richland, or.

Only through the grace of God was I able to find a replacement chain. There were no open bike shops in town--the only shop was open 3 days a week--and I could not continue to ride with my busted chain. I thought I was going to be stranded in Baker City. But after a Sherlockian hunt through the city, chasing down a mystery shop and the one that would not be open for many days, I finally came to a new shop, not yet open for business. They were still building their furniture, butcher paper over the windows and no signs in sight. But they were kind enough to dig through their unpacked boxes of goods to find me a chain. What a godsend.

This is the first time that I notice the scenery is starting to be...different. It no longer looks like the lush greenery of the Great PNW. It looks arid, like a desert. Fields of dried up little shrubs as far as I can see.

I ride through "Hell's Canyon" which sounds like a really terrible place to ride a bicycle, but it was actually rather pleasant. I left my new friend in Baker City--he was waiting there to see his girlfriend who was driving over to see him. At this point, I'm getting really comfortable with my own company, discussing at length in my journal my opinions of the albums I'm listening to, the scenery, my inner dialogue.

I now see that this is really a sign that I've become...comfortable on the road. It's no longer novelty. I've passed the crisis point. I am now just...doing my thing. I am on a mission and I'm putting miles on the road, taking it for what it is and enjoying the trip.

I am very aware that this is my last day in beautiful Oregon. I am VERY ready to be in a new state. I have gotten the overwhelming idea of just how loooooong Oregon is. Little did I know how long Montana would be...

From my journal:

I overheard a bartender refer to a shovel as a "Mexican backhoe"

....yikes