Miles: 98
Elevation gain: no longer counting in feet, but mountains summited. That would be 2. Maybe 4,500ft?
Elevation Max: just shy of 8000
Temperature: low 90s
The Oregon flats have killed Sierra trained legs and suddenly we are out of shape again. Ralph was passed out straped to his buggy as we rolled into Chevron for icy cold water. Oh the scene the stuffed red nosed deer missed, shelves stocked with Carrot Cake Clif Bar. It had been a sandy night on our River beach bank and as sunrise lifted over the mountain, Ralph awoke covered head to toe in miniature granulas of sandy rocks. But priceless, the smile on his face when his spying nose sniffed out that orangey brow rice syrup bar in my back pocket. And so we were best buds again.
Passing over two peaks was a trek of climbing, we ate milk and cereal straight from bags and breathed in the wildfire smoke like packs of cigarettes. Hanger took over at mile 80 (hanger is a state of anger cause by hunger.) O'Reilly had taken off down the mountain and after climbing 25 miles, out of water, fuel, and passing some of the most beautiful scenery around, I was tired of trying to chase down the boys ahead and too frustrated and hungry to care. Opening whitey on the side of the road, whitey is the lovely white pannier, all that was left was an empty bag of bagels, Sambuca, and canned Campbell's tomato soup. Curing the trees that starred, they echoed my splatter of words back into ears. So plopped on grassy knoll, deciding to horizontally relax, sipping the only sugars I had, syrupy Sambuca, I starred into one of the most beautiful meadows witnessed in life. Sitting there realizing, this was the Rocky Mountains, 1000 miles north, Todd was right, this was some of the most scenic country in this land. The sun warmed a sweaty back, Ralph sighed with content, belly full of carrot cake, and everything to survive aboard Zeb, no longer was there a single hurry. It felt amazing and the race boys would just have to anxiously wait.
Suddenly a red suberu pulled up like an ambulance ready to save the world. Embarrassment turned Ralph bright pink. The car door swung open and O'Reilly yelled in distress, "omg are you Ok?" I was fine enjoying a meadow sunset view after being long ditched by my posse. Having led enough bike tours, once certified in wilderness first aid, and knowing my own body's limits on a bicycle down to calculation, I was angry my team was no longer a team. I was going to make it, but on my own watch now.
The kind kindergarten teacher who O'Reilly fetched a ride with offer up her cabin, hot bath, beers, and awarm cooked meal. The past 24 hours had been an overload of hospitality. But we had cycled 100 miles to sleep at this something amazing Stanley Lake, so I stubbornly turned down the offer. Clearly she thought Ralph was nuts, convincing her we just had to sleep on a watery blue natural pool instead of a warm bed. But this nice little lady begged, pleading as though it meant something deeper than offering relaxation, and no no longer existed in my vocabulary.
Not knowing her offer came with verbal directions spoken to a navigationally disastered boy, we passed deer valley road. Forgetting the name we then searched for dry creek road, and finally found the epic cabin on iron creek road. And there we were, hours later munching on fresh bing cherries and strawberries, hearing the story of why she presistantly begged to fed us. Her ex husband, having passing away yesterday, her and her daughter came to spend the weekend in the cabin they build together in 1978. This lovely lady Christy simply wanted to share her children's book fantacy log cabin with someone in need and took us in like her own children. We chatted over boiling rice and sautéing garlic and life stories of hardships came out. Reserved, I still wanted to pour my heart and soul out to her kindness. The whole reason I took this trip was to be inspired by people just like her. Life is hard, but happiness exists in the most simplest of things and people's generosities.
After a year of a heartbreaks from an all too beloved physically damaging relationship, a compilation of life events forked: addictions, a yearning to heal strained family relations, days spent trapped in obsessive calculations, and an anger that ran so deep it wanted to harm, or at least punch bastards in the face. But with a heart too big to handle it all, the fur of my 80lb 4 legged companion of a golden retriever was drowned in tears and Bianchi carelessly zoomed through redlights on the city streets of Oakland. It ain't all peachy, but knowing compassion exists deep in all of us, and inner turmoils grow only when watered with silence, strangers hugged goodnight like family. Constantly being reminded that at times people hold you up, and all you can do it give back when roots ground. To use pains, sorrows, and insights as stepping stones to the next crying soul. And I guess I owed O'Reilly an apology for flagging down a magical evening in worry that Ralph, Zeb and I had been injured.
Field notes: turn right at the town of Banks. Shoulder all the way to Stanley is glorious and so is the scenery. Not water for last 47 miles into Stanley. We drank straight from the crystal clear river. I'll tell you tomorrow if that was a good idea.