Hot, Hot, Hot

To Baker City, Oregon -- 54.0 miles, 10.7 mph, 3800 ft

A couple months ago we were dreaming of summer. Well, it’s certainly here now. The biggest issue today, was just that there was nowhere to stop over the last 42 miles and it was 90 degrees. As usual, we strategically planned the day to start with a climb -- 6 ½ miles up, 6 ½ miles down. And it was another bombing downhill -- 45 mph max!  Of course, it's an hour up and 10 minutes down. We huddled outside the market in Richland, unwilling to commit to going in the restaurant for fear we would linger too long as the temperature climbed.

Quick snack

Today, unfortunately, we would have a series of uphill steps and another four or five mile climb just ten miles from the end. For the first time since we met Bobby, he decided to ride with us as we left Richland. The first fifteen miles or so was fairly gradual in a dry, rugged canyon following the Powder River.

Meg and I somehow ended up in the lead today and got to the Oregon Trail Interpretive Center ten miles from town. We were almost completely out of water by then, covered in salt, and desperate for a way to cool off. The big bummer was that the museum sits at the top of a hill -- one mile and 370 feet away from the highway making for a stiff 7% average grade. No big deal in a car, but no small task on a loaded bike, especially after over 3500 ft of climbing in the baking sun. Meg and Dex quickly decided they had no interest in the museum. Besides, the rest of the group would hopefully be coming soon and might also decide to keep going.

Kylie and I slogged up the hill and soon learned by phone that, indeed, the rest of the team had arrived, out of water, and were anxious to finish the last nine miles to Baker City. By this time, Kylie was happily engaged in a kid’s museum workbook, and I was content to wander past the Oregon Trail dioramas in air-conditioned bliss. Once again the hardships of pioneer travel was driven home. One in ten Oregon trail travelers died from an array of causes -- accidental gunshots, children run over by wagons, drowning during river crossings, cholera, smallpox etc. Diary entries talk of passing dozens of fresh graves during a single day. When you realize that during the boom years 1849 to 1851, up to 60,000 pioneers attempted the journey every year, you really understand just how dangerous the trip was. The few military and fur trading outposts that existed were completely insufficient to supply or aid this many travelers.

Upon reaching Baker City, I was happy to hear that the group had settled into a small hotel. Although the Hoornaerts were slow to camp early in the trip, we’ve now completed ten nights in a row in our cozy, ten pound, nylon abode. I'm pretty sure everyone's legs, knees, and bums will appreciate a cycle free day, and that is the plan for tomorow.