Day 74: Cannon Beach, Oregon: "Take That Turn"

There was a tremendous amount of hype surrounding the ride from Maupin to Portland. For one, the distance, and a 5am wake-up call to match. Then there was the whole issue of us having to cross the Cascade Mountains, including the mystical Mt. Hood, in a day. Moreover, while it wouldn't be our last mountains ever, it would certainly be figuratively downhill after that day's ride. And, finally, on the other side of those mountains awaited Portland; a real city, which captured our imagination with its promises of real city things: shops, restaurants, bars, people.

There's actually a really relevant idea from the world of videogames that I can use here. I gave up on trying to be conventionally cool a long time ago, so forgive me while I get a little geeky...

While it's not requisite to all videogames, most of my favorites have a "Final Boss", a character the protagonist needs to fight or a challenge the protagonist needs to overcome in order to crest the story arc and complete the game. The final boss is usually presented in one of two ways. In the more traditional way, hype is built around the boss throughout the course of the story; the evil wizard mocks you as he kidnaps the princess, the dastardly King Koopa retreats right before being defeated to fight another day, and so on. In other instances, the final boss is also the final twist; the mysterious "Grand Champion" is in fact your lifelong rival, your best friend betrays you, the villain goes too far and is warped by the same power he tried to master, etc. In either case, a good final boss is supposed to be cathartic; a final showdown to test the player's skill and provide a satisfying end.

This ride was framed as the final boss of our route. Rumor was, even considering how strong we all were, it would still be one of the toughest days of the trip. In particular, Mt. Hood was steeped in hype and mystery, really more of an imposing idea than an actual place. That is until we saw it out in the distance after climbing out of the canyon Maupin was built into. There it stood, towering over the desert like a god, its snow-capped peaks carving the sky, the misty forests of the Cascades at its feet and, somewhere on the other side, Portland and eventually Cannon Beach.

In the shadow of Mt. Hood Jesse, Zach and I did our characteristic geeking-out, most likely as a coping mechanism. We discussed the greatest boss battles of our respective gaming experiences, and watched as the landscape slowly transformed from dry high desert to cool wet Pacific rainforest. On a global scale the change in environment was instantaneous, as if we had biked through some magical portal into another world. And all the time Mt. Hood towered over us.

Before lunch we managed to sneak in a pretty strenuous discussion of metaphysics and the universe and stuff. During lunch all people could really do was look at the mountain and wonder if it would show our modest team of cross-country cyclists mercy. I couldn't really eat much. I didn't want to.

I wanted to bike.

I rolled out of lunch and soon I was right at the foot of it. Then the trees got so tall that they obscured the mountain. I went up some simple uphill. It was the foreplay. Soon enough the mountain would hit me with full force, I told myself.

You can understand my confusion when after only about 5 minutes of this I saw a sign marking the peak elevation for the pass.

As Flava Flav, one of our culture's greatest poets once said, "don't believe the hype".

We snuck around the damn thing! I was coasting downhill through some modest mountain towns before I expected to even be breaking a sweat on my climb! Talk about anticlimactic!

But I suppose there's some satisfaction to be taken in this. Three months ago I would have soiled myself at the sight of a snow-capped mountain surrounded by dark clouds if I were told I had to climb it. That day, not only was I ready for it, but I was legitimately disappointed that it was such an easy ride.

Oh how far I've come. Someday I will return to Portland if only to really acquaint myself with Mt. Hood.

Anyways, I may not have gotten my climb, but everything past Mt. Hood exceeded expectations and rejuvenated my very soul after a week's worth of hard biking through harsh desert. In the sleepy town of Sandy Noah and Emily caught up with me, and Noah told me there was an excellent donut shop in town, and asked if I wanted him to show me where it was. Um, yes. And as for the donuts? Divine. I had some honking-huge chocolate bar donut and an enormous Portland-quality coffee for, like, two bucks. There wasn't even a sales tax. I love this state!

Since Mt. Hood turned out to be a tease I had a tremendous amount of energy pent up. Combine that with the intake of a large coffee after over two weeks without coffee and my brain was moving so fast that it almost lapped itself. I had to move. HAD TO. And I had to see Portland. So I said my goodbyes to the other teammates and went as fast as my feet and physics would allow. I tried to chase Jesse Young, which was definitely a suitable challenge. My lungs weren't thrilled about this, but they're not in charge so whatever.

