I’ve taken a lot of inspiration for this trip from a Dutch man named Martijn Doolaard. An incredibly well traveled and adventurous man, with a keen eye for photography. I’ve never been one to idolise people or try to replicate another’s story, but when I saw and read his work. I was hooked, I connect with his words and his story is something I relate with. So when I saw he ventured all the way into the Oregon desert, I knew there must be a good reason as to why. Following the blueprint Martijn set out, I ventured east through the Colombia River Gorge, making it as far as The Dalles. Trending south, I made my way through a series of small towns as I closed in on The Painted Hills. With four consecutive days of clear skies and sunshine, these were some amazing days that sparked life back into the journey. For the first time since I left Australia in November, I was wearing shorts. As you can imagine, my skins pale and sensitive, but there’s no way I was gonna let that stop me. Shorts on and shirt off, I ride into the desert, climbing around 1500 metres in elevation. It was at this point that I felt I had arrived into the spirit of the bike ride.
My environment changes drastically each day. Climbing out of the Gorge and up into the desert, grasslands and fields are all one can see, whilst Mt Hood keeps a watchful eye over all. It’s dominating figure towers over all the ranges and is always in sight. Making the days feel long, spending all day in the saddle, meanwhile the mountain remains in the same view. Making you feel as if you were barely moving at all. It’ll drive you crazy if you let it. I spend my first night in a small town called Maupin. These are the places I love, they’ve got character and the people are lovely. Known for its white water rafting, it’s nestled in beside the Deschutes River. Pitching my tent right beside the river, the soothing sounds of the fast flowing rapids put me to sleep instantly.
The accurately named Bakeoven Road, quickly became one of the toughest days of the trip. The steady climb out of Maupin begins with a series of switchbacks and hairpins, but the suns out and I’m working up a sweat, so It doesn’t bother me none, at least in the beginning. With five hours of riding under my belt, I still haven’t covered the 40km ride from Maupin to Shinako. How? I’m thinking. Am I crawling or riding? My thin legs feel heavier than ever and getting in the zone feels an impossible task. Usually, I would find comfort in all the small things happening around me or simply lose myself in the repetition of pedalling. I actively remind myself that I’m not racing anyone and elect to take one of few breaks for the day. You lot having a good day? It’s nice to see the sun come back out huh? I call out to the cows watching me with curiosity from behind the barbwire fencing. You know how much longer till the summit? Clearly longing for the opportunity to converse with someone who speaks my native tongue, I laugh at my own insanity and keep moving.
Rolling in a little after midday, I cycle the streets of Shinako without a soul in sight. Admiring the clearly renovated store fronts that do their best to preserve the old silver mining towns history. I feel like I’m cycling through the movie set of an old western. Half expecting a tumbleweed to blow past my foot, I stand beside my bike in the middle of the ghost town. I’m out of water and I had planned on filling up in the hotel. “The towns closed today.” I hear from afar. Trying to locate the voice, I spot an elderly women coming out of her store. Pointing in the direction of the towns bathrooms for water, I would soon plant my eyes on a mirror for the first time in days. Holy shit! I say aloud whilst breaking out into laughter. The sweat that I had worked incredibly hard for, mixed with the reddish/brown dirt of the Oregon desert, has left me looking like I’m fresh off the beaches of Florida. For as long as I can remember, I have always enjoyed being dirty. There’s just something about hard earned filth that I love, I feel a sense of pride knowing that I’ve been out in nature for so long. Stopping to question what my mother would think, I fire up the warm water and bath in the sink. Now back to my pale self, I take my water and head further into the desert with the mindset of riding till sundown.
Generally speaking, what goes up must also come down. On this day, there was a lot of up. So you can imagine my delight when I’m met with a five mile downhill just outside the town of Antelope. Sharp corners navigate their way through the high desert plains and descend into the open barren landscape. Channeling my inner Motogp racer, I’m flying down into every corner. Staying out wide and then slingshotting around as I lean into each apex. It’s funny what we as people are willing to endure for a brief moment of ecstasy, to truly feel alive. I’ve chased this feeling for as long as I know and this lifestyle has it in abundance. I won’t be stopping anytime soon.
