Biggest Loser

Day 3: Grand Ronde, OR to Corvallis, OR

Distance: 48.3 miles

Punctures: 1

Having stayed at the Spirit Mountain Casino Lodge in Grand Ronde last night, you’ll be glad to hear that the title to today’s blog is not an admission that I lost my shirt (or my Coyote Gambling Card), at the Black Jack table.

No, it’s s reflection of the fact that pannier weight loss scheme is in progress, and it is sorely needed.

This morning started quite well, all considered. It was peeing it down with rain, my legs and arse were ridiculously sore from yesterday, but the terrain was gently rolling and the roads smooth as a baby’s bottom. I was feeling pretty chipper having 27 miles under my belt by 11am as I sat in the Burgerville in Monmouth, snarfing down a pot of oatmeal and coffee. It was a few miles further on that it started to go wrong.

I’d been battling a steady headwind since turning South around 6 miles before and, on the schlep out of Monmouth, the wind speed kicked up a notch. I plodded on despite, managing a small chuckle at a sign advertising “BJ’s Quilts and Fabrics” thinking this might be a level of diversification too far, until I returned to cursing the panniers again with every pedal turn. And then the inevitable happened: puncture numero uno of this trip.

Punctures and rain go hand in hand. Not just because it’s sod’s law that you get pissed on as you struggle with wet hands and slippery tyres to change the tube, but because the rain kicks up a load of crap onto the road surface and hides all manner of sharp-edged nasties in every puddle you fail to avoid. So I wasn’t entirely shocked.

And so I slipped on the attractive blue surgical glove to protect the already filthy Band-Aids hanging off the ends of my fingers, and proceeded to attempt to change the tube without opening up the cuts again. Mission accomplished, I took the opportunity to change the Band-Aids again in celebration, only for them to be sodden again within another few miles.

It was at that point that I made the decision to cut short my planned 90-miler into Eugene and instead checked into the Holiday Inn Express in Corvallis with a spring in my step (metaphorically anyway). Nestling against the banks of the Willamette River, the HIE was blissfully equipped with a power hose to wash down Steed and the filthy, gritty panniers; a guest laundry for my filthy, gritty clothes; and a post office just a few blocks away for… you guessed it… Operation Biggest Loser.

Mustering up a level of raw ruthlessness, I pruned and repacked, generating a large box of gubbins for posting back (sorry Valerie). The Gamine has survived, for now. Mainly so I can whinge on about how useless she is.

With the rain stopped and the sun trying to sneak through the clouds, I wandered into town this evening for sushi and jasmine tea, and a copy of The Oregonian - partly because I keep seeing adverts for it and wonder what it's like, but mainly because I needed something to stuff into my cycling shoes to dry them overnight. Oh, and I also picked some wild blueberries growing along the banks of the Willamette River on my way back.

Eugene tomorrow.

Me x

P.S. Link to photos should now be working if you click on the photo of Steed to the right of this blog (fingers crossed).