.jpg)
There is no way to get out of the sun in many parts of Eastern Oregon
“Sorry guys,” I apologized as I handed my sons a bag of potato chips and a can of ranch dip. “This is all I have for breakfast.” Their eyes lit up, not quite believing that their mother, the one who worships all things good and natural and organic, would hand them a bag of chips for their morning meal. They hungrily dove in before I could change my mind. Changing my mind, however, was not an option. I had no other food to give them.
Eastern Oregon has a special charm all its own, but an abundance of stores is not one of them. We learned that the hard way - by eating cheetoes for breakfast. My husband and I, along with our 9-year-old twin boys, set out to see the country aboard two bicycles. I hesitate to call them bicycles; we were more like a rolling wagon train than anything else. With one bicycle built for three and another single bike, both pulling trailers, we were a sight to see. Tents, sleeping bags, stoves, and clothes piled high on both machines rendered us more like pioneers traveling west in covered wagons than modern-day bicyclists. One would think that any self-respecting parents with a lick of sense would choose some other destination than Eastern Oregon to take their children on their first bicycle tour, but I guess John and I don’t fall into that category.
You see, we were determined to see our country with our bikes. And our home in Boise was as good a place to start as any, or so we thought. We pedaled away from our home with a whole year stretching before us like a vast prairie of time. Within a few days we found ourselves in eastern Oregon with the desert stretching before us for miles and miles and miles, with nothing but acre after acre of sage brush.
Some might say we were nuts to take our boys out in the god-forsaken land of Eastern Oregon. But we found a special charm about it all, and now truly know why all those pioneers passed this way. There is a peacefulness and serenity about the desert that one doesn’t find in busier places. There is beauty in the vastness of it all, and it didn’t take me long to understand the people who love it.
“This is the life,” exclaimed a ranch hand as he swept his arm around to show off his humble abode. “I wouldn’t give this up for anything.”
I looked around and thought, “Yep! It’s the life all right. A tumble-down shack in the middle of dusty nowhere. That’s the life alright!”
“My wife and I have been here five years now. Wouldn’t trade it for all the gold in Midas’ chest,” explained the ranch hand we met along the way. I had knocked on his door to beg for water. “I’m convinced Dewey is heaven on Earth. I used to be a marketing exec for a manufacturing plant in Portland, but somewhere along the way my wife and I decided the long hours and stress just wasn’t worth it. People thought we were nuts – selling our forty acre plot of land and huge house in the city and moving out here to be ranch hands. But we’re convinced this is God’s country pure and simple. We’re living our dream – and that’s a good place to be.”
I came to understand that dream as I pedaled hundreds of miles through the desert. I came to understand the beauty and enormity and solitude of the barren regions. Now, the call of the desert lures me and beckons to me, and I know I won’t be able to stay away for long. I look back upon our journey through 12 months, 9300 miles, 19 US states, and 4 Mexican states, and I can say with certainty that God’s country is a good place to be.
*******
Enjoyed this story? You might enjoy these other tales from the road
Comments