.  His wife Carolyn was raised in San Francisco where she attended Lowell High School.  He has a chocolate lab, Chase (great name for a retriever) and a second dog named Mocha.  In 1996 Tom rode coast-to-coast himself, but along the Southern Route (southern California to Florida).  He was part of an organized tour with the benefits of companionship and the advantage of having his gear sagged.  Did this make it an easy ride?  Only if you think riding 120 miles per day is easy!

By the way, not only did I get the hot shower as advertised, I got a real bed and a steak dinner to go with my several glasses of wine.  Oh, and did I mention a latte in the morning?

There's a cloudless sky and a tailwind waiting for me outside right now.  After I post this and drink a second latte, I'm on the road again.

For more photographs of the past two days, check out the photo gallery.