The Girl Loves Diamonds.

As we left Carson Hot Springs we had to make a quick diversion in to town to drop off postcards destined for the UK. The day was bright, warm and dry, at least compared to the previous three. Roads were still damp and leaf-litter showed where the previous few days water had pooled before finding a way out.

As we neared the junction with the high street, I had to stop as visibility was not good. Quickly, I could see the way was clear and started to pull away stating it was clear on the comms. By this time, Isi had also just dabbed her foot and went to pull away but stalled the bike. The momentum and starting the turn meant gravity became the evil partner and the bike started to fall. The air turned black and blue as expletives were shouted across the comms, together with many grunts, strains and groans as Isi fought with gravity.

It seemed a long while but within a second, Isi had smashed her foot to the floor, heaved with all her might, righted the bike and continued through the junction. The expletives, that only I and any immediate passers by would have heard, gave way to gulping of air and cries of pain as we continued up the road to the post office. All this while, I felt helpless to assist, as I was desperate to find a safe place to park and run back to help albeit, my actions were too late. As Isi got off the bike at the post office, she could feel a bit of pain in her thigh and wrist and figured these would soon go but the pain from the strain her back had suffered would prove to be something else. As the adrenaline washed out and the pain set in, Isi knew, from past experience, that time and doing very little would be needed.

A quick U-turn and we were passing the Carson Hot Springs again, and diving down a small, wet, twisty, steep road on to the valley floor that ran parallel with the Columbia river and the state border. Not long after, Isi reminded me, with a big dolloping of “I told you so”, that I really should have stowed the cloths better as one flew from the beaver tail of my pannier and landed in the middle of the road. Eating a big dose of humble pie, I turned back, retrieved the cloth and ensured they were properly stowed.

We were not anticipating anything much from this road, just a quick 30 minutes to White Salmon was our expectation but, as the road snaked through rock-cuttings and over lakes and pools, the accompanying goods train gave a distinct feeling of being in the Wild West, but without the steam. A great start to the day, though Isi was feeling the effects of the near fall as her back complained with every bump and turn.

White Salmon is a very pretty town built on the sides of a hill overlooking the Columbia river, the Hood River bridge and with mountains rising behind. Our destination was Mosko Moto HQ, one of the first places added to our simple and brief planning. For those that don’t know, Mosko Moto produce the soft luggage we are using on both bikes. The panniers are tough, well designed and whilst other pieces of kit are starting to show the heavy use, the Mosko Moto luggage is as tough today as it was when we installed it during lockdown.

After cajoling Isi to navigate the steep side roads and the un-even drop kerbs to park the bikes in their car-park, we walked into the showroom to be greeted by an array of used and abused bikes with various bits of Mosko Moto kit adorned over them, shouting of the miles and smiles their product testing has encountered. The team were excellent and Isi had a chance to personally thank Jenn, who had arranged for the replacement aux-pocket that had been damaged in the bike drop in the Yukon.

As it was nearing lunchtime, we were invited to join the team for lunch upstairs. This is were all the design and development takes place for the new products. The space is open-plan, with many soft break-out areas, standing desks and new and old products in various states of production or hard-use. The vibe was bright, inviting, friendly and obviously a great place to work.

It just so happened that their Italian rep was visiting White Salmon for a while for meetings - I could imagine the meeting venue being a mid-ride break in the middle of nowhere with rattle snakes and coyotes being the only other company for miles around. Paolo also happens to be a chef and he rustled up an amazing pasta dish and a place for us at the huge table at the centre of the kitchen.

Mosko Moto have a campsite just outside White Salmon that is free for customers to use. It is fully equipped and always results in campfire tales in to the wee hours. This was our intention but Isi was going downhill rapidly. Her back was causing significant pain and we politely declined the hospitality and headed for the bikes. Given the steep side roads, I rode Isi’s bike down to the main road and pointed it in the right direction, before going back for mine.

If anyone from Mosko Moto should ever read this, please accept our profound apologies if we appeared a little distracted and even possibly rude. Under normal circumstances, we would have loved to accept more of your hospitality and do hope our paths can cross again.

After another 20 minutes, we finally dropped South, over the river and in to Oregon, climbing on to a high desert plateau between the Cottonwood Canyon and Mount Hood, another classic example of a snow-capped volcano reaching high above the green, forested slopes. Within a relatively short distance, we had passed from a lush, green valley surrounded by mountains, to a wide open plateau of browns, oranges and rusty reds dotted with muted greens of the desert plants and farmers toiled soil. Agriculture is varied from round fields of green irrigated crops to vineyards and orange groves. The winds would gust and blow us across the carriageway as we slowly gained height and Isi needed to stop.

We pulled in to a small farming community, looking for a coffee but, with only one shop, we were out of luck. We eventually pulled in to the Dufur park where Isi could get off the bike, stretch and hobble to the picnic benches, where she promptly fell asleep. With nothing much to do but wait, I was able to get online and work out where we could stay.

