That was the evening conversation between the two drunk, cigar-smoking conservatives and the 53 year old bicycling hippy. I better go back a few free-love stories to Friday’s departure. Jon and I geared up for a weekend getaway over Father’s Day weekend. After several days of planning, which is to say, I phoned several campgrounds listed in my camp app, for vacancies; we headed east toward the mountains. Jon showed up at 0800, and we road around the neighborhood as we made our way to Knott Road. Zigzagging out of Bend, onto Alfalfa Market Road, we wanted to take me to Prineville Reservoir. Alfalfa Market Road is a straight ribbon of asphalt that goes out into rancher country, OHV accesses to a gazillion acres of BLM, and remote affordable housing (check out the row of mailboxes in the middle of nowhere, with no sight of the homes). Once we turned onto Reservoir Road it dropped down into a canyon lined with high cliffs of lava that follows the twisty course of the Crooked River. We stopped to enjoy the scenery riverside. After our roadside cigar, we headed up thru Prineville for fuel, and then put the helm due east on 26. Through the Ochoco Mtn’s long sweeping turns, the 30 mph twists in the Canyon of John Day Fossil Beds Monument, and the open cattle country of Dayville, I got hungry. I packed giant filet mignon steaks for dinner, so we promised each other a light lunch. We stopped at Dayville Cafe along with a wild pack of cyclists making the continental ride–apparently Route 26 is on the national route. I had a salad, Jon a chicken wrap–light: good so far. Oh, is that “Cinnamon Roll Bread Pudding” on the chalk board? So much for light. I could only eat about half of the cinderblock-sized hunk of dessert. We waddled out to our bikes, straddled them with great effort, and accomplished about 25 miles before we saw a campground in Mt. Vernon. We set up camp to relax before we burst from lunch. The mosquitos came out for a short period, but the ol’ Deet did its magic. One day down, and a bag a of ice to keep the steaks until tomorrow.
That night, after Jon and I drank a little George Dickel Rye, we started talking to each and everyone of the campers within a 10 miles radius. Dale Walker, sat with us and told his story with enthusiasm. He lived out of and road his bicycle all over the world, on $80/month. He was camping in a corner of bushes out of sight of the Rangers. He discussed the idea of getting in a shower, but I think he neglected to take advantage of the opportunity. Dale was in the area, making his way to the national Rainbow get- to-gether for 30,000 hippies and free love children, of which, he went into great detail about the organization and practices of this lost population. The next day we saw several Rainbow children in John Day.
trafalgar adventures 