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Oct 23 2025

Three Dusty Days on the Carrizo Plain

Soda Lake gleaming white on the Carrizo Plain — Soda Lake like a sheet of quiet — the trip starts where the map goes empty.

I went bikepacking on the Carrizo Plain to hear big silence. It’s a wide bowl between the Temblor and Caliente ranges, stitched by dirt roads and a white scrawl called Soda Lake. I packed 45s, a tiny stove, and the kind of patience washboard demands.

Day 1 — Selby Camp → Soda Lake Rim (≈ 36 mi / 2,000 ft)

Morning light slides down the Caliente Range as I roll from camp and drop toward the basin. The air smells like dry grass and salt. Soda Lake Road turns to pale dust that squeaks under the tires; every mile feels farther because the landscape is so big. I pull over on a low rise and eat a tortilla with peanut butter while the lake glows chalky white.

Aerial perspective of Soda Lake and the Carrizo Plain — Flat as a held breath — all that brightness is mineral and mirage.

Camp tucks into a wind break above the flats. Dinner is noodles with a suspiciously generous squeeze of olive oil. Coyotes sing like an AM radio station you can’t quite tune.

Day 2 — Elkhorn Road → Temblor Foothills (≈ 44 mi / 3,300 ft)

I swing east to Elkhorn Road, a long gravel ribbon shadowing the Temblor Range. It’s all washboard, cattle guards, and sky. The pedals settle into a farm-road cadence: relax the hands, float the front tire, let the dust make its own weather. When the wind falls away, it’s so quiet I can hear valve stems ticking as the wheels cool on a rest stop.

View from the Temblor Range down across the Carrizo Plain — Temblor overlook: the basin laid out like a relief map you can ride.

By afternoon I’m climbing into the first folds of the range. A sandy corner tries to tuck the front; I unclip, laugh, and walk ten steps. Camp is a little shoulder of ground with a view of the whole plain going purple at the edges.

Day 3 — Painted Rock Detour → Back to Selby (≈ 38 mi / 2,400 ft)

Cool air and long shadows make the ride feel lighter than the elevation profile says. I detour toward Painted Rock and lean the bike at the boundary to stare. Even from a distance, the horseshoe of stone looks like a held story. I turn back toward the lake, picking a line through the pale dust where bicycle and horizon rhyme.

Painted Rock formation rising from grasslands on the Carrizo Plain — Painted Rock: a sandstone horseshoe holding heat and history.

The last miles are a quiet glide along the lake’s edge. Back at camp, coffee tastes louder and the dust lines on my calves look like contour intervals. Good trip.

Route Sketch

Selby Campground → Soda Lake Road south → lake rim pullouts → east to Elkhorn Road “big sky” miles → climb into the first Temblor folds → detour toward Painted Rock → arc back on basin roads to Selby. Let the landscape set your speed; it’s designed for unhurried wheels.

Sep 17 2025

Three Windy, Perfect Days in the Columbia River Gorge

Vista House perched above the Columbia River Gorge — Crown Point is the prologue: wind in your teeth, river at your feet.

I went bikepacking in the Gorge to let the wind rewrite my plans. The route was simple on paper: roll the Historic Highway from Troutdale, thread the state trail to Cascade Locks, cruise through Hood River toward Mosier and Rowena Crest, then arc back along the river. In practice, it felt like riding inside a living map—water, stone, and switchbacks all arguing about who’s in charge.

Day 1 — Troutdale → Cascade Locks (≈ 35 mi / 2,800 ft)

The morning starts cool and mossy. I climb toward Crown Point in my smallest gear, the river widening below like a bruise-colored ribbon. At the Vista House the wind shoves me a step sideways and the view fixes everything I thought I needed to worry about. From there it’s old pavement and quiet shoulders, waterfalls flashing in the corner of my eye, then onto car-free sections of the state trail where the only noise is chain and birds.

Car-free stretch of the Historic Columbia River Highway State Trail — Old road, new life: the state trail rolls like a memory you can pedal.

Cascade Locks arrives with the smell of pine and fry oil. I camp in earshot of the river and fall asleep to freight horns stitching the cliffs together.

Day 2 — Cascade Locks → Hood River → Mosier & Rowena Crest (≈ 43 mi / 3,300 ft)

I chase morning light to Hood River for coffee and a grocery run, then angle east toward Mosier. The grade eases as I glide onto the old highway bed; the railings trade posts for basalt, and the wind turns into a metronome instead of a slap. The Twin Tunnels echo with freehub noise and laughter from passing riders—stone, light, stone again—then I’m out on the cliffs with the river spread below like bright steel.

Inside the Mosier Twin Tunnels on the Historic Columbia River Highway State Trail — The tunnels whisper back every click of the freehub—instant grin.

Past Mosier the road arcs into Rowena Crest, where the switchbacks stack like a ribbon dropped on the hillside. I spin to the top, lean the bike on the stone wall, and eat half a bag of gummy bears before remembering lunch exists. Camp is a little patch above the river; dusk paints the basalt gold and then takes it all back.

