The sun beats me up this morning, but not by much. (It was to beat me up much worse, in another sense, later in the afternoon!) After a delightful chat over breakfast with Cathy Umbarger and the basic daily "bike chores", like chain cleaning and tire air pressure plus checking for loose nuts, bolts and tiedowns, the GravyTrain2Maine heads east out of Burbank station. Unfortuneately, it's directly into an easterly breeze and not much to block it but me. After running the heat with semis on my tail for the better part of the morning, the decision is made to head south to Walla Walla via North Touchet road and some "backroads".
[A note on interpretation of road designations on maps is in order here. Unless one is willing to haul a detailed topo map with (which I was not), one is staring at a bunch of lines going A to B, with little info on elevations or road conditions. In general, continuous lines mean paved and dashed lines unpaved, tho this data can become out of date quickly. And generally, fatter and more colorful map lines translate into heavier used (and more gently graded with wide shoulders) routes, while thin black or grey lines mean backroads that are lesser travelled (with inconsistent shoulders and unpredictable ups and downs). In short, the path less travelled is less travelled for a darn good reason... ]
Well, the thin black line on the map sure LOOKED LIKE the shortcut to Walla Walla, or the hypotenuse of this big triangle I was making today, but then again it WAS a backroad. Well, our shortcut quickly left all signs of mankind behind, screamed us down several miles to a trickle of a river, then took us all the way back up in stages of climbs, all within steep canyon walls and rock cuts, with the 80 + temp beating down. Dog is panting heavily now and I think I hear " Hey daddy, this 4 mph speed you're doing uphill just isn't getting me any good air con. Can you step on it? Gotta a better date tonight!" After the third hour of hot and stuffy climbs broken only by short drops giving up just hard-earned elevation, the terrain relaxes into gorgeous green wheat fields and Walla Walla comes onto the radar. Parched and feeling like I have a touch of heat exhaustion, I straggle into the Super8 motel. Brindil gets a can of Alpo and me a Subway sub(footlong, of course, with everything on it). Still $5, what a deal!
As I close my eyes this evening, and recount the days events, as I'm prone to doing, I keep seeing this 1950's pickup truck in the middle of a pasture, rusty and abandoned, but proudly adorned with an American flag.
[A note on interpretation of road designations on maps is in order here. Unless one is willing to haul a detailed topo map with (which I was not), one is staring at a bunch of lines going A to B, with little info on elevations or road conditions. In general, continuous lines mean paved and dashed lines unpaved, tho this data can become out of date quickly. And generally, fatter and more colorful map lines translate into heavier used (and more gently graded with wide shoulders) routes, while thin black or grey lines mean backroads that are lesser travelled (with inconsistent shoulders and unpredictable ups and downs). In short, the path less travelled is less travelled for a darn good reason... ]
Well, the thin black line on the map sure LOOKED LIKE the shortcut to Walla Walla, or the hypotenuse of this big triangle I was making today, but then again it WAS a backroad. Well, our shortcut quickly left all signs of mankind behind, screamed us down several miles to a trickle of a river, then took us all the way back up in stages of climbs, all within steep canyon walls and rock cuts, with the 80 + temp beating down. Dog is panting heavily now and I think I hear " Hey daddy, this 4 mph speed you're doing uphill just isn't getting me any good air con. Can you step on it? Gotta a better date tonight!" After the third hour of hot and stuffy climbs broken only by short drops giving up just hard-earned elevation, the terrain relaxes into gorgeous green wheat fields and Walla Walla comes onto the radar. Parched and feeling like I have a touch of heat exhaustion, I straggle into the Super8 motel. Brindil gets a can of Alpo and me a Subway sub(footlong, of course, with everything on it). Still $5, what a deal!
As I close my eyes this evening, and recount the days events, as I'm prone to doing, I keep seeing this 1950's pickup truck in the middle of a pasture, rusty and abandoned, but proudly adorned with an American flag.
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