Everything I Tell You is Hearsay

Drew and I decided to take a bike ride this weekend. I’ve been running a good deal, and feeling like it’s time to start rounding out my exertions with other ways to break a sweat. Swimming and lifting are great in their place, but I have a nice bike that hasn’t seen the light of day enough lately. So.

Given the drastic variation in our skill and fitness levels  we usually stick to either the Springwater Trail or the Banks-Vernonia Trail  when we ride. These are both paved trails with predictable conditions and a mild grade as a nod to my considerable inexperience with any other kind, but I was feeling adventurous and thought a change of scene might be nice.

A quick search for a Rails-To-Trails came up with a few good options, but most of them were either disappointingly short or inconveniently far away. Finally, when I expanded my search to include Washington as well as Oregon the Klickitat River Trail popped up in my results. The photos looked lovely and the mention of pavement and packed dirt surface seemed promising. A drive out to Hood River being a pretty regular occurrence for me, I didn’t see the distance as prohibitive.

If I had read the trail info on the website for the trail itself – rather than on the rails-to-trails results – I might have realized the “pavement” and “packed dirt surface” were in limited supply and that a road bike wasn’t sufficient to the journey. Alas, I did not settle on this idea via that route and didn’t give a second thought to what kind of conditions we might encounter.

The Lyle Trailhead boasts a recently paved parking lot with modern bathroom facilities. Even at 10 a.m. the lot was completely empty. What traffic we did see was all over in the nearby gravel lot that served the riverbank and the kiteboarders headed out on the Columbia. It seemed strange to me that such an accessible and seemingly well-maintained bike path would be deserted on a weekend morning, but I was more inclined simply to be grateful than to consider too deeply why that might be the case.

We mounted up and started riding. Within about 300 yards, the asphalt gave way to gravel, never to return. Over the course of the ride, it would devolve into an array of variably challenging alternatives, but it was never again as favorable as those first few hundred feet.  My Trek is a hybrid with tires of a fairly reasonable width, Drew however has a road cycle suited for long touring rides; he’s gone to Ragbrai several times with this rig and it is patently meant to be used on pavement. It was clear within a mile or so that we were in for more of a challenge than we had bargained for. We both felt like the drive and the effort made it worthwhile to simply forge ahead and make the best of things, nevertheless.

Just Past The Pavement

As far as it went, you could hardly ask for a nicer setting. The river runs close alongside the trail for nearly the entire length of the section we rode. There were high rolling hills, trees, and all manner of wildlife. We saw several bald eagles, a heron, and a variety of other birds. The day was overcast and warm, but much less brutally hot than the previous several weeks and overall, conditions seemed quite good for a ride. 

Scenic!

Somewhat quickly however, things devolved. Only his considerable athleticism allowed Drew to make anything like reasonable progress. I was in much better shape on my set of wider tires than he was on his super skinny road wheels. Large flinty rocks littered the trail at intervals and no one surface dominated the others to allow one to adapt or predict what might be the most appropriate riding speed. At turns sand, packed dirt, small dense gravel, large rocks, wooden planks, and asphalt all made an appearance. We made good time over anything flat and firm, but all too often that would give way to a particularly rocky or bumpy section which would require either a considerable slowdown or to dismount entirely. Fairly early on, I lost my bike out from under me once trying to skirt one of the several gates we encountered. Though I landed on my feet and was entirely unhurt, I remarked that though I have to get hurt to know I am having a good time, I’d prefer it happen later in the ride.*

Butt As Yet Not Totally Numb

Predictably, given the unsuitability of riding road tires over a surface suited to mountain bikes, one of Drew’s tubes gave way. Repaired with relative ease, we carried on. Our original plan had been to at least attempt the entire length of the 31 mile trail. It became apparent within the first 4 miles or so there was simply no way we were equipped for such a task. His bike and my lack of saddle time were a considerable impediment to the conditions. 

Bridge To Nowhere

I began to look with fondness over at the highway that paralleled the trail on the opposite river bank. Somewhere around mile 7, Drew suggested we ride back down over the road rather than navigating the whole beast in reverse. My initial concern over the lack of a shoulder to ride on gave way to exhaustion and thirst (having left both of the two bottles of water I’d brought back in the car like a moron) and I agreed taking the road back made the most sense.

No Cows Were Spotted In The Making Of This Blog Post

Once on the road, things sped up considerably. My initial concern about riding on the highway was quickly put to rest when I noted that the shoulder was present and even generous for most of the 10 mile length of our ride back. Moreover, traffic was both light and considerate. My only difficulty was with the rolling hills we had managed to avoid on the very flat trail surface. Drew handled them with alacrity and was far enough ahead to be out of sight for a fair portion of the ride, but I was flailing in granny gear more than once. 

Once the trail returned to the side of the river I was riding down it occurred to me that proceeding back over the flat packed surface of the trail might be faster for me than trying to keep pace with Drew over the road. Delighted I wouldn’t have to mount the last long incline I saw climbing in front of me, I turned with more speed than was wise to re-enter the trail. As soon as my tires hit gravel I knew I was about to make good on my earlier suggestion that I get hurt a little closer to the end of the ride.

Owie, I Had Fun!

As is my custom it ended up being the Best Possible Version of the Worst Case Scenario; the bad thing happens, but it’s a lot less bad than it could be. My hands took the brunt of the damage – again, I was technically prepared with gloves, but hadn’t actually bothered to put them on – but I did end up with some road rash on my elbow and a nasty bruise on my right leg. Scrapes notwithstanding, and having known people who came away from bike crashes only by aid of LifeFlight, I was relieved not to have been much more badly hurt. 

So only having ridden roughly 20 of the 62 we’d planned, I was still duly exhausted and ready to reward the effort. Everybody’s Brewing up in White Salmon was beckoning, and the Mediterranean Plate and Little Sister ISL felt like due recompense for my pain and pleasure. 

Hey Hey Hey, Look At Little Sister

*Naturally this came back to haunt me. Like asking the universe to smite me. As if it needed the encouragement.