A thick bank of clouds crept in on a soft breeze snuffing out the morning sunshine while keeping an unseasonable chill in the air more reflective of fall rather than late summer.
Rolling along on the dusty quicksand roads that weave through the Deschutes National Forest just west of Sisters in late August, my rides typically become abbreviated by the 90-plus high desert heat that torches the dirt beyond a reasonable temperature for my Golden Lab’s paws.
With mercury hoovering around 60, I sense the rare opportunity for an extended exploration of these roads and trails I’ve been playing on for more years than I can remember.
Even for the most trained geographer it’s easy to lose your way out here. That means I’ll be joyfully lost for most of my ride until some familiar trail pops up.
Undaunted and more than ready to leave the well-traveled road that feels like trudging on a sandy beach, I see an offshoot we haven’t taken before. That’s not difficult to find since there appears to be a crossroads every few minutes.
This one is far less traveled and the packed dirt offers a refreshing twist, even if it climbs a bit. The refreshing crispness of the morning has my juices flowing.
Then something catches my eye about 50 yards into the forest. An elegant cow elk stands still, looking over her shoulder directly at me.
I stop and waddle backwards for a clear view without her moving a muscle. I pull out my cellphone and take a pic of your average Sasquatch quality. No worries. At least I have it documented.
More than that, these surprise wildlife encounters stir a caldron of emotions inside me — a bizarre mix of buzz and calm that never, ever gets old.
As long as I’m dismounted I decide to dispatch a few cups of my morning decaf java, and watch as the elk remains steady as a statue.
Eventually my Golden Lab lifts her tan nose into the air in her direction, and locks in. It’s the first elk she has seen in her three years.
I tell her that’s an elk, just as I’ve identified deer and turkeys and even a bear on various occasions.
As I clip in and take my first pedal stroke on the crunchy cinder, suddenly three other huge elk get up from their resting spots around the lookout.
Again I perform the unflattering waddle backward to snap a photo. By the time I get in proper position, they begin to trot off, albeit not alone.
I stand stunned as I count 14 elk trot through the small opening and head deeper into the woods.
Look out, folks, now I’m amped.
I venture off the main road about a mile or so after passing the sign that reads “Four Mile Butte 3” with an arrow pointing straight ahead.
I’ve passed that sign countless times. I’ve ridden up the road more than three miles. I’ve turned off on numerous offshoots.
I’ve made big loops and short ones. I’ve never come across anything that resembles a butte.
When our newfound tangent ends, I’m on a familiar main road that’s paved with bright red cinder. Again, searing temps usually keep this off limits, but today we can journey farther than normal.
Buoyed by the elk episode, I anxiously dive onto the next uncharted road and head farther away from camp than ever.
That crosses a new cinder road, and we turn and head deeper and deeper into the forest.
I soon realize that I’m climbing more than not, and when the opportunity comes to start sweeping back instead of venturing forward, I take it.
A mile or so later I come to a familiar crossroads, and start heading on a route I know will get me back on the main “Four Mile Butte” road.
Then I stumble upon another offshoot. It appears to head in a favorable direction and, well, since the sizzling August sun is absence from today’s equation? Onward!
The climb slowly gets steeper, but not too taxing. Besides, I’m confident there will be a sweet descent sometime in my future.
And then?
BAM!!
Directly in front of me a massive red cinder cone appears, with two roads sharply cutting off this main vein.
One straddles the edge of the cone, rising in a super steep climb that obviously swings back to the top.
The ruts from offroad motos and ATVs are deep and sandy, but somehow I find just enough traction on the edges to keep myself plugging away to the top.
The road swings around and exposes a huge red funnel with a trail around its edge. I’ve discovered Four Mile Butte in all its glory after years of being denied!
Sadly the inside of the cone is littered with trash making it look like the aftermath of a tornado.
Three motocross bikes sit parked with two tents in the middle of the debris field. I see someone sitting in a discarded backseat bench from a car and he gets up and disappears into a tent.
As I ride the lip around soaking in the amazing 360-degree view, I see more junk tossed down the edges including a wrecked small pickup truck.
A churning knot in my stomach accompanies my wave of despair and disappointment in my fellow man. It’s short-lived as the magnitude of the wonderful forests, buttes and ridges inspire me.
Sadly the clouds than created this rare summer opportunity for me smother the snow-dotted peaks of the Three Sisters, and well as Mounts Jefferson and Washington that probably can be seen too on a clear day.
No matter. I’ll never look at a cloudy day the same way again.
Time to ride
