Date: May 26, 2016
Start: Yakima
Start: Yakima
End: Goldendale
Miles: 68.7 mi
Time: 6 hours, 01
minute
Elevation Gain: +3229
ft
This day’s morning was preceded by a night’s night in a
hotel. If you’re keeping statistics, last night was my first motel of the trip.
Before that, two nights in a durn rip-stop nylon shelter (tent), and last night, a bit better, I lied prone in
a measly 50 thread count top sheet and blanket with a popcorn ceiling overhead. But, hey, last night I enjoyed a cocktail, a beer and a burger – the night’s highlight.
And the bed was not too bad as well. Well rested, today would be the LONGEST
day of my tour and to add insult to a slap in my wind burned face, a major
mountain pass was planning on lording its haunches and shoulders over me the
entire day. I’m referring to Satus Pass. In the scheme of things not a beast of
a pass, I’ve seen worse, but a steady grind up to 3107 feet. And, to arrive at
Goldendale, the ride was approximately 70 miles.
This trip has had its share of wind. Never fun on a bike - unless
it’s a 100% pure, unadulterated tail wind. And most of the time on a bicycle,
as fate would have it, the wind hammers you from the front. As I woke, I was
worried today would be a windy, slog-fest struggle. I glanced out of the windows
of the motel’s continental breakfast room, and as I rubbed sleepy elbows with my
fellow motel travelers over Sterno warmed stainless steel trays full of dried hash
browns and runny eggs, with Fox news on the T.V., Yakima’s morning seemed calm.
I like Yakima. The Palm Springs of Washington!
My Love, me and our sweet pup Luna have recently stumbled across
this town, going from town A to town B, with Yakima in the middle, not really worthy
of a stop, just a town, basic, not-much-going-on, rural, dry, but it’s a nice
gem really. I love the importance of the agriculture of the area, the Native
American history and the Hispanic culture that is so part and parcel of many agriculture
areas in this country. Did I mention hops? What about wine? Well, both, in quite
a "hop-yard", vineyard, beer and wine producing tour-de-force. Very impressive as you
drive around the Yakima Valley and realize just what the heck is going on here.
Hops. The Yakima Valley contains approximately 75 percent of
the total United States hop acreage, with an average farm size of 450 acres
(182 hectares) accounting for over 77 percent of the total United States hop
crop. The second place producer is Oregon at a measly 15%. Hah Oreeegone! You
just don’t mess with Yakima and its trellised 15 foot hop vines!
And wine is big too. Washington is the second largest
premium wine producer in the United States. Yakima has four American
Viticultural Areas (AVA) that produce very exceptional wines.
But I digress.
My overall ride today was divided into four subsections.
1.
Yakima proper
2.
Yakima Valley
3.
Satus Pass accent
4.
Satus Pass decent
Enough of Fox "news" on the hotel’s "continental" dining room. Time to mount
up.
I worked my way through Yakima proper and targeted Union Gap
to merge
with U.S. highway 97 that would spit me out past the eastern end of Ahtanum Ridge and
into Yakima
valley and
its namesake river. The gap is quite a geological feature.
At this point I had 15 miles down the wide shouldered hwy 97 past flat lands of the valley, paced by tough looking rural shacks
and an occasional well-established farm. It was still morning. I was making
good time and at times wondered when I saw beat up parked cars and pickups and
single-wide trailers with faded blue roof tarps weighted down with used tires to
guard against the infrequent rains of this dry valley, do these folks ever have
a chance to ride a bicycle – for fun?
In Toppenish, I stopped for a granola bar at a gas station
at a cross roads to 97. Across the street was a meat packing plant.
The smell of the plant was a test of my senses and
sensibilities. The rancid, meaty, almost sweet like industrial smell assaulted me and I
had to gasp. I ducked into the convenience store, grabbed a protein bar and got
out of Dodge as fast as I could.
Back on highway 97, and still flat terrain, I had a mile until
the highway went to the right at a 45-degree turn and vanished off toward the
Simcoe Mountains. Satus pass was not apparent but I know it loomed, behind undulating,
ever higher barren ridges, about 30 miles from my right hand signal and eased
braking for the traffic light.
