EDITOR’S NOTE: This is a continuation of the adventure that began last week
If you’re just joining me, in an uncharacteristic move on my part, I planned out a special ride for myself, but it didn’t take long for my yearning for spontaneity took control of the day.
I stumbled upon the greatest bakery I’ve found in, well, decades, and floated to the Banks-Vernonia State Trail trailhead on a cloud of ecstasy not to mention a sugar and caffeine buzz.
When I reached the Manning Trailhead (if you get the chance to ride this, you can easily skip the first four miles from Banks since the pavement is a mess and that section is scattered with local walkers, mostly young families) I began my prep when an older woman popped up out of, well, it seemed like nowhere.
In a somewhat heavy European accent she asked if I knew much about bike racks. She just bought a new Kia and was having trouble finding the right rack for it. Today, sans bike, she planned to walk “until the rain hits.”
She lives in Forest Grove, a town along my route to the trail that I stop at after the ride to have a beer at a great brewery called Ridgewalker — another factor in making this odyssey a dreamlike adventure. The town has a wonderful air about it, so much so we’ve toyed with the idea of making a move in the future.
She filled me in with more wonders of Forest Grove, the riding in the area, and the Banks-Vernonia Trail. I filled her with what I know about racks, which I’m sure she assumed was very little as I pulled my bike from the back of my SUV to rebuild it for the ride.
Leaving her behind I hit the trail with perfect cool-not-cold weather, and in matter of moments I returned to the trance the trail bestowed upon me in my first ride.
No matter which end you of the trail you start at, you’ll slowly climb the gentle railroad grade up to 1,000 feet elevation at about the 11-mile mark from Banks, a rise of nearly 800 feet.
The forest canopy envelops you in a comforting embrace. Just two weeks earlier a cougar was spotted on the trail, and the warning signs alert you to be on guard.
The ride lived up to my memories, and when I coasted into Vernonia, I felt the need to soak it in a bit more before turning around.
Rail trails transport me as I ride, imagining what it was like first for the hearty souls who cut its path through the Oregon forest, and later what it was like for steam engines to chug through the countryside.
My dream stage gets elevated by some homestead nearby burning coal in its fireplace, the scent sparking wonder whether or not I’ve been here before, in another life in another time.
Of course there’s a steam engine in a small park in Vernonia, and the historical marker tells a tale of Oregon I never knew. The story of railroad logging.
As I’ve pedaled on countless logging roads in the backwoods, I’ve always envisioned the old loggers driving worn out trucks and bulldozers and cranes after hitching horses and oxen were sidelined.
I’ve often noted the rhythm of the logging roads, how steep grade sections eventually level off for a pinch to allow the heavy loaded trucks to take a breather before forging upward again.
Then I read about the history of logging around Vernonia, and how they would build tracks to take the trains right up to the side of the mountain they were cutting.
The train would be loaded right there for transport down to Vernonia, where they would be dispatched to places throughout the region, the nation and the world, some by train, by truck and by river.
They would lay water pipe along the ties. Eventually, the hills cleared, they would retreat, picking up the tracks and pipes as they leave.
I leave Vernonia floating again with newfound gems that slipped my attention in my first ride.
Just out of town I catch a sign along the trail that says free tasting today, and spin around and glide into Cheep Housing, an eclectic local getaway. Its family farm inventory ranges from “flowers, pottery, wood bowls, jams and preserves, birdhouses and yard art along with an assortment of other bespoke products locally sourced.”
Of course my Carlton Bakery baguette weighs heavily on my mind, and finding the proper jam to help it ascend to the culinary stratosphere becomes a mind blowing experience with options like raspberry and rhubarb, carrot cake and blackberry-lime, among many others as well as intriguing BBQ sauce concoctions.
I strike up a great conversation with Susan, eventually selecting the blackberry-lime low sugar jam.
As I hit the trail for my return trip, the climb back to the peak appears to zip by in a blink as memories of my morning dance a waltz in my head, alternating with beauty of the forest for my attention.
The long descent back to my truck also becomes a blur with my cheeks cramping from my endless smile.
I slide into the parking lot on wings of dreams as a wave of drizzle splashes across my cheeks. I glance at my iPhone.
It’s a little past two.
I chuckle, buoyed by the confirmation that, no, you can’t plan your future, but you can always revel in the present.
Time to ride
Nice!