LA VIE EST BELLE.

The wind was wild and waking. Powerfully gusts continually pounded my tent all throughout the night. I managed to get a few hours of sleep. The one plus about this brutal breeze was many of my soaked items were now dry. Nature works in mysterious ways. After packing up my gear, I made my way to Highway 84. It took about fifteen minutes of waiting before I found the opportunity to run across. Now I had to lug my bike back up this troublesome trail that led to Highway 30. Descending this problematic path was no simple task, but ascending was awful. It was a hell of a workout, at the least. 

I took Highway 30 and did some decent climbing. What goes up must go down. I was rewarded with a legendary downhill. After about ten miles, I arrived on the outskirts of The Dalles. Instead of taking Highway 30 into town, I opted for their riverside bike trail. This wonderful way added two miles to today's trek, but it was worth it. As I approached this unknown town, I could not help but notice this beautifully big building. It was the tallest in town and had tremendous artwork upon it. I was drawn to this building, my destination was subconsciously set. My instinct told me that this was a classy place, so I put on my jeans and flannel. 

Upon entering, I thought it was a fantasy. The interior was covered in fancy furnishings, elegant light fixtures, outdated gadgets, and medieval machinery. With no one in sight, I wandered this wondrous winery. Finally, my host emerged, and I no longer had this magical place all to myself. She taught me the history of this old wheat mill turned winery. To break my fast for the day, I ordered a wine taster flight and a charcuterie board. Everything was exquisite, particularly the blueberry goat cheese. After properly indulging myself, I made my way to the coffee place across the street. Without fail, I ordered a double shot espresso. It did not beat crepes, but it got the job done. A little market was just next door, and I gathered my dinner supplies. Fueled and stocked up, I returned to the road. 

I traveled on fifteen-mile road for about ten miles. The scenery was shocking. It felt like I was back down in Texas. Who would have thought that Oregon had deserts? Anyways, I turned off onto a gravel road and started to climb. At first, I was cursing this route choice, but the payoff was glorious. Suddenly, I found myself atop the mountain. This gravel road sat high above Highway 84 and The Columbia River. Off in the distance, windmills occupied the skyline. I thought that Iowa had a lot of windmills, what a misconception. Just in this sight alone, I easily saw quadruple the amount in comparison to the motherland. What an unbelievable spectacle it was. After about seven miles of gorgeous graveling, I began my descent.

The Deschutes River was now viewable, along with the campground. Upon arrival, I plunged myself into the river and bathed my broken body. After setting up the campsite, I met my new neighbors. A lovely couple from Salem, Oregon welcomed me into their company. Hannah, Reilly, and I dined together and found many common interests and passions. It was a fine evening, and a new friendship was forged. Sleep summoned me to my shelter. Dreamland welcomed me with open arms. Take a peek at the route for today, here.