June 10: Biggs to Roosevelt

An eventful day.

The only highway east from Biggs on the Oregon side is I-84, so our route Monday took us across the Columbia River into Washington. After a steep climb to the highway paralleling the river, we rode through rolling hills and empty, dry countryside. On the ridges above us were hundreds of giant windmill generators, and after a while wind farms appeared across the river in Oregon as well.

Along the way, we met a fellow cyclist by the name of Wag, who was on his way home to Idaho after riding to the Oregon coast. His MO is unusual: he rides until he gets tired, and then tries to hitch-hike with his bike. Although he is an older guy (almost as old as me) with a grey beard, he says he gets rides. We rode for a while with Wag. He is stronger on climbs, but on descents our tandem left him far behind.

After just 37 miles we reached the only likely stopping point on the Washington side of the river, the town of Roosevelt.  Its claim to fame is that just over the hill is one of the world's largest landfills, where all of Seattle's garbage and trash goes. The little town itself is mostly dusty and junky, but there are also about a dozen large, modern houses. No motels, but the Corps of Engineers has a park on the river where we could camp. Up by the highway there was also a country store with a cafe, run by a very friendly older couple. After lunch Wag went off to try to thumb a ride, and we rode down to the park and set up our tent. Wag never showed up, so he must have been successful. The park is a popular spot with windsurfers and kite boarders, and we spent the afternoon chatting with some of them while they waited for the wind to pick up. About 5 p.m. it finally blew about 15 kts and we watched them sail out on the river.

We also met an amazing young couple, Yuri and Ika, who were traveling by bike and carrying more stuff than you could possibly imagine. I'll attach a pic of it all.They've been on the road a month and have come only 120 miles. One of their trailers had broken, so Yuri, who comes from Irkutsk in the far east of Siberia, was trying to fashion a jury rig to carry more stuff on the back of his bike.

We had been warned that the park turns on its sprinklers at night but that the camp host had deflectors we could place near the sprinkler heads to avoid getting our campsite soaked. The camp host was away, but later, when I saw him arrive back at his trailer, I walked over to ask him about it. As I approached, his dog came out from under his trailer on a dead run for me. I expected him to stop, as aggressive dogs usually do, but no such luck. He jumped up and bit my leg, knocking me down. As I scrambled up and back, he came at me a second time and bit my other thigh. Turns out, the dog is trained to ignore any contrary voice commands from his master and attack anyone who comes within the perimeter of his run, a rope about 40' long. Just the thing for a campground host, eh? The host said he used to have a warning sign, but someone took it.

Sandy and later Yuri, who is a former EMT, helped clean up my wounds, mainly the one on my left thigh. When we went up to the cafe for dinner, everyone there seemed to know about the guy and his dog, and they said they'd report it to the sheriff.  As for me, I told the guy that if he put up a sign and if my leg doesn't get infected, I won't pursue it. He did put up a sign. Of course, if anyone asked my suggestion, I'd have the dog shot. Maybe the owner, too.