Prineville to Mitchell, Oregon – 58 Miles

Saturday the 21st of June came early as I began rubbing the sleep from my eyes, at four-thirty in the morning. I had packed my panniers fastening them securely to Black Magic (the bicycle) the night before. After taking a rest day, I was ready to leave Prineville, Oregon in my rearview mirror, or so I kept telling myself. Truthfully, I was apprehensive and my stomach knew it. I had visited the lavatory twice within the 10 minute period it took for me to awake and push my bicycle out the door, locking the motel key inside.

Shutting the Motel door to room 31 of the City Center Motel in Prineville, Oregon, while it was still dark and freezing cold, was no simple task. Doing so meant moving on as I locked the door from the inside leaving the key on the table. I clipped into the pedals and began turning the crank over slowly letting Black Magic carry me to the Apple Peddler restaurant for my power breakfast: two Poached eggs, hash-browns, wheat toast, and a short stack of flapjacks, served with decaffeinated coffee and orange juice. After eating, I carried on a long debate upon whether to visit the restaurants facilities, or not. I declined, it was a decision I’d soon come to regret.

That 21st of June was a cold morning, the temps were hovering around the freezing mark. Traveling eastward via highway 26 on the edge of town, I found myself stopping often. First it was to adjust my shoes, then I was stopping to don yet another layer of clothing, and then it was to curse myself for not visiting a toilet when one was offered. No other businesses were open at 5:30 on a Saturday morning. My first destination would have to be Ochoco Reservoir. The first few miles to Ochoco Reservoir went by slowly. That’s to be expected after a rest day due to the fact that I’m constantly making adjustments to my gear, myself, and the bicycle. After all the clicks, creaks, and knocks, have been worked out the miles start to add up quickly.

Prineville was long behind me when I began coming upon what appeared to be a cyclist in front of me. This looked like it could be a fellow bicycle tourist. As I tried to get closer, the cyclist would follow a bend in the road disappearing from my sight-line. Finally, as I thought I was gaining ground on the tourist, the bicycle traveler vanished. Following a left hand bend in the road I saw the body of water on my right hand side, Ochoco Reservoir, and then I saw the bicycle traveler whom I was gaining upon resting in the gravel turn-out. I swung in to say hi. We chatted for a while sharing are our intended destination, Mitchell, Oregon, and then we continued eastward both at our own pace. But first, seeing as how I had made it to Ochoco State Park, I sought out a toilet. After visiting an outhouse at the state park, I mounted Black Magic for the long gradual ascent towards eastern Oregon with a much better outlook, I no longer felt alone.

Meeting the fellow cyclist was a mood booster, and something I had needed. I took meeting this fellow traveler as an encouraging omen, good things were going to happen. I recognized this traveler from the Subway in Sisters, Oregon. I recognized his flag and his mountain bike.

The day warmed up nicely and the miles kept adding up. It was a day of false flats, and constant elevation gain as the road ascended to Mitchell, Oregon. The day was made complete with a detour through Painted Hills, the tourist trap just west of Mitchell.

As I was exiting the turn off from Painted Hills (Didn’t take any pictures due to the high heat of the day.), and back onto eastbound highway 26, I saw another fellow bicycle tourist cycling down the roadway, this fella would be another tourist heading east on the Trans-America bicycle route. As I pulled into Mitchell, Oregon, myself and the two other bicycle tourists would pull into town at the same time, Rob and Jim.

Rob, Jim, and I, looked for places to crash for the night. Jim decided upon staying at a hostel, while Rob and I both chose the city park, which doubled as the town’s campground. Deciding upon lodging options, we all dined at Little Pine Café. After a mediocre dinner of an overcooked burger, and a decent salad, the night would become awesome.

Mitchell, Oregon, a small zero stoplight town built off of a small barely noticeable turnoff exiting highway 26, is easy to miss if you blink at the right time while driving at 55 MPH. The town, built into the lumpy hillside next to highway 26, had the pulse a red-neck after drinking a couple of shots of whiskey. The town was buzzed on suds and shots of grandpa’s cough syrup. There was a band playing a private show on an outdoor stage that was supposed to be closed off with a black curtain, which wasn’t doing the job. There was a keg of beer just beyond the entrance into the show. Friendly motorcyclist out for a weekend joyride around Oregon were staying overnight in the town’s park where my tent was setup. And a group of about 30 car-topping cyclists were making Mitchell their overnight destination as well, all in the same park.

The town with a little over 100 residents, probably had the same amount of visitors on that night. Exiting the diner, the town felt like a party was erupting, and the tour to Yellowstone had just become awesome. Walking out of Little Pine Café after dinner, I began to set up my tent and secured my bicycle for the night. While doing that, 2 more bicycle tourists whom were heading east showed up at the city park slash campground. Seeger and Bob. Seeger was carrying a ukulele, and I was carrying a small travel guitar. We shared music, swapped stories, walked the town, and listened to Gordon Lightfoot songs having a great night. The next morning we all packed up heading east.