The Parkes and Stockham Cycle Part 2: TransAmerica

Date: Monday 9th August 

Route: Vida, Oregon – Redmond, Oregon 

Distance: 75 miles

Total climb: 8605ft

Net climb: 2834ft

After a casual family breakfast at our B&B near Vida, some listening to Ali in the Jungle by The Hours for motivation, a second breakfast near McKenzie Bridge, a couple of plays on the arcade games Mortal Kombat and Track and Field, a shop stop and putting some air in the tires, we felt nearly ready to make the biggest climb of our cycling ‘careers’ to date.  Postponement had gone far enough.

Hoy Stockham had been showing good form in the early stages of the trip, off the back of some solid UK training runs.  Wiggins Parkes had the pink jerseys of old in recognition of his climbing strengths.  It was set to be an epic battle, further intensified by 10 miles uphill on newly gritted roads before the proper ascent began – both of us needing a stop to clean the tar off our tires.

The target was a 5,300ft high pass, first opened for general travel in 1862 and now restricted to vehicles under 35 feet long – clearly not to the liking of all, since there were bullet holes in the sign pointing this out.  The tactics were to sing La Cucaracha at each 1,000 foot marker and then stop at each of 2,500, 3,500 and 4,500 feet for a short break.  The map suggested switchbacks, which are generally very steep, so some trusty Clif Shot Blocks were piled into the back pockets of our jerseys – the watershed between amateur and pro riding in our view (use of jersey back pockets being what all the proper ‘spandex warriors’ seem to do).

It turned out to be a long but relatively painless climb, with minimal traffic, beautiful views, no bears (disappointing for me), pine scents and a short interaction with Nate the cycle tourist on his way down the 22 mile route we were making to the top.  I managed Westwood (riding with the big cog) almost all of the way up, which gives an indication of severity – saving the smaller chain rings for steeper days to come.

Once on the top, we took in the beautiful views in all directions of the snow-capped Sisters and Mt Washington, along with the volcanic Belknap crater and the lava rock landscape.  A quick canter around the summit fort followed, which I had to undertake whilst battling feebly against the pain triggered by getting Jay’s ‘Kiss My Face’ sunscreen in my eye.  I’m not sure what was in that stuff, but I spent the 1,500ft descent into Sisters weeping and watching the road through one eye – not good for judging distances and obstacles at north of 25mph.

A food stop in Sisters (very nice little town) left us both feeling overindulged and made the final scrubland sprint to Redmond tougher than it should have been.  However, we got there and enjoyed a quiet night in a large town staying in the Village Squire motel.

We’re now 3,500 feet up in scrubland, with the temperatures rising, the ranches sprawling and the rattlesnakes on the mind.  Roll on tomorrow.

Other noteworthy matters:

–       The Garmin’s disagreement with altitude markers

–       The first National Rifle Association t-shirt spotted

–       Chipmunks at the summit

–       Jay’s clear victory at Track and Field

–       Damage to the Diardoras (my cycling shoes) – here’s to hoping we get them mended tomorrow, or I my being able to get some replacement Lottos, Golas or Jaguars

FP

Date: Sunday 8th August 

Route: Monmouth, Oregon – Vida, Oregon 

Distance: 97 miles

Total climb: 2405ft

Net climb: 734ft

After my (some would say typical) error in booking a motel in wrong state for yesterday evening, it was quite a relief to wake up in a spacious Comfort Inn room with a diner directly opposite.  We set off straight after breakfast along a quiet country road.  Our surroundings had changed markedly from cliff-side views of the Pacific and steep green hills, to flatter, wider, agricultural landscapes which were considerably less green. 

After a few rolling hills we wheeled into Corvallis to try and get my bike looked at (the gears had been slipping).  After walking around for about half an hour and locating the five bike shops in the town we realised that it was Sunday and that not one of them was open.  The good news was that one shop opened at noon and had a workshop; the bad news was that it was 10:30am.  An executive decision was taken that it was better to get the bikes looked at before our big climb over the McKenzie Pass tomorrow.  We would wait and have brunch in the “Broken Yolk” diner/brunching spot of the young and hip of Corvalis, which incidentally is a lovely town.  This proved to be an excellent choice; the brunches were good (although I was unquestionably out-ordered by Fred) and both bikes needed new chains, whilst mine also needed some adjustments to the gears.

