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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.

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.

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.

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.

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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.

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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.

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.

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.

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.

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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.

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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.

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.

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.

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.

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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.