Heading downstairs in long pants and a casual dress shirt, I push aside the gate to greet my Golden Lab as I do every morning, although if I’m not working I typically come down clad in my PJs.
I watch her reaction intently, looking for any sign whatsoever that this smart gal senses something is up.
Oh, I’m not wearing my Grinch PJ pants, but I’m not wearing my work clothes, either. Nope, I’m wearing my cycling pants.
I can surmise from her overly excited good morning dance that I’m busted. She knows these pants. She thinks we’re going out to ride. But I continue my charade.
Everything else marches along as though I’m heading to work. When I put up the gate and move her water bowls, I can feel her glaring at me from behind. Busted.
If you have a dog, you’ll understand. If not, well, please, don’t judge me.
Spring has yet to officially arrive, but the first full throttle day has arrived with temperatures about to bust into the mid-70s and beyond for the first time since, well, I have no idea. Maybe last September.
I just can’t settle for a 2-hour ride with my Lab. I need more to jettison the winter blues that have bruised my soul.
Besides, I’m doing this for her. Really, I am. I’m headed to check out some possible trails that she can tag along on when we camp near a paved rail trail in a few weeks.
My subterfuge means I rolled out of the driveway an hour or two ahead of schedule for a bike ride, so I have time to kill.
That works just fine since I plan to hit my newly-discovered favorite bakery just after it opens.
As I savor my latte and Marionberry tart on the slow route to my ultimate destination my mind considers just how I can take advantage of this extra time.
Then, it hits me.
Along the way one of those brown recreational signs has intrigued me. The turn to Scoggins Valley Park and Hagg Lake.
Now, if I were like you, someone who reads and researches possible outdoor expeditions, I’d have scoured the Internet and would know all there is to know. But that’s not me.
It’s time to explore.
Five miles off the highway, I find the entrance to the park. I drive in search of trailheads, but see mainly parking spots for the many fishermen who hike down to the lake.
The road appears to circle the lake, something I would know if I had picked up a map at the entrance or stopped at some kiosks, but for some reason I’m lured to just drive.
Eventually I’ve completed the circle, and it registers that the road has a wide berth for bikes, although it isn’t labeled officially as a bike lane. It’s about 10 miles full circle, something my wife will love to ride.
However, no way my Lab can spend 10 miles trotting on asphalt.
As I come full circle to a parking lot, I see a mountain biker rolling out. I pull into the lot and look at the kiosk.
Score!
A mountain bike and hiking trail weaves in and out of the woods all the way around the lake, with an occasional short section jumping onto the road.
In a matter of minutes I’m rolling down, then chugging up the first of a never-ending series of rollercoaster hills, twisting and turning along the well-worn trail.
There appears to be an endless array of side trails that end at the lake, where fishermen ply their rods and reels.
Since this is the first stellar day of the year, although most of the trail appears dry, there are many splashes of mud puddles.
My mind wanders as I slip and slide through the first, my rear tire spinning to grab traction on the steep exit. I can’t remember the last time I’ve done any real mud riding.
For the most part, Oregonians are well trained to let the trails dry. Even if you aren’t aware of it, in many places trails remain closed well into May or have signs pleading for consideration of trail conditions.
With no warning signs and the mud bogs few and far between on the 13.4-mile circuit, I don’t feel as though I’m violating any guidelines.
As my bike slides out from beneath me and I barely managed to get a foot down to avoid catastrophe, my mind drifts way, way back to riding the slippery roots in Vermont and New Hampshire.
Back east even in mid-summer, those roots will take you down before your mind grasps the fact that you’re slipping. I mean, BOOM! And you’re in the mud.
All that in mind, I decided to dismount and hike around the big puddles hoping not to further harm the trail.
Up and down, and down and up, flashes of brilliant lake views pop in and out of view.
The trail sweeps back away from the lake where streams have cut deep ravines on their way to filling the reservoir, and wooden bridges traverse the babbling brooks.
Sometimes the route opens to wide meadows. The trail rolls through the disc golf course with fair warning to watch for flying discs, only triggering the fledgling ufologist images in my head.
There are open picnic and boat launch areas, but eventually the trail picks up again and it’s easy to get lost in the magic of the solitude in this mid-week getaway.
As the miles grind along, the trail becomes more sloppy, as does my attention to detail. I hit a muddy section and as I attempt to dismount, my cycling cleat impersonates an ice skate and, viola, it becomes Mount Snow revisited as I find myself sprawled in the sticky edges of the trail narrowly avoiding a mud bath.
For the most part the park rates the trail for Intermediate riders, which I’ll agree with. There are some climbs that aren’t ridable, even for an expert (or so I surmise).
Overall it offered a perfect warmup for the rest of the day. It is a trail where I could possibly ride with my Golden Lab as my wife pedals along the road. Just another sweet find made just a pinch sweeter because of its spontaneous arrival.
Time to ride