After the considerable delay in Corvalis we positively flew for the rest of the day, under the baking sun.  Fred had curtly informed me that our delay meant that I had “forfeited lunch” and so we stopped only briefly at Harrisburg and Coberg.  The second of these stops provided one of the least pleasant moments of the trip so far in the form of a visit to a plastic cupboard that doubled as both a portaloo and oven.

Just outside of Coberg we met up with the McKenzie River whichwill be our travelling companion for the next 50 miles.  Following it to Walterville we stopped for a quick dinner which included some Buffalo Wings which were far too hot for my palette.  Mocked by Fred and not wanting to appear rude, I ate them anyway – a decision that has subsequently proved to be wrong on a number of levels.

The rest of the day was spent following the wide and winding river up to our accommodation for the evening; the McKenzie River B&B.  We were met with a friendly family welcome, a meal and a ice cold beer – there was not much more we could ask for.  Coupled with that our room has a fantastic view of the river along with a unique style of decor.  A good night’s sleep is in order – we have our biggest climb ever tomorrow – the McKenzie Pass.

JBS

Date: Saturday 7th August

Route: Netarts, Oregon – Monmouth, Oregon

Distance: 90 miles

Total climb: 4649ft

Net climb: 210ft

A few mentions first… a big thank you to the wonderful Helen and the wider ‘Team Robinson’ back in the UK, for their continuing support of the trip.  Whispers of bunting in Yorktown have been heard (to be handmade by Helen), which certainly sharpens the focus just two days into this.  In addition, I’d like to dedicate today’s section of the challenge to Helen’s friend, Katie Paine, who tragically was a victim of meningitis.  Katie’s family have been very supportive of our trip and fundraising efforts.  I’d have loved to have met Katie and I understand she was quite a fan of the US (in particular Florida), so thoughts went out to her today.

On to the ride…

We finally left the Pacific coast behind and headed inland, with the scenery changing from sea views and sea frets to corn fields and rolling hills.  The temperature is also noticeably rising.  We’ve spent most of today on major roads, having to deal with the constant roar of V8s – they are in abundance and are somewhat fun to ride around in, but hard on the nerves and the ears as a cyclist.

The roads remain fairly good and the climbs gradual, which means we get some long downhills – a great incentive on the way up and nothing like the steep stuff we’ve trained on in the UK.

Noteworthy matters from the day:

–          ATVs riding on sand dunes 800ft up in the hills away from the coast.

–       Our first crash into each other, going uphill, leaving Jay with one, now-repaired mud guard.

–          Fat Freddy’s cafe in Pacific City, sadly closed.

–          My intake of poached eggs on a muffin and then a ‘short stack’ for brunch.

–          Jay’s consumption of a salad, a chicken burger and fries and a pie for early afternoon tea.

–          Jay’s booking of a hotel with a swimming pool for the evening, in Monmouth, Illinois.  We were staying in Monmouth, Oregon.  This was a slight downer after racing the final few miles into town, but I’ll shortly be using my mask and snorkel in the shower of this substitute, Comfort Inn

–          Kenny Loggins playing live at a Casino in Grande Ronde – quality travels, especially when Playing with the Boys

–          Maintenance – brake alignment for Parkes and seat adjustments for Stockham

–          Growing levels of ‘badger’ incidents

–          J’s 99 Grill in Monmouth, where we will shortly be heading for an evening meal

Time for some recuperation and the evening routine of washing, maintenance and watching sports channels on the tv – a must for this evening, given that we nearly ended up with nowhere to stay.  Saturday night in Monmouth is no Blue Bell at 8pm.

FP

Date: Friday 6th August

Route: Astoria, Oregon – Netarts, Oregon

Distance: 84 miles

Total climb: 4530ft

Net climb: 70ft

Still subject to a touch of jetlag, we were both awake early and in for breakfast at a diner opposite the motel.  A spot of early pannier maintenance (unsurprisingly I had once again fitted them incorrectly) was followed by a pleasant ride along quiet roads before reaching the well-named town of Seaside.  A ride along the promenade was followed by a more laborious trek along the main coastal road SR 101.  The views of the Pacific were glorious, but it was a busy road, and it seems that it might take a while to get used to the noise of the enormous trucks that seem to be de rigueur with the folks over here.

