Day Dreaming

I was startled awake, frightened, a bit confused, unsure where I was, my heart racing.

You see the thing is I occasionally don't sleep well, I have been a better sleeper the last four or so years but the last two weeks has been particularly bad. My mind just won't slow down I toss and turn, I attempt all the classic cliches, somehow my brain pushes on. I designed a tree house, built a car from scratch, visualized an overnight bikepacking trip, designed the perfect van interior for tripping, just random stuff and it won't end.
So when I started Tuesdays ride I was tired, it was bitterly cold the fog full of tiny assassins assaulting my face with their daggers of ice. I thought about returning to bed, to the warmth and security offered by my down comforter, you cannot fail it is safe under the sheets. Regardless I rode on into the darkness, I wouldn't have slept anyways.
The sun having emerged from slumber much later than me began to burn off the fog, the temperature rose my hands and feet went into auto-defrost that painful yet somehow pleasurable time when blood flow returns feeling much like when you hit your thumb with a hammer. A mix of singletrack and gravel had brought me to Loveland Bay, here I stood for a bit as the sun beat on the last of the cold.

Loveland Bay

Ice! Yes ice, as I rode on, I came upon a hollow, a particularly cold dip in the road where the puddles were frozen and again so was I. I struggled, should I stop and put on some warmer clothes or tough it out. I shifted up a couple gears rose from the saddle and began stomping on the pedals having decided I would stoke my inner furnace with effort. On the climbs I unzip my outer layer a light fleece top and vent heat on the descents I close everything up tight and shiver, still my mood is upbeat and like an audible "Ground Hog Day" "I'm Not One" by the Pop Punk band BUM loops in my mind occasionally I sing along out loud, no one hears, no one cares. I pedal on.

The spot of the sugar low

My route took me along an over grown road, dark and moody, mist hanging from the trees, I felt alone. And as I occasionally do when in the forest by myself, I felt very vulnerable and frightened, in the forest you can feel small. The forest does not know you are there, it cares not if you live or die, but it can make you feel alive, it can offer peace, it can offer a place of solitude where you can be strong or weak, I am humbled by the forest. I began contemplating turning back, I ate a few gummy bears, soon enough I was back singing aloud and I pedaled on. I realized in my excitement to ride I had left home with out eating my breakfast, coffee alone cannot power a ride!

Looking north across Mohun Lake

I arrived at Morton Lake my destination hear I planned to change footwear and run some trail before a meal and the return ride home.

Shimano bike shoes

Treksta running shoes

I began my run with a forest ramble, just because, it is good to get off the beaten path sometimes, change things up, you know variety, once on trail the run was, well a run, nothing much to say. I was though getting hungry, the three gummy bears while riding and the two gummy Coke bottles before the run were not much assistance now, food was on my mind.

Cooking up lunch at Morton Lake

For lunch I cooked up half a "noodle meal" ate an apple, then I lade down on my back on the gravel in a spot the sun had warmed where it's rays could push the last bit of cold from me. There I lay eating gummy food feeling the sun. I was startled awake, frightened, a bit confused, unsure where I was, my heart racing.
I had fallen asleep and now bolted awake unsure of why I quickly scanned the scene for danger. There was none, my attention returned to gummy food and I noticed the bag now had a hole in it? A Steller's Jay had hopped onto my belly and helped himself to my gummy food waking me in the process! How rude not to ask first!

Thief!

Comfortable as I was I could not remain here conversing with the Thief, I packed up and hit the road home. These rides have a way of fading from memory and I struggle to believe I actually have completed a single one. After finally having a good nights sleep, and upon rising this morning I am unsure if this ride was a reality or a dream perhaps, a day dream? 

Home is at the end of the road

Hotel Il Perlo Mini Review

During my recent trip to Italy I stayed on two occasions at Hotel Il Perlo in Bellagio. Il Perlo is a small family run two star hotel in a spectacular setting over looking Lake Como and Bellagio.

