Angel-devil Route 30, and Thermostat 

There must be some use for the “update” button on WordPress, but I’ll never touch it again because yesterday I finished a long post, clicked “update,” and everything vanished. I’m going to fall behind, so all my fine insights of yesterday will just have to stay unsaid (no tears), and I’ll just catch up mostly with photos.
We started the morning at Clatskanie with a flat from the wire remains of a radial tire. It’s a common problem; I hope we brought enough spare tubes. We started out on the best possible side road. I could ride that all the way to Maine. However, soon we had to reurn to busy, fast, and loud Route 30. Lunch at Ranier gave us a chance to contemplate the massive shipping on the Columbia River. The scarred big trees hurtling past us on lumber trucks were destined for ships to China. Apparently we buy so much stuff from China that it is very cheap to send the ships back with US logs.
 

We marveled at all the tugboats on the Columbia River, which Lisa tells me is a “shipkiller.”

We passed a Dyno Nobel plant. This company ran the slave labor camp where Mark’s mother was forced to help make explosive shells after she was moved from Auschwitz. By the way.

Approaching Portland  the traffic was thick but the view of Mount Saint Helens was stunning.

For all of Portland’s bike friendliness, getting up onto the bridge over the Willamette River was one of the scariest 10 minutes on a bike I’ve ever experienced. Suddenly Route 30’s wide shoulder vanished, and we shared the narrow ramp with semis and all the cars in a hurry. I kept my balance in the stop and go by putting a hand on the truck twelve inches away. But once we were over the bridge, Portland became a fantastic biking town. Many streets had painted bike lanes, some including extra painted strips to warn one away from opening car doors. At the worst intersections, green lanes showed cars where to leave room for bikes.

Signs gave directions and time estimates in bike language.

The biggest difference, though must be that people get around year round by bike, and cars expect bikes everywhere.The next day we enjoyed the best airport approach I’ve ever seen, a bikeway in a grassy field next to the Columbia River and Mount Hood (maybe) in the distance.

Hoo boy, I’m too slow… here are some photos of the good version of Route 30 we then savored. “Historic Route 30” was built as a byway for early automobiles to showcase the Columbia Gorge. Now I-84 has wiped out a lot of that old road, though a gorgeous bikeway remains as a remnant. There are many waterfalls, and tourists abounded, but the road and bikeway were marvelously empty.

We finished the day managing the bikeway stairs and gawking at the Bonneville dam (first barrier to salmon runs).

Our campsite had a pretty old growth tree for hanging a bear bag.

The next day the landscape dried up before our eyes. We passed the town of Hood River and The Dalles with occasional stretches of Route 30 in its angel phase.

And then there was today. I was going to call this day “meadowlark” because these birds serenaded us with their R2D2 songs all day. I especially enjoyed the distraction because we had so far to go til the next lodging.

The day wore on, and Mark wore out. A headwind, temps in the nineties, 88 miles, and a heavy load were just too much. Ten minutes from our hotel, he gave out to heat exhaustion.

I found someone to give him a ride, and he has returned to the living. Hmm! A better name for today is “thermostat.”