With the curtain called and sun set, I’m still without a campsite. The terrain’s steep and the fields are open and fenced off with signs reading “no trespassing” and “private property”. It’s now day 29 of the journey and I no longer feel uneasy or stressed out in these situations, I realise it’s wasted energy and instead elect to trust my instincts. Running on empty, I know I can’t pedal for much longer and decide to run the gauntlet and sleep in a farmers field with a small tree as a barrier between me and the dirt backroad. Tossing all my possessions over the fence and leaving my bike behind the tree, I setup camp and get water onto boil. As I sit cooking dinner from within the tent, floodlights worth 1000 of my headlamps penetrate through the thin yellow nylon. Hoping I haven’t been caught in the act, I sit completely frozen with all my lights turned out. The trademark American pickup rounds the bend and continues on his way. That was close! I say aloud as I accidentally turn my headlamp back onto its brightest setting. The now distant pickup comes to a complete stop and the formerly red taillights quickly turn white. “Fuck! Idiot Sam”. Knowing I’ve been caught red handed, as I watch the truck reversing its way back to me. “Time to turn on the Aussie charm” as I approach the properties fence. Now side by side with the vehicle, I hear a voice but struggle to make out any features of the man within. It’s dark and the floodlights are making it hard to see. Hello! I call out, in a loud and unthreatening voice. “Howdy! I saw the light flashing, ya’ll good?” “Yeah yeah, I’m sweet” I return. After explaining my situation further to the farmer and admitting it must seem rather peculiar. We trade conversation and laughter for some time before he wishes me well and allows me to stay. “I’m just over the field if you need anything” as he drives off into the night. Those who inhabit more remote landscapes are typically looked at as conservative and unwilling to change. However, I’ve always found them to be decent people, a little stuck in the mud at times yes, but largely their traditional values and embrace of simplicity are the makings of good people. Who in my experience are generally willing to help.
It’s another gorgeous day and I’m expecting to reach The Painted Hills by sundown. This will be the furthest I venture inland before heading for the Californian coastline and the world famous redwood forests. Now riding along narrow dirt roads that weave their way through what feels like the middle of nowhere, I see no one and hear nothing. I’m left with only my thoughts and the sounds of my heavy breath. It’s truly beautiful out here and reminds me a bit of my home in the Flinders Ranges. Dry, arid plains and large cliff faces that range from the lightest oranges and yellows, all the way to the darkest of browns. Meanwhile, above the surface the juniper tree plagues the land, as thousands and thousands of them fight for precious water, adding a sizeable amount of green into the mix.
The road conditions are tough and I’ve given myself quite the challenge if I am to make it past The Painted Hills and arrive in Mitchell by nightfall. I will need to ride 85km and climb nearly 1500 metres, a task that only weeks ago would have felt impossible. I feel I have adjusted to this life and I become more and more capable each day. My goals gradually become more extreme as my body and mind grow stronger. What mountains will I climb? How far will I push it? Who knows where this will take me, but I’m sure it’ll be fun!
It’s just past midday and I’m covering ground better than expected. After an early start to the day, time is on my side for a change. The Painted Hills now only 30kms away and I’m nearing the John Day River when I begin to hear a car approaching. It’s another pickup, but this time they’re not farmers, they’re out gathering rare rocks, crystals and minerals as a hobby. The driver, a proudly American woman named Linda. The passenger, a large but seemingly gentle man named Geoff. “Where you heading?” Linda asks. “I’m on my way to The Painted Hills”. “Ah a beautiful spot! We’re heading to some caves to gather rare rocks” Linda adds. Realising how much time I have left in my day and open for adventure, I ask Linda if I can tag along, so long as she drops me back to the John Day River. “Well sure! Throw your bike in the bed and hop on!”
As I’m sat in the back of the pickup, holding onto my bike. I can’t help but laugh. These adventures take the most random forms when you take your hands off of the wheel. Overly planning your trip takes away the main ingredient for adventure. The unknown. Was gathering rocks something that seemed appealing to me? No not really. But, hanging out with two undoubtedly American country folk was and who knows.. I might end of loving it.
Spending the better part of two hours in the mountains, we dig through caves and valleys, searching for “anything interesting” as Geoff puts it. I grow tired of the digging and decide to hike to the top of the mountain for a better view. “I’M THE KING OF THE WORLD” I yell, as I’m stood atop the mountain above Linda and Geoff. I truly believe the words I’m yelling. Can life get any better than this? Living the dream out exactly as you dreamt it. I’ve spent years of my life preparing to set sail around the globe and here I am, doing just that. It’s not always fun, nor easy. But, its undeniably fulfilling.