Historic Columbia River Highway loops at Rowena Crest — Rowena’s loops: the kind of curves that make you promise to come back.

Day 3 — Rowena → Bridge of the Gods → Troutdale (≈ 41 mi / 2,100 ft)

Morning trades cliffs for river flats and a tailwind that feels like an apology. I turn west, tuck into the bars, and let the miles unspool. By Cascade Locks, the air smells like cedar and salt. The Bridge of the Gods clatters under my tires—steel, wind, river—and the whole valley opens like a book you’re not ready to finish. The last stretch back to Troutdale is a soft-focus replay of day one, minus the nerves and plus a deep, satisfied quiet.

Bridge of the Gods over the Columbia River at Cascade Locks — Steel lattice, moving water, and wheels humming home.

Route Sketch

Troutdale → Crown Point (Vista House) → car-free segments of the Historic Columbia River Highway State Trail to Cascade Locks → Hood River → Mosier → Rowena Crest → return west along river corridors → Bridge of the Gods → Troutdale. Build days around wind and viewpoints; everything else behaves if you do.

Jul 15 2025

Three Dirt-Heavy Days in the Sierra Foothills

Foresthill Bridge spanning the American River canyon near Auburn — The kind of steel-and-air view that resets your head before the first climb.

I went bikepacking in the Sierra foothills to trade city noise for oak shadows and river echo. The plan was simple: start in Auburn, stitch together quiet lanes and gravel connectors to Coloma, climb into the pines toward Sly Park, then roll back through vineyard country and blue-oak savanna. The route felt like a geography lesson taught by gradient.

Day 1 — Auburn → Coloma (≈ 38 mi / 3,900 ft)

Morning light slides into the American River canyon as I roll out of Auburn. The day starts with the hush of oak woodland—acorns ticking off the tires, dry grass whispering on the verge. I skirt the river on backroads and dirt spurs, the smell switching from dust to bay laurel when the grade pitches into the shade.

South Fork American River gliding through Coloma valley — Coloma arrives as a silver ribbon through a bowl of green hills.

Coloma is all river gleam and soft grass. I refill bottles, eat an apple on the bank, and let the water noise clear out the day’s remaining city thoughts. Camp tucks into a stand of oaks; dinner is tortillas, peanut butter, and the last of the bakery stash—low effort, high joy.

Day 2 — Coloma → Sly Park / Jenkinson Lake (≈ 41 mi / 4,600 ft)

It’s a stairs-kind-of-climb out of the valley: short ramps, tiny plateaus, repeat. The oaks thin into pine and cedar; the air cools, then smells like rain even when it isn’t. Gravel appears in friendly chunks—forest roads that ask for patience more than skill. The cadence finds itself and so do I.

Jenkinson Lake at Sly Park, blue water ringed by conifers — Jenkinson Lake: blue water, soft wind, a perfect place to turn noodles into dinner.

I camp near the lake, the tent tucked behind a curve of manzanita. A loon call stitches across dusk and makes the last pages of my journal better than they are.

Day 3 — Sly Park → Placerville Ridges → Back to Auburn (≈ 44 mi / 3,200 ft)

Dawn snaps cool; I chase sun patches along the ridge. Vineyards start to dot the hills, and the road swings between pine shade and open gold. The last big climb is the kind that just asks for a smaller gear and a calm head. From the top, the foothills step away in ripples, blue on blue.

Rows of vines rolling across the Sierra foothills — Rows of vines on warm slopes, oak silhouettes on the skyline—hello, west side.

I point the bike toward Auburn on a string of quiet connectors. The last miles are all downhill hum and the soft shock of radio stations returning. Coffee tastes louder at the end of a loop like this.

Route Sketch

Auburn → river-side backroads/dirt to Coloma → long climb into the pines toward Sly Park/Jenkinson Lake → ridge rollers and vineyard country near Placerville → quiet lanes back to Auburn. Build days around climbs, not miles—the foothills will set your tempo.

Middle Fork American River near its confluence in Auburn SRA — River braids and canyon walls on the way back—one last breath before town.

May 19 2025

Three Islands, Three Days, Just Enough Time

Washington State Ferry approaching Anacortes terminal — Morning ferry hum, coffee steam, and the promise of island miles.

I went bikepacking in the San Juans because I needed quiet roads and salt air. The ferries make the days feel like chapters: roll on, breathe, roll off, explore. I kept it simple—45mm tires, a tiny stove, and a plan made out of tide charts and snack stops.

Day 1 — Lopez Warm-Up → San Juan Island (≈ 37 mi / 2,100 ft)

Lopez is the friendliest kind of warm-up: patchwork farms, little bays, and drivers who wave back. I spin easy past cedar fences and weathered mailboxes, then angle to the afternoon boat bound for San Juan Island. The ride into Friday Harbor is soft light and grocery smells—perfect for a quick resupply before I point west.

Lime Kiln Lighthouse above rocky shoreline on San Juan Island — Evening at Lime Kiln: swell shouldering into the rocks, wind teasing the pines.

I camp in the trees with the sound of water working the shoreline. Dinner is tortillas with peanut butter and apple slices—proof that hunger is the best spice.

