Covid Cross Day #45 Lewis & Clark Trail State Park, WA to Hat Rock Campground, OR
Covid Cross Day #45
July 19, 2020
Lewis & Clark Trail State Park, WA to Hat Rock Campground, OR 74 Miles
Start 7:10 AM Finish 8:25 PM
Ride Time 6:19
Ascent 1230 Feet
Descent 2235 Feet
Tour Total Miles 3658
I slept great last night in my tent in the primitive camp site at Lewis & Clark Trail State Park. It was perfect cool sleeping weather. The road traffic hum was muffled by the distance, and the rushing sounds of the nearby Touche River were pleasant. I was up before 6 AM and was on the road with Henry and Linda by seven. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky, and the air was cool. I was wearing my jersey and shorts. A small yellow single-engine plane was dipping in and out of the fields to dust them. I would love to have that job. I crossed the Walla Walla County line.
It was a quick ride to Waitsburg where I went to Sam’s Corner Store, a gas station and mini mart. I had a warmed-up egg sandwich, a Starbucks Frappuccino, and an orange juice. I sat inside at a table next to a mannequin with no arms, but who wearing a mask. I left the Touche River valley and headed up a hill on Middle Wheatsbury Road, which was a lovely scenic alternative to Highway 12. It was a long climb to get to the top of the ridge. I was surrounded by thousands of acres of amber wheat, that was almost ready for harvest. There were thousands of small grasshoppers jumping all over the road.
I was astonished by the seemingly endless wheat-fields that surrounded me, and I couldn’t help but think about all of the bread that could be made from it. From a distance, the landscape looked like rolling sand dunes. I was chased by two dogs, and quickly pulled out my pepper spray. They soon gave up the chase and walked away. I spotted an oncoming day cyclist. There were many “Share the Road” signs and numerous cyclists obviously used this route.
A few miles away from Walla Walla I spotted the water tower and green trees. Further in the distance was a huge wind farm. I passed another oncoming day cyclist. There were huge mechanical irrigation systems to both sides of the road. The Walla Walla mountains were to the south. I rode past the Walla Walla Regional Airport. There was fencing alongside the road, and a control tower could be seen in the distance.
We rode into town, and chose a popular cafe called 'Bacon and Eggs'. There was a line out front, where we met a friendly day cyclist. Linda realized that she had left her watch at Sam’s Corner this morning while she was applying sunscreen. I had the huevos rancheros, a cappuccino, and an orange juice. Afterwards we rode over to visit the beautiful lobby of the Marcus Whitman Hotel. Walla Walla was a Native American name that meant "Place of Many Waters". It was a nice little town and home to two colleges, Whitman and Walla Walla. In the past few decades, the wine industry has really taken off in this region. There were numerous tasting rooms, which were marked by saffron umbrellas out front. It was getting hot, and I still had a long ride to my destination.
I was now on Old Highway 12 and following the Walla Walla River to my left. The new US Highway 12 was to my right, and my route had less motorized traffic. Dried out mud was to my right and irrigated green grass was to my left. I passed numerous wineries, which was odd because of the desert climate. It was extremely arid. During normal non-pandemic times, the wineries would be packed on a weekend. Apparently it was customary for cyclists to ride from one wine tasting room to the next. It was a Sunday, and there was little tasting traffic today because of the pandemic.
Team Spokane member Jeff was currently on the Amtrak Empire Builder train headed to Chicago. From there he'd bike to New York City. He reported that there was social distancing on the train and that passengers needed to make appointments for the dining car.
I passed a field full of Texas Longhorns sporting the biggest fattest horns that I’d ever seen. The route then dumped me back onto US Highway 12. It was two lanes of fast moving motor traffic with a wide shoulder. The hay bales on the side of the road were shaped like giant bricks, the size of cargo containers and stacked five units high. I passed an artificial birds nest on top of a telephone pole. An osprey squawked at me. Some of the wineries and tasting rooms that I passed were fancy. They were lush green oasis’s surrounded by dried-up barren plains. I spotted an osprey nest that had been built on top of live power lines instead of the adjacent artificial nest.
I stopped and paid a visit to l’Ecole winery, located in an old school house. I passed several more wineries, and then entered the small town of Lowden. Other than a few broken-down shacks there wasn't much to see. On the ridge to the west I spotted ginormous wind farms stretching to the horizon. There was a slight headwind but it wasn’t too bad. If anything, the breeze cooled things down a bit.
There were train tracks to the left of the highway and I had assumed they were no longer being used. I then passed a number of empty freight and tanker cars sitting idle on a spur. I entered the town of Touchet, population 421, and went to the Chevron station which was the only service for miles. The store clerk was having an argument with a patron who was carrying a loaded handgun. The gun owner was arguing that he had a license to carry it. Both clerks were wearing face shields in addition to masks, and they were both behind plexiglass partitions.
