Entrance to Black Butte Ranch

I saw the dark cloud from the summit of Santiam Pass, Oregon highway 20, and continued cycling towards the ominous rain cloud thinking it would be gone by the time I got there. The two lane busy highway west of Sisters, Oregon was flooded, rain was crashing down, and hail was mixed in with it. Cars were continually sending sheets of water into my side as they hydroplaned by. I was standing on my pedals pushing on them as hard as I could. On a scale of one to ten, ten being maximum effort, I was putting out a thirteen. I was pushing myself way beyond the red-zone, perhaps purple zone would be more appropriate. This storm was noisy loud as the thunder was deafening. Lightning was touching the ground on all sides, but none had come out and zapped me, yet. It was only a matter of seconds before a driver lost control of their vehicle slamming into me ending my life, it was either that, or a bolt of lightning. The sky looked like it should’ve been ten o’clock in the evening; however it was only ten to three in the afternoon. I woke up early that morning eager to get a start on the day. I peered out the window from behind the blinds of my cheaply tiny motel room. Damn, it was raining, again. My eagerness quickly faded. I powered up my iPhone and checked the forecast for Detroit, Oregon. Rain, a quarter of an inch was forecasted. Now I really didn’t feel motivated. My plan was to ride single-track in the forest following highway 126 south fifteen miles to highway 242. Fuck it I thought, “I’ll go it eat breakfast come back and maybe it will have stopped raining before I leave.” I sat down for breakfast ordering my usual power meal, two poached eggs, hash-browns, wheat toast, and griddle-cakes. What I got instead was two poached eggs and griddle-cakes. Oh well, I will leave town the way I came in, with a fucked up order. Walking out the door of the restaurant, I found the sky holding onto its water supply. I quickly walked back to the motel room. I saddled up Black Magic opening the door to my room and pushed the bike outside. Raining again; oh well I thought, I can’t let a bit of rain spoil my day. The riding was a gradual ascent from 1,500 feet above sea level to the interchange of highway 20, and 126, sitting at 3,500 feet above sea level. The rain kept me from overheating, and at times I could see my own exhaust escaping out of my mouth. Mid to late summer on August 25th and I’m seeing my own breath, I said to myself in amazement. Reaching the interchange I decided to forgo highway 126 to McKenzie Pass staying on highway 20. What’s the point of riding up the scenic route if I can’t see a darn thing due to low clouds, rain, and heavy fog? I continued east up the Santiam Pass. Cresting above 3,500 feet, I had pedaled out of the clouds and the rain stopped. The air was warm and comfortable as my clothes began to dry out. I continued upwards to the summit at 4,800 feet above sea level as my clothes started to get damp, this time from sweat rather than a steady rain. The road began to level out as I reached the summit of Santiam Pass, after a steady upward climb of 47 miles. I noticed a sign indicating a turn off for an access point to the Pacific Crest Trail, so I turned off the highway. More climbing, but what the heck, I’ll go up to check out the trailhead. Reaching the top I could see in all directions; I looked east and that’s when I saw the ferocious looking cloud.

When I saw that beast of a cloud I figured it wasn’t much to worry about. I was still a good 35 miles out from Bend, and 15 from Sisters, Oregon. That sucker would be long gone by the time I got there. I turned to head back to the highway and a guy called out, “Hey there, you look like you’ve been going for a while, need a cold drink?” “Sure.” “We’ve got beer, coke, water, what’s your flavor?” I cycled over and noticed that a guy, and gal, had set up a tent at the trailhead complete with a two burner propane stove. “We’re here providing trail-magic for the threw hikers of the Pacific Crest Trail, but you look like you’re out on a long journey yourself.” “Yeah thanks,” as he hands me a coke. “I’m riding from Portland to Crater Lake via as many forest roads as possible. Are you getting many through hikers along here?” “Yep, this is the time of year when they come through this part. I through hiked last year and this spot offered little in the way of trail-magic, so I decided that I’d post up here and provide magic for the hikers.” “Will you sign my book” he asks? I signed his log book and I pedaled off with a sugar high. Today’s turning out to be a good day after all, I thought to myself as I turned east back onto highway 20.

