Tres alpine.

“Do not feed the animals”

Alpine Lupin for Suni!

Alan, Barbara, and me

New bike

Riding in to Walla Walla, I was looking forward to sleeping in a real bed, chatting with some nice people, and putting a period on the end of my first week on the road. Leaving now, I feel like I’ve found a new West Coast family to help carry me forward.

My host was a chance opportunity. Someone from the conference I’d attended in Seattle just before I took off told me that her mother-in-law lived in Walla Walla and would be happy to take me in. I bit, loving the idea of such serendipitous accommodation and wanting a firm destination to head to after my first days of 50+ mile riding.

Some people just absorb you into their lives, making you feel like a part of their fabric as soon as you say hello. Barbara and Max are like that. As I rode in down their long gravel drive, Barbara yelled out, “you found it!” She showed me into the guesthouse, lined with books and with a king-sized bed waiting just for me. Heaven. With supreme thoughtfulness, she left me to shower and told me dinner would be at 6. She assumed I’d like to eat with them? Yes please!

Their house is beautiful. We chatted on the deck in the evening sun, talking family, work, and travel. Barbara’s son AC was there too, and took me on a lightning tour of Walla Walla, then grilled up some steaks that really hit the spot after a few days of campground quinoa. I went to bed early and spent the minutes getting ready for bed with my nose in a book like I used to do as a teenager.

With very little convincing, I decided to stay another day. Barbara and AC made the most of it, whisking me off to Wallowa Lake in the Blue Mountains. We drove through miles of farmland and forest to get there, and I relished in the luxury of seeing such beautiful terrain without having to bike it. We rode the gondola (pronounced gon-DOL-a out here) up to the top of Mount Howard, where we were rewarded with some good burgers and the affections of the little ground squirrels with a taste for fries. Afterward we stopped in the little town of Joseph to cruise Main Street and grab some affogato (a favorite of Barbara’s from last time she was there).

It’s amazing to me how much people out here seem to know about the farms and landscape. Barbara and Max could name off every creek I’d cross from Walla Walla to Lewiston, and described towns in relation to the rivers that met there. On our scenic Walla Walla tour, AC talked about who was farming which vineyards, what was in season, and who had been a part of the town for generations. I’d be hard-pressed to provide that level of knowledge about any of the places I’ve lived. It’s hard to know whether that has more to do with the family and their history in Walla Walla or if it’s a cultural commonality, but they helped me come to know the area more intimately than I expected, and I’m gratified.

The evening went too quick. Max regaled us with hunting stories, and Barbara pulled out maps so we could look over my route together. AC helped me fix a flat tire that had fallen victim to Goatshead, a mean, thorny little plant also known as puncture weed.

I could have stayed another week. Right now, hanging out alone in a campground in Pomeroy, I wish I had! The care, openness, and generosity of this family will be hard to match. In a week when the news has been utterly devastating, it’s been good for my soul to spend time with the kind of people that make the world a better place to be.

I woke up not knowing if I would leave today, because I still had to pack everything up. I was fine all through breakfast (leftover special omelettes courtesy of Jesse), and got packed up by 11:30. We decided to go. As soon as I felt the weight of my bike for the first time, my stomach started tying itself I knots. This is HEAVY. It’s unwieldy. It does not fit nicely around corners and through doors. How am I going to ride this thing?

We got down to the parking lot and I took it for a spin. Super wobbly. The handlebars shook. I shook. I immediately stumbled off and googled shaking handlebars on a loaded bike. Verdict: sometimes that happens. Maybe try moving weight out of the front panniers. Or maybe it’ll just happen sometimes. Not helpful Google.

In the end we leave anyway, and the handlebars stop shaking (I was going too slow), and I don’t throw up, and we ride. We ride out of town to the north and west along the Columbia on a bike path, skies overcast and a little breeze, bound for Cascade Locks forty-two miles away. This is nice. This is okay.

I’m slow. Rose, with her lone backpack and daily bike commute, is faster. I feel like I’m peddling as fast as usual but moving slower. It gets hotter. It gets hillier. We cover only 33 miles in 4.5 hours, climbing slowly up to a crest at Vista House and barreling/braking down on the other side. (Bonus: Vista House has marble bathrooms.) We finally get to Multnomah Falls, one of the prettiest sites on the Columbia. I don’t care. I’m hot and tired and I haven’t been drinking enough. My stomach churns, and I need to lie down.

Jesse is here to pick up Rose, and I’ve long since given up hope of reaching Cascade Locks today. Ainsworth State Park is only three miles away; surely I can make three miles? I stand. Nope. Not going anywhere with this body. Thankfully, Jesse brought the bike rack and it fits both bikes. They load up the car, while I lie on the ground trying to focus on breathing. We drive to the campground, circling to find an open spot. We find a hiker/biker spot, kept open for people like me. Jesse and Rose unload my stuff, I throw up next to a camper, and we set up the tent. This is just how I imagined my first night!

I begin to feel better, and Rose and Jesse take off for the hour drive back to Portland. I can tell Rose is worried, but I’m too out of it to be very reassuring. At least camping is familiar. I set up my mat and sleeping bag, shower, and brush my teeth in the bathroom, listening to families finish up their dinners. I drink a few more swigs of water for good measure. I sleep.