Following The Logging Road Cyclist’s last foray into the Valsetz Triangle (as TLRC will henceforth refer to the region roughly defined by Valsetz-Logsden-Kings Valley, cf. Nosing Around the Siletz), TLRC’s buddy D. got all fired up again. Perhaps he thought this was all his idea (well, it was, really) and felt scooped. At any rate, rather than his usual passive self, willing to follow TLRC to the ends of the clearcuts, D. took charge and set them off to Green Mtn., plan in mind and map in hand. TLRC, long fascinated by the long ridge of Green Mtn. took little convincing.

The day was not encouraging. An inversion had trapped their Valley homes beneath a mantle of nearly-freezing fog and they hoped to escape by heading towards the coast and up towards the sky. In Philomath, D., who was driving, rather callously refused TLRC his non-fat latte at The Human Bean, and forced him to get coffee to go at the CD&J. Yuck.

Soon they reached the base of Green Mtn. Road and headed up. The ride was surprisingly pleasant along a forested ridge that soon climbed out of the fog and into brilliant sunshine.

Sun and trees, Green Mtn. Road.

Besides being pretty, the landscape was liberally sprinkled with road signs of all types, both alphabetical and decipherable numerics. An embarrassment of riches!

Prophetically, TLRC remarked to D. how nice it was to have such tight nav for a change. D. was really on the money up here, and led them up an indistinct road,

which he hoped would lead to the summit of Green, as indeed it very nearly did. As it was, they got as close as they felt necessary, and saw where to go the next time. They were dazzled by their loge seats above the mysterious Valsetz Triangle. Hounds bayed in the distance.

The peaks above the Valsetz Triangle (l-r): Chandler, Stott, Sugarloaf, Fanno, Laurel

Valley fog creeping over Cougar Ridge, Bald Mtn. on left..

They wandered around the summit area a bit trying to locate a road or two that were on the map, but not actually present, pondered heading down into the Triangle but demurred, citing The Fundamental Axiom, and decided to take a different road back down to the Lodsgen road.

A tributary of the main road they had come up is Fall Cr.-Hatchery Rd. It is clearly marked on the map D. had. Moreover, there is a hatchery on the Logsden road that both TLRC and D. knew. At the top of this road are TWO (2!) signs, one a post with the road name in big block letters, and a BLM sign with the same number as marked on the map, right there with the road name. Finally, every drainage on the south side of Green Mtn drains down to the target Logsden Rd.,  so the chance of going far astray seemed remote. Astute readers may get the sense that TLRC is indulging in a bit of ex ante whining.

With this “tight nav”, off they went, casually whizzing downhill, enjoying the well earned rest and the great day. Soon, as always, the road split into to equally-sized parts. Which to take? Both went downhill and everything at this point (they reasoned) must surely head to the Logdsen road. They went left on the most heavily used branch and once again settled into their happy downhill run. D. started to sing Powderfinger and TLRC joined in, surprised at how much fun it was to be casual, just this once, about dropping off a big ridge.

After a mile or two and hundreds of feet of descent, the road ended in a landing, as in dead-end. The singing stopped. Off came the jackets and gloves, back up they climbed. It was steep.

At the intersection, it was clear which way to go this time, and off they went, but not enjoying it quite so much. They descended into a maze of roads, some named obscurely, others not at all. Another promising (and apparently well-travelled) road led off and they took it rather than face another climb on a different branch. A mile later, another landing, another steep climb back out. Halfway up, they stopped for a rest and to gather their wits. It was 2PM. They had the light and the strength for one more failure, and then things might stop being funny. Here, D. did the unthinkable: he pulled out his iPhone and fired up the GPS. At first, TLRC was horrified at this sacrilege: GPS on a TLRC ride? How dare he? Turning away, TLRC refused to have anything to do with this, while thinking that maybe this wasn’t “his” ride, but “D.’s” ride as well and he should, well, mellow out. But then D. started muttering about how they were about a mile away from the road home, and he could see which way to go, and like Adam to the apple, or a bug to a bug zapper, TLRC was drawn in.

The “correct” version of Fall Cr.-Hatchery Rd. was closed to everything but foot traffic. Big signs said so, and they figured that “foot” pretty much meant “cross bike” in this context. Soon it was clear that they were on the right road and very close to pavement. Then the fun really stopped.