View from room

The Hotel has secure bike storage, a repair area equipped with basic tools, a repair stand and staff will laundry your kit after the days ride. It is located on the climb up to Madonna Del Ghisallo a climb used in the Giro di Lombardia, ashort walk into the town of Bellagio.
 Carlo the owner speaks very good English, is very often at the front desk and is a wealth of knowledge when you are looking for cycling routes. All the staff are friendly, the food is good, and when weather permits the main patio has the same view as our room and is the place to have your meals/drinks.
I thought the price of a room (which includes breakfast) was very reasonable and if you are there on a Thursday there is a free wine tasting. I highly recommend you stay here when in Italy and you don't have to be a cyclist! For more info check out the Hotel Il Perlo site here.

Hotel Il Perlo

Bartali, in front of the Chapel Madonna Del Ghisallo

Are Snowy Italian Alps A Match For Fools On Bikes?

A guest post by Andrew Hallam

Fabio leaned forward.  At first, I didn’t think he really understood what Dan was saying. “I want to ride my bike up the Gavia,” Dan repeated, “And I want it to snow.”

“Not if it snows,” said Fabio.  “Nobody wants that.” His response surprised me.  Fabio, a blond haired blue-eyed Italian ski instructor could probably snowboard with a blindfold; drive a Ferrari down a mountain after downing a bottle of Campari; steal a man’s wife during his honeymoon.  Fabio had Roman brass gonads.  But just the sound of Dan’s plan seemed to be shriveling them up. 

Fabio's Cafe

 Plenty of sporting moments net our imagination.  Bob Beamon’s record setting long jump at the Mexico Olympics; Roger Bannister’s first 4-minute mile; Tonya Harding’s botched job on Nancy Kerrigan’s knee.

Dan Clements, it seemed, was about to botch something else.

Inspired by American cyclist, Andy Hampsten’s snow covered ascent in the 1988 Giro d’Italia, Dan wanted to replicate the effort.  It was a race that should have been cancelled as snow piled up on the 8,530-foot climb.  Hampsten unlocked the door to cycling lore that day.

Misguided, perhaps, Dan wanted his own key. 

Dan, Gerald Libercan and I woke up to cold rain on September 23, 2015 in Bormio, Italy.  We had planned to climb the Gavia together.  An online webcam, however, showed that snow was piling up on the mountain road. Gerald and I backed out before breakfast. Riding didn’t make sense.  But Dan didn’t care.  A few neurons short of a full frontal lobe, he prepared to go solo.

It was just below freezing in the valley.  Dan left our chalet after taking careful directions from Gerald.  But he didn’t listen.  He passed the turnoff to the Gavia and started climbing the wrong hill in the freezing rain.  An Italian woman set him straight.  She motioned for Dan to follow her car back down the hill.  Before pointing him in the right direction, she pumped a fist on her chest, hugged him, and said, “You’re a brave man.”  At least, that’s what Dan thought she said.  She didn’t speak English.  Dan doesn’t speak Italian.  But it didn’t matter.  “I’m in love,” Dan said later.

Dressed in black rain gear and cyclingbooties, Dan started his second climb of the day.  It should have been his first.  He entered a small village where the road narrowed and the pavement gave way to smooth cobbles.  Shortly after, he was back to pavement.  

A few kilometers further, Dan pedaled through a mountain tunnel.  As he emerged from its shelter, the snow started to dump.  “How are you doing?” I asked, as we pulled alongside in the van.  “I’m loving it,” Dan said.  “But my feet are really cold.”

Before long, snow started accumulating on the road.  “You want to keep going?” I asked.  “Yeah, I have plenty of traction,” he replied.  Now driving about 100 meters behind him, our van’s tires started to slip on a hairpin.  “Dan, get off the bike!” I yelled.  We pulled to the side, letting a four-wheel drive creep past. It was the first vehicle we had seen in ages. 

Then our van started sliding backward, towards a rock wall.  It stopped, just inches from getting the backside crushed.  No longer riding with any kind of traction and needing to help us shove the van from the wall, Dan abandoned his ride.

I thought of the swashbuckling Fabio, warning that nobody wants to ride the Gavia in the snow.  Hang on to your wives and girlfriends. Dan Clements isn’t nobody.

Andrew writes a column for the Globe and Mail. He's also the author of the international bestseller, Millionaire Teacher.