The only problem we encountered was Fred’s back wheel, which after quite a loud bang on a slow downhill, decided that it would rather wobble than run true.  We knew we had to stop at a bike shop, but the nearest was 26 miles away, so we soldiered on.

We stopped for lunch at Nehalem, which we later found out is s town rumoured to be the final resting place of a legendary treasure, hidden there by “white men” a long time before Lewis and Clark ever made it to the Pacific .  People have spent their entire lives searching for this lost hoard, but Fred and I left without so much as digging a trench after an excellent lunch in a small diner.

Our route then took us off the main road for a 20 mile stretch, during which we were surrounded by beautiful scenery.  To both sides of us were steep hills covered in trees, with their tops shrouded in mist.  It made for a pleasant hour away from SR 101.  All too soon we were back on the main road and rolling into Tillamook.  Here we found the bike shop Fred (and his back wheel) needed and a bizarre coffee shop, whose owner did not seem particularly keen to sell any drinks at all. 

 The final stretch of the day from Tillamook to our motel in Netarts (pronounced Nee-tarts) was an ocean-side road followed by a climb up onto the cliffs.  We were rewarded, though with an ocean view from our motel room and a top-notch dinner in the Schooner restaurant.  It being a Friday night we even treated ourselves to some beers and a few frames of pool (Fred won 2-1).  Day one done, only 46 cycling days to go.  Good news all round, with the only disconcerting issue being the fact that due to a quirk of the TransAmerica route, we had ended the first day further West than when we started!

On Wednesday 5^th August, both Fred (via a stop in New York for some handbag shopping) and I (direct from Heathrow) flew out to Seattle.  We were met by my uncle Malcolm who drove us North to his house in Olympia and what followed was a thoroughly enjoyable maelstrom of great food (French toast for breakfast seems likely to become part of my staple diet), building the bikes (which seemed to have survived transit almost intact), getting them serviced (many thanks in that regard to the boys at Alpine Experience who gave their labour free of charge) , last minute buying of equipment, playing with my cousins Valentina and Anasacha (who I am sure were cheating on the Nintendo Wi) and finally driving down to Astoria with Malcolm.  Huge thanks to Rosemary, Malcolm and the kids, without whom we would simply not have been in a position to do the ride.

After all that activity Fred and I were finally ensconced in the Rivershore Motel, Astoria on the evening before the start of our journey.  We wandered through “historic” Astoria, which though a little run-down had retained the charm that older American towns have –especially along its Main Street; a sense that the 1930’s never actually came to an end.  Big bowls of pasta (served by a waitress who seemed somewhat new to the game of waiting tables) and some serious repacking were followed by a fairly early evening.  We had big plans for the next day.

And so, on 24^th August, the time had come for our final training weekend.  The aim, a 240 mile round trip over two days, from Stokesley/Carlton to Tealby (in Lincolnshire) and back.  We got away at about 8am after I had taken an age faffing around with my bike, but once we were rolling we made excellent time.  The mandatory tea-cake break was taken in Thirsk, before facing the somewhat demoralising 18 mile stretch of the route along the A19.  We knew we had to turn off at a church and despite numerous imaginary spires appearing to Fred as we trundled along, the real thing seemed to take an age to come into view.  After finally turning off that stretch of road and its endless droning traffic we were back on quiet country byways, in the sunshine, and so it remained for the rest of the journey.  Lunch was taken in Pocklington and at that stage we reckoned that we were a little ahead of time.  We knew we had a few miles to the Humber Bridge and then a long slow climb onto the Lincolnshire Wolds but that was not too daunting a prospect.  We had forgotten about the Yorkshire Wolds.  A forgivable lapse of geographical memory, but quite an addition to our afternoon’s climbing.  The rolling hills leading up to the Humber Bridge provided some beautiful views, but meant that our tanks were fairly low by the time we crossed the Humber.  The climb back onto the Lincolnshire version of the Wolds was as slow and grinding as expected, but finally we were on the 3 mile (according to FredFred – its actually about a mile) downhill descent into Tealby.  We had made it in just under 11 hours, which given that we also had a total ascent of over 4000 feet was good going.