In this rare photo, TLRC is seen negotiating a deep washout filled with various sticker berries on Fall Cr.-Hatchery Rd.

In another rare action shot, TLRC emerges from the berry thickets and washout. Note “Road Closed” sign indicating that this is (was) in fact the road. There is also a stop sign facing the other way. Folks actually used to use this.

Hmmmmm. A bit embarrassing for the boys, eh? Getting lost and all. But, really, honestly, this is the first time TLRC has violated the Fundamental Axiom in a long, long time, and he won’t be doing it again soon. The lesson is this: In the Coast Range, on a bike, it doesn’t take very many small mistakes, or very long, to get into a situation one will regret. Had this happened on the other side of Green Mtn., where they had contemplated exploring on this short winter’s day, things could have become very much more unpleasant. They rejected that because it was obviously unwise, and then were lulled by clear road signs that didn’t signify reality. Ahem.

The Logging Road Cyclist got the biggest Christmas gift ever on Christmas Eve! He had taken the El Mariachi out for a Mac Forest workout ride and stopped at Dimple Hill on the way back to take in the view. The fog had lifted, leaving streamers among all the valleys and ridges, and otherwise all was clear. In the evening sun, it was stunning.

Several groups of people were enjoying the scene, and one lone cyclist on a single speed. He asked TLRC where he had ridden, and with the usual useless arm waving, he had tried to describe it. The single speeder said he had a map, so TLRC pulled out his folding readers and they powwowed. After a bit, TLRC (a modest man) delicately alluded to the website, at which the single speeder said “Oh, you’re TLRC!”, to which the ever brilliant TLRC replied “Why yes, however did you know?” The single speeder (seemingly a polite fellow) tried to look like TLRC wasn’t an idiot and said “A website about gravel roads, Corvallis…how many could there be?”

Thus begins the “Where’s TLRC?” contest. Anyone who correctly identifies TLRC out in the world wins one of the cheap-ass TLRC magnets that fades in six months, or an equally cheap-ass sticker, at the discretion of TLRC. Single speeder, contact the site now, and claim your prize!

The Logging Road Cyclist has spent a lot of time riding both north and south of the Siletz drainage, but not much right in it. There is a large area north of the Blodgett-Eddyville Highway and south of the Laurel Mountain Massif that TLRC has visited, but not really tried to learn in detail. He and the oldest buddy of them all, Stumpy, once did a Hoskins-Valsetz-Logdsen-Hoskins loop that was a tiring 75 miles, and of course, back in the olden days, TLRC used to go paddle the Siletz once a year or so, and he ran the NF Siltez a couple of times. The impression left by these trips was that the Siletz drainage is sort of a clearcut Bermuda Triangle, a region logged enough to look like the Somme in 1916 with a road system so complex and unmarked that one entered, got blendered around in it for a few hours, and then spit out, hopefully somewhere recognizable enough that it was possible to find a way home. Add to this the absence of name-brand peaks (TLRC, that well-known braggart, loves to tell folks at parties “Yes, just the other day I rode my bike up Condenser Peak, the 12th highest point in the Coast Range” and bask in the resulting blank look), and the reader may get an inkling of why TLRC has not spent much time riding around the Siletz.

Of late, however, TLRC has felt some stirrings of interest in this area. For example, on his local training rides up the back side of McCulloch Peak from Sulphur Springs, he has noted a substantial peak looming above Kings Valley. Straight in line with Price Cr. this turns out to be Little Grass Mountain, a nice peak with a meadow at the top, and no slouch at nearly 2700′. Also, TLRC’s buddy D. has been poking around out there lately and has been agitating for some bike time in the area.

Thus the ever-methodical TLRC began to weave a web of known roads around and across this new area by taking a bite out of the southwest corner. The plan was to head up Big Rock Cr. Road, maybe over to Valsetz, then back around somehow to descend the ironically-named Sunshine Cr. to the Siletz R., whence the truck.

As TLRC expected, things started out inauspiciously.

Clearcut along Big Rock Cr. Road.

But after a while, while heading up a steep bit next to a narrow part of the creek, TLRC realized that not only was he rubbing shoulders with a gabbro outcrop, but that it was juxtaposed (across a small creek) with a nice example of Tyee sediments.