In the blink of an eye I was at the church; exhausted, in pain, but also in Portland. The church that hosted us was enormous, with enough room for each of us to not just have space to stretch but absolute privacy if we so desired. And the church-goers themselves were wonderful people. I had a conversation with a guy named Joe, and the best word to describe him is "real". He's a retired cop, and spends a lot of his time these days volunteering with different organizations across the town. Working as a cop has given him a pretty dead-pan sense of humor and authoritative opinion about people and their potential. And he loved us. He loved what we were doing and excitedly determined that everyone should know about Bike & Build and what we did. Before I could even thank him for the compliment he was making calls to news stations. he was just such a sold guy. I wish there was a better way of getting that into words than what I'm coming up with.

On top of that, Noah's folks swung by during dinner with one of the most absurd deserts I've ever seen. Essentially take a scrumptuos bonbon (with orange peel), cut it in half, and blow it up to roughly 100 times the size of an average bonbon. Good god. And on top of the desert it was also great to meet Noah's folks. I don't know most of my friends parents, but it always explains a lot when I get to meet them. They're never quite what I expect, but you can always see that their kids got *something* big from them.

And while those of age went out to bars afterwards I stayed in with the rest of the underagers. We celebrated our youth and naivete by listening to the Avett Brothers and just enjoying being with each other. After all, there wasn't much time left.

The next day we woke up bright and early for our last Build Day, this time with East Portland's Habitat Affiliate. It was actually really cold that morning, which most of us found more exciting than anything else. We worked in a neighborhood comprised mostly of Habitat houses and it was sweet getting to meet the residents and hearing how Habitat had helped them help themselves. I also had the privilege of working alongside a girl named Sarah. She had just turned 16 and, while she'd been involved with Habitat's youth committee at her highschool, this was the first time she was allowed to volunteer at a build site. Her, Jesse Young and I laid dry wall for the trim of a house, and talked about Habitat and awesome things to do in Portland. her snarkiness made the tedious labor go all the faster, and she was a great sport about getting placed on the one job that didn't involve power tools.

Afterwards the Portland Habitat was kind enough to take our team out to the Green Dragon Pub in town for dinner and free drinks, two of my very favorite things. I enjouyed an exquisite (and free!) root beer and shot the breeze and exchanged war stories with the Habitat affiliates. A few more parents came, including Jen's mom (who looks and sounds exactly like a blond Jen! Aw!) and we also met up with some BnB alumni in the area. One couple, whose names are escaping me, actually told us how when they did the CUS route last year they had a day off in Portland. They decided to look at apartments and a month later they moved to the city. That's how much they loved the town, and they were all kinds of excited to share it with us.

At *every* Portlander's recommendation we left dinner to cross town on the bus to check out the Alberta Street Fair which was happening that night. Adventure immediately found us when we stepped on to the bus. The driver let us have a free ride for what we were doing so we could enjoy the city. The front was taken up by a goofy looking guy in a Mickey Mouse ear-hat. He had a balloon cart and was performing magic tricks for passengers. I stood at the edge of our group, digging the scene, when I heard some dude behind me say "Yo! man, those are the strongest calve muscles I've ever seen!". I turned around and he was in fact talking to me. I guess they were flexing while I tried to keep my balance on the bus. I let out a laugh and thanked him, but he wasn't done. he turned to a woman standing next to me and said "Shoot! Ay gurl! Ain't those the most beautiful calves you ever saw?". The woman turned, gave my calves a run down, and said "Actually...wow...yeah...those really are!". I let out a bigger laugh. I turned to a pair of cute hippie girls sitting next to me watching this scene unfold. As the first man walked off the bus I said "This town's making one hell of a first impression". They thanked me and asked me what brought me to the city. I talked about Bike & Build and they talked about what was good in Portland. They were super friendly too.

In fact Portland is the friendliest big city I think I've ever been in. The only people who were ever rude to me were a handful of kids, and I think that's only because they haven't lived long enough to master their manners.

The hippie girls hopped off the bus with us and showed us the way to Alberta Street. And where do I even begin in describing this festival?

I guess I should start with what little I know about it. Apparently Portland has a monthly street festival in the bourgeois part of town every first of the month called, guess what? "First Thursday". In response to this festival, the fine folks of northeast Portland started getting together every *last* Thursday of the month to celebrate, guess what? "Last Thursday".

I'm not saying I wouldn't enjoy First Thursday. When you get down to it I'm a pretty bourgeois dude. I like things like indie rock and yoga and ethnic food and all-hemp, organic vegan sweatshirts and I've dabbled with being a socialist, an anarchist, a hardcore eastern philosopher, and I've settled for the stylings of a clean hippie. I'm in a liberal arts program studying Religion (with a focus in Buddhism) and the Social Sciences for godsake.

