In the Elements
Understatement of the year: It is rainy in Oregon’s Willamette Valley. In the throes of wet season, my husband and I sarcastically say to each other about once a week, “It really should rain more,” as we gaze upon the growing soggy patches in our yard. We also often share how thankful we are to have a warm, solid house that we own. I’m particularly thankful for a big living room couch from which I can look through our picture window and watch the trees getting battered by weather.
Sometimes, though, I wish I was the one getting lightly beaten up by the elements. Just a little bit wet from rain, or slightly sweaty from rushing to find cover from a sudden hailstorm. Enough to feel invigorated out of my sedentary, too-much-indoors life.
I used to spend a lot more time outdoors, especially on a bike in the early 2010s. Like many Portlanders, it was my preferred way to get around the city, regardless of weather. I had all the gear: rainproof slicker and pants, shoe covers, watertight panniers, even a shower cap-like cover for my helmet. If we didn’t bike in the rain, some us would never get out to see friends or run errands until summer. I recall locking up my bike in front a pet supply store and stripping off some wet gear as a passerby said, “You Portland cyclists are amazing!” I was proud to be part of that cohort. Every destination was more rewarding when arrived at under one’s own power, proving that it is the journey that’s more important.
I learned more about the power of biking when I fell in with Cycle Wild, a group of fun people who led bike camping trips in the greater Portland region. They taught me how accessible some beautiful places were without using personal cars: Milo McIver State Park on the Clackamas River, Champoeg State Park on the Willamette, the spectacular Columbia River Gorge, Battle Ground Lake in Washington State (to get to which we rode over the Interstate 205 bridge across the Columbia). I learned how to strap a backpacking tent and other supplies onto my bike, and how to pace myself to be able to ride 20 or 30 miles with that load.
I don’t think we ever cancelled trips for bad weather. It’s Oregon; we accepted the risk. Many outings were in the summer or fall, sunny and mild. Others involved drizzle, outright rain, or cold. There was one trip to Clackamas that I remember being especially brutal, but in a beautiful way. It started off with lovely weather as we departed from Portland. Somewhere around Boring (a real town), it started to rain and then hail as our stalwart crew pushed through a bottleneck of traffic. We mostly stuck to rural roads on these trips, but there were always a few busy intersections or towns to traverse, especially if we were making a stop for groceries. I imagine a few drivers thought we were crazy for being out there, bikes laden, heads down to protect our eyes from the stinging ice.
The hail didn’t last, but the rain and chill did as we continued to the campground. Admittedly, our spirits were a little dampened as we set up our tents beneath the imperfect shelter of tree canopy. I’m sure that we lit a campfire, drank some booze, and did a reasonable job of enjoying ourselves through the intermittent rain.
There was no fresh start the next morning, just a bunch of soggy bikes and damp clothes. I never sleep very well in a tent, so I’m sure that I was tired too. Pedals had to be pushed, nevertheless. We headed into town for a hot breakfast: a reward for miles ridden. Somewhere along the way, clouds started to break and sunlight bounced off of rain droplets that continued to fall from the sky. I can still picture our merry band, probably about ten strong, forging ahead in our wet gear, looking vaguely disgruntled on the surface but happy underneath.