Gabbro (left foreground) and Tyee sediments on the right.

Interesting indeed! Dropping down to the big 5-way intersection, TLRC took stock and headed off for Valsetz. Navigation was purely by road intersection and topography since the only road signs (which were clear and abundant) were private timber company designators, and thus as useful to TLRC as if they were in Swahili, and there was not a section marker to be found. The maps indicated that Chandler Pass should be traversed, but TLRC soon realized that he was just wandering around in the clouds and probably was as likely to loop around to some unknown swamp as he was to make it to Valsetz. Retracing his steps back to the 5-way, he headed off down Sunshine Cr., feeling sure that with one of the biggest rivers in the Coast Range for a backstop, he’d get to the Siletz for sure.

On the way, more fascinating rocks:

Triple Play!

Off the photo to the right, and at the very tippy top of the quarry are Tyee sediments. The massive grey-black rock comprising the bulk of the quarry face are Siletz basalt, and the light brown exposure on the upper left of the quarry wall is our old friend Mr. Gabbro. While these sorts of contacts may be common, TLRC hasn’t run into them.

Finally, the Siletz. The visual shock of this  cut-over valley was mitigated by the undiminished beauty of the Siletz itself and the peacefully soaring bald eagle above it.

Looking upstream on the Siletz above Silache Rapids.

Here is where TLRC went today.

The Elk River is a small stream of transparent water and nearly heartbreaking beauty. Tucked away in Oregon’s southern coastal mountains, the Elk lies just north of the Rogue River and in the transition from the monotonous fir and cedar of the Coast Range to the much more diverse  forests of the Klamath Mountains. The Logging Road Cyclist first had cause to visit the Elk in the Xmas-New Years gap of 1997, just after his (Armstice Day!) release from self-imposed exile in the drab New Mexican desert. On their first boating date, TLRC and his (then to become) long-time boating buddy H., had gone down and run Canton Cr., a tributary of Steamboat Cr., which tributaries on into the North Umpqua. Canton was fun, and the boys got along, so, while outside the Glide laundromat they schemed up the Elk River trip. Back in those days, they thought nothing of heading off for yet another three-hour drive (in separate cars, for the shuttle) to do yet another river. The Elk was exotic, and supposed to be fun, so off they went into the cold night.

The next morning, our heroes spent too much time getting acquainted and walking TLRC’s dog B. to get in a lot of paddling, but they still managed to run about 6 miles. To this day, TLRC has an almost physical memory of floating along this intimate little river with the drizzle falling down on his head, a soothing balm removing the chafes of the NM times. He was back on his misty cold rivers with his life back in his own hands.

Towards the end of the day, drizzle turned to rain and then downpour. By the time they were on the road home, the river had come up a foot, and by the time TLRC had changed his blown tire on the very narrow edge of the very narrow road clinging to the wall above one of the Elk’s mini-gorges, the river was up perhaps three feet. Sliding on home, TLRC stopped at an espresso stand in Bandon  and chatted up the teenager about the “Cheap Thrills” she was enjoying. TLRC, the atavist, had just re-bought it the month before, and was glad to see the hippie gene at least occasionally rising from dormancy.

By the time he drove through Camas Valley late that night, there were inches of snow to push through and a pretty big desire to go back and see the Elk again.

The next time was about 18 months later under a drastically different circumstance. A late, heavy snowfall in the Coast and Siskyou Ranges, followed by 80-degree weather was giving Sierra-like paddling conditions: hot weather and snowmelt. TLRC availed himself, first running the SF Coquille on a good flow and getting a sunburn (a far cry from the 40-degree February rain of the last time around), followed by an almost unimaginable day on the Elk. In shorts and lifejacket, TLRC did the whole run and saw the river in all it’s glory (and, for good measure, the MF Smith in CA that afternoon and the NF Smith with H. the next day, all in unseasonably hot weather).

Years later, on a coastal vacation, TLRC and The Long-Suffering Girlfriend had ridden their bikes up the Elk. It was in the Fall, another beautiful Elk day. Part way along, they saw a couple of guys in a drift boat (there is perhaps a mile or two of the upper Elk that will allow this, and very limited access), knee deep in butchered king salmon, bloody water and slime, making notations in waterproof notebooks. Obviously a fishy census of some sort. TLRC, ever the wag called out: “Do you guys need college degrees for that job?”. Fortunately, they saw the humor in this too, and called back that they both had master’s degrees (presumably in Science).

