aprilstarchild | So I went on a trip last week

Wednesday morning we left, we rode to the Springwater Corridor and took it all the way to Boring, even after it's unpaved. On the way from Boring to Estacada, Shawn got a flat tire...he ran over a nail! He was able to fix the flat just fine, but there was a tear in the sidewall that was worrisome.

We stopped in Estacada to buy stuff, then rode on. There's a great alternative to that first hill on 224, riding on an old road (Faraday Rd.) that's closed to car traffic for several miles! We'd had a late start (as always) and stopped at Milo McIver, where there was a mechanic from CityBikes, and a lady friend, in the hiker/biker area. Shawn showed him the crack in his sidewall, and was pretty much told not to ride it on if he could help it. Damn!

Thursday: We rode back to Estacada, where we checked every place we could think of to see if they'd have a 700cc tire. Nope. Lots of 26 inch tires, several 27 inch (I have 27 inch wheels, but they're pretty uncommon these days, especially compared to 700cc!), but nothing that would fit Shawn's bike. So we took the bus and our bikes and all our crap from Estacada to the REI at Clackamas Town Center, which is a pretty ugly mall, and Shawn got a spare tire in case the first one had a blowout. And then we rode back to Estacada, got some more food, got back on our bikes, and rode as far as Lazy Bend campground before deciding to stop for the night. It was a great campsite, with the river so close. I managed to start a campfire with driftwood and some firewood left over at an empty site.

Friday: Lots of riding that day, I forget the exact mileage. Most of it was wonderful and beautiful, going along the Clackamas River on a steady easy incline. There were a few harder hills though, one of which was just awful. Stopped at the Ripplebrook Ranger Station for lunch before going on, surely and steadily uphill. I started getting cranky about how every time we turned a corner, there was another uphill stretch. I got a bit whiny about it, I have to admit.

And then I saw it! The sign for Bagby Hot Springs. Yesss. Oh, but we're not done yet--it's a mile and a half from the parking lot to the springs, and then another quarter mile to the campground. Which would have been fine, had we been walking. With the bikes, it was another matter. Most of the hike in was fine, it was a fairly easy hiking trail with a beautiful view. But when it was uphill, or there were huge roots in the path? We got off the bikes and started walking them, but my bike doesn't have front panniers, just rear, so the bike kept trying to rear up or slide off the path. By the time we got to the campsite, I had become a truly whiny cranky person. Poor Shawn. But then we were there! We set up the campsite a little and walked to the bathhouses.

I love the bathhouses at Bagby. They're all wood, first of all. The private tubs' sections' walls are covered in all sorts of graffiti, everything from initials carved in, to long sharpie-ed poems about marijuana. The water just runs constantly down this wooden trough, with a stick poked in at the top of each tub to stopper it up a little. You put a big wooden plug in the tub and let the stick out, and 136F water comes rushing in. The water itself has silica and sulfur in it, which makes it slightly cloudy and smelly, but not overpoweringly so. It's also too damn hot, so there's a tub of fresh cold water at the end of the row of tubs, and you're given a big plastic bucket to carry it back. People generally skinny-dip, from what I can see, whether they're in a public tub or a private one.

We took a nice long hot bath and drank lots of water, then went back to our campsite to eat. I started another fire with wood etc. I could find. I make it sound like I'm awesome, but both times, I also used paper soaked in Shawn's "natural" bug repellent stuff, and about a dozen matches.

We took another long bath the next morning after breakfast. On the way back to the campsite, we saw a bike punk guy Shawn knows (of course Shawn knows him) named Rabbit. He mentioned his penny-farthing in conversation, and then I remembered seeing him, hah! Anyway, he took a picture of me and Shawn and set up in our campsite as we took everything down.

Oh man, I want to go back soon. That place is awesome.

AND I'm glad we left Saturday, because boy howdy was everyone and their mother coming in as we left. Holiday weekend and all. We rode back to Estacada in somewhat of a panic--the last bus until Tuesday left at 7pm, and we got a late start. Even though it was mostly downhill, we had a serious headwind. I pedaled my ass off. Speaking of my ass, after three days of riding, oh god was it sore. And my arms. And one of my knees. It was on the way back into town that we had our few bad interactions with motorists, including one that honked at me. I wasn't in the shoulder because it was full of gravel and broken glass, so she honked. I was so startled (going downhill at a good speed, mind you) that I wobbled my handlebars.

Dear motorists: DO NOT HONK AT ME, unless you WANT me to fall off my bike and get hurt. THANK YOU. Also, stop yelling shit at me. I can't make out what you're saying--at all.

We saw a few other cycle tourists, including a couple people who had taken Shawn's workshop on the subject, one of whom was a lady without a granny gear like myself.

By the time we got to Estacada, we were starving. Tacotime has never tasted so damn good.

There are some photos. They are here, and all of them are work-safe.