But Last Thursday is just so much more...real. So much more. You get the impression that it's just *barely* being held together, like some sort of riot in the street, but instead of guns everybody hands out bundles of lavender flowers. Hot dog vendors, alongside selling their wares, host huge raves, complete with a dj and a dance party that pours out all the way to the other side of the street. People are juggling fire. Some guy passed me on a skateboard with a leash hold is pair of dogs in one hand and a fishing pole with a steak on the end of it in his other hand. Some house on Alberta Street was overwrought with folks. The lighting inside was dim and warm so all you saw were profiles. The music pouring out only steeped the party in further mystery. I bought a sweet new baja sweatshirt to replace the one I left on the plane from Ecuador last year.

There were two big moments for me. The first was this insane band. Easily 15 musicians on as many instruments. Accordions. Mandolins. Xylophones. Trumpets. And the best way of describing their music was Pirate Rock. No, not that stuff the street performers in Disney Land play. This was loud. Raunchy. If it were a car it would be a station wagon packed with as many different people as possible, careening off the road and crashing into a mailbox, with the passengers pouring out, laughing and singing as they walk out into the night. We stayed until the end of their set, dancing in the street. They were called All the Apparatus, and I know this because I immediately bought their cd when they finished playing. I immediately bought it because, of all the songs they could have ended with, they ended with a pure rumpus in which the whole band sang "let's go outside and go ride bikes!!!" as the chorus, over and over. There are some moments in life that go beyond coincidental to become transcendental. This journey has taught me to pay attention to those moments. But more on that later.

The second highlight came early after we started exploring. We passed a man sitting at a colorful-but-simple booth with a sign that said "Free Advice". I couldn't resist, especially considering I sold advice to strangers on the street corner as part of my fundraising for Bike & Build. And the man, Chris, just looked like he knew about life. He had a clean, relaxed look, a friendly smile, and he sat in perfect composure, people watching with that calm smile on his face and his hands clasped eagerly together, ready to pass on his wisdom to others. In the auspicious air of that evening I felt the trip was reaching a climax, and so I was ready to ask him a big question: "How do I get the most out of life?"

Chris said something to this effect: "Think of your life as like a journey; a road which you travel down. You can't turn around. You're always moving forward. There are highs, lows, and you see and experience all kinds of things as life passes by you. The way you get the most out of life is simple: if you see something on the side of the Road that gets you excited, that captures your imagination, that fills you with wonder and hope, you take that turn. You take that turn and you go after it with all you've got."

I honestly can't think of a more fitting final lesson to take away from this trip. It was a truth I was arriving at all Summer long, but I'd never heard it so eloquently phrased and elegantly broken down. And I think Chris is right. I really think it's that simple. We just need to Take That Turn.

Satisfied entirely with life after Last Thursday, we meandered home and I slept like a baby. The next day we peaced out of Portland, but not before we squeezed the last few drops of goodness we could out of it. We biked across downtown, with Noah leading the pack, to Voodoo Donuts, a world-famous donut-house and wedding chapel. I had a bacon-maple bar, which is beautiful in its simplicity: a longjohn with maple icing and a perfectly cooked strips of bacon laid on top. I coupled this with a cup of Pacific-level Joe from Stumptown Coffee, just down the street from there, and after we all got our fix we rolled out of town in the most dramatic of fashions: up Skyline Boulevard and across the remainder of the Cascades. The views were incredible, reminiscent of our days in the Appalachians, but with all of us considerably stronger and wiser. I was appreciating how far I'd come as I worked across by myself when I was totally humbled because life's funny like that. A pack of bikers passed me up a hill going easily 10 miles faster than me. The one in front turned and smiled and told me to enjoy my ride. At lunch I learned he was in fact a participant in RAAM, Race Across America. As the name implies, it is a bike race that crosses the entire American continent. Most complete the ride in nine or ten days. NINE OR TEN! As in roughly seven times as fast a time as we do. I have to say I prefer our pace, but it's a testament to the truth that there's always another challenge. Always.

That day's nerdy on-bike conversation came at lunch when we started talking about everyone's futures, in the format of one of those freeze-frame montages you see at the end of movies like Animal House. It was good times. Emma would return to her home planet. Jesse Young would become a senator. Zach would acquire a Tarantino-style cult following as a film-maker. Andy would turn into a bike. So on and so forth.

