Riding up and over the first mountain pass of the trip, The Mackenzie Pass, at an elevation of 5325 feet, one can observe the stark difference in climate and landscape between western and eastern Oregon. Separated by the Cascade Mountains, the wet and fertile west coast morphs instantly into what is termed the “high desert”. Highlights have had to be the volcanic moonscape at the top of the pass, and the eye-watering descent into the sparsely populated high desert of the east, that I would be riding through for the next few hundred miles.
Having slept in the garden of a friend of someone whose garden I had slept in the previous night, a cold morning reminded me that I was no longer at sea level. Today was really hot and very dry. There was only one town in the whole 72 mile day; I ate my final McDonalds for what looked like 300 miles and headed for the Ochoco National Forest with the intent of a cheeky wild camp. Eventually found a creek to camp next to, hung up my bear bag, ate some shit pasta and fell asleep cradling my bear spray.
Again riding through the high desert of Oregon, I made my way to the first sign of real civilisation for a few days, Baker City, where I was to be hosted for another two nights. Although more for a rest of the legs than a sightseeing trip, Baker City offered a plenty of bars and restaurants to sort out the calorie deficit. Again, my stay was made by another awesome Warm Showers experience, this time being invited to the garden party of my host’s friend, drinking beer, and eating pizza.
Another longer day followed with 85 miles ridden with very little in between. Border crossed into Idaho, and with it another time zone. Stayed for free at a campsite that was under repair, and showered under a sprinkler.
5 days were needed to cover the remaining 350 miles to Missoula, where I would take a few days to eat as many burgers as possible. Three town parks along the way let travelling cyclists camp for the night for free, while another fairly remote luxury lodge also let us camp on a small plot of grass. Having climbed up to around 4000 feet in the previous two days of riding, day 13 turned out to be hellish, with a brutal headwind funnelling down a mountain valley, forcing me to pedal hard down a 30 mile descent. The day was redeemed by the crazy little town of White Bird, and the random man wearing dungarees on a quad bike handing out cans of beer.
The next morning saw the best climb of the trip so far, with hairpins more similar to a European Alpine climb than to most roads I had encountered in the States so far. Starting later than my riding buddy, Ryan, I saw him on a hairpin up the mountain, calculated on my map that he was 2.5 miles ahead, and set my sights on catching him up before the end of the 12 mile climb. 40 minutes later I caught him and bonked pretty hard; not so good at the start of a six hour day. We ended up at another city park at the town of Kooskia. I knew the next day had to be a long one; there was absolutely nothing between Kooskia and the small skiing lodge where I planned to stay 90 miles away, so I rode upstream all day and managed to reach the lodge no problem, putting me in a good position to attack the Lolo Pass the following morning and with it enter my third state; Montana.
