Fin de siècle

Roosevelt, Washington to Umatilla, Oregon Tuesday, May 21, 2024

Today was the end of the century, the century I thought I could do yesterday, until reality told me otherwise. I was comfortable enough in that new tent, but there were trains going by all night on both sides of the river, mitigated somewhat by the custom-fitted earplugs I got for the Camino. I braved the 48° temperature to take a shower in that sketchy bathroom, went back to that same general store (the only one in 100 miles) for breakfast, an immediately had a flashback to a favorite passage from Bill Bryson’s A Walk in the Woods, where