That afternoon the ride continued to grow in its splendor and beauty. We rolled up and down mountains and all the while were treated to the very best chalk of the entire trip. The teammates riding in the van stopped every mile or so to write down major memories from the trip. Virginia Beach, the Appalachians, the Dogs of Ohio, the bursted floodgates in Manhattan, and by each one was a marked checkbox. And, of course, right in front of the entrance to our campsite in Vernonia was a giant colorful "CANNON BEACH" with an unmarked box.

Our final night together. Our campsite was small and the RVs emptying their septic tanks made it a little smelly during the afternoon, but it was perfect for us. After tents were set I went out walking and reflected on the trip's end. Where would life go next? How could I top these experiences? How could I best utilize what I've learned? When I got tired of thinking up questions I concluded that the answers would come in time, and I needed to go back to appreciate the company of my team mates.

Derrick introduced another good idea from his own experience with Bike & Build: "Sunshine For A Long Ride". Each rider had a page written up with their name on it and we were all asked to leave a positive message to each other for those "long rides" down the Road. I worked on those, then when I finished I talked about the future with folks. As the sunset the ruckus came out. On our last night together the leaders presented superlatives to the entire team. JB got "Most likely to understand what he's trying to say", Emily got "Most likely to save the world one organic, fair-trade, soy, vegan deodorant stick at a time", I got "Most likely to march to the beat of his own drum and then sing very loudly to that beat", etc. As each person stood to receive their award, we all raised our respective drinks and cheered to each other, our health, our future, and our friendship.

After superlatives, as people proceeded to party, I sat back and soaked in the entire scene; all the personalities, all the memories, all the adventure, all the beauty. I relished the moment until I couldn't keep my eyes open. I slunk back to my tent and slept for the Final Ride. Sleep was dreamless but peaceful.

And, suddenly, it was the final day. We all woke up buzzed and ready to roll. We packed up the tents like seasoned soldiers. We pounded our last cold breakfast and, for once, cherished. Then the final route meeting. We had sixty seconds of silent '80s dancing. We had a reading of a written list of all of the major moments in the trip. We had our very loudest dedication to Paige. And then we went and outside to go ride bikes.

On my last day, just by chance, I got to ride with about half of my best friends on the trip. Zach, Jesse, Kristen, we rode together and enjoyed each others' presence. We knew it was ending soon but none of us allowed ourselves to be sad. It was a beautiful day for a ride. We caught up with Kathryn and rode with her, insisting no one should ride by themselves on the last day. She was a good sport about it because I mean, hey, it's us!

Then lunch. Oregon cherries, gas station burritos and cheap coffee. In the morning chill it was heaven.

Then our Last Climb Ever, with the smell of the sea wisping through the pines.

Then The turn off the highway to Cannon beach and the subsequent cheering.

Then the scenic view with a bronze cannon and our first view of the water. I barely held it together. Barely.

And then, once we all gathered up, it was time to ride.

It's almost impossible to describe the potent cocktail of emotions rushing out of me as we descended into Cannon Beach. The smell of the sea was rich now. We turned a corner and saw a perfectly framed view of haystack rock and the tears started forming. The townspeople cheered for us as we passed by. We felt famous. Rounding another corner I caw my father at the top of the stairs to the beach and crushed him with a hug. At the bottom of the stairs, on the beach, I broke from the pack to slide-tackle my little brother into the sand. The waves were roaring. The sun was perfectly set behind haystack so it seemed to glow with a golden aura, more like a vision from a dream. I was called back to the team, threw off my camelbak, and line up. Sharif paused for a second to savor, then gave us the signal, and we all sprinted for the ocean.

I dived into the water and for two or three seconds savored the silence and the sensation of my body baptized in the waters of the ocean that always felt so far away. Then I rose to the sounds. God the sounds! The sights! over the crashing waves and calls of the seagulls was the deafening roar of an entire team of young adults on the other side of something truly great. The laughter. The yelling. The crying. The hugs and kisses. The tackling. The pure ecstasy.

And in the shadow of Haystack Rock we circled up. We gave one last dedication to Paige, with our bracelets soaked in the waters of the Pacific. Then we back up and, after a second of silence, cranked out a haka that would make the All-Blacks of New Zealand tremble. Even they haven't done what we did.

It was one of the most beautiful moments of my entire life, and the celebration to follow felt like a beautiful dream. Champagne. A full feast. Friends and families from all across the country out to congratulate us. My parents were kind enough to bring supplies for a bonfire and we sang and danced and played on the beach in the night. When it got dark enough they busted out one final surprise: a box of sky lanterns, which are simple paper lanterns which gather hot air and rise like hot air balloons when they are released, to eventually burn away in the upper reaches of the sky. We released them with prayers and wishes, and, when the celebrating was all said and done, we cleared off for sleep, to awake to the next great adventure of Life.