Arriving back at the car later that afternoon, we discovery that Linda has locked the keys inside the car. After a serious effort to break in without inflicting any damage and realising we’re a long way from help and without phone signal. She pulls the pin. “Fuck it! I’m smashing a window. Which one do you think you can fit through?” She asks. Looking at the two door pickup with windows behind the headrests. “That one!” As I point to the smallest one behind the passenger. “Really? You sure?” Linda adds. Trying to save her from smashing a passengers window I say “Yep! Let’s do it!” meanwhile putting gardening gloves on and grabbing a rag out from the back. Smashing the glass and just sliding through without it cutting me, I retrieve the keys and open the doors. Time to head back!
The Painted Hills are an incredible display of life’s constant change. To me, the multicoloured streaks that run along the hills symbolise that nothing remains the same forever and we all go through different phases in our lives that help form who ‘we’ are. As the classic saying goes.. All good things take time. Their beauty is something that only time can create and when we try and rush things, we’re left with far worse results. I will not rush through this journey and there is no timeframe, life will tell me when it’s time to move on. When the road is nice, travel slowly.
The Spoke’n Hostel. Where to begin.. Once a church in a small town with a for sale tag on it and no use, now a thriving hostel that caters to thousands of cycle tourist from all over the world. The owners Julie and Pat have turned this into a dual purpose home away from home that welcomes all. Riding in the off season is challenging, not only cause of the winter conditions but because a lot of businesses are closed. The same applied for the Spoke’n. Originally speaking with Julie over the phone, she mentions I could pitch my tent out the back on the grass and use the shower, however on arrival I find that there is a bed waiting for me upstairs with a sign that reads “Bed 1 Spoke’n for, Sam, Australia”. I knew after my very first step through those church doors that this was a special place. The kind of warm welcome that you’d only ever get at home.
After getting my things sorted and having a shower, I came downstairs to join Julie, Pat and Julie’s sister. I find them at the dinner table, already part way through their meal. With my grocery shopping in hand and ready to cook the same meal I’ve eaten 20 times this trip, Julie asked me if I would like to join them. “I’d love to!” I reply. “Good! Cause your plate is already made up over on the counter.” Amazing! I’ll take any opportunity to eat food that isn’t my own cooking.
Sat at the dining table with three people that were strangers only a moment ago, I find myself sharing my whole life story. Where I’m from, how I got here, where I’m going and why I’m going. Not cause they asked, but because I felt comfortable sharing. That’s the sort of place the Spoke’n is. After sharing my plans to be away from home for two years or more Julie quickly jumps in. “Two years? What about your family? Your mother will miss you very much!” “I suppose she will, but I’m chasing my dreams, going after the things I love.” I replied. “She understands that.” I knew as soon as the words fell out of my mouth that I didn’t mean them, I was just giving the answer that I thought should follow. To be honest, I’ve never really considered how this journey would make any of my family members feel.
Most of the people I have come across on my journey have expressed concern for my safety. Saying that it is dangerous and I need to be careful, but Julie was more worried about my mother. “These years will be very hard for her, she will always be wondering where you are and if you’re safe.” Julie being a mother of two, expressed that she too feels pain when she is away from her boys for too long. “You must stay in contact with her as best you can!”
I went to bed that night with a cloud hanging over me. Apart from the final hug at the airport, I had never put too much thought into the effect my absence might have on my family. I knew then and there that my life plan was indeed a selfish one. There was something I wanted to do for unclear reasons and I was chasing after it without even slightly considering how it would make anyone else feel. I love my family very much, but I will never sacrifice what it is I want from this life, based on someone else’s fears. I try to soften my guilt with the fact that they have each other for support if they were to ever worry.
Three days would go by at the Spoke’n Hostel after initially planning to spend just the one. It was a chance to not only rest, but to recenter and figure out what my goals for this trip actually are. After reflecting on the month prior and many conversations with Julie and Pat, it was clear. I wanted to not only travel and experience what the world had to offer, but to dive head first into my passion for capturing moments, either through photography or videography and story telling. I knew that I had been playing it safe up until this point and wanted to start taking more risks and seeking out discomfort. Camping in spots not because they look comfortable, but because they would make for an incredible experience. Riding trails not because they’re smooth, but because they would take me to memorable places. It was time to step it up a gear.
