Until now we have been riding in places which are very familiar to me, areas in which we hike and ski and boat all year round. Although I haven't cycled most of these 193 miles, I know the lay of the land, the cities and towns, and many of the possible geographic traps. So when it comes time for a decision, I can usually make a sound one, based on direct experience.
We are entering new territory now, and I will have to start flying by the seat of my pants. This is an approach which is fraught with problems, some of them simply annoying, others somewhat dangerous. I shall have to change my carefree mode of navigation for a much more studied approach.
Another change is that I lost half of the escort vehicles (both tandems) to jobs which could no longer be ignored.
The work got harder today almost entirely because of the heat. We did the same miles and fewer feet of climbing, and yet I am much more drained. The temperature went into the high nineties, and before you tell me "Yes, but it is a dry heat", I have to tell you it was not dry on my bike. It seemed that the five liters of water that I consumed on the bike was squirting back through my skin faster than I could drink.
Today was the first time we got to actually ride with (really behind) Turner and Babcock. We rode down the west rim of the Yakima River canyon, and were in constant view of the railroad corridor down at river level where they were so favorably impressed with the cycling terrain. Then after lunch at the Valley Cafe in Ellensburg, we followed their path (albeit from the comfort of a good paved road) out to the Columbia River. Especially now, having ridden the hills they were on, I have a good feeling for the difficulty they were experiencing. Every morning we read aloud the pertinent excerpts from the articles and I never cease marvelling at their verve.
We have managed to put off the hard, hot work one more day but I think there is no way to avoid it now. My only solace is that our cycling is so much easier than theirs.
Here is what Will and Art went through to get to the Columbia:
Our route from Ellensburg to Spokane had given us more concern than any other part of the trip through the state. Whether to go through Pasco, the long, sandy road, or via Coulee ferry over a rougher route, had perplexed us greatly. At Ellensburg Mr. Pond, a pioneer gentleman of the Big Bend country, very kindly removed our doubts by pointing out what he thought would be a better way than either of the others -- by way of Craig's ferry, thence up Crab creek, across country to Spokane. The distance to the ferry had been given to us as twenty-eight miles by one person, thirty-one by another, and thirty-three by a third, and when our meter showed thirty-six miles and still no river in sight, we felt like repeating without haste the assertion that all men are liars here. The country is rough and barren, the road by turns rocky and sandy, and we had to go slowly. About dark, I punctured my rear tire and not being able to locate the leak, we thought it best that Mr. Turner go on to the ferry and order supper, while I was to trundle my wheel, which was really about as easy as riding. For five miles I plowed through the sand and increased my appetite.
At Craig's cabin we found assurance that we could get across the river the next day, in case the wind should not be too strong. Mr. Craig proved to be a very hospitable host and our stay with him was very pleasant. More and more people are choosing to cross the Columbia at his ferry, and he is working up quite a business.
The morning that we crossed, a rattlesnake was killed about one hundred feet from the cabin, and for the next few hours, every insect and dry reed which could imitate a snake had plenty of fun at our expense; in fact, we were very rattled.
Tomorrow we will get an early start to get back up on top of the Columbia Plateau before the heat gets too oppressive. And then we'll find a nice shady tree next to a lake and alternatively swim and drink iced tea.
Dennis