Thus concludes my journey across the America. It was, undoubtedly, the best thing I've done with my life so far, and I'm grateful to have such a detailed account for myself for when I'm a dottering old fool with fading memories.

I think there are only two things left two do. First, I want to extend a formal thanks to everyone. Everyone who read this blog, who supported me over the summer, who sent me words of encouragement, who housed me, believed in me, and made this experience what it was. I could not do this without all the amazing people in my life. Thank you. This achievement is yours to celebrate.

Finally, I will close this blog with a list of the things Bike & Build has taught me, which, spoiler alert, is a lot. This has been the most transformative experience of my young life. These are realizations I've come to have full faith in. These are what make the journey worthwhile.

1) Crossing the country on a bike is admittedly a huge deal. However, It's not the accomplishment that matters. It's what you learn from the accomplishment. That's exactly why I'm writing this stuff down. Anyone can do something like this, but it doesn't matter unless you grow from the challenge.

2) On that note, Always seek out challenges. If your dreams don't scare you, they're too small.

3) As I said before, We must pay attention to the transcendental moments of our lives. I'm becoming more and more convinced that everything happens for a reason. Life pulled me to this trip and the experiences I've had on it have changed me fundamentally and forever. If you're receiving messages from the universe, open your ears and follow through.

4) In memory of Paige, Remember that life is a gift. Show gratitude, and let it be the foundation of your every thought, action, and interaction.

5) The American small town still exists. The American dream still exists. America is still a great country.

6) The world is full of kind, generous, and inspiring people.

7) Always travel, always explore, always be open. Every place and person has a great story behind it, and those experiences make our life and spirit rich.

8) Serve. Any amount of good you do for others is brought back ten-fold upon yourself. It's what gives me a sense of true purpose.

9) Simplicity is freedom. Life on the Road demands a simple lifestyle, and the benefit is absolute liberation and a realization of what really matters in life.

10) Flexibility is essential if you want to live a happy life. It's the key to survival. Humans are, afterall, one of the most adaptable species on the planet. That's not an accident.

11) Perseverance is essential if you want to live a happy life. You can always take another step.

12) Finally, Always Take That Turn. Even when it seems scary. Even when you don't succeed. You'll never regret it.

Here's to the Road.

Day 70: Maupin, Oregon: "Run to the Desert, You Will Be"

I don't think it's either 1) fair to you as readers or 2) possible to try and contain the last week of the trip into one post. As such, I've broken it down into a two-parter; appropriate, I feel, for a state that feels entirely like two different worlds.

The Oregon of the east is not the Oregon of my imagination. It is hot, dry, desolate, and, like all deserts, eerily beautiful, and full of folks living by simple means off of each others' kindness. The land is harsh, as evidenced not only by the heat, but the meanest little plants imaginable: goatheads. The scourge of Eastern Oregon's cycling community.

So you bought some sweet new tires to ride across the state, huh? Well that's cute. Prepare to burn through them all in one unforgiving afternoon. These little guys managed to puncture two of my tires, and the first time they did, it was literally 5 feet in front of the Oregon state sign. I was left to deal with that while everyone else rolled into our last state.

What was neat was, as that was happening, I shot the breeze with a father and daughter we met up with on the road who also happened to be cycling across the country. The daughter was named Beth, and she's a very spunky, enthusiastic cyclist and teacher. Her dad, who's name is unfortunately is escaping me, has been cycling for a very long time. In celebration of his upcoming retirement, he decided to fulfill a lifelong dream of cycling out to the west coast, and he brought his two daughters along for the ride. It's very cool to have exchanged stories and passions with them. Even if I'd just met them, I knew we'd been through a lot of the same things, and I knew we shared a spark of adventure.

After negotiating with the goatheads and two deflated tubes, I rolled into Ontario that night ready for rest from the heat and hazardous native plantlife. the Oregon of my imagination; the one of tall pine trees, mountains, and overcasted skies. But as it turns out that's only a very small portion of this state. The first 3/4s or so is all high desert; hot, dusty, colorful, beautiful in its desolation.

We had a maildrop in Ontario and I have to start by giving mad props to my mother for sending thirty pounds (!!!) of her ever-popular Kitchen Sink Cookies. They came right in between two long, hot days and immediately put the team's morale through the roof.