Just this week, in an effort to escape the Valley grey, TLRC and TLSG took a trip to Sunset Beach, the better to get fish and chips and take in the Xmas light show at Shore Acres. TLRC determined to ride up the Elk River from the hatchery up past the end of pavement and beyond to the Rogue divide. He prepared for this one. Armed with a 2006 publication describing not only the area geology but also the newly-discovered sheeted dike complex along the River, he was ready to note the Pearse Mtn diorite pluton and Humbug Mtn conglomerate (resistant rocks that host the little gorges the river cuts through) as well as the softer Galice Formation (yes, the same Galice) through which the river flows in the more serene sections.

Nix to all that. At the hatchery, ice was all around. All the way up the canyon on the pavement, big patches of black ice lay waiting in every shady patch (most of the road at this time of year). Finally, at Butler Bar, where the gravel starts, TLRC had had enough,  geared up and rode out. After 3 miles of dodging around sheets of ice 1″ thick that completely covered the gravel, TLRC (still vividly recalling the Unfortunate Events of 1/1/12 minus One, those involving a patch of ice, a bicycle and a comminuted, non-displaced fracture of the acetabulum) realized that while going up might be OK, coming down would be just as slow and more stressful. He bagged it and headed back to TLSG, a nice warm lunch and a long nap, vowing to include the Elk River in his projected Klamath Mountains Bicycle Transect.

Mini-gorge in Pearse Mtn Diorite.

As above.

Looking down the final gorge on the Elk, in the Humbug Mtn. conglomerate, beautiful rock with large rounded clasts.

A beautiful day today! 24 degrees, crystal clear, no wind. The Logging Road Cyclist decided to ride up McCulloch Peak in the snow! He’d tried this a few times in the past, but always gotten skunked by too much snow and had quit and slunk home, beaten. Today was different in that there wasn’t all that much snow, and what there was was bone dry. El Mariachi was the tool of choice for this (the old girl is getting out a lot these days, what with the dry trails and night riding with Professor H., Ph.D, MMQ). It’s doubtful that the DeSalvo could have made it, if only because of the low-profile fenders jamming up with snow.

Off he went, soon remembering how much more work it is to ride in snow as opposed to finely-graded gravel. Ugh. Nevertheless, TLRC determined to ride the whole thing and walk not a bit of it, although minor rests after slippages were certainly allowed. He went the longer way, up the 770.

Top of Road 770.

Snow depth varied from an inch or so under the trees to 6″-8″ out in the open.  Dropping down to the main road, TLRC climbed up the wall and then took the low-gradient way up to the top.

McCulloch Peak.

Here TLRC bundled up for the ride home and set a spell admiring the view and enjoying the brisk air. Heavy Amphib tights, four (4!) layers of increasingly thick capilene, shell over all, balaclava, heavy gloves under waterproof lobster mits. Thick Wigwam socks and full neoprene overboots. TLRC had jammed everything he could into his pack. By the time he got to TLRCFE, TLRC was frozen through. Upon entering the warm Estate, the TLRC fingers felt as if someone had slammed them in a door. Holding his excruciatingly painful fingers over the wood stove, TLRC once again pondered the nature of outdoor fun.

Avid readers of the blog will recall that The Logging Road Cyclist was nearly delirious with joy at the prospect that he finally might have discovered, high up on Laurel Mountain, an outcrop of the long sought after Rickreall Limestone Member of the Yamhill Formation  (cf. Laurel Mountain Plateau).

Reader commentary was clamorous, uniformly positive and evenly divided into the “Way to go TLRC! We knew you’d do it!” and the “Thank god, we don’t have to listen to that anymore!” camps.

But TLRC, with scientific rigor drilled into him by 30+ years of trying to avoid research errors, remained skeptical. After all, the early published reports on the Limestone made it clear that it is comprised mainly of the shells of tiny little critters, which his rock might or might not have been (no paleontologist, TLRC). Limestone should fizz when doused in acid; vinegar left the rock dormant. Perhaps, TLRC thought, he needed stronger acid. More likely a stronger mind. Thus, rock in hand, TLRC found himself at the door of the kind and patient Professor D., Ph.D., at OSU.

