Previously: Oregon Outback - Day 5
We had breakfast with our new friends, and learned that the somewhat famous Chris and Rob from the YouTube channel PNW Bikepacking had been there the day before, with another guy who runs the Spoke'n Hostel nearby, and we all talked about how fun those videos are to watch. I'm kind of bummed that we missed them, it would have been good to meet them. We said goodbye to our new friends, saddled up and began day 6.
The climb out of Antelope is paved and at the high point you complete a series I'm switchbacks that are very photogenic. Many people have taken photos of them on this ride.
This really nice, asphalt road is known as the Shaniko Fossil Highway, and we rode it to its intersection with the busy, highly traveled Sherman Highway, which has a lot of trucks going fast. We stopped in Shaniko, a picturesque little ghost town, and visited the cafe next to the Shaniko Hotel, run by a family, where we got coffees and snacks, and I watched Adam consume a plate of biscuits and gravy with envy.
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| A truck had overturned on the highway, spilling its load of apples. We all got free apples. |
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| I pulled this out of my front tire, luckily it self-healed. |
We walked around taking pictures of the old buildings, cars and wagons. Some visited the old prison, where I guess you can spend the night if you need to camp. I pulled a tack out of my front tire, thankfully leaving a sealed hole. We talked a little bit with Stewart, from the family that runs the store, and I regretted not asking him more about his life in Shaniko, as we rolled out of town. From there it was riding on the shoulder with a lot of fast highway traffic, big trucks flying past. We rolled along until we took a left on a dirt road.
Here we began a stretch of riding that is really spare, through endless, dry agricultural fields, shorn of whatever crops they'd grown. We had expected worse wind as we neared the Columbia River gorge. It wasn't that windy, but it felt exposed, dry, and the endless fields, interspersed with little, tree-sheltered ranches made the place feel big and empty, like we were in the middle of nowhere. Our goal was to reach Gordon Ridge, then descend via an alternate route Adam had found, down Rattlesnake Grade to the Deschutes River trail and a camp site by the end of the day, first detouring to the little town of Grass Valley for a hot lunch and some supplies, then returning to the route. Adam led the detour, rolling away solo as we stopped for a snack break. We followed his tiny speck in the distance to the town of Grass Valley, off route where we had burgers and Cokes at the Grass Valley Country Market, and bought some snacks and beers for camp.
Returning to the canonical route, we got on a rough, rocky, dusty and twisty road. It was here that my good mechanical luck ran out and I banged both rims on a rock submerged in the dust, putting a hole in my rear tire. Luckily a quick plug and fill with my pump got me back on the move, and we all rolled together toward the final big climb of the route, Gordon Ridge. I knew there was a landmark; an antenna or series of antennas on the ridge, and we slowly ground our way up these last climbs, gaining glimpses of the river gorges, and far away ridges on the far side of the Columbia River in Washington, and seeing Mount Hood looming in the distance.
Up on the ridge, it's a weird environment. The big antennas, including a bulky line-of-sight microwave relay from the Cold War era, feel stark and eerie. The endless agricultural fields give it an unreal feeling all around, dry, tan fields slope away in all directions. We could see more mountains, including the very distant Mount Rainier. That was cool. We saw a few hunters parked on the side of the road, and we bombed the gravel rollers past them, hearing rifle fire from time to time. Adam scouted for the beginning of the Rattlesnake Grade descent. He had brought a mountain bike hardtail with 27.5 wheels, running burly mountain bike tires, while I was on a gravel bike, and I almost surely had 60 lb of body weight on him, so I would sail past him on descents and carry that speed up the next roller, then pause and wait for him, as he knew where we were going.
Adam found the left-hand fork for Rattlesnake Grade, we regrouped and began the rocky, rough and overgrown descent. It's nothing like the groomed, industrial gravel roads we'd been on, it's an old, overgrown, bulldozed track with significant drainage dips and lots of sharp rock debris, dropping steeply down to the Deschutes River Valley. It was the first time of the whole trip that I felt under-biked, my gravel bike definitely requiring a careful line selection, where Adam could just rocket away. We developed two separate groups, Adam and I in front and the rest behind. We waited as they rolled up and learned that Monty had lost the bolt and post for his rear rack on the drivetrain side, and that he's put a zip tie in its place as an emergency fix. Luckily Andreas, having the same Ortlieb rack, produced his bag of spares for it, and Adam and Monty quickly installed the new post and bolt, securing the rack to it. Teamwork!
We continued down the long grade in setting sun, pausing to take in the immense grandeur of the Deschutes River Valley all around us. It's a beautiful place, and the light was just right, and we knew we'd be getting to camp just as the sun disappeared. I thought about how many ice ages had passed while this mighty river carved its way through this immense canyon, the same river that passed through Adam's hometown of Bend before reaching this spot near the Columbia.
Once we got down to the Deschutes River Trail, an old rail bed, we started heading down slope, to our right, northwest, looking for a flat camp spot we could reach from the rail bed. Periodically we would see shallow draft motor boats going upstream, guide boats delivering clients to camps, and we saw these camps along the river. While we could camp anywhere we wanted, having come from where we did, we had to find one that wasn't occupied. We found one near an old bridge crossing. The old access road to the bridge brought us down to a flat spot. There, a fisherman questioned us about our descent, having watched us come down the hill. He seemed concerned that we might have come down private property. He also questioned whether we had e-bikes. If he only knew! We clarified that we'd ridden our bikes down Rattlesnake Grade, that we were under our own power, and then he departed with his old dog, I suppose satisfied that he'd put the world right.
We made a camp in the stiff and brittle brush near the river, glad to be done with a long day, having started so many hours before, so far away in Antelope, and so near our goal of finishing this ride.
We had a good dinner, most of us still carrying way too much food, all except Adam who was nearing the end of his food stash. His experience as a bikepacker showed in many ways on this trip, and I think the newbies and myself learned from him. We turned in for the night, but unfortunately I had another night of insomnia, two in a row. I knew this was going to be a tough finish for me.
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