In Ontario that evening we concluded the first round of our grant discussions, in which the team reviews applications from various affordable housing organizations across the country to decide how to allocate the money we've raised. It's a really cool process. We get to hear about all of these exciting organizations and all of these awesome projects we have planned, and then we, all thirty-one strong-willed teammates, discuss and determine how to best distribute our monies. And we heard some great stuff! I remember there being a Habitat chapter, for example, that partners with the local highschool to help students get their shop class credit. meanwhile, they help people and learn about the affordable housing cause. There were several that wanted to set up a youth build day, and Portland, the chapter we're working with tomorrow, wants to make their next house totally green.

From Ontario we worked across the high desert of Eastern Oregon to the modest town of Unity, and I had an awesome day, in large part due to the man-to-man I had with Zach. We talked about college, about the adult life, about religion, about girls, about the universe, and I felt all the wiser with each word exchanged. We climbed over the hills in the dusty heat and admired the desert, which was made all the more awesome when we heard an actual eagle actually screech! just like in the movies!

Zach also had a hidden agenda. Without telling me he tightened the screws all day to where we were cranking at a very healthy pace. By lunch we had punched our way to the front group. By mile 60 we were well out in front, and Zach, without even making me aware, helped me bike out in front. I was the first in to our home for the night, and Zach congratulated me on getting the "Golden Jersey" for the day. I was inappropriately excited, I think in hindsight.

I have to say I really am starting to understand why people get excited about the sport. The psychology of it is just so...constructive. It's about challenging yourself, about pushing to see how far you can actually go and, in the process, discovering some very cool things about yourself and the world around you as you work across it. Folkss like Zach, Noah, Andy, Mark, Jesse Young, Emma, I really appreciate what they did for me on this trip because they not only have helped me become a better cyclist, but have been earnest in sharing their *passion* for the sport with me, which makes it go from being just physical work to being nothing short of spiritual.

My ego was further stroked when I was given the task to make dinner for the team that night. I made my chili, using a recipe I've been perfecting since the tender age of 10, and it was very well received. The quickest way to a Bike and Builder's heart is assuredly through their stomach.

After the chili dinner I was given some time to enjoy the desert twilight and the most beautiful lake I've seen in a long time. Let me say first off that I missed lakes a lot this summer. I love bodies of water, and in particular ones that are good for jumping into and swimming. Unity had just about the best one you could ask for. While we were riding Zach and I were skeptical. After all, it was blazing hot, and the most water we saw that entire ride was the drips coming out of my camelbak faucet. But lo! A mile outside of camp the desert landscape dropped off to reveal a beautiful lake. It was immensely out of place, but it was no mirage. It was real. So real. And that night, as I swam the shoreline, watching the sky turn from orange to green to deep purple, I thanked the BnB gods for the change of ace from the oppressive desert. Laura and I stood by the shoreline and threw rocks in, trying to see who could make the most satisfying splash, based on both size and sound. it seemed a bit arbitrary, considering Laura wouls just watch, listen, and then say "That was a good one" or "Nope. Not good." And yet I couldn't disagree with any of these judgments, though I question how legitimate her win was.

The night ended with a session of guitar-playing around the fire, and story-telling with two other young guys, Greg and Eli, which we met on *that* day's ride, who were also biking across the country. I guess no matter where you start from people agree Oregon's a great place to end in. They were much younger than Beth and her father. Much more wreckless. Eli was convinced, especially after he powered through the beer which he bought earlier in the day, that he could leave then and bike 200 miles during the night to make it to some festival that was happening the next day. We convinced him, eventually, that it would be more fun to stay at the site and sleep. And sleep we did.

From Unity we had a 50 mile ride to John Day, and spent much of the morning pondering the namesake of this town. John Day's name is everywhere around Eastern Oregon. It's on highway signs, on parks, on municipal buildings, on restaurants, and it was stirring up curiosity. Who was this mysterious figure? What had made him such a local hero?

Jesse Bright, Zach, and I, in our typical nerdy fashion, pondered the story of John Day and eventually came up with the makings of the greatest folk-tale ever told.

John Day was 20 feet tall if he was an inch.

John Day's father was two bears stacked on top of eachother, and his mother was a pine tree.

John Day once ate a baby. Three days later it came out totally unharmed, except that it had a three foot long beard.

Etc., Etc., Etc.

The town of John Day, in relation, was pretty modest. The ride to had a delicious huckleberry milkshake place. The town itslef didn't have much going on. A dairy queen. A bar. There was a museum to the rodeo but sadly we'd neither the energy to explore it nor the time, since I'd been roped into leading the bike clinic the church asked us to hold.