As Prof. D. looked over the find TLRC was pleased that he (PD) didn’t immediately ID the rock. TLRC was prepared for a jaunty ” For the love of god, TLRC, this isn’t limestone. Where did you go to school, anyway?” Rather, TLRC encountered Modern Geology, which impressed him no end. After a couple of informed speculations (and some stronger acid) , PD simply said “I don’t know, want me to X-ray it and see?” Cutting to the chase, indeed. Here was a man after the efficient heart of TLRC!

Within 48 hours, back came the results:

Here is the XRD pattern.  Looks like albite (sodic plagioclase) and quartz…might be a bit of K-feldspar/orthoclase….. so kaolinite and reddish earth hematite are minor.  My guess is that this is a tuff or more likely a tuffaceous sandstone (lacking much ash) that has had ash removed by water transport.  Pretty interesting, because it must represent a relatively silicic volcanic eruption somewhere nearby.

It should be noted that this was, in fact one of the informed speculations prior to analysis.

TLRC’s NiteRiding buddy, Professor H., Ph.D., MMQ (Monday Morning Quarterback), who, through his Network, was apprised of the results even before TLRC, sent TLRC a rather arch text message in which he (PH) informed TLRC that his guess, pre-analysis, tallied more or less exactly with the results. To which TLRC offers up a huh.

All this sent TLRC back to the literature. What could this be? He had never heard of this sort of thing in the Coast Range. Thus is displayed the silence of ignorance. Three or four minutes with the Google turned up the classic 1948 study of Snavely and Baldwin, “Siletz River Volcanic Series” (AAPG Bulletin, 32, 5, pp 805-812)  in which they note: “The interbedded sedimenatry rocks are predominant water-laid tuff and tuffaceous siltstone and sandstone ….”, so it really shouldn’t have been a surprise.

The writing on the wall is clear. More riding and nosing around accompanied by more study… woe is the readership.

The Logging Road Cyclist would again like to thank the scores of correspondents who take the time to share with him how much they enjoy the website. TLRC (by most accounts the most humble of men) blushes at some  of the rather high-flown rhetoric used by these admirers. Generally speaking, TLRC is content to read these emails, emit an inward sigh of satisfaction, and get on with his day. But there lately has been a disturbing number of fans who speak of taking life-changing steps because they have been inspired by TLRC.

For example, one “Jared”, who, from the sound of it is one gnarly dude on a bike, but no man of letters, who wrote to tell TLRC that he is extending his degree in Hotel Management here at OSU for another year so he can minor in Creative Writing. The additional student loans for this will push him over $50K in debt.

Then there is “Brandi” who has never been much of a cyclist, but who just bought a Surly Cross Check, is quitting her MFA and moving back to Minneapolis to live with her parents and start a newsletter devoted to the Upper Midwest gravel grinding scene. According to “Brandi”, she could never find her Muse here at OSU, and, via TLRC, thinks she knows where it is.

On the one hand, TLRC takes no responsibility for any of this. Folks will read into internet content what they will, after all, and make their own life choices accordingly. On the other, TLRC is a notorious soft touch, and cannot help but be concerned that he has wrought havoc in these impressionable young lives. Thus he is taking a step that once he vowed never to take, namely to reveal the source of his (TLRC’s) literary inspiration, with the hope that he can save these young people the life tragedies that he feels sure they are busy creating for themselves.

When TLRC moved into the TLRC Forest Estate, he, fastidious fellow, made a point of changing all the cupboard linings. The thought of his tuna and garbanzo beans sitting on someone else’s liner made him, quite frankly, slightly ill. Far in the back of the peninsula cupboard, on the very bottom shelf beneath the faintly sticky fake cedar liner was the fragment of a letter, just the first page. Written to an unknown “Ernst”, the letter is a response to an earlier letter from “Ernst” to this unknown correspondent.