Henry, Linda, and I explored our options. There was a dusty RV park and campground eight miles down the road with no shade and rumored ferrule cats. Or, there was nice state park alongside the Columbia River twenty eight miles away. We opted for the second destination. There would be no services for the rest of the day. It was 95°F and going up to 97°F. I filled one of my water bottles with ice cold water and knew that the other two would be boiling by the time I needed them regardless. I lathered up with more sunscreen. There was a fruit stand in front of the Chevron station where I purchased a pound of Bing Cherries.
There was quite a bit of motor traffic on Highway 12. The shoulders were sufficient, except on the narrow bridge crossings, which was harrowing when motor traffic was passing in both directions simultaneously. I did my best to time it out. I read a sign that said I was entering a limited access area. It was barren and filled with rolling scrub, and I had a headwind. I was amazed by the hundreds of wind turbines to the southwest. From my vantage point they seemed like tiny match sticks, but I knew they were all at least a hundred and fifty feet tall.
I had a nice downhill into the Columbia River Valley, but the headwind canceled it out. A flashing sign read, "Look Twice for Motorcycles! Stay Safe". How about looking twice for bicycles? I came to the junction with US Highway 730 where I would be saying goodbye to US Highway 12. I had been on Highway 12 since Lolo, Montana. What a great road it had been! I went from the tree packed Bitterroot Mountains to the barren Washington desert. I could now see the wide Columbia River before me in the distance.
At the highway fork Henry, Linda, and I found a shady spot underneath some tree cover. We laid in the grass and ate cherries and trail mix, washed down with hot water. It was 97°F and we all agreed that it was the hottest weather we had ever cycled in. Before continuing down the road, we investigated some orange umbrellas in the distance where we hoped we could find cold beverages for sale. There were cars parked and fishermen were casting their lines from an old bridge, and there were no cold beverages for sale.
US Highway 730 had less traffic, and I had a nice six foot shoulder running right along the Columbia River with a railroad track sandwiched in between. I rode through the Columbia Cut Through, a gorge that the river had carved through the rock. Lewis and Clark had camped here on both sides of the mile wide river. They had swum their horses from one side to the other. The Wallulapum natives they had met were the friendliest of their entire journey. Chief Yelleppit awarded Clark a white horse and, in exchange, received Clark’s sword.
I passed a marina and a ginormous grain elevator complex along the river. I was desperate for a cold beverage, and kept my eye peeled for a store or vending machine. I crossed into Oregon, the sixteenth and final state on the tour. The highway shoulder width went from six feet to two, and Linda suggested that we send a photo to the Oregon Governor. Come on Oregon DOT! I’d pedaled over 3,600 miles! Give me some shoulder.
I heard a motorized noise coming from the river and couldn’t figure out what it was. I thought it was some kind of boat or barge and then noticed a 2 mile freight train going upstream on the Washington side of the river. I spotted a bunny running alongside the ditch to my right, and passed Juniper Canyon to the left. Out on the river I noticed people water skiing. On an uphill, I rode up and over the train tracks which were then to my left. I had cycled out of the canyon and could now see wide open range to the west.
We pulled into Sand Station Recreational area, which had been our planned destination. There were hundreds of people splashing on the beach and enjoying the Columbia. There was an outhouse, but no running water. A 'No Camping' sign had been posted, ostensibly because of COVID. It was still hot, and the sun was blazing. I desperately needed a cold beverage. Linda came up with an idea, and I seized upon it. I noticed a family with a large cooler who were packing up to go. I told them that I was riding my bike across the country, and asked if I could buy any cold unopened beer. I picked the right people! The gentleman was a representative of Dulce Vida, who make twenty-five proof Sparkling Margaritas in seven-ounce cans. They gave me their three remaining cans in addition to four cans of Coors Light; "piss beer", was the term they used. I was extremely fortunate and thankful. He handed me a Dulce Vida COVID mask before leaving.
There was a large Latino population at the park with many children. The picnic tables were overflowing with food, and the the air was thick with the aroma of sizzling meat on the barbecue. I used my stove to prepare freeze dried dinners for Henry and myself. I had the Double Mac & cheese, with trail mix and piss beer. Henry was concerned about getting caught by a ranger, and he called a campground further down the road. Reenergized from the food and beverages, I pedaled several more miles to Hat Rock Campground, a private facility that was part of the Good Sam campground franchise. I ran an extension cord into my tent to recharge my devices. I showered, did laundry, and returned myself back to level one.
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