That evening we were staying with Fred’s dad and the rest of the family Parkes and after a quick shower and some indecision as to where we would eat, we headed out to the Lincolnshire party capital that is Market Rasen. One excellent curry later, and resisting the temptation to large it in one of the Rasen’s finer nightspots, it was back to our log cabin at the Parkes’ and bed.  Huge thanks to Fred, Helen and Lucinda for their evening of hosting and putting up with us, despite our general lethargy and tiredness-induced lack of banter.  

On Sunday it was a question of doing the whole thing again, in reverse.  The weather was hotter and at times we wilted somewhat.   But ultimately we powered home, with Fred sprinting up the intimidating Faceby bank to round off the journey.  The day brought nothing new in terms of the route, but we did enjoy being socially shunned by a gent in a shop-mobility scooter, who deliberated scooted around us so as not to speak to us, and we also encountered a group of South Yorkshire ladies who would have been a cartoonist’s dream.  If only talking in a raspy voice was an Olympic sport…

We had managed 240 miles in two days (with a fair bit of climbing), but 47 days of cycling in a row was going to be a very, very different prospect.

And so the gruelling (?) training schedule marches on.  The weekend of 3rd/4th July saw Fred and I out on the roads of North Yorkshire again, for the second of our three planned riding weekends. For me, it was a first chance to try out Diana (its a Dawes bike and I can’t resist a pun), my new steed.

As ever it was not easy to get onto the road for 7am, but once we were off and rolling we made good progress.  Fred had planned a route around the North York Moors which would give us some difficult hill climbs, including the infamous Sutton Bank.  Infamous in our family at least, as the hill down which my Mum’s old, green, Citroen 2CV started to roll backwards when we were out for a Sunday drive one hot summers day in 1994.  Needless to say, it’s a pretty steep hill.  

Saturday’s route:

<br /><small>View Training Ride in a larger map</small>

It was a great route: over the moors, past Rievaulx Abbey (one of my favourite places in the world), and through some beautiful dales.  Fortunately we had the weather to match.  In truth the only issue that we had were some technical problems with my lower gears, which kept on slipping.  This would not have been a problem, but for the fact that it only really started to happen as I was climbing up Sutton Bank.  This was less than ideal as cars kept speeding past me while I wobbled dangerously, rather too often.  In the end I decided that discretion really is the better part of valour and decided to push Diana the rest of the way up the bank.  King of the Mountains Parkes, however, made it all the way up the bank in an impressive show of stamina.  This looks likely to be a sign of things to come in the Rockies.

We had to make it back to Carlton for 5pm in time for our first (and possibly only) bit of media coverage as we had and interview scheduled with the local magazine “Now & Then”.   In fact we managed to time things almost perfectly and arrived back at base camp (Fred’s house) at 4:55.  A pleasant half-hour interview and a rather more difficult photo session (note to self: I cannot cycle, look back over my shoulder and wave at the same time) was followed by a barbeque and early night ready for Sunday’s trip.

Sunday was a rather more routine ride (again over the Moors), across to Whitby (i.e. the beach…) and back.  It is a route that we have cycled a number of times, but that did not prevent me from taking a wrong turn and leading us on a 2 mile de-tour with two significant additional climbs.  Once again, though, we made good time, and although the route was familiar the journey was brightened up by a number of things:

1. Two stops (there and back) at the excellent tea room in Castleton (need to find out the US equivalent of a toasted teacake);

2. Meeting a bunch of guys who were just finishing the coast to coast (a ride which we did last November) and helping them to plan their final miles to the North Sea;

3. Fish and chips in Whitby – always worth a trip;

4. The bizarre collection of Morris dancer’s in Whitby.  Now I like a Morris dance as much as the next man, but these chaps took it to a whole new level, face-paint and all.  A number bore more than a passing resemblance to Papa Lazarou from the League of Gentlemen.  As anyone who has been there knows, it takes a real effort to stand out in Whitby as an eccentric.  They achieved it with room to spare.

