Kate Gray

Writer & Writing Coach

had to happen

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Well, I knew sometime it would… When I unloaded my bike at the bottom of the hill, I realized I had forgotten some vital equipment: my biking shoes. At least I had my Keens (not the kind with clips in them, unfortunately). So, I had an hour to get up Saltzman Road to Skyline, to a friend’s house for a meeting of our writing group, and I didn’t want to just “hang out” somewhere and kill an hour. So, up I went.

Saltzman Road is a fire access road into Forest Park and partially paved. It’s the least steep access into the part and up to Skyline. Without the draw of the feet on the pedals, it’s a little steeper, a little less sure. And yes, it was hot, around 80 degrees, there was plenty of shade. My feet didn’t slip. The different angle of my feet played a little with my calves, but I made it up, hit the pavement of Skyline and the traffic of folks heading to the Street of Dreams and later, heading home. Those narrow roads and turns are scary, but so many cyclists up there keep cars alert (I hope). I made my poetry group. I learned.

Off for two days, two days at the Coast for Cheryl’s birthday. (www.esterlee.com) 50+ miles so far this week, good hills, more on Sunday. It’s a good return to cycling. Thanks for your support.

hungover

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What does it say that I have the images of last week’s ride still in my head, the images of three weeks ago, too?

Last week I rode from Lyle, WA 20 miles along Rt. 14 east, to Rt. 97, went uphill to Goldendale, and headed west for another 40 miles. Did I mention the rain? Did I mention the wind? 30 mph gusts. Oh yeah, baby.
But what sticks in me is the viewpoint of what used to be Celilo Falls. As you face south, belly up to the road sign, the guardrail, to the right is Portland, and the mighty Pacific, to the left is The Dalles, the bridge, and in front of you used to be thousands of salmon, a series of falls, and one of the greatest trading places in North America. The wind blasts the basalt columns in there, the sage holds on until it can’t, and magpies lift off in all their starkness, their bright black and white. I do not feel alone there.
The browns with the shock of green grass, yellow delicate flowers, startled birds, they stick to my heart during the week. They are the resting place. They are the lingering escape.

Pushing off…

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Here’s to keeping your metal clip off the pavement, raising one foot to the petal, leaning a bit forward, balancing, waiting for the light, the tuck of abdominals, and pushing off with the first sentence of the first post about 50 rides to raise money for 50 African women for my 50th birthday.


Here’s for riding together.

Join me?
-Kate