Category: Central Oregon

Up the Pass

I don’t even think I can’t do it as I prepare my gear. Test temperature. Decide to pack another layer. Pump up tires. Pack bars and quick energy gummies. I can no longer carry a pack up a mountain by foot, but I can climb with just my body weight and light gear on my bike. So I do – the feeling of euphoria and exhaustion at the top worth the effort.

This pass has become an annual tradition. A ride right from town, pedaling 15 miles and 2,000 feet up to the summit. It’s not straight up, or my back couldn’t handle it – standing on pedals, grinding. It’s fast spinning 6 miles to the gate, where our two wheels are separated from four as we start the windy climb to the summit. Just bike traffic – nods and waves from those heading down and cordial greetings and encouragement to those we’re passing on the road up.

Trees still scarred from a Central Oregon burn a few years ago. Ground-level vegetation starting to appear, sprouting from the seeds buried in ash.

Temperature dropping as we ascend. Cloud front previously kept at bay now moving in, obscuring mountaintops in the distance and the pass we’re nearly hitting as we round one of the last windy turns.

Wind turns icy. Jackets and winter gloves come on during ever-so-brief photo stop at the summit for the fast ride down the mountain, frozen feet and hands slowly thawing as we’re pedaling back to warmth, sun on the fast flat.

Summer Cycling in the Northwest

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The summer goes by so quickly, like the miles turning on my bike’s CatEye.

I should have recorded all the rotations, reflecting energy expended up McKenzie Pass in Central Oregon, rolling past the open farm and ranch country in the latter and Southeast Washington’s wine country. Up to Women’s Forum for a view of the Columbia Gorge with my Sorella Forte teammates.

Past alpacas, sheep, cows, horses. Sprinting to catch an orchard’s sprinkler – the cooling mist briefly refreshing a sweat-filled forehead. Up one hill, we hear brush stirring, a family of deer rush across the county road in front of us – the baby trailing just as we crank to the top.

Perfectly sunny days, the white glacier mountains of the Cascade chain standing tall in the distance. We are so lucky to be healthy and able to churn the pedals that get us out off the main roads, peeking into places we’d never see by car, never veer off the main roads to travel.

This multi-geared machine I ride has been a big part of my life for the last 20+ years post back injury and recovery – a way to rebuild physically and mentally post partial disability, a way to meet new friends and extend the circle via common interest of the two wheels that we plan trips around, connect with post-ride meals and wine tasting during annual rides.

A whole world centered around quad and glute-propelled spinning tires, connected to a sturdy titanium frame that supports all my miles of discovery.

Suttle Lake Hike & Ice Flow

It’s foggy in Sisters, but again no snow on this visit so we’re on the way to another hiking trail. This one, further up the pass than yesterday’s Metolius River hike, is a quick 3-plus mile jaunt around Suttle Lake, just five miles below Santiam Pass and 13 miles west of Sisters. 

It’s a beautiful gem of a place in the Deschutes National Forest that we’ve stayed and hiked before during other snow-less or low-snow trips. Today, we again feel lucky to live near Oregon’s Cascade Mountain range as we break through the fog to blue sky and pull into the lodge parking lot and head quickly to the black cinder beach.

The lake appears frozen in places, but clear under a thin layer of ice as we begin our hike on the sunny side trail. A snow-capped jagged mountain peeks out in the distance as we make our way on a well-worn trail through the pines – Ponderosa, Lodgepole, and more.

Soon, the sound of shattering glass cuts through the silence. The highway is above us on this northern side of the lake so my senses are alert.

But it’s not coming from above.

We come upon ice clusters on the shore and look just offshore to see a downed tree, branches pulling back, then popping forward. At first, we think it’s an ice-trapped fish running like when you just hook it on your line. Or maybe the work of a beaver, or two, harvesting the limbs for a dam that appears to be nearby. See what we saw below.

Then we realize it’s the lake’s current sliding ice sheets under the tree, the limbs reacting to the force as if it’s alive. We’re in awe of this simple act of nature – in all of our hiking and outdoors years we’ve never seen this before, and our timing to catch this is perfect as the sun heats up the ice and other hikers begin joining us on the trail.

We decide to double back once reaching the western side of the lake to stay in the sun and the ice marvel is over – the lake water free of its ice shield like it never happened.

Central Oregon’s Metolius River Beauty

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It’s January but it feels like spring as we reach the trailhead for Central Oregon’s Metolius River. We venture to Sisters each MLK holiday weekend usually for the dry snow and endless snowshoeing trails with our dog. On this day we have complete sun and fairly dry conditions, so we travel up highway 20, head east past Camp Sherman until we hit the fish hatchery.

As soon as we open the car doors, the sound of water roaring fills our ears and we take in the view. Tall pine trees and glacial blue water. We came here because a recent trip to New Zealand made us doubly appreciate our own state – we are so lucky to have a crystal-clear river and riverside hiking within several hours of Portland – and this is just one of thousands of beautiful rivers in Central Oregon.

We head upriver, dew droplets still in tree branches, sun filtering through huge pines. In some places the river hits series of rocks, crashing over and forcing upwells on the other side. Downed trees and mini island debris create obstacles and water parts ways, then coming back together.

In sections the roar subsides and the water is coasting – slowing until the next rapids force it to pick up speed, choosing a direction at a junction of logs downstream.  A recent windstorm tore bunches of fresh pine needles to the ground, fresh bright green moss from tree trunks. Drying needles from previous storms crunch softly under our feet.

Fly fishermen and women are up ahead, casting over a deep, ultra-clear turquoise pool where the water seems to just float by. The sun hits this spot perfectly and it’s like a scene from a River Runs Through it.

Appreciating the moment and feeling lucky for this day and this place, we continue on.