At a first reading, TLRC chuckled a bit. The letter fragment was pretty funny, in it’s odd way. He put it aside that day. The next morning he awoke with the letter in his mind, and re-read it number of times. Over the next few weeks he found himself increasingly drawn to the page, reading it several times an hour. It seemed somehow to contain the pure literary essence and became the fixture in TLRC’s thoughts. Never  a literary man, TLRC started to feel compelled to write stuff down, anything that would release the pressure, diminish the ever-growing obsession (for obsession it had become) with The Letter. TLRC became concerned with his situation, and feared that he had encountered the Zahir, his own twenty-centavo piece or astrolabe. Slowly, TLRC was becoming The Letter, unable to distinguish himself from it, or from what it represented.

Thus began TLRC. Before, he had been a regular man, with the usual accoutrements, like a name.  Suddenly, as an act of salvation, he had acquired camera, tracker, website, and become TLRC, compelled, if not compelling writer. Unable to remain separate from The Letter, as an act of desperation, he became somehow parallel to The Letter so that he might retain at least some of his former (ie. Pre-Letter) Self.

Thus, here is published The Letter, to be read at one’s own risk. Perhaps it will draw those embarking on irrevocable change into a more reasonable orbit; perhaps others will spiral within The Letter’s Schwarzchild Radius. Read on at your own risk.

Unfortunately, this is all there is. TLRC has done all but tear out drywall to find the next page. What could possibly be on it? More importantly, what is the cartoon? We’ll never know. But that is the point, really, isn’t it? We just need this fragment to point the way, and then all make our own “next page”.

The Logging Road Cyclist took his dogs out for a long walk on Sunday. The perfect Fall weather was impossible to resist, so the three headed up McCulloch Peak. At a stop on a landing out in the new clearcut, TLRC basked in the brilliant sun and looked over the broad expanse of Valley and Coast Range spread out to the south while the dogs wallowed in a convenient mud hole.

Traversing the Peak, they headed home. Just down from the top, TLRC heard a swooshing sound. Thinking it was the legs of his Carharts, he ignored it the first couple if times, but after it persisted, he really stopped to listen, and finally spotted the raven that was swooping through the forest alongside him and his dogs. The raven would let them pass and get ahead, and then he would glide through the forest and get alongside or a bit ahead of them and perch in a tree, watching them walk along. This was repeated over and over. The raven seemed most interested in the dogs, in particular Devil Puppy. TLRC started to feel like Tippi Hendren.

Now this wouldn’t be much of a story, except this went on all the way down to the bench on the road between the starts of Uproute and Innuendo, quite a distance, probably a mile and half?

Were TLRC a supersticious sort, or given to finding omens, this might have been one, just of what, he couldn’t say. But he had an inkling of what it might have felt like to be a forest dweller in an earlier time when such things were understood to signify more than just a curious bird.

Check out a  couple of new rides posted in the Alsea-Hwy 20 section:

Hawwis Bwidge Wowwypop, Holiday Escape

Per the last post, D. and The Logging Road Cyclist had some unfinished business around Laurel Mountain. D. and TLRC are as one in this sort of thing: There was no doubt that they would go back and close the loop left open by the last weekend’s shenanigans. The plan this time was to head straight to Boulder Pass, then approach the endpoint of their last attempt from the other side. Thus, with a quick passage around  le massif, and a known (ahem) point to head for, success would be assured.

As he pulled up to D’s suburban manse, he saw a strange bike on the rack on D’s truck. A new rider! If D. got another one beyond this, and they each got 2,… why, in only 4 generations, there would be 18 to ride together. TLRC’s lonely vigils would be a thing of the past. On the other hand, 18 is rather an unwieldy number, logistically speaking, and TLRC would no longer be TLRC, but merely ALRC. This, he thought, might be too much of a good thing.

Walking up the driveway, he noticed the bike. Two chairings, flat pedals. TLRC sniffed contemplatively. Just then, D. introduced the new rider to TLRC. A yoot, definitely class sub-forty, maybe the age of an imaginary TLRC son? TLRC pondered this. Yoot, two chaingrings, flats. Was this a Callow Yoot, over-geared, under-pedaled, over-enthusiastic, or a Machine Yoot, one who would levitate away  from TLRC up the steep grades, leaving him gasping in self-recrimination at the vicissitudes of age and too soft of a life? After all the Machine People (cf. Columbia -Stanislaus Loop) had rigs like this, they were of the same “certain age” as TLRC, and this is what happened on rides with them. This pleasant young man certainly seemed to inhabit the “Machine” category.

