LA GORGE EST GRANDE!
First, I rode through downtown, it felt like a dystopian world. Buildings were boarded up, homeless encampments were dispersed throughout, and graffiti garnished the whole scene. Shortly after, I arrived in the most lovely of neighborhoods. The community was called Greenways, and words cannot describe how much I enjoyed biking by. Now I was approaching the outskirts. East Burnside St turned into Stark St, and I was in Gresham. Peace out Portland. A large espresso sign caught my eye, and I pulled over for some liquid energy. I must admit, this was the best of the trip. It was smooth and flavorful but lacking in crema. The search continues, but I would drink that again. While enjoying my espresso, a couple conversed with me. They asked about my route and informed me of a vital bridge closure ahead. Promptly they provided me with an alternative path. We even exchanged contacts, and they offered to drive me if I had any issues. This is yet another example of kindness from complete strangers.
My detour took me through the tremendous town of Troutdale. After crossing the bridge, I finally reached the Historic Columbia River Highway. There was very little shoulder, but cars were careful and courteous. For several miles, I encountered numerous fabulous farms. One farm was selling its goods roadside, and I could not help but stop. I purchased a honey crisp apple and a zucchini. Right away, I started munching on the apple, and its flavors were full-on. After a little boost, my ride continued. Moments later, I encountered the gorge for the first time. It was breathtaking. Seeing this spectacular sight sent my soul skyward.
Suddenly, I encounter a road blockage on this historic highway. I told the ranger guarding the entrance that I had reservations at Ainsworth State Park. After I presented him with the proper paperwork, he allowed me to pass. He also assured me that this camping reservation should grant me safe passage along this closed-down highway. Once through the blockage, the downhill commenced. It was no ordinary decline. The slopage was endless. I was zooming downward for a solid two miles. During this downfall, I was surrounded by a full-on forest and the gorgeous gorge. The scenery was uninterrupted beauty. Somehow I had this whole historic highway to myself. No cars, no tourists, nobody at all. It felt surreal, it was truly a dream. A wide whitened grin was on my face the whole time.
Several miles later, my dream ended. I awoke to a park ranger, pulling up to me. He informed me that this highway is closed down to all travelers. With kindness, I explained to him my situation and how one of his own allowed my passage. Angered at his coworker's mistake, he said that I had to vacate the route at once. The ranger recommended that I backtrack three miles to get onto Highway 30. As we parted ways, he notified me that they had cameras, and he would be back if I continued forward. There was no fucking way that I was going to backtrack three miles. I see highway 30 below, but the path down is undoubtedly dangerous. There was a steep unstable decline, deadly overgrown vegetation, and some train tracks between us. After some surveying, I found the safest route down.
Thank god that I strapped on my jeans because the vegetation was one hundred percent thorns. I got a few scratches, but it could have ended up much worse. Well, congratulations! I made it down to Highway 30, a two-lane high-traffic speedway. The shoulder was quite large, I basically had a whole lane to myself. I cranked my gears to the fastest speed and started zooming with the traffic. Speedily I sprinted, for I knew my destination was close. The passing semi-trucks gave me substantial speed surges. Two miles later, I found my turnoff for the park. What a day it was. Definitely a damn good start to my second first day. It felt right being on the road again. Here is the link to my route