The Cheerleader in My Head: Cycling Toward the STP

I’m aboard Amtrak Cascades No. 504 today, watching Oregon flicker outside my window like an old movie. Trees, fence posts, and stop signs near the tracks quickly click past one by one. The real picture, the farms and fields in the background, remain in sharp focus.

Bob Cortright and I are rolling toward Seattle where 6,000 cyclists will set out very early tomorrow morning on a two-day, 207-mile bike ride to Portland. Our bikes are hanging in the baggage car occupying two of 10 hooks set aside for pedaling travelers. Small backpacks are at our side.

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We’ll arrive at King Street Station this afternoon, retrieve the bikes, and walk over to the station’s Sounder light rail platform. There we’ll board another train, this one bound for the University of Washington campus and one night’s stay in a college dormitory.

Then, before sunrise tomorrow, we’ll be at the start line for the Cascade Bicycle Club’s 47^th Seattle to Portland Bicycle Classic. Our bags will be in a baggage truck for our retrieval at Centralia College 100 miles down the road.

I’m ready for this. So says the cheerleader inside my head that guards against discouraging thoughts. Forget the setbacks, forget the broken hand that disrupted my meticulously planned training schedule. Focus on the positives.

The scene outside my train window reminds me of my limited, yet fruitful preparation. Each passing filbert grove, grass seed field, and hopyard is a visual reminder of my recent distance rides through the Willamette Valley, rides that evoke the stimulating intangibles of cycling.

Independence Day
It’s 6:30 a.m. on Saturday, July 4. I’m alone with the road and my thoughts. The morning air is cool, and I’m fully aware that oppressive heat will attempt to wilt my resolve before my final 80^th mile. Such thoughts are shoved aside, replaced with the dulcet sound of National Public Radio’s Scott Simon calmly talking to me through my open-ear, bone conduction headset. He’s my morning voice most Saturdays; he’s my riding partner today.

I want to tell him about the field of aromatic red clover to my left and the stacks of hives nearby where bees deposit the clover’s nectar. Then, less than 100 yards down the road, I pass fresh mint with a sweetness that overtakes thoughts of clover.

Can you smell that, Scott?

I have these rural roads to myself. It’s too early for traffic. It’s a weekend. It’s a national holiday. No one should be driving at this hour.

My perspective shifts as I pass farms where parked cars line dirt roads and workers bend over bushes to hand pick the blueberries I so enjoy in my morning oatmeal. This is not a paid day off for them. They are hard at work.

I want to stop and thank them. Instead, I slow to give space for a car leaving the area. I share a cyclist’s wave, the driver gestures back. We go our separate ways.

I Am the Parade
My route weaves along the outskirts of Silverton and over the historic Gallon House Bridge, a century-old, covered bridge that draws its name from the Prohibition era. Here’s where bootleggers would do business by the bridge, pouring illegal alcohol into gallon jugs for eager consumers.

I give little thought to history as I glide down a slight grade, sweep around a tree-lined bend, pass a home with its manicured yard, and roll across bridge’s wooden roadway. I pop out the other side and continue down the road. Those 30 seconds always make me smile.

I eventually arrive in tiny Mount Angel where local citizens are adjusting lawn chairs along residential and downtown streets for their annual Fourth of July parade. The procession has not begun but I randomly choose side streets to avoid roads closures. Suddenly, I find myself on the route itself, collecting bewildered glances. What is this guy doing? Why is he riding a bike painted Italian red, white, and green on the day for red, white, and blue?

I exchange waves with a mother and her daughter. More hands motion my way. For a fleeting moment, I’m their distraction.

I Will Get By
I pedal on, collecting my miles and eventually returning to Salem’s Riverfront Park. My final training session is complete.

This was an invigorating reminder of why I like cycling. Fresh air. Friendly faces. Fragrant crops. A whirling bike chain. The sound of rubber rolling on pavement. A gentle breeze. Downhill glides. Invigorating exercise.

And solitude. Riding with friends is welcome, of course, but I enjoy being alone with my thoughts and the focus this time was on physical and mental preparation.

I’m now confident I can complete my STP challenge. Will it be easy? No, but I will get by. I will survive. And I’ll have Scott Simon starting with me on another Saturday ride.

Dan Shryock is a travel writer and career journalist who focuses on cycle tourism. Based in Oregon, his work has appeared in magazines and websites in California and the Pacific Northwest. His book, “Cycling Across Oregon: Stories, Surprises & Revelations Along the State’s Scenic Bikeways” is available on Amazon.