Loaded up, off they went. It was a beautiful day. Low 40’s, maybe colder, not a cloud in the sky. Reaching the gate at the start of the ride, ice abounded. As all donned their gear, a startling discovery: Da Yoot had brought his cleated shoes, which, as a few seconds of experimenting showed, would simply not work on da flats. Da Yoot had forgotten to change pedals from his town flats to (more appropriate) clipless ones! Here was where TLRC felt his affection towards Da Yoot start to grow. Nonplussed, DY simply pulled out the bathroom slippers he had worn on the trip up, and with a little conjuring with some of the contents of TLRC’s ever handy emergency kit (the use of which tickled TLRC to no end), he (DY) had a set of handily Teva’d  Croc-slipper-things (later augmented by nifty and re-useable duct tape anti chafing pads):

 Off they went, up the wintry road.

Two companions!!!

As the first steep miles began, it became clear the Da Yoot was indeed a Machine Yoot. Off he levitated leaving TLRC and poor D. gasping in his wake. TLRC muttered something about how they must not try to maintain this pace or woe is they. D. gasped back “Well, you know, he has to go faster with that big ring.” to which TLRC muttered back: “For the love of god D: a) TLRC is perfectly aware of that, and b) D. is missing the point, it being that it isn’t that he has to go that fast, it’s that he can!” “Well,” a suitably chastened D. replied, “it’s good for us.”

Away they went, the 22 toothed TLRC and D, following the 34 of DY, who the former would occasionally see silhouetted  against the bright blue sky, track-standing while patiently awaiting his companions until the high ground behind Riley Peak, whence the trio whooshed around behind Laurel to the Boulder Pass nexus.

Here, TLRC, Dallas and Valsetz quadrangle in hand, snooped around for his limestone, leaving navigation to D. TLRC soon realized he’d need an afternoon and a rock hammer and/or shovel to find any real rocks in all the ground cover and alluvium. Loath to keep his companions waiting (TLRC is widely considered to have impeccable manners, having been brought up that way), he returned and described his circumstance. D. suggested a Bobcat might be useful on the next trip.

The next leg was off into the unknown. Having armed the group with a Google Earth image, the better to navigate-by-clearcut, the immediate choice was clear, up the godawful steep road through the giant clearcut above and E of the pass. Struggling up the loose, steep mess, TLRC spotted some white rock spattered about the surface. Dismounting, he climbed up the bank and found rock that clearly did not match any of the prevailing Siletz, Yamhill or gabbroic intrusives. Surely, TLRC had stumbled upon the Rickreal Limestone outcrop lying above Boulder Pass described in one of the 1950’s Oregon Geology publications he had dug up one way or another (just goes to show, TLRC thought, there’s no such thing as too much trivia). Here is what he brought home, the result of his struggles over the last year:

After much jubilation (by TLRC, at any rate), the ride continued and the road worsened.

“Road” heading E above Boulder Pass

Another couple of hundred yards of this nonsense brought the trio to a major (if loose) gravel road, the one D.had pointed out a while before as a possible route, which TLRC dismissed out of hand as not being the “route” since he was determined on Boulder Pass and this “route”. Besides, had they taken D.’s suggestion, not only no hike, no limestone.

Now on the Plateau proper, The Installation was clearly seen

JSS ARSR-4/FPR-130 Facility on Laurel Mtn.

Now navigation was strictly by Google Earth. Since TLRC could not be bothered to put his readers off and on, D. took over and guided them clearcut by clearcut along a series of low-gradient, but high woody-debris roads. It was rare to ride more than 100 feet. Finally they reached the point where the road of last week joined a main road the group had found themselves on. A faint trace led into the woods. “Give it 100 yds?” asked TLRC. His companions agreed and off they carried their bikes. In a short way, a section marker was spotted. After a bit of discussion, they realized that the nail marking their location exactly  coincided with the “road” on the map that they were shooting for. Another few hundred yards and they found the terrible ditch near where D. and TLRC had stopped last week. Back out of the forest on the fast gravel towards home, D. and TLRC were busily congratulating themselves on a Loop Well Closed when DMY observed, “So, if you quit this ride because the road was so bad, why exactly did you come back here the next weekend to find it again?”

Da Don and Sancho.