I found myself quickly topping speeds of over 45 MPH as I descended from the summit of Santiam Pass. That big dark spot in the sky was coming ever closer, and looking even more threatening, as I continued heading east at a high rate of speed. “Black Butte 10 Miles” the sign warned as rain began to fall from the sky. The sky was a dark grey, but looking fairly innocent. This wasn’t so bad I told myself. Thunder rolled in the distance, nothing to worry about, as I proceeded towards Black Butte Ranch. For every mile I got closer to Black Butte the rain became heavier, and more treacherous. I stopped and switched on my tail-light to flashing mode. Cars were switching on their headlights and starting to ride the fog-line. I was becoming a bit nervous. This is getting bad, I told myself. I pulled into Black Butte Ranch. Pulling into Black Butte, I found a tree that offered a small dry spot. I stopped for minute grabbing a few pictures. I was thinking, perhaps I should go find some shelter a place to hang out letting the storm pass. Gazing at the sky I noticed that the clouds appeared to be drifting northwesterly. I told myself that I was on the eastern edge of the storm. I just had to get clear of it and things would get better. I didn’t have much further to go. So I turned around and pedaled back to the highway turning east again. At this point the rain drops were big, and heavy. The highway soon flooded. As I pulled up to the intersection I noticed that the vehicles were all hugging the fog line, my shoulder was gone. I hopped off the bike pushing my bicycle in the drenching, flooding rain, five feet off the shoulder in a soft cinder filled ditch next to the highway. Small rivers began forming in the trench as I skipped, and leaped, through them. As I shoved my bike along in the grueling red cinder filled shoulder with gushing water that was trying to escape the flooded river of a highway, the rain was beginning to ease up. And then it happened, the rain quit just as quickly as it had begun. I had reached the edge of the storm. The highway was drying, the cars began moving back to the center of roadway away from the fog-line, and I hopped back on the bike. Gerrr… gerr… grind. What the fuck is that? An awful grinding sensation was coming from the rear wheel. I hopped off next to the busy highway and pushed my bike back into the red cinder pit. I examined my rear wheel and it was covered in sticky red lava rocks. Damn I said out loud. I cleaned them off as best I could unlatching the brakes. The process was futile, the bastards were everywhere. I pushed the bike back out onto the shoulder, and doing so covered the rear wheel again. So this time I had to complete the process all over once more while standing next to a dark wet shoulder inches from high-speed traffic in low visibility. I started riding again, with a noisy back wheel. Riding along the wet highway minus precipitation the roadway began a gentle ascent. As I crested the hill the sky began to close up, and quickly. The storm, that I thought I had passed through, began merging into another storm cell. Suddenly thunder was ripping through the highway as my daylight was disappearing. Dark black clouds had blue bursts of electricity flashing through as rain began lashing down upon me. The winds howled, thunder began ripping violently through my body, and highway 20 turned into a river. I started looking to my left, and then right, spying for anything that might provide me shelter. Glancing over to my right as I was cycling down the highway, I saw a bolt of lightning touch the ground, and pause, growing huge with energy. As this was happening a violent crack sent my eardrums into a frenzy. The crack felt like it had ripped my chest open and flicked my heart sending it racing into my throat. “FUCK” I screamed – I was trapped. Sisters can’t be much further I told myself. I needed off this highway. Cars were racing by once again, only this time they were hugging the shoulder, even tighter. The only difference was, I wasn’t five feet off the highway pushing my bike; I was still pedaling on the narrow shoulder. I couldn’t duck into the forest for shelter because the constant lightning was bursting down into the ground just feet away from me, on all sides. The wind was racing just as quickly as the cars; and then it began to hail. FUCK! – I picked up a little more speed. Hail was pelting down onto my helmet, and floating in the inch of standing water on the highway, as I arose onto my pedals. Sisters can’t be much further I thought. “Sisters 6 Miles” a sign indicated that I had come upon. Oh damn, my heart sank. My speedometer read 12 MPH. 30 minutes out, I’ll be dead before I get to Sisters. I picked my speed up once more, “God help me I yelled,” as I pushed as hard as I could – my speedometer now was reading 26 MPH. Riding as fast as I could possibly go in nearly zero visibility, cars were passing me by with just inches to spare sending sheets of muddy water into my face. My clothes were drenched, hail was pounding my arms and hands, yet I wasn’t feeling any pain. The sky was a strobe light of electric blue that occasionally sent bolts down into the trees next to me. Gusts of wind came racing towards me trying to knock me off my bike. It was amazing that no car had hydroplaned into me, nor that a lightning bolt decided to kiss my steel bike. And then the amazing happened. A truck pulled off onto the shoulder and stopped. I quickly approached it from behind and a young lady stepped out from the passenger side in the deluge and said, “Can we give you a ride?” “Can you take me to Sisters?” We threw my bike into the bed of the pick-up and sailed down the flooded highway into Sisters.

I sat outside a grocery store drip drying from the torrential rains as the storm slowly proceeded northeast, tearing apart every part of Jefferson County that it touched. As I sat trembling on the edge of Rays Food Place’s foundation, a guy comes up and says, “We passed you on the highway. That was a terrible storm you were riding in.” This was the second most terrifying experience of my life. Sitting outside the grocery store I checked the forecast – it was the same as the day I left Vancouver, Washington: a chance of afternoon thunderstorms. I was quitting. I called my friend and he came picking me up from the grocery store. As I went to bed that night safely secure from any passing storm in my friends guest room, I opened the window and looked back west into the mountains which I had just traversed. There, from the bedroom window, I saw flashes of lighting hearing the distant rumble of thunder that was still peppering the very mountains I had planned to be camping in. I had once again made the proper decision – mountain travel on a bicycle just wasn’t in the cards. Quitting was the only sane thing to do. Oh yeah and the rain ruined my camera, the last images I was able to capture were of the storm building at Black Butte Ranch.

Radar Image from Ray’s Food Place