Andrew

The Making of a Meal

I like a good sandwich and often they are my preferred riding food on long days and overnights thus dispensing with the cooking hassle. But when temperatures are a bit cooler there is no denying the satisfaction that comes from a warm meal after a long day destroying your body. Like many other adventurers a long time staple for back country food has been Instant Ramen noodles. They are quick, if uninspiring, so finally I started adding flavor and texture and calories to turn your typical instant Ramen into a meal. This one ends up at about 410 calories and is quite filling at a cost of close to $2.50 in Canada.
What's your favorite packaged food hack?

The ingredients:
                            1 package instant Ramen
                            2 bags garlic peas
                            2 dried Shiitake mushrooms
                            1 1/2 Tbs. dried vegetable flakes
                            4 pieces beef jerky (about 1.5 oz)

All prepped

Bagged and ready for trip!

I cooked up this one for lunch at work!

Tlools Valley Through Hike a Bike

An ill conceived idea? Maybe, but it had been on my mind for quite some time to ride out and hike a bike through the Tlools drainage from the north to south. At only 15 km how hard could it be? The Big Johnson and I set off to give it a try on Saturday evening after work. Geoff and Ftom accompanied us to our first night campsite at Apple Point on Brewster Lake.

Saturday night crew, The Big Johnson, Geoff, Me, Ftom.

Apple Point, ended up quiet except for some croaking

Sunday morning The Big Johnson and I set off  for Jessie Lake and the north end of the Tlools Valley.
Once reaching the end of the road we eventually found a rough trail that led us to Myra lake. We were feeling good about our progress, that was about to change! The forest was mostly very challenging to make headway with the occasional short section of relatively easy going.

Loaded Krampus w old rail trestle in background

Easy bush

Sulfur Shelf  Fungus

Mostly we were on the inside looking out

Myra Lake looking north

Scaly Vase Chanterelle

Thistle Meadow they started out hub high ended up over the handle bars!

Tlools lake is fed only by snow melt

MY Krampus The Big Johnson in the distance on his Krampus

Return to the forest

Filtering water at Hawarth Lake

Night two camp

Tlools creek

I took very few pictures on the third day, it was simply "get on with it" time, and we did. Physically it is devastating, pushing/pulling/lifting/lowering/dragging a fully loaded bike through trail-less forest. I think my text response to Geoff  sums it up best.

  Geoff:  How was the hike a bike? 

  Me:  15hr over two days of hell, 16 for Greg. Huge trees down, lots of them, massive boulders a plenty, wind shrapnel everywhere, wasps and Devils Club.
12 stings total 9 for Greg.
Beautiful lakes, awesome meadow of Thistle, head high.
Tired, beaten, bused and sore.
Been there done that, no need to go back.

  Geoff: So to sum it up in one word was it "fun"?

  Me: Rewarding

And so it was, for part of day three Greg and I had gone our separate ways, Greg preferring the creek and me the forest. In reality I feel we both needed to suffer alone.
When I reached the end of the valley I felt great joy I had made it, then guilt. Where is Greg? Is he OK? He had looked so tired. How long do I wait before going back or calling for a search. My head was swimming in thought. I sat down cooked and ate some noodles, I began to formulate a plan. A familiar sound? A disk brake squealing in protest pierced the forest and Greg arrived.  He was smiling.

 

UPDATED 2015 Oregon Outback, Like a Rolling Stone

Part one:  Flat

Flat, the first half of the first day the Oregon Outback is flat. And so was I. I peddled and peddled waiting to feel just a hint of something, but all I got was flat, flat and a slightly elevated heart rate for the effort.
My plan this year was to ride "straight through" little stopping, no real sleeping, maybe a 10min cat nap or two when the hallucinations set in. Klamath Falls Oregon to the Deschutes River Recreation area in under 48 hours total time. 580 Km it two days, should be doable, but I was flat. And with flat came a change of plan, plan B. At Silver Lake, I chose to move to a three day ride with my fellow Campbell River riders. Geoff, Kiya (The Kid), and Glen (The Hoff).

Did I mention it rained? Most of the first day it drizzled, except for the hail and downpour late in the afternoon this of course meant the sky was flat. The forecast had been for rain in the morning and clearing through out the evening and night to sunny on Saturday Sunday. So why carry any sleeping gear? After all the plan was to ride all night. My condition of flatness and the decision made to move to a three day ride, I suddenly realized I had no camping gear! We were hanging out at Silver Lake Mercantile and Motel when Les the owner announced that the local Pastor O'Leary had opened his shop for us all to camp in and there was a fire! Night solved, I would sleep next to the fire, we ate hotdogs, purchased beer and headed for the barn.

