July 1, 2023
Mud Lake
(Note: regardless of what some of you might suspect, I don’t make up days like this or stage them to have something interesting to write about. Things just keep happening. They could stop, really. We’ve had enough good stories lately to last us awhile).
For the third Saturday in a row, we’re off to Sauvie Island. It’s due to get warm today so we make a credible effort to get an early start of it - I’m back from Caffe Umbria not long past nine, and a half hour later we’re on the sidewalk ready to roll when Rachael realizes it’s her turn to forget the phone so she has to go back upstairs. Fortunately at the last minute she sees she’s forgotten her helmet too so just the one trip back up to the 11th floor is required.
And once we’re rolling, we’re stopped again a few blocks later because her handlebars are dipped at the wrong angle - no surprise really, because we haven’t sized the bike’s adjustment to her since it returned from the bike shop last night; and a few miles later we’re stopped again because her GoPro has slipped and is hanging upside down because I didn’t tighten it down hard enough.
Finally though we really are going and keep a fair pace all the way out to the island. As we ride though we find the Sunday morning traffic on the highway busier than we like, and independently come to the same conclusion - three weeks in a row is enough for awhile on this ride.
It’s a fine morning though, and we follow pretty much the identical script as the last two times: we ride the core loop counterclockwise again, Rachael pulling ahead as usual and then waiting by the rest stop at its north end; and then we take the spur north up the west side of the island. Rachael, ahead again, rides it to the end of the pavement and back, far enough that she’ll claim 48 miles by the time she makes it home.
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So, the same old script up to now. Might as well stop for a quick recap before moving on:
Video sound track: Desperate Man Blues, by John Fahey
But then the script diverges, and we move on to something entirely new and unique. Rachael and I do little more than wave at each other in passing, and then she continues home on her own. She knows the way of course, and she’d just as soon get off the road before it gets any warmer. Lunch might be entering her thoughts as well.
I keep biking north though, planning to bike to the end of the pavement myself. Ever since the ride to Gresham it’s been in the back of my mind to bike my age in kilometers this summer, and when I do the higher math biking north on this road I realize the end of the pavement is exactly right. It’s a good day for it and I’m feeling well so I continue on.
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I’ve biked out to the end of the pavement on this road quite a few times over the years, but possibly never in the summer. I’ve always wanted to continue north in the off season, because I’m sure many of the wintering birds hang out at the north end which is more or less one giant wetland. I can’t though, because it’s either closed off to protect the wildlife or requires a hunting permit.
Now though, it’s open; so out of curiosity I continue on. I don’t really have a plan or destination, but just want to explore a bit. I’ll turn back when I find a reason to.
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About a mile past pavement’s end I come to a fork in the road, and take it. I could keep going straight north for other views of the channel, but I’m intrigued by the sign. Big Eddy? Gilbert River? I didn’t know Sauvie even had a river, so let’s take a look.
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It’s the end of the road, so I’ve found my excuse to turn back. I don’t go far though when I come to a faint path through the grass to the left that leads after maybe a hundred yards to what I think must be Sturgeon Lake. It’s short enough that I decide to head down to the water for a look across, thinking the ridge in the distance must be to the east in Washington.
Later though when I map out this ride and see where I’ve actually gone, I see that I’m completely turned around. This is Mud Lake, another of those small satellites that surround Sturgeon. And I’m looking southwest, not east as I’d thought at the time. The high ground ahead is Rocky Point.
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So far this has been a fine ride. I’ve really enjoyed getting out to a different part of the island, and think maybe I’ll do something like this again later in the summer after we’re back from Canada. And I’m looking forward to the twenty mile ride home - or at least the part on the island. It feels like I should be getting a helpful tailwind most of the way. Once I get back on pavement I’ll give Rachael a call to let her know about when I’ll be home, so she won’t be worried about me.
As I’m rolling my bike back across the grass back to the road though, it doesn’t feel right. I reach down to squeeze the tires and confirm my fears - the front one is flat. How ironic - after riding with a rear tire that was completely falling apart I flatten on the front one which has plenty of tread left. At least though I’m well prepared - I’ve brought my pannier this time and have everything I need.
Except I don’t, as I discover to my horror when I get back to the road and find a shaded patch of ground right-sized for the repair project. I’ve got a spare - two, actually - and a pump, and a repair kit. What I have not got though is tire levers. I look everywhere, multiple times, before I give up and settle into the reality that I’m totally screwed, miles off the grid with a flat I can’t repair. Later, once I’m finally home again, I’ll discover what happened. When I replaced my rotted rear tire, I absent-mindedly slipped the tire irons into the camera bag, which is black and more or less the same shape and shade as the tool bag. A new way to screw myself over, which hopefully I’ll never repeat now that the possibility is etched in my mind.
With few options to work with, I start by phoning Rachael to let her know the situation, and maybe set her up for helping bail me out once I get back to someplace identifiable. It goes to her voice mail though, and the signal’s weak enough that I suspect I’m out of range. And then I start walking. It’s about a mile until I’ll get back to the main line and the last place there was enough traffic that there’s a chance someone will come by and give me a lift back to civilization. I wear my helmet while I walk, as protection from the sun. I could be out here awhile.