Derrick got Kristen and I to lead a clinic for the church because "You both are good with children". I have to say I wasn't immediately up for it, but once I was out in the parking lot giving a lecture to some 6 to 10-year-olds on biking signals my counselor instincts kicked in. I can't explain it, but I just have fun acting like a giant goofball in front of kids. It's fun to watch. Some of them think they can trip me up by making fun of me, you know, being that cool kid, but instead of resisting, I just act even more ridiculous. They don't know how to respond to a person who likes being considered strange.

So we talked about signals, about helmets, about riding in a line and communicating, and then we rode around the parking lot and played red light/green light until everyone felt they had learned something. I won't say I'm a terrific biker, nor a terrific builder, but I excel at public relations, and it was awesome being able to stand out and help the team with something.

From John Day there was a 30-mile ride to Dayville. I bursted out of the gate that morning and told myself, since it was a terrifically short ride, that I should try and finish it as quick as I can, for the sake of challenges. And for a while I was actually leading the pack and being pretty competitive about it. Eventually Jesse Young did catch up, with Jen Hock a few feet behind him, and I settled for riding with the ever-hilarious J-Hawk and learning about her life and her take on it.

Meanwhile, in the sleepy town of Dayville, population 70, there was not a whole lot to speak for. It wasn't the smallest town we'd stayed in. That award goes to Maybell. But it was an extremely close second. There was a church, a general store, and a restaurant which advertised a "free glass of water" for customers. There was also a parked, which we all napped in to kill time and wait for the rest of the team to roll into. When the church was finally opened up to us we took our napping operation inside, where it was at least shady, but the lack of ac provided little reprieve from the super intense heat. But what a great church! They've actually earned a reputation over the years as a haven for bikers passing through, and they had this awesome collection of letters, brochures, and photos from years' worth of bikers working through Dayville. Again, I guess a lot of people like ending hteir journey in Oregon. It becomes a sort-of bottleneck of great dreams and stories. We added our own by finishing up our grant discussions, and I'm really excited to see that our team's funds are going to such awesome projects. I don't think I can disclose which ones yet, but I think we have really made some great choices. Perhaps when I know I can tell people I'll follow up.

And I know I've already mentioned the heat a lot in this entry, but, seriously, that might have been the absolute hottest night of sleep in my life. We were all crammed into this tiny church. In the middle of the desert. In the middle of the summer. It was an oven. I was literally down to just my underwear on the coolest piece of hardwood I could imagine, and I would've gotten even more naked if I wasn't sure it would freak out the rest of the team. Eventually some folks got the brilliant idea of soaking rags and using those to at least keep your face from melting. I tried this and was finally comfortable enough to power down.

Following Dayville was a 70-miler to the town of Fossil, famous for, guess what? It's fossils! Not so much *cool* fossils, though. More like grass, leaves, things like that. Anyways, I guess they were proud enough to name the town after it, and the shirts they had with the town's name and unofficial mascot, a wooly mammoth, were indeed really really sweet.

the ride to Fossil was the prettiest piece of desert I've ever seen. Wide open fields full of sage brush with huge imposing canyon walls about a mile away on either side. We were working through the John Day Fossil Beds and the hummed with history and beauty. I rode a lot with Raleigh that morning and we had a really, *really* good talk. Raleigh is, simply put, a survivor. She's built to last, through any test, and her heart is in such a good place, wanting the best for everyone and the most out of life. She told me about a music festival she went to where she stayed with "Camp Lovelife", a community of hippies that looked after each other during the festival. She recounted that every time a hippie was lost, all they needed to do was shout "LOVE LIFE!" and, in response, the rest of the community within earshot would yell "LOVE LIFE!" back to help them find home. Naturally Raleigh and I, overwrought with the emotion of the winding down trip and the stark but beautiful landscape, wound up shouting LOVE LIFE to each other all through the rest of the ride, making an effort to hear it bounce off the canyon walls.

Right after lunch we met some ladies in front of a general store who were riding their motorcycles through the desert to see the painted canyons. They talked about their love for Portland and the surrounding area, and it got us all jazzed for the good times to come in the following days. We stocked up on water, and exchanged a good-bye and good luck to each other.

Following our run in with these ladies was a brutal climb. It was approximately 10 miles long, which is a challenge unto itself, but it was also baking hot. People were taking breaks in the shade to avoid heat exhaustion. For inexplicable reasons, though, I was feeling it, and cranked it up the mountain. I guess I'm cold blooded. Something about hot weather makes me feel active, makes me want to move, so I used that and, after cresting, enjoyed the same distance in sweet-sweet downhill as I rolled into the city of Fossil.

