Covid Cross Day #49 Ainsworth State Park, OR to Portland, OR
Covid Cross Day #49
July 23, 2020
Ainsworth State Park, OR to Portland, OR 62 Miles
Start 7:53 AM Finish 4:24 PM
Ride Time 6:36
Ascent 1655 Feet
Descent 1674 Feet
Tour Total Miles 3903
I slept well in the primitive campsite at Ainsworth State Park. In the morning I packed up and joined Henry at the picnic table. I finished off my bag of granola, ate two peaches, and downed a small bottle of orange juice.
There were low hanging clouds suspended against the valley's huge adjoining rock face. It was chilly, and I put on my sweater. I rode out of the campground and back onto Historic US Highway 30. The highway was blocked and there were signs saying that it was closed to motor traffic, bicyclists and pedestrians. We decided to continue ahead regardless. A few miles down the road I encountered a splendid waterfall. At that moment a ranger drove up in a white pick-up with her colleague. We were told that we couldn't be riding on the road and that it was closed. The reasoning was because of COVID and risk of spreading fire. The ranger said that if we were caught by the police we could be fined up to $300. We decided to take the risk and continue.
Shortly down the road a US Forest Service officer in a white pick-up truck aggressively cut us off. He said that they were clearing trees ahead and that it was dangerous for us to proceed. We didn't believe him, and Linda asked if he had ever ridden a bike on I-84. He was lucky that I was accompanied by two nice civilized people. If I had been riding solo, I probably would have made a run for it. Were the authorities worried that we'd spread COVID to the bunnies and squirrels? Were they concerned that friction from our tires rubbing against the fenders would spark a fire or, worse, that our lithium ion batteries would explode? We had to turn around and go back to get on shitty I-84, and we were pissed.
We turned on our rear tail lights and formed a tight pack. Henry led, and signaled for road obstructions, which I relayed to Linda behind me. I kept an eye trained on US Highway 30 winding up and down the ridge to my left, and never saw any construction. The I-84 shoulder was littered with debris. I passed Bridal Veil Falls which was closed and inaccessible. Up on the hill I could see Vista Point, and was upset that I couldn't be riding on Old US Highway 30. We exited I-84 at the turnoff for Corbett. It was a steep climb up the side of the valley with a 10% grade. Henry and I were both overheating, and had to pull over to remove our outer layers. I noticed several Black Lives Matter signs in people's front yards. Linda cheered us as we crested.
Once back up on the ridge, we decided to backtrack east on Highway 30 to the Visa House. We stopped at the Corbett country store where two large beer trucks were parked out front. One of the drivers had passed us coming up the hill and complimented our athleticism. Social distancing and mask wearing was being enforced inside. I purchased a Starbucks Frappuccino, orange juice, and banana. We sat out in the parking lot and talked to the store clerk, who said that she preferred the view from the Portland Women's Forum State Scenic Viewpoint. We shared our story about Highway 30 being closed, and she said that the authorities were trying to discourage tourists because of COVID. The Portland Women's Forum State Scenic Viewpoint was actually higher than the Vista House, and featured more sweeping views. I then rode down to the Vista House, which I realized I had visited two years ago. This time it was empty, and I could focus on the beautiful deco architecture in relation to it's surroundings.
On my way out of Vista House I ran into westbound touring cyclist Marianne who was riding up the gorge from Portland. She was accompanied by her husband Terry, who was riding an e-bike. She had done three coast-to-coast tours and claimed she was addicted to cycling. Terry had, in recent times, experienced a cardiac arrest. Accompanying Marianne was better than being at home alone in front of the TV. At any point, he could literally keel over on the side of the road. We got to talking about the route, and we warned them about the closed stretches of Highway 30 to the west. Marianne offered Henry and Linda her house in Portland for the night. Cyclists have the best community. Marianne had written a book about cycling, which she promised she'd send me. We talked about the bittersweet ending of tours, which I was definitely beginning to experience. This would be my last day with Henry and Linda.
Riding west on Highway 30, I stopped to visit the Lavender Lady. I then stopped for lunch at the Historic Springdale Pub, where I enjoyed a roast beef sandwich with fries and two pale ales. As I approached Portland I first came to Sandy River, where I had gone tubing two years ago with Uncle Taco and his wife Kim. I then rode through Troutdale, population 15,962. I passed a sign that said I was leaving the National Scenic Area. I crossed the Sandy River, and then found myself surrounded by urban sprawl.
There was a nice bike trail running alongside Marine Drive, which wound it's way along the Columbia River. Government Island was visible across the southern channel. At some places the trail diverted away from the road. Motorists would yield for cyclists at the crossings. I passed a large marina with houseboats the size of the suburban houses. I could then see the Portland airport control tower in the distance. The trail once agin diverted away from the road and dipped down along the Columbia River. I passed a large homeless camp alongside the river. The homeless were all camping in tents and many had bicycles parked out front. My temporary Nomadic lifestyle has been a fun adventurous choice. For these people, it was a desperate permanent reality.
A military transport plane was landing, and was probably carrying federal troops to quell the protesters downtown. I would be returning to this airport next week to fly back to Brooklyn. Henry and Linda split off at the airport, where they would be taking public transport to Hillsdale and then exploring the Willamette valley to the south for two more nights. It was sad saying goodbye, but we promised to stay in touch and ride together again someday. I continued straight along the Columbia and then cut through Portland towards Uncle Taco's house.
I crossed the Willamette River and rode briefly into downtown. I then rode through the industrial section towards the St John's bridge, where I crossed back across the Willamette. I've known Uncle Taco since 1996, and originally met him at Pilchuck Glass School in Stanwood WA. At that time he was based in Brooklyn. This was the third summer in a row that I had stayed with him and his wife Kim. They had a beautiful place, where they loved to entertain, cook, and cultivate plants.
Taco was waiting for me in his garden. I showered, and they made an amazing dinner. I had numerous bottles of beer before going to sleep on their pallet bed out back in their newly constructed shed.
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