South wind

Back on highway 395 heading south: after just 15 miles, I am riding in California! Not much difference as I carry on along the Goose lake that also dries out.



Yet it feels like getting real close to the destination of my long trip. After stopping in Davis Creek for a hot dog, I got back on my bike. I thought the wind was supposed to come from the west. A little south wind seems to tell me: "you aren't done yet riding to San Francisco..."

Sunrise on the desert

The desert is quite chilly when you get going a little before 6:00 am. The sun just showed up above the horizon.



Silence is everywhere; real silence. I spot a coyote crossing the road a hundred yards / meters ahead of me.

There I am ready for an 85 mile / 137 km ride on Hwy 395 until Lakeview. I want o be there early enough in the afternoon to avoid the wind that picks up then; and still take the time to enjoy the unusual scenery:



On the left inside of the road, some cowboys have settled: few houses and facilities to handle their cattle at the end of a dirt road. The place is called Juniper.



Lake Abert is like an inland sea in the middle of this desert. Its northern part is drying in the sun whereas hundred of seagulls gather along the shore and cry. With the typical smell of drying mud, it feels like riding along the sea.

Wagontire café

Highway 395 is lonely and streches between Riley and Lakeview where I am heading. It's a long long ride in a deserted area; no town to cross, no house in the distance, nothing over 113 mi / 181 km. Not even birds singing; the wind or coyotees howling is the most you may hear.



28 mi / 46 km south from Riley, I hit Wagontire: a place with just a café, few rooms and even an air strip. Cherry has recently taken over the place and is running it. I decided that this would make a good place to stop for the night in the middle of the desert.

She offered that I use one of the empty rooms instead of my tent; which is especially nice as the weather seemed to be stormy and windy tonight. From time to time, I hear a car darting along the highway; and then nothing. Time slowes down.



It feels great spending this evening in the middle of the desert, like on a boat in the middle of the ocean and away from everything.



"A desert road from vegas to nowhere,
some place better than where you've been..."

More info:
* Wagontire Café

Word of mouth

Yesterday I stopped in the lonely gas station of Harper along hwy 20/26. As I talk with an old lady, Brian the owner of the gas station confirmed me that three girls on bicycles passed by few days ago. After Pennsylvania and Fairfield ID, we still seem to be on the same tracks.



Today after riding two passes, I 'find them' again in Buchanan. There's a little museum and gallery of art craft, right at the bottom of a downhill. As it is the only place to stop on the 58 mi / 93 km between Juntura and Burns to get a refill, I guess all bikers still brake (grrr...).

The museum looks more like an Antique shop but it's full of fun old staff. Here is my favorite, "a buffalo skull found in Malheur lake when it went dry in 1932" says the sticker.



The lady also has a guest book for people to sign and as I browse through the previous pages, I find 'Liza, Melissa and Freda: biking coast to coast'. So I investigate it and find out from another lady, a regular customer of the gas station, that she had talked to them and still had somewhere the link to their web site.

So they truly exist and that was not just a plot to get me to ride faster.

Btw info:
* By the way, I just made it to the Pacific time zone as well, that is 9 hours difference with Paris, France

'Malheur'?

This eastern county is named 'Malheur', which inspires also the name of the river which valley I followed today. I guess the name was given by some French pionneers and its meaning was just forgotten to the point that in Vale, the drugstore is also named after it:



On the other end, note that even the less French speakers I have come across remember the meaning of Teton National Park.

Nevertheless for our happiness, the Malheur river has digged a canyon thru the red hills that spread between Vale and Juntura and the road winds along the river to discover cliffs and steep slopes of rocks surrounding a green valley with seldom ranches.



I wonder sometime if Indians warriors are not hiding right on the top of theses hills overlooking the road.

More info:
* Extracted from Malheur county website: "The name Malheur is French for 'bad hour'. Legend has it some French trappers and traders were in the area searching for furs. Their trip was unsuccessful and they were attacked by Indians, a portion of the party was killed and others wounded. Because of the misfortunes of their trip, the French named the river Malheur, or loosely translated, 'unhappy river'."

How cute!

Riding bicycle allows to surprise quite some wild life along the road, with yet the paradox that deers don't flee with cars; but do as I pass by with my bicycle.

However, as I spend quite some time also watching the shoulder of the road on which I ride, I also see animals that fast cars would miss; snakes for instance, three so far.

Here is my morning surprise riding up the Vines Hill pass:



Since a morning in Ohio when I pulled a little too hard on the mosquito net of my tent, there had been a hole big enough to let my little finger thru. I fixed it tonight.

'Born and raised on the Oregon trail'

The Oregon trail splits in multiple trails. One of the them is the so called "Goodale's cutoff" that I have been following these past days.



And there I am tonight in Oregon, at Vale, where the Oregon trail is almost a way of life.



Yet the destination of these emigrants was rather the north west of Oregon, in the area of Portland; which meant that they were not yet done. Nor I am. Here is the progress on the map:

View Larger Map

For this weekly review, the bike and the biker seem to be doing well.