Today we entered the desert -- we had been riding in dry land but today it all opened up into rolling and rocky, dusty hills with few trees and the smell of sage burning through the hot air. I could feel the dryness circulate through my lungs, almost burning sometimes. I spent my time willing my bicycle tires not to melt to the pavement underneath them. This was not a hardship though... the desert has its charms and beauties.
We awoke at our wonderful campsite, a bit chilly. Our friendly neighbors in a VW Eurovan came down to visit us almost as soon as I had crawled out of our tent. They had coffee and it was to share. Kiel jumped at the opportunity. The neighbors and Kiel chatted over their warm drinks and found common ground -- one of the women was Kiel's elementary school counselor and the other women was Emmy's (Kiel's Sister) 5th grade teacher, mrs. Vanderstoep. Small world.
The only other camper at Ochoco Resevoir was a canadian man, Eric. He was on a grand bike journey too -- of course, his "bike" had a motor and much larger tires than our own. He was touring the US on his motorbike and shared with us stories about the people he had met. The people you meet sometimes are the best story.
We packed up and ate breakfast in record time. We were out of camp by 9:30 am -- this looking promising when in comparison to our usual noon or later departures. The morning went by easy. It was another climbing day -- Ochoco Pass at 4,700 feet loomed in our future. It's hard to know what to expect when you start a day. We can ask folks questions about the road ahead but generally their warnings aren't useful; we've talked to a good deal of folks who think we are crazy because they can't even imagine biking across their population 2,000 towns. Their warnings are basically advice that the upcoming hill will kill us... we will surely need to walk our bikes and it will be miserable. It isn't always the case. Certainly the hills are rough and we much prefer the downslopes and flat lands... but hills are inevatable.
Ochoco Pass was actually easy in the sceme of things. We climbed 2,ooo feet from the city of Prineville to the Pass before noon through the groves of ponderosa pines and cattails. The hours rolled by fairly slick. My knee has been aching a bit after the big hills so reading the warning sign at the pass for the next seven miles downward grade towards Mitchell was a blessing. Seven miles of coasting... We cruised into Mitchell around 2 pm and were hungry. Very hungry. We stopped at the "best food in town"... although I must point out that it was the ONLY food in town... and had a small feast of greasy food.
Kiel; Mitchell is a town of maybe 70 people or so currently. Used to be a logging village with upwards of 3000 people at the turn of the 20th century, "with 7 churches on the hill and 10 taverns below there was nuff prayin and brawlin to keep the all a Crook county busy." The girl serving us our lunch told us that in the old bar there used to be some guy's ear tacked up on the wall cut off during a knife fight. Besides the declining logging industry three major flash fluds in late 1800's and early 1900's tore the town down to the ground, but the local people boast that they build er back up each time. I inquired, "why the hell they keep building it in the same place then?" Ah doesn't matter, probably gives them something to do out in the middle of you know what. The local mercantile shop is in it's original building, and the old original brothell is still standing down the wooden sidewalk past the overgrown lilac bush. Across the street from the little pine cafe at the service station was a huge black bear in a cage, I walked over with the lady to the whining bear "ah he's just whinin cuz mama needs to feed him his cookies..." He nibbled half a dozen vanilla wafers and seemed satisfied. She said he was a year and 70 lbs when they got him, he's now 10 and 800 lbs. Em had no interest in seeing the caged animal.
We discussed our options for the evening and interviewed the local folks about the road upcoming. The warnings were fierce. Most people got a look of fear in their eyes when we asked them about the hill out of town towards Dayville and John Day. Then we asked questions about camping (knowing that if we attempted the climb up yet another pass that we would not have enough daylight to make it to Dayville, about 37 miles away). The response was of unknowing and threats of rattlesnakes. We spent two hours trying to make a decision; while we listened (and sometimes participated) in the local's chatter. We decided to take a bump up the pass (hitch a ride), in respect of the heat and my knee, then bust out the next 23 miles to Dayville before nightfall.
It was 5:30 before we had a ride up to the top of the pass from Shelby... he was on his way out of town to get in a little elk hunting. He was a bow hunter who lives in Hermiston and works for a private contractor dis-arming various types of military warfare. The ride from Shelby's drop-off point to Dayville was beautiful. We passed through small canyons and rode along a river. With the setting sun behind us we enjoyed the fiery light splashed upon the landscapes. We decided that time was the best time to ride during the day. The air had cooled enough to be tolerable and the roads were virtually un-used. In 23 miles we were not passed by more than 5 cars... the road was ours.
We were hopeful about camping in Dayville. Shelby had told us that it would be okay to camp in the local city parks... so we knew that we at least had one option. But we wanted to ask a local if Shelby was correct -- so we stopped in at the only open store in town. Almost as soon as we had walked through the door the woman behind the counter asked, "Are you here to stay at the church hostel tonight?" Ummm... why yes we are... tell us about it. Dayville is the home of a biker hostel -- a crashing pad meant for those of us on two wheels (and they have taken the term biker back from the motorcycle culture... this hostel was for bicycle tourists). The hostel is in the local church; with showers, internet, a kitchen and laundry facilities. Not bad diggs for the night. Feeling greatful for the trustful and giving nature of the Dayville community.
Day 8: Approximately 65 bike-powered miles and 15 hitched miles; 2,000 ft. gain on bike.
Ochoco Resevoir Campground to Dayville, OR