Winter has come back in full force after a brief hiatus and left me with no choice but to ride out of Mitchell and ride hard. The forecasts were showing snowfall in all neighbouring regions on the eastern side of the Cascade Ranges, with temperatures dropping as low as -15 degrees and no sign of relief for weeks to come. I’d ride 430 kilometres and climb 4200 metres in four days, riding through snow, rain and heavy winds, I had no desire to stop anywhere or see anything. My only goal, get across the Cascade Mountain Range.
Leaving Mitchell with the goal of Crescent City on the Californian coastline, there is many possible routes one can take to get across the Cascades. However, due to record breaking snowfall in most parts of the United States, most of which are either closed or incredibly dangerous to be riding a bicycle, let alone camping. I’d arrive just outside of the town Bend at sunset the very first day and find a state trooper on the side of the highway. Figuring he’d have a good idea of the road conditions, I ask for advice and he suggests I go all the way down to Klamath Falls, the town that the weather forecasts predicted to have the coldest temperatures. Trusting the state troopers advice and accepting the cold as temporary suffering that would lead to long term enjoyment, I would continue south down highway 197 and camp just off the highway outside Bend. With the urgency of nasty weather quickly approaching and the potential of getting stuck somewhere I’d rather not be, I finish riding each day well after sundown. But this time I don’t feel the slightest bit concerned, for I know it will all work out in the end. Relinquishing control has never felt easier, my senses are sharp.
Riding beside farmland and livestock for the final hours of the day, I knew what would be nearby and very active at night. Coyotes, and my bright yellow tent with two days worth of food inside would have them very curious. Stealth camping puts you in a weird state of being, the only way I can describe it is survival mode. Aware that you’re isolated and camping illegally, your ears become fine tuned to the most faint of noises. Trusting my instincts completely, I knew the exact moment those coyotes crept up to my tent. Quiet as church mice they approached, but not quiet enough. Yelling in my best attempt at a scary/manly voice, “HEY! GET OUT OF IT!” The quiet footsteps now loud and the coyotes no longer mute, “yip, yip, yip” and the sound of laughter fills the otherwise silent desert air. Do I fear coyotes? Absolutely not! Do I want them poking around my campsite thinking its fair game? No chance!
The next three days of riding to Crescent City were pure suffering and zero joy. I would lose my patience and have a meltdown on the side of the road more than once. Hating just about every second. I’ve never been one to give up but I came real close on those days, even stopping to stick my thumb out at one point, in an attempt to score a ride closer to my end goal or simply just get out of the rain for a brief moment. It was miserable!
I had made it across the Cascade Mountain Range at the mercy of a stranger. A man named Jim picked me up early into the mountain crossing, claiming I had a death wish and stating “you don’t want no part in what’s happening up there.” He was right. The snow compact and condition of the roads was a sure death sentence for any idiotic cyclist who was stupid enough to attempt it.
Crossing the border into California felt like such a relief, but the challenges weren’t behind me just yet. I was riding along one of America’s notoriously dangerous roads and today, it’s covered in snow. I told myself there would be no snow in California, but I’m deluded. Making false promises to myself on places I’ve never been. Fortunately, the snow would be a short lived experience as I descend right down to sea level and into Crescent City.
Id arrive in Crescent City to one of my strangest stays yet. A warm showers host operating out of a fully functioning church. Much larger than the Spoke’n and eerily quiet. Removing cushions from the two-seater lounge in the main room and placing them in a row on the floor in the children’s playroom. It felt the most welcoming and likely place of any reasonable sleep, I also didn’t fancy sleeping in the large and rather empty main-room.
Snow has almost been a constant in my life over the past 5 months, something I had only seen for the first time in my life in November and felt magical. Now I’m desperate to part ways and enjoy the warmer elements of summer and fall. It has been an incredible experience to challenge winter and come out the other side and one that I feel has made my mind impenetrable. I know wholeheartedly that I will take this odyssey to the absolute limit, nothing can stop me!