Just Looking at the Scenery

Are we missing the point? As typical cyclists, most of us are obsessed with goals and numbers. I beat my fastest time by two minutes. Or, I climbed 6,200 feet up the mountain. Or, I did 100 miles today. (I once rode around a parking lot after completing 99.8 miles, just so I could get my odometer to click over to 100). We feel a need to measure everything because we live in a goal and time-oriented culture. Most of us have jobs, and thus we have to fit in our pleasure pursuits when we can find time. So, when we cyclists do find time, we also measure time . . . and distance, and altitude, and weight. We are trapped by the requirements of modern life, and this prevents us from experiencing the true depth of freedom, in the case of my Oregon bike tour, the freedom of traveling the open road on a bicycle for days, taking in all the wonders our senses can handle. We have to compromise and do what we can. Ironically, we fight to experience relaxation and recreation.

When my friend Jim McLean and I decided to do some bicycle touring in Oregon, we had to research, schedule, plan, practice and measure . . . everything. Neither of us had ever done any bike touring for multiple days, and the 250 mile Oregon Cascades route we chose could take six consecutive days to complete. We would travel a big loop starting in Bend, Oregon, heading northwest up McKenzie Pass, down to Rainbow, up the Aufderheidi Scenic Byway, down to Oakridge, up the long and steep Willamette Highway, across and up the Cascade Lakes Highway, over Mt. Bachelor Pass, and back to Bend. This amounts to approximately 15,000 feet of climbing and six to nine hours in the saddle each day. We had to reach our numbers or we wouldn’t finish within our planned time. We focused on our goals, each day’s destination. And because we didn’t want to ride in the hottest part of the day, we also climbed out of our sleeping bags by 6 a.m. every morning. So much for the romantic notion of just riding without any cares.

Reflections at Horse Lake, Oregon

I don’t want to make this sound like drudgery; it wasn’t. In fact, we thoroughly enjoyed almost every minute, but we still missed a lot. We didn’t know what we missed until we met a fellow bike tourist who had ridden down from Washington on his bike. For us, he was kin. Hey, another guy who knows what it’s like to ride day after day. The similarity ended there, as we would find out later. Our experience was nothing like his, and our approach to this bike touring thing was that of children when compared to his.

I carried 70 pounds of camping gear, clothes, food, tools, camera equipment and other “essentials.” All this fit in four panniers mounted on front and back racks, along with one handlebar bag. I carried a water pump to filter water, a stove to boil water, and freeze-dried food to re-constitute with the boiling water. I had a tent, and because I like a comfortable night’s sleep, I carried an air mattress. I had two flashlights, mainly to assure I could read at night (wouldn’t want to get bored in the wilderness) and a thick book to read. Because my other passion, and profession, is photography, I also carried a DSLR, two lenses, a panoramic head, and a tripod.

We studied our maps carefully and each night fretted over the possible difficulties of the next day’s route. We planned for staying anywhere along the road if necessary, but focused on reaching official campsites. On the third day, we chose to stay at the Oakridge Lodge, where we were treated to a gourmet breakfast, including blueberries picked from the owner’s yard. It was the perfect break before the big 5,000 foot climb ahead of us just outside Oakridge.

By the last day, we had racked up most of our miles and climbing. We were again focused on getting over the top of the mountain and to the end of the ride. No, we were not in a hurry, and we certainly made great efforts to stop and experience things along the way, but the miles and the mountains always loomed in our heads. As we set out on the last climb of the tour, we saw a young cyclist who, we would discover, rode down from Washington. He was headed in the opposite direction. We waved at each other and stopped to talk on the quiet road. As he was on the other side of the road, we couldn’t get a clear look at him, but he did tell us his riding partner had abandoned him in Washington and that he was headed for Mexico or even Peru; he would see how things went. We wished him luck, and we parted.

On our way up, we stopped to visit some beautiful, quiet lakes before a swift 22 mile descent back to our motel in Bend. We were very pleased with our experience, and we relaxed the rest of the afternoon and evening as heavy rain fell outside our motel room. I celebrated by eating an entire pint of Ben and Jerry’s coffee chocolate chip ice cream and finished that off with jalapeno Cheetos.

The next day, we drove to Crater Lake, some 90 miles from Bend. Along the way, we saw the guy from Washington again. He was simply peddling along the highway. It’s a fairly steep climb up to the crater rim, but not a big deal in a van. We drove the 32 mile loop around the lake, encountering heavy rain and hail, which we waited-out by sitting in the van eating lunch. Before leaving the park, we went to the lodge at the highest car-accessible vantage point near the lake. Just as we arrived, the guy on the bike crested the last portion of steep road. He had big bags on the back of his bike, but nothing much on the front. His blonde beard was considerably long like that of an 18^th century explorer, and from a distance, he looked exactly as I would expect of a world traveler doing everything under his own power. I imagined how dirty his clothes must be and how bad we would smell. (We had a hard time keeping our clothes clean for only six days). All the time while we were eating ice cream and casually cruising around in the van, this guy was continuing his journey. He likely slept along the road. As we sat in the van to avoid the rain and hail, he climbed the mountain.

We entered the general store with all the other car tourists near the big vista of Crater Lake. The power shut off just before we went in. The store was dark except for the light from the windows, but this didn’t interrupt the sale of useless memorabilia. It was then that the real bike tourist entered the store. I walked over to him as though he were an old friend. Jim and I smiled and congratulated him on his arrival at the top of the mountain. We had to remind him that we had met only yesterday. To my surprise, his beard was neat and clean, not like that of some hobo barely getting by. His eyes were as deep blue as Crater Lake with the whites as clear as the snow on the mountain. His skin was not worn and leathery, but light, smooth and unblemished. Even his clothes were clean as though he had just purchased them. He did not appear like a guy who had just ridden up a mountain on his bike. My eyes would have been red from the wind, my clothes ready to be burned, and my attitude one of distracted exhaustion. How could he bear the cold, the extreme exertion, the stress of not knowing where he would sleep next? How did he make it here while riding in heavy rain and hail?

All these thoughts went through our minds based on our understanding of long distance riding: striving to be comfortable, clicking off goals and mountain passes, accumulating the miles. Yet, this cyclist, whose name we failed to learn, seemed at peace in every way. His very presence and relaxed demeanor made him appear sage-like. He was in no hurry, not worried about where he would sleep, nor was he excited about reaching the top of the mountain. He was simply in the “now.” This was the attitude we had missed. This was the place we wanted to find but were unable to discover within the confines of our scheduled existence. This is what it takes to ride with true freedom.

Jim asked, “How did you get through the hail and rain on the way up here? We had to hide in the van.” The answer to this question would be everything for us. There was nothing more to be said afterward. We both simply “got it.”

He looked up and to the side as he contemplated Jim’s question and thought about what he had just done. He shrugged with a grin as though he didn’t know what Jim meant, and said, matter-of-factly, “I didn’t notice the hail. I guess I was just looking at the scenery.”