Day 2 — Around San Juan → Orcas & Moran State Park (≈ 44 mi / 3,400 ft)

I circle the island on quiet ribbons of pavement and the occasional surprise hill, then catch the midday ferry to Orcas. The vibe changes immediately—tighter roads, bigger climbs, more trees. I thread into Moran State Park where the pavement turns to hush and the lake appears between trunks like polished stone.

Still water and forested banks at Cascade Lake in Moran State Park — Cascade Lake: a blue pause button for legs and brain.

With light left, I aim uphill. The climb toward Mount Constitution is steady—edge of the big ring, breathing like I mean it. The switchbacks trade lake glimpses for island mosaics until the road runs out at the stone tower.

Stone observation tower atop Mount Constitution with islands beyond — Mount Constitution: islands scattered like stepping stones across the Salish Sea.

I drop back to camp on cooling brakes, cook noodles, and fall asleep to loon calls stitched over the water.

Day 3 — Lakeside Rollout → Ferries Home (≈ 33 mi / 2,000 ft)

Morning is lake glass and oatmeal. I loiter on the shoreline, then weave out of Moran under cedar perfume and ferry timetables buzzing in my pocket. Orcas’ rollers keep me honest all the way to the dock. The boat back is a slow-motion transition: salt air thinning, cell bars blooming, legs humming with that good kind of fatigue.

Route Sketch

Anacortes → Lopez (counter-clockwise meander) → ferry to San Juan (Lime Kiln & west side) → ferry to Orcas (Moran, Cascade Lake, Mount Constitution) → ferry back to Anacortes. Build days around ferry times and the big climb; everything else is gravy.

Ferry wake pointing back toward the San Juan Islands — Wake lines and good tired legs—you know it was a proper trip.

Mar 23 2025

Three Slow Days Beneath the Redwoods

Avenue of the Giants under towering redwoods — Avenue of the Giants, where the road narrows and the trees get impossibly tall.

I went bikepacking along California’s north coast to trade cell bars for tree rings. The plan was simple: roll south through the Avenue of the Giants, cross to the ocean, then trace the edge of the redwoods back on quiet roads and dirt. It felt less like a route and more like a permission slip to go slow.

Day 1 — Avenue of the Giants → Prairie Creek (≈ 36 mi / 2,800 ft)

I start with bakery crumbs in my frame bag and cold air pooling in the river bottoms. The Avenue of the Giants is a tunnel of red trunks and filtered light; every turn feels hushed, like I’m pedaling through a library. Chipseal gives way to short, steep ramps beneath cedar shade, and the bike hums like it knows where we’re headed.

CA 254 winding through the redwoods — CA-254 spirals between trunks the size of houses.

By mid-afternoon, I’m off the main drag and into smaller lanes that smell like wet bark and fern. I camp on a soft bench above a creek, pitch the tent under a lace of branches, and cook ramen doctored with olive oil and crushed chips. The night is all creek song and the soft creak of trees.

Day 2 — Prairie Creek → Gold Bluffs Beach & Fern Canyon (≈ 34 mi / 2,300 ft)

Dawn is damp and quiet. A set of rollers leads me toward the coast and the rumble of surf. The first sight of the ocean hits like a reset button: gray water, low cloud, wind tugging at the guy lines I haven’t packed yet. I stash the bike and walk the sand until it turns to pebbles and sea foam.

Gold Bluffs Beach backed by grassy cliffs — Gold Bluffs Beach: low cloud, long horizon, and the quiet thrum of waves.

Inland, a gravel spur threads into a narrow canyon where the walls are furred with ferns and water stitches down the rock. It’s cooler here, a different kind of silence that sticks to your jacket. Back at camp, I tuck the tent behind a drift log, eat tortillas with peanut butter and an apple, and watch the tide pull color out of the sky.

Day 3 — Newton B. Drury Parkway → Back Inland (≈ 41 mi / 3,100 ft)

Morning breaks with fog lifting and elk tracks stitched across the shoulder. I climb into the redwoods again on a road that bends like ribbon. The grade is steady; I drop a gear and let the cadence sort out the thoughts I carried in with me. Sun shafts slice through the canopy and turn the dust to glitter.

Newton B. Drury Scenic Parkway lined with massive redwoods — Newton B. Drury Scenic Parkway — a quiet corridor of living skyscrapers.

I stop at a pullout, sit on the guardrail, and eat the last of the gummy bears while trucks whisper past somewhere far away. Then it’s a gentle tilt back toward the inland valley: a few hairpins, the hiss of tires on damp pavement, and that soft return of radio stations and coffee smells. I don’t hurry the last miles. You shouldn’t hurry a place that grows trees this slowly.

Route Sketch

Avenue of the Giants → small connectors toward the coast → Gold Bluffs Beach & fern-walled canyon sidetrip → Newton B. Drury Parkway → quiet backroads inland. Build days around climbs, not miles. The forest will set your speed.

Overcast morning view from Drury Parkway — Overcast morning: the kind that makes coffee and low gears taste better.