Day 9: Mitchell to John Day (Oregon)

Mitchell, Oregon is a hoot of a town, even though it boasts of a population of merely 170, not counting the town bear, Henry. I arrived well past dark in Mitchell and set up my tent in the city park, conveniently located in the center of town. Mitchell has a policy that you can camp in the park for up to three days, which I think is a generous offer, especially given the historic hotel sitting smack dab across the street. I suppose the hotel doesn’t take offense though, because given the thrifty nature of us park dwellers it is unlikely they lose much business to my kind of traveler.

After one of my better nights of sleep, I awoke late to a hot sun that was slow cooking the interior of my tent and its sole occupant. The interior atmosphere could only be described as that of a terrarium. What was I to expect – ‘hotter than a firecracker’ is an overused phrase, but given that it’s the 4th of July, I’m going to use it anyway.

[Above: Wake-up; Mitchell from my terrarium – nice slide.]

I made my way half a block into town and found the general mercantile, which was run and owned by a banjo strumming clerk. He was pretty darned good too, picking enthusiastically despite my annoying questions. We sat and had a good chat about life in Mitchell, which he clearly enjoys. I was impressed with the sheer variety of goods for sale in his store, radiator caps, cold rolled steel, chicken pot pies, bonnets, ice cream, toilet flappers, etc. I don’t think there was much he didn’t have, which made perfect sense since it was the only store for miles around.


[Above: Outside the Mitchell Merchantile.]


[Above: Inside the store; variety is the spice in this small town mercantile.]

Next, I struck up a conversation with Joann, who was hanging her wares in the front window of the mercantile. She is a lovely lady who has been making and selling bonnets for many years locally. After a quick chat, she determined that I was a prime candidate for a bonnet since the temperature will make it a virtual godsend on today’s ride. I was truly tempted too, as it fit like a glove - but, wisely passed on it, because the added weight was something I was not prepared to schlep.


[Above: Hmmm ... I have to admit that it does add to my appeal.]

After a custom fitting, but lost sale, Joann gives me a big hug and tells me I had made her day. I think it was the other way around - what a doll, I wish her my very best.

I met up with the only other people in the park last night and we decided to share a breakfast together at the local eatery. Pictured with me are Steve and Sherry Kae, long distance cyclists from Albuquerque, NM who are enjoying the summer by touring the northwest. We exchanged contact information and they invited me to stay with them anytime when I’m in Albuquerque. Good folks. Ride safely Steve and Sherry Kae and I return your generous offer to host you at my home in La Quinta as well.


[Above: Steve, Sherry Kae, and myself – enjoying breakfast and bike talk.]

Before leaving town I stopped and paid a visit to the local celebrity, Henry. He is an American Black Bear who has been a fixture in town for quite some time. Luckily, the bear’s keeper was feeding the nearly 800 pound beast so I had had a chance to pepper him with a few questions.


[Above: Henry and keeper, both bears - no doubt.]

Me to bear Keeper: How tall is Henry?

Answer: 7’6” - the keeper motions to me that they nearly see eye to eye.

Have you ever been swiped by the Bear?

Answer: Yup, one time only and I got plenty of scars to prove it.

Is the bear playful?

Answer: Yes, very, he likes to wrestle, and is a formidable opponent to say the least.

While I think this bear might make for a good gimmick for a struggling town of 170, I’m of the opinion that like many wild animals held in captivity, this bear is a ticking time bomb. Especially given the incident memorialized by the scarring on the keeper, one bad day for the bear could be the end for the guy who has clearly relaxed his guard. In any case, I don’t like to see such a magnificent critter confined to a cage, a curiosity at best.

Stuffing oneself with a ridiculously large quantity of pancakes at the base of a steep pass on a blistering hot day is a sure recipe for discomfort, and today I filled that order expertly. In fact, I crawled up Keys Creek Pass in record slow time cussing myself for poor planning and lackadaisical behavior. I vowed to change my ways, “Never again,” I shouted angrily into the canyon below.

Forging onward, I planned to make Prairie City by nightfall, since the Banjo clerk had told me they’ve got the biggest 4th of July celebration in the county. I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else, really. However, with 90 plus miles to go and a late start on the day, it would be down to the wire even in the best of conditions.

[Above: My legs resemble this remark.]

I arrived in Dayville mid-afternoon and wrecked. The pass and the heat had sucked the life right out of me. Figuring a couple hours rest at the market would perk me up, I downed countless Gatorades, a turkey sandwich, two cans of beans, two ice cream bars, and some licorice. Plainly, the 4th of July spirit had gripped me, and overindulgence was the theme for the day. Sitting there feeling a bit low, a kind lady cheered me up with an offer to join them for a picnic at the park. She said they were playing horseshoes and grilling burgers, and figured I could use some company. It was tempting I tell you; but luckily I’m a dedicated professional and was bound and determined to reach the Prairie City festivities, so I had to pass on her gracious offer.


[Above: In Dayville with a new friend.]

So, partially recovered from a difficult morning ride, I wheeled out of town and faced a stiff headwind – a real bummer given my ambitious goal of reaching Prairie City by dusk. This hot, stiff wind slowed my progress dramatically; I might as well have been climbing a steep pass, as 5 mph was about all I could do.


[Above: Patriotic, yes, but why can’t the flag be blowing the other way?]


[Above: Elated at the sprinkler gone awry, I wet myself.]

I fell 16 miles short of my destination that night, and set up my tent in a pathetically run down area near the fairgrounds, where the No Camping signs abounded. It was pitch black - honestly, how was I to know? This was not my idea of a 4th of July celebration, and I didn’t even see a sparkler.


[Above: Definitely NOT camping on this road.]



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