Once Isi was awake, I presented a few options. The intention was to camp but Isi was in no fit state to clamber around on the floor. Hindsight said that Isi would have done better to have let the bike drop as the pain caused by saving it was rather acute. The preferred option was another bed for the night and the nearest, cheap motel was 1.5hrs further down the road. Madras became our new destination.

The road continued along the desert plateau, with the occasional drop into a gully and back out. The tight bends to gain or lose elevation were a pleasant change from the straighter roads on the top.

Finally, Juniper Motel came in to view. The one-bed room was small and tired, but very clean and as well presented as it could be. The receptionist asked if we wanted a coffee machine (we use them to make tea) and when I looked a little surprised there wasn’t one already in the room, she explained that people have a habit of stealing them. We couldn’t comprehend why people would do this but understood that the receptionist would evaluate customers before offering.

Our meal for the night was bought from the supermarket, just across the road. It has become a standing joke between us that Isi has to make sure we have equal measures as, apparently, I don’t share well. Whilst I complain every time, it is fair to say that I do have a habit of wolfing faster so, if left to ‘share’, I would invariably end up with more. Despite my protestations, apparently, this is not fair…

The following morning Isi’s back was really bad. She was in so much pain it brought her mood to tears as she asked why we couldn’t just be allowed to do this trip without incident or injury. Why couldn’t we just enjoy ourselves? Having had discs removed previously, Isi knew it would just take time and care for it to recover, so I enquired about staying a second night. Nope - not an option as the motel was fully booked due to the solar eclipse that weekend.

We had no choice but to move on.

Having pointed Isi’s bike in the right direction and providing instructions on when the road was clear, so Isi could minimise twisting movements, we rode 50 minutes down the road to another hotel, with Jacuzzi and pool, for the next 2 nights. The snow-topped mountain views to our right were concerning as I was worried about beating the snow South, but, Isi was right in telling me that the mountains were snowcapped all year round, so no cause for immediate concern.

The Super 8 is a budget chain of hotels operated under a franchise like most other chains. We arrived before midday but I still asked if we could check-in or if there was somewhere comfortable we could sit until the room was ready. To our delight, the receptionist found us a room that was ready and soon after, we were relaxing in the pool and generally chilling out. OK, so it was Isi that was hurt but where’s the harm in me having some chill time too?

That evening, we went in search of a meal and a map. The 76 gas station attendant struggled with the concept of a map, even doubting that paper maps were a ‘thing’. After assuring her they were a ‘thing’ and leaving empty handed, the walk across the road included a stoop to pick up a $1 bill that still resides in my phone wallet, not to be spent. The meal was just a chain restaurant, with a front-of-house man that showed us to the tables but failed to engage and was generally rude and dismissive. Thankfully, the rest of the staff were great and any one of them would have been better suited for thecustomers first impressions - they really do count... We decided to treat ourselves to a beer and as I finished mine, the waiter misunderstood our request for one more beer and provided two. We queried this and he agreed we had only asked for one and turned to walk away. I asked if he was going to take the other beer away but he said to keep it - better than throwing it down the drain. The bill did not charge for either of the beers…

The next day was warm and overcast with high, broken cloud. It was the day of the eclipse. Whilst we were not in the area of total eclipse, we were in a zone of 95%+ so we hoped to see something but, of course, how? As the time neared, I remembered my primary school science lessons about pinholes and the refraction of light, so I grabbed two styrofoam breakfast plates and, using the pin I keep in my phone case for SIM removal, made a small hole in one to cast the shadow on to the other. It worked! In amongst the clouds, the sun would occasionally peek and the progress of the moon was monitored. Result!

A use for styrofoam and primary school science.

With Isi semi-restored to good health, we had to crack on and find a campsite. I have been getting concerned about the amount we are spending on hotel accommodation and whilst Isi was a little more relaxed, we knew we had to move on.

Having spent an hour in the saddle, we needed a break. We saw a sign for Lava Lands and decided they would at least have a toilet and whilst the visitor centre was closed, the amenities were open and people were out and about in the pine forest and the various walks around the area. We walked through the woods to the nearest piece of the lava flow and, for the first time, touched the black, sharp and jagged lava rocks that were piled 10 feet high in front of us. If we had been so inclined, we could have joined a trail across the lava and to the top of the 200 foot cinder cone to view the mile wide expanse of 7000 year old lava, and the abrupt join with the surrounding Ponderosa Pines. In the 1960’s NASA used the lava fields as their training camp for the moon landing, thinking that the moon surface would be the same. After all, no one really knew what they were to expect.

Moving on and a few hours later, we turned off the main highway and joined a perpendicular road that was a straight as the eye could see for 15 miles, climbing 4000ft in the process, a few corners later and we were looking for a pitch around Diamond Lake.

Diamond Lake campground is along the East side of a large lake that overlooks the snowcapped Mount Bailey. It is a multi-level site as the land rises from the lake. Boat ramp and showers about 1/2 mile from our pitch. The campsite was virtually deserted, so we had a choice of pitches and chose one on the lake edge - a premium site with a $5 surcharge just for its location. Given the end of season, the fees were half-price or less, with our site being $10 per night.

Another reason for choosing the pitch was that the previous nights residents had left some wood, to at least get us started. Thankfully we got there early enough to lay claim to the wood, as the camp-host was going around the pitches and collecting it, so he could sell it again. However, we were not in the mood for buying any and, with the aid of the folding saw we had packed, I was able to collect and stack enough dead wood for our entire stay - morning and evening. I find the act of collecting wood very therapeutic - an activity that doesn’t require much thought and allows the mind to order ‘things’…

Our intention for the stay was to make it a base and visit Crater Lake as a there-n-back day and, having looked at the weather forecast, we decided to delay the outing for a day and hide from the wet weather in the tent and tarp, that created an extended porch with angled sides to protect from the inclement weather.

Isi was still suffering from a bad back and living off the floor is especially hard as we use muscles that should be sitting on the Parker Knowle, pressing the buttons on the remote and the occasional poke in the fireplace. If only we could afford to do the trip staying in hotels every night, we would be warm, well fed, dry and not have to carry so much gear. It could be a much more enjoyable riding experience. However, what hotels can’t provide is that contact with nature that comes from the sound of rain on canvas, the quacking of the ducks exploring the porch, the chipmunks using the fallen trees as their motorways across their domain or the fish trying to make a leap from water to air, to find that water is where they must remain. The dying light of the setting sun and the warmth of the fire are worth every second it takes to make and break camp, though we do wish it could be just a little easier….

Whilst foraging between the rain clouds, a man from a pitch to our North, asked where the honesty box was and I advised it was a way down the site by the boat ramp. On his way back, we got chatting about our trip and he invited us to his RV, should we choose to. That evening, after eating and with the fire raging, we very nearly decided to give the visit a miss but…. We reminded ourselves the trip was about saying ‘yes’ and meeting people. So, head torches lit, Crocs on, we ventured off in to the cold in search of the promised glass of wine.

As we neared Bob & Liz’s RV, we could see it was one of the big-rigs, about the size of a UK coach and, having knocked on the door, we climbed the steps, took off our Crocs and sunk our toes in to deep, white pile carpet and were invited to sit on the white leather sofa. The evening was spent laughing and drinking and our time came to leave too soon. The walk home to our cold and dark tent, to sleep on the floor and hunker down in our sleeping bags, felt a lifetime away from what we had left. Bob, Liz, we thank you for your hospitality and taking us in on such an inclement evening.

The following morning, we worked out what we could leave in the tent and packed light for the ride to and around Crater Lake. As with every National Park, we were greeted by a Ranger, to whom we showed our permit and were permitted to proceed with a cheery smile and a leaflet of the area. We have been really impressed with how well turned out the Rangers are. Their uniforms are clean, well pressed and stylish. There is an obvious pride in wearing the uniform that shows they are a part of a much larger, dedicated team.

The climb from 5500ft to nearly 8000ft, through old lava fields and stunted clumps of pine trees found us at the first car park just below the rim of the crater. A short climb took us to the rim and we stood in awe as we looked across the crater rim, forming an almost perfect circle, and then down in to the vivid blue and green of the lake from which this volcano had gained its name. In places, it looked like we were looking in to some fairy kingdom with spires of volcanic rock reaching from the beaches and trees tucking their roots in to the accumulated dust that had become thick enough to sustain life.

The circular route took us higher and lower, sharply into valleys and back out as the road clung to the outside of the cone, occasionally reaching the rim and the car-parks, to allow us to enjoy the views. At each car-park, people would notice our number plates and so the conversations would start about our trip. In our own way, we were becoming celebrities of the moment, with young and old admiring with more than a hint of envy, what we had set out to achieve. It may seem disingenuous but we started to look for stops where we would be alone and have the time to enjoy the vistas for ourselves.

And so it was; we spent the day enjoying Crater Lake knowing our decision to wait one day was the right thing to do.

The morning we were leaving was like every other as we were not in any hurry to leave, though very different because of our location. Having stayed put for 3 days, we were starting to see routine in the wildlife and people around the lake. The floating flock of birds would move around the lake depending on wind and time of day; a boat could be heard chugging through the waves of the far bank North to South to North, in the morning and then again in the afternoon at about the same time every day. We could hear children’s voices across the lake and I wondered if they were using a river-bus to get to and from school every day. Even in this beautiful place, routine and normal life carries on.

Fully loaded and with a vague destination in mind, we once again headed to Crater Lake but veered off halfway around, to continue our southward journey.

California Baby!

Until we meet again.