{"id":208,"date":"1988-07-02T06:08:00","date_gmt":"1988-07-02T06:08:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/pididu.com\/wordpress\/bike1988\/?p=208"},"modified":"2026-07-26T07:10:33","modified_gmt":"2026-07-26T07:10:33","slug":"halfway-or","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/pididu.com\/wordpress\/bike1988\/halfway-or\/","title":{"rendered":"Halfway, OR"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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This is the YMCA Gym where we had a comfortable sleep. The picture was taken in the morning just before we left, so our gear is already packed up. I can’t remember what we did with Merrianne’s sleeping bag. I’m thinking she used it to sleep, then we packed it early in the morning into a box already in the car.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
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This was the last picture of Merrianne on the trip, outside the YMCA. I drove her and her equipment to the Bus Depot, and the bus rolled off at 8 am. I had a couple more errands, like restocking supplies and returing the car, but was soon back on the road.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
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The next morning, Merrianne got on Greyhound #1898 for Portland. She began to get emotional on the bus, and started to cry, forgetting that I still had her airline ticket in my pack (it got resolved, later). I didn’t think too much of it, since the large majority of the adventure was still ahead for me. At 9:15, I was “on the road again.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

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There was a bit of green initially out of Baker City, but the land became increasingly dry.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

It was exhaustingly hot that day. Just after Richland, there was a long, steep climb up the parched mountain. I felt like an ant scaling one of the great pyramids. Dropping into my bottom granny, I started to douse myself to ease the heat load. I looked around for some shade, in case I got heat exhaustion, but there was none. No trees grow where there’s no water. It could have been the Davis Double again, without the trees, rest stops, and sag wagons.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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This was the terrain for most of the day. I still had to get over those mountains.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
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Even though I started with three full oversize water bottles that morning, by noon I was nearing the bottom of my last bottle. Fortunately, I had the benefit of an excellent BikeCentennial map, and my Cateye cyclometer. I knew that the climb couldn’t go on forever, and yet, every turn seemed to be a false summit. There was a slight breeze – about five miles per hour. I could tell, because the dead grass was barely wavering. Unfortunately, the wind was right at my back, so I was riding in dead air. For all the times when I had cursed the headwind, I could have used even a little one, then.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Right in the bike lane, in letters too small for a car to read, someone had stenciled word-by-word in Bromo shave fashion: ICE\u2026 COLD\u2026 DRINKS. Wise guy. It wouldn’t have been so bad if I had company to share the misery with. But there was nobody to complain to. I screamed obscenities wildly, but the hills had no ears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Just then, something lifted my spirits. On the side of the road, I spotted a fresh banana peel. It was sitting just two feet to the right of my line of travel, and was still completely yellow. It could only have meant one thing. There was another cyclist on the road ahead. And not far ahead, either. No banana peel could stay yellow for more than an hour in that scorching heat! With renewed strength, I plowed ahead to catch my unseen companion. “Perhaps I can get a glimpse of him or her (oh please, let it be a woman) in the distance when I crest the hill,” I thought to myself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Soon, I began to feel the gentle breeze that always seems to foreshadow the top of a mountain. I had reached the peak! Unfortunately, I couldn’t see any other cyclists up ahead. To maximize my chances of catching them, I didn’t stop to rest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As I zipped down the mountain at 40 miles an hour, my exhaustion evaporated as quickly as my sweat. On that extended 7% grade, pedaling would have been superfluous. The steady roaring of the wind was punctuated by the regular taps of bugs ricocheting off of my helmet and goggles.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I felt good. No, I felt ecstatic! I was so happy I wanted to sing! The only praise song that came to mind at the time was the Hallelujah Chorus, so I belted it out in my best operatic voice. Right as my mouth formed the “O” in “Lord of Lords,” a bug flew in. Remembering how dangerous it was to be distracted on a fast descent, I chewed quickly and swallowed. It wasn’t as bitter as a beetle, and only slightly crunchy. It must have been a leafhopper or a small cricket.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The mercury hit ninety-five in the shade that day — I knew, because I carried a little thermometer with me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I sought a room for the night, but there was not a single vacancy left in Halfway. After all, it was the 4th of July weekend. Furthermore, the city park was closed off to camping because of the festivities. Fortunately for me, I was able to camp on the lawn of the Winter Creek Inn. The owner, Audrey Moore, was especially nice.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

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The Winter Creek Inn. If you look carefully, you can see the handmade “NO” taped above the Vacancy Sign.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
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But fortunately, I didn’t need a room, just a patch of shady grass behind the motel.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The next morning, Merrianne got on Greyhound #1898 for Portland. She began to get emotional on the bus, and started to cry, forgetting that I still had her airline ticket in my pack (it got resolved, later). I didn’t think too much of it, since the large majority of the adventure was still ahead for … Continue reading Halfway, OR<\/span> →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3],"tags":[6],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/pididu.com\/wordpress\/bike1988\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/208"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/pididu.com\/wordpress\/bike1988\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/pididu.com\/wordpress\/bike1988\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/pididu.com\/wordpress\/bike1988\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/pididu.com\/wordpress\/bike1988\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=208"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/pididu.com\/wordpress\/bike1988\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/208\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/pididu.com\/wordpress\/bike1988\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=208"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/pididu.com\/wordpress\/bike1988\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=208"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/pididu.com\/wordpress\/bike1988\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=208"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}