Understandably, I was exhausted, and purchased and pounded a half-gallon of chocolate milk while waiting in line for a cold, refreshing shower. After that shower there was talk of food and fossils and I mustered up the energy to hit the town. We passed a general store which was all kinds of quaint and filled with the kind of Americana that would grab my mom's attention for hours. I, however, was more fixated on the lime-green piano in front of the store with a simple sign that said "Play Me!". I obliged, and stumbled through a few songs in front of Jesse B and Kristen before a sweet old woman, seemingly out of no where, came along and talked about the piano with us. We invited her to play, and she cranked out, seemingly from simple muscle memory, a beautiful waltz. She told us about life in Fossil, about her family, and told us to be careful on the rest of the journey, while we exchanged a look to each other of surprise and adoration for this sweet, ancient, humble and talented woman who drifted off as silently as she'd drifted up to us.

We caught wind that there were beds on the edge of town where folks could go and break open rocks to find fossils and keep whatever they found, and Jesse was keen to check it out. I was all about this idea, and we had some fabulous "broments" of sifting through the rocks and taking hammers to ones with lots of promise, dancing for joy when we found a modest little blade of fossilized grass. Kristen got great pictures.

We were then treated to an amazing dinner provided by our host church. A picnic in a member's back yard. I was indeed starving, but my attention was entirely drawn to the small band of elderly bluegrass musicians sitting on the porch. I sat down and listened until I was invited to play along. I was handed a guitar and there was a delightful exchange across both the age-gap and the genre-gap. They taught me gospel and bluegrass, I taught them blues and rock, and we all had a marvelous time. And they were all such characters! A woman easily in her 80s in bright pink sneakers played the harmonica like it was her God-given duty. A heavy-set man with a winning smile strummed the guitar and got a huge kick out of the "energy" I brought to this group which had been playing together for decades at functons like this. Another older gentlemen in a fedora and a mighty mustache and suspenders wailed on the bass. He didn't say a word but I loved his style.

So we played and played and played until someone reminded me, about an hour later, that I had to eat and eventually leave their home. I crashed in a member's house with Andy and the Jesses and spent the final hours of the night teaching Andy how to play "Man of Constant Sorrow" to keep the bluegrass theme alive. We got really good at harmonizing, adding in the falsetto that makes that scene from O Brother so darn hilarious.

Our tour through the Oregon desert concluded with the next day's ride to Maupin. J-Hawk and I swept that day and I was grateful to be forced to slow down and enjoy the ride. After all, there weren't many left, and it was a beautiful day. A little rainy, but indeed beautiful. Working across the dusty Cascade foothills we admired the rock formations and the drama of the scene. Thunder echoed off the canyon walls for minutes. The sky, ripped up by the lightning, would cast these castle-looking formations in this stark white light. The gray rain clouds looked more like smoke rising off the orange Earth. It was quiet and wild and eerie and absolutely gorgeous.

Although for the entire ride that day I was struggling with some notable anxiety. Bakeoven flats, the final stretch of the route was, according to locals, not only deadly hot but infested with rattlesnakes. By the time we approached the turn, I had the image in my head of a road paved with snakes, with others hanging from the trees, clotheslining riders, jumping on us as we rode through, etc. I hate snakes. I don't know enough about them to know which ones are poisonous, so I just assume they all will kill me. A ride through "Snakeoven" as we came to call it did not sound appealing.

I rode between relief and dissappointment when all we saw as we rode across snakeoven was one measley dead rattlesnake. I couldn't help but think of my grandfather, a man who, in his youth, killed a vicious rattler which came after a group of kids he was looking after during his days as a camp counselor. He trapped it with a stick, took off the head, ate the meat, and kept the skin as a trophey to this very day.

In my head, I decided I was protected from the horrors of Snakeoven because of my grandfather's bravery. Had that rattler been allowed to live, his descendants would have perhaps deafened us riders with their noise as we rode across. At first we did hear pops everywhere but were relived to see tht these weren't snakes but instead just huge locusts. Nasty, yes, but not poisonous killing machines.

Turning off of Snakeoven we rolled into the town of Maupin, which was literally built into the canyon. We took some really fun downhill switchbacks down to the river, then climbed up the other side to our church. We were greeted with freshly-made root beer floats, and with a cozy set of buildings to spread out in and get cozy. Naturally I opted for the porch.

Stay tuned for Part 2 of the finale to Road to Paradis(e)! For now I'm going to give my brain a bit of a break. It's amazing how much can happen in the middle of nowhere.