The day just got a lot more serious. At this point 97 became
much more of a long grind with a vanishing point butted into some imposing
treeless ridge - and the road arching to the right and up; just five miles more
and its time to start climbing.
Hill at 12 o’clock and closing fast I thought.
As soon as I shifted the Burro down a few notches, the road’s
wide shoulders, went away. As the two-lane road was now climbing quite an
incline, the state DOT appropriated the break-down lane and made it a slow
truck lane! I have about 8 inches of riding room. The Burro with touring bags
is at least two feet wide.
Well, here we go I thought. Climbing. Climbing. Climbing.
At about two and half miles up the road peaked. Something
was amiss. I thought this was the start of Satus pass. Um, no. False Summit!
But, I get to ride down hill for a while. Nice.
At the bottom, after two miles downhill I stopped at the
bottom of a bridge crossing Satus Creek. Nice to take a break.
Time to get moving. Now the real climbing can commence!
Wait, I said that before.
At about mile 39 of today’s ride, I run into road
construction. Single lane, flagger man with pointy goatee, wait time 20
minutes.
I have a nice conversation with the guy. I’m at the front
and a few cars are pulling up on us and stopping their autos and waiting – just
like me. The flagger actually offered me one of his Power Bars and some water if I
needed it!
“Let me call the pilot car and we’ll give you a lift the
friendly goatee-ed man says.
About ten minutes later the pilot car appears – flashing
lights and all. Well, I don’t know many pilots that smoke on the job, but this
gal was puffing a dangling cigarette as she whipped the truck around with both
hands (pilot “car” is not actually accurate) and she put ‘er in reverse and
backed up to me and promptly evacuated the left side of the truck as if she had
pulled the emergency egress lever on the ejection seat kicking her ass out onto south
bound highway 97 – door still open.
It took all three of us to load the burrow, all 100 plus pounds onto this
steel extenda-how'd they come up with that-ledge that was welded onto the pilot truck’s back bumper. I hopped into the passenger seat – making
sure I had an emergency egress cord within reach.
The gal at the wheel was named Mel. What a treat. I get a lift and some nice
conversation. She was full of questions about my ride - puffing on her cig the whole time. In return, I wondered
allowed about the road construction life – she openly shared past highway
projects and sorted tidbits of flagging cars, crusty union state DOT workers, anvil
shaped thunder clouds shortening the day and various "flat cat" and "bovine centerline" road kills she's seen. My transit
time was about 12 minutes and five miles. Hey, I’ll take it. Record one
construction invoked assist on my 300-mile trip.
I still had fifteen miles to the top of Satus Pass. But here
is the rub. Those cars that were delayed by the construction are now impatient,
grumpy, zoom zoom drivers who are going to be harassing me as I trudge up the
pass. And since I’m moving slow, as bikes do up a 6% grade, things came in nauseous waves as the pilot car released its "freight train". I had several waves on the way up Satus - peaceful, brilliant no-cars calmness and then frightening Elon Musk-ness
Hyper-Loop, car to car, semi-to-semi, Pinto to Corvette to mini-van sheer terror barrages over my left shoulder.
I even jumped lanes and faced the opposing traffic and road
uphill to get the hell out of the way of the highway buzz bombs in my lane.
That was fun.
At 54.7 miles on the day, I reached the top of Satus Pass!
Elevation 3107 feet.
Ok, mostly down hill now. But the wind was starting to pick
up. Of course. I’m now pointed due south and down to the mighty Columbia River and as such
exposing myself to the nuclear winds that funnel up river from the ocean and
blast the central scablands of our lovely state. Fifteen miles, winds and a 250-foot minor
hump are between beautiful G-dale and me!
I’m five hours into today’s trek. But, feel we’re going to
deliver on the plan – I just need to keep my focus and handlebars square to the
fog line of the road. At six hours, 46 minutes I roll into Goldendale and
un-click from my pedals at the lobby sign for the Ponderosa Motel. Made it.
I'm checked in and take a nice little cat nap. When its time for dinner, just down the road is a grocery store. Get the usual salami, wine, cheese and cookies for desert.
The wind has not let up. Tomorrow will be interesting if this keeps up!
The wind has not let up. Tomorrow will be interesting if this keeps up!
Map / distance of the days ride: