I awoke at my regular hour of about 3 a.m., and finished the Days
4--7 report that I'd started the previous evening. I then packed up and
waited for the office to open so I could finish my chou mein. Henry was
true to this word, and at 7 he cheerfully heated it up, and supplied coffee
and bagels as well. We had a good conversation about the current state
of Hong Kong. He still has relatives there, and says that things aren't as
good as they were before the takeover. He seemed quite saddened by
the situation.
My departure was under cloudy but not too-threatening clouds. After
a few miles it was obvious that the Weather Channel was right and there
would be no rain that day. The countryside was beautiful,
the
temperature was in the 60's and I was soon biking in just my shorts
and jersey.
After just a few flat miles the highway climbed from elevation 2200
up to 4000, followed by a good downhill
past the 45th parallel
and
into my first goal of the day: Baker City. I'd been looking
forward to some hot soup, so I cruised the downtown area until I
spotted a sandwich shop with some outdoor tables. I put a velcro
strip around a brake lever (to slow down any potential thief) and left the
bike where I could watch it as I went in to order. The sandwiches
were expensive, and so was their soup, but they had clam chowder (at
$3.75 a cup and $4.50 a bowl) so I ordered a bowl . I went outside and
after a couple of minutes the girl who had taken my order brought this
rather small container of soup. "This is a bowl?!" I asked, semi-
rhetorically. "Oh, I thought you wanted a cup", said the girl. "I'll bring
you a bowl." I suggested that she just leave the cup (I was starving) and
then replenish it. She said fine, and I started on my soup, which was
quite good.
Then I began to wonder if she would bring me another cup, or
perhaps a half a cup, and if maybe I should insist that she bring me
examples of both containers so that I could compare them to be sure
I got my full bowl. I thought about this to the point where I was about to
tell her in no uncertain terms just what she could do with her soup, when
out she came with a big smile and a full bowl of soup. I felt sort of bad
(maybe 1 on a scale of 0 to 10), so I left her a sizable tip.
Baker City looked like it would be the last chance for a motel for
that day, but I'd only covered 45 miles and still felt strong, so I decided
to push on and camp that night. I took the old highway rather than the
interstate, and biked along a smooth quiet road that I had almost all to
myself. Alongside were railroad tracks, and several freight trains passed
me, going relatively slowly because of the steep grade. I discovered that
I had the power to blow the train whistles. All I had to do was wait till the
engine was almost even with me, then turn in my saddle and wave
vigorously at the engine. In almost all cases the whistle would then
sound (and the engineer, who I believe had something to do with it,
would wave). Yet when I would moo at cows in the field I would get no
response whatsoever.
After about 80 miles I saw the Snake River, and shortly thereafter
came to the small town of Huntington, which had a small store and
a motel. I entered the store, picked up a jar of strawberry jam, and
asked the owner if he had any bananas. "Well, I've got some", he
replied, "but they've got a few spots." He pointed them out, and sure
enough, by looking hard enough I could see a few spots of yellow, the
rest of the banana being black. But they didn't feel too soft, so I got
one, took it outside and ate it right there, knowing that it wouldn't survive
a half mile on the bike. Then I looked at the motel, which was grubby-
looking even by my standards, which means it was just one short step
above sleeping in a box car. The sign said that the office was at 150
2nd street, a home which I found easily. There the lady told me that
it really wasn't a motel, but "hunting-fishing" cabins, with stove, refrig-
erator, and a big sink for cleaning fish. She wanted $25 a night. I didn't
have to worry about a remote for the TV because there was no TV. So
I decided I really did want to camp.
The banana gave me the boost that got me over the 500-foot climb
that came before a downhill into Farewell Bend State Park, so named
because that is where the Oregon Trail departed the Snake River which
makes a bend to the north. The park had a camping area, and since it
was getting close to dark I checked it out. All the signs said that the fee
was $12 without hookups. The self-registration camping form had a box
for "hiker-biker" but I couldn't see what the charge was. (On the Pacific
coast they charge $3 or $4.) Finally I found an official wandering around
and he had never heard of hiker-biker, but admitted that $12 did seem
rather steep for a bike. But he made no offer of a more reasonable fee
so off I went.
I biked a couple more miles and came back to the interstate. I knew
that once I got on the interstate I'd never find a place. At the entrance
to the interstate there was a restaurant but I couldn't afford the time for
a meal because darkness was fast approaching. I crossed under the
highway and took a gravel road that looked promising. After a short
distance it turned and paralleled the interstate. I was now desperate,
and wishing I'd sprung for the $12 back at the park. But then I saw a
depression next to the road, checked it out on foot, and moved my bike
down to an area with dried grass and no thorns.
I finished setting
up the tent and moving in all my necessities (air mattress and air pillow,
handle-bar bag, sleeping bag, food, water, radio) just as darkness
arrived and a full moon began to rise. After blowing up my air mattress
I collapsed on it, with little energy left after 97.5 miles.
After resting for about an hour, I decided to have supper. I enjoyed
a three-course meal, prepared by moonlight: As an appetizer I had
peanut butter on ritz crackers. For the main course I had peanut butter
and strawberry jam on ritz crackers. And for dessert I had strawberry
jam on ritz crackers.
"And what beverage would the gentleman like to complement his
meal?" asked Henri. "Well," I said, "I believe I'll try your Oregon water."
"Ahh", purred Henri, kissing the peanut butter off his fingertips. "An
excellent choice! This has been a very good year for water."
