Close your eyes and imagine your favorite dream (no, not THAT one!) of riding your bike along winding roads with breathtaking views of thick green forests, rushing streams, and beautiful mountain passes. Your powerful legs spin the cranks as you float up steep grades and fly down the other side. You awaken every morning to fresh crisp air and the smell of breakfast cooking, ready to spend the whole day on your bicycle exploring a new part of the country you have never visited. At night your head meets your pillow with stars shining down upon you after rehashing the days events with friends over dinner and a few beers. Only you pinch yourself and realize it is not a dream, you are riding “Cycle Oregon”.
Cycle Oregon is an organized tour of relatively uncrowned country roads, fully supported. The caravan includes a traveling kitchen, semi trucks hauling stainless steel showers and outdoor sinks, tents for open air dining, vans of bicycle mechanics, a stage for each night’s entertainment, and of course dozens of port potties (blue rooms). As one of the 2000 riders, your only duty is to play on your bike, stuff food into your mouth and jersey pockets at the daily rest stops and three square meals, and set up your tent every night.
I signed up one dreary Midwest winter day, seduced by the promising brochure. As departure drew closer, my anticipation grew. My training consisted of my usual summer mix of racing a few time trails and pleasure rides with all my cycling friends (after all, I love climbing hills!). The most difficult part of preparation was packing. We were only allowed 1 bag, maximum weight of 65 pounds, which for me was several week project as I wrestled the tent (borrowed from Chuck), sleeping bag, and clothes inside to get them to fit. There was no room for high heels. I practiced setting up the tent in our living room several times, narrowly avoiding poking our children’s eyes out with the poles. I am a novice camper, so I made sure I had everything I would need as outlined on the ride web site.
My journey began with Dennis and Darryl as we boarded our flight from Chicago to Portland. Ron and Joe had packed my Madone into a box and shipped her out ahead; she waited for me at the ride start in her box painted with orange and red horse designs. We stayed with Jim and his family in Portland who were wonderful hosts that Friday, and Cheryl from Florida joined our group after her flight arrived late that night. Saturday we set out for Sisters where the ride was to begin. As we drove along the mountain roads, excitement built. I would soon be on my bike with no cares in the world, no pharmacy customers demanding my attention, no bills to pay, and no children to be nagged. I was free.
When we arrived in Sisters, we parked the rental van in the remote parking area and walked to the information building to pick up our rider packets. They put wristbands on us and gave us stickers that had to go on our helmets and bicycles, identifying us by number. Dennis and company wandered to find their tents in the “gated community” (tent and porter service they had signed up for - I referred to them as the suburbs). I dragged my bag to a promising site relatively close to a set of port potties away from the main crowd. And so set the rhythm of the week; as I wrangled the poles amid offers of help which I graciously turned away, I set up my humble abode and organized my cycling gear and skort for the next day. Later, after I picked up my Madone which had been carefully reassembled by the mechanics, we all met for dinner at the food tent.
The days that followed were a blur of meeting new people, miles of majestic evergreens marching, lush quiet forests, peaceful winding roads, and river water rushing over weathered smooth stones as I pedaled along. Sometimes I rode with my friends, sometimes alone admiring the scenery, and sometimes with new acquaintances. Some days the sun rose to melt the frost on my bike as she stood guard at my tent, some days a gentle mist fell softly. Some days the sweat rolled down my arms as I met new ascents, happy and at home climbing upwards. Some days I shivered with fear and chills during the descents. The highlight of the week was a once-in-a-lifetime ride around Crater Lake as the sun shone hot and bright and I chased down group after group up and down the hills.
Photographs and words cannot do justice to my experience. There are memories I will treasure for the rest of my life; the feeling of power as I passed everyone climbing the mountains, icy cold waters of rivers and lakes I swam in, joking and laughing with my new friends as we recounted events of the day, and even the homesickness and tears that hit me suddenly that week (and abated after a few beers!). Even though I was very happy to exchange the wafting odors of the blue rooms and dampness of everything in my tent for the comfort of my bed and arms of my family, I find myself wistfully remembering the openness of the wide skies out West, in the magical land they call Oregon.