I’m about a third of a mile into this walk when I get luckier than I deserve. A pickup with a driver and passenger comes my way, and as they pass they stop and the window rolls down. Do I need help? Yes, thanks for asking, I could use some help.
Barton the driver’s name is if I’ve remembered it correctly. He works for the fish and wildlife division of the state police, and he’s headed out to the Big Eddy to see if there’s any fishing going on. He’s got the time, and offers me a lift for the ten miles back to the store at the base of the bridge. The bike just fits in the back of the pickup with all the other gear already there, and there’s room for me in the back seat of the cab next to the two rifles racked there.
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A brief segue. I omitted mentioning an interesting topic that came up in my meeting with Jonathan two days ago. He told me of a bicycle ride he had planned to take three years ago, from Bangkok to Chi Minh City. It was to be a commercial tour, led by Grasshopper Adventures. Like the experience of so many others though, his planned tour was cancelled due to Covid and he never went. End of segue.
Besides my immense feelings of relief and gratitude, I enjoyed the ride to Cracker Barrel Store. We had plenty of time for conversation because it’s ten miles, the road is slow, and I’m pretty sure Barton was driving carefully so as to not bounce my bike around in the back of the truck. Considerate but maybe not surprising, because Barton knows bicycles. In fact, after he graduated from college he had a job leading bicycle tours in Southeast Asia - with Grasshopper Adventures. I love coincidences like this.
My thoughts upon reaching the store were to see if they might sell bike repair tools - not a ridiculous idea, since so many bikers ride the island and stop in at this store. No such luck though, but it’s just as well because I couldn’t have paid for it anyway because I apparently left my wallet at home and had no money or credit cards with me. Or at least I silently prayed I’d left it home. Please, god, don’t let me have lost my wallet again!
This is turning into a long post, so I’m going to fast forward the rest of it so we can all get on with our lives. Rachael and I finally hooked up. She was sick with worry about me - she’d gotten my message over a half hour earlier but was unable to reach me for reasons we don’t really understand, but finally a call got through.
When I was at the store I called her again and asked her to help me get a ride home. In another wierd twist, she couldn’t easily drive out herself because the car is in the basement but I had the fob to open the garage door. She tried getting me a ride with Uber, but they apparently won’t pick passengers up if they don’t present ID at the start of the ride. And she tried calling Radio Cab but couldn’t get through but agreed to continue trying.
In the meantime I wheeled over to the base of the bridge and stuck my thumb out. About 20 cars later one pulled over. He didn’t have room in his vehicle, but he did have tire levers and offered to help. While I started to call Rachael to have her call off the cab, he was already working on removing the tire. And by the time I reached Rachael and found that she had finally gotten through to Radio Cab, had scheduled a pickup, and they were already on the island and would arrive in three minutes, this guy already had the tire off and was about to remove the tube. Fast!
Too fast, because there’s not time to call off the cab so I have to run back to the store to meet him, carrying the wheel and tire in one hand and awkwardly steering my one-wheeled bike in the other. I explain the situation and thank this guy who’s helping me first of course, and nice guy that he is he gives the levers to me just in case the cab falls through.
The cab arrives just as I reach the store. I explain that I have no money but that Rachael will meet us at the other end. He’s fine with it, helps load the bike into the cab, and off we go. He’s yet another nice guy and it’s an interesting ride. His primary job is as a blacksmith, and the cabbing is to fill in the gaps when blacksmithing work is slack. He recently moved here from northern Minnesota, and we compare notes on the few places I remember from our ride up to Duluth.
We get to the apartment, and Rachael’s on the sidewalk when we drive up because I called her a few minutes earlier. So all’s well that ends well, and except for all the stress and anxiety (for both of us), it’s just another day at the office.
Oh. And I didn’t lose my wallet again. I just forgot to take it. So that’s good.
Oh. And after repairing the flat I couldn’t put the wheel back on the bike because the end of the spindle is missing, probably dropped on the shoulder of the road by the bridge. I walked over to West End Bikes, and the nice guy there fished through his box of spindles, found a match, unscrewed the piece I’m missing and handed it to me.
Oh. And when I’m all done I walked around the corner to Ten Barrel to pick up a six pack of Apocalypse IPA I felt in the need of for some reason, and had a nice chat with the guy there. He’s just back from riding the Oregon Outback with his pal - the bike-packing route that runs east of the Cascades from Klamath Falls to The Dalles. If he’s to be believed, he did it in three days, on a one speed track bike. From the looks of him, it seems possible.
Five straight nice guy encounters in one afternoon. Must be some kind of record, and speaks well for Portland. I doubt I’d have the same sort of luck in Texas say, or Florida.
Today's ride: 31 miles (50 km)
Total: 442 miles (711 km)
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Every bike, and car, rider - every human actually - will have a story of being screwed by the lack of that one simple thing (key, ID, zip tie, screw, nut, etc. etc. ) that they normally have easy access to.
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