My palate mattress in the foreground! maybe 40 or so people slept in various buildings at the O'Leary Ranch. That's The Hoff in the orange cap

Ready to sleep

The  night passed fairly well, I got up to pee every two hours until 3:30 when I began to shiver a bit, finally about 4:45 I added some wood to the fire and started to warm back up. I had thought I would head out about 4am and possibly ride the rest of the way in one big push, however the nonstop rain seemed to make the mattress all the more attractive and a late start it was. a fairly uneventful day two took us from Pastor O'Learys shop to Prineville past  Fort Rock.

Fort Rock

The Hoff's Copper something or another

Gratuitous flower shot

The Crooked River

Part Two: I never was much for the Rolling Stones

As the day continues we roll into Prineville and head straight to Ochocco Brewing Company, I am thinking of a hotel room for the night, maybe 4 hours sleep a shower and finish this off. I have not told anyone about the pain in my right Achilles it has come on late in the day and is close to bringing a tear to my eye, but when I step off the bike in the pub the pain is gone! A beer miracle? As we learn there are no rooms available in Prineville, I am asked by the pub owner Joe where we are staying the night, I respond "on your deck" he looks confused and answers Ok! As the evening goes on Joe learns myself and our new American friend Scott have no camping gear and arranges matts, sleeping bags and pillows for us! Next thing you along comes Pepper with all the sleeping gear! Thank you Pepper! Did we have a fire on the deck? You bet! Pepper got that going for us also!

After several trips to relieve myself, 4am came quickly and the pain I felt every time got up during the night is gone. We pack up and continue.

We climb directly out of Prineville into the Ochoco National Forest and the rising sun.

Geoff and The Kid, the true climbing has yet to begin

From the crest of the climb begins the decent into Trout Creek Valley and on to the town of Ashwood (there ain't much in Ashwood!). From Ashwood you climb again up onto and across a high plateau then you descend down into Antelope. Antelope was made famous by the Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh. Once in Antelope there is a small city park with water this is a good place to recover, drink and prepare yourself for the climb up to Shaniko.

Trout Creek Valley

High plateau between Ashwood and Antelope

Help needed for The Hoff!

The Hoff, The Kid, and Scott, Antelope was kinder to some than others!

The feeling climbing the road to Shaniko was different this year, there were other riders, it was mid day, strangely I missed the morning mist and solitude of last year and I focused on that, keeping my mind off my screaming Achilles tendon. Shaniko awaited and past that the Rollers of Doom!

Goldie's Ice Cream Bar in Shaniko

When you ride out of Shaniko there is a stretch of rolling pavement, it was here my pace slowed as I struggled more and more to find relief from pain ultimately at the turn off to gravel and the Rollers of Doom I could take no more, I found a ride to the Deschutes River Recreation area in a car. Strangely, I wasn't unhappy. I had not rode as I intended, I had mostly rode feeling flat, I had not finished the 2015 Oregon Outback but I was happy, satisfied even, I guess in spite the drugs and alcohol the Rolling Stones got it right, I didn't get the ride I wanted but I just might have got the ride I needed.

Solitude and suffering was replaced with friendships old and new, and while the ride still was not easy, I gained a new appreciation for slowing down to take it all in.

The End:  

You Cant Always Get What You Want, But if You Try Sometimes, You Just Might Find, You Get What You Need

After Thoughts and Shit Stains:

It is coming up upon a month since the 2015 running of the Oregon Outback, plenty of time to reflect upon the personal experience. With all the news that has come to light of disrespectful Oregon Outback participants, perhaps now is the time to reflect upon our impact on the people and communities that shared their homes/businesses with us. I experienced graceful, giving, welcoming people everywhere along the Outback route, I had thought the locals experience of the riders would be similar. Apparently not. As a self appointed ambassador of cycling this weighs heavy on me and it should on you. For right or wrong as riders we are all painted with the same brush in the non riding public's eye. Currently that brush is shit brown.

Death of The Oregon Outback