The ride back home was made more difficult due to the strong wind which blew against us the whole way (there had been not even a breeze on the way over, so we hadn’t enjoyed the benefit of a wind-assisted ride in the morning).  But upon parting ways at Kirkby, to head back to Stokesley and Carlton, we could reflect on a successful couple of days.  Our fitness does undoubtedly need more work and my bike needs to have a few teething troubles ironed out, but things are coming along.

Training weekend really.  Fred and I have ridden together before, we cycled John O’Groats to Lands End in 2007.  We also cycled the Coast to Coast in November of last year as an early warm up for our TransAm journey.  The first weekend of April, 2010, though marked the beginning of our training “regime”.  I headed back up home to North Yorkshire (“God’s own country” as Mum would have me add) on the late night train from Waterloo, ill prepared for a weekend of riding.  My fitness work during the previous week had consisted of a suit fitting and walking up the stairs to a book launch.  The book incidentally was “Beta Male” by Iain Hollingshead – a postmodern deconstruction of masculinity in the modern age masquerading as very good read with some (marginally) puerile humour , I recommend it highly. 

But I digress.  Training hadn’t really been occupying as much of my schedule as it should have been and so when I stepped on the train back down to Bradford the next morning to meet Fred I was a little apprehensive.  The plan was to cycle back from his flat in Shipley (where in the weeks to come it would emerge that there had been some grisly goings-on, wholly unrelated to our training ride) to our homes in North Yorkshire, which are only about three minutes apart.   In truth I wasn’t sure I would be able to cycle the 70 miles home and might end up embarrassingly stranded in Boroughbridge or Thirsk.    These are not unpleasant towns to be stranded in, but I feared that friends and family would start to doubt whether we really could make it across America if I couldn’t cycle across Yorkshire.

As it turns out I needn’t have worried.  We ate up the miles pretty quickly and after stopping in Otley, for a loo break (the public loos in Otley are, to say the least, well hidden), and Boroughbridge, for lunch, we arrived back in Carlton, at Fred’s house, after only about 6 hours.  A good start to the weekend. 

Unfortunately we were going so well that we forgot to take any photos at all.  In truth, nothing particularly memorable happened during the ride, save for the incident with the badger.  We usually talk intermittently whilst riding and if there is a pot-hole or some other obstruction, the person in front shouts to let the other know about it.  However, when Fred shouted “Badger” at the top of his voice as we were approaching the spa town of Harrogate, I assumed that he was engaging in one of his (fairly frequent) bouts of surrealist humour.  I certainly did not realise that he was referring to the lifeless badger lying on the road.  Fortunately, I spotted the majestic beast just before it completely wiped me out and I managed to swerve out of the way.  It seems likely that from now on “Badger” will be our code word for danger.

Most of Sunday morning was taken up with a planning session of Team TransAm.  We looked at maps, discussed flights and admired Winnebagos.  Nonetheless, after a substantial breakfast, cooked by Ma Stockham, we were back out on the roads.

The ride on Sunday was somewhat less exotic, and we stayed within the confines of the North Yorkshire Moors.  It was notable for me as the first time that I have ever made it up the infamous Carlton Bank, without having to put a foot down and rest (hopefully a good sign as far as the fitness goes).  We also added to our repertoire of cafes with the discovery of a lovely little coffee shop in Hawnby, run, in slightly eccentric fashion, by a man who appeared to be a scout leader.  Our favourite offerings were the biscuits from “Samba House, Mango Park…..Bolton” and the injunction on the wall to “Enjoy your sausage.”  It is perhaps the case that when one is tired things seem funnier than they actually are, but these two nuggets kept us going for the afternoon. 

The scenery of the North Yorkshire Moors is glorious and fortunately we managed to take a few photos of the day’s ride.

We arrived back to Fred’s at 3pm after about 40 miles on the road, which included some long climbs, and  I then faced the prospect of the 4 mile ride home.  This was undoubtedly the hardest part of the weekend. For some reason I had completely run out of energy and felt cold and uncomfortable; no doubt a prelude to feeling that way for many miles over the coming months.  Still, after a few Nutrigrains I perked up and made it back home.

A pretty good weekend of training, but it left us in no doubt that we are going to have to up our  fitness levels significantly if we are going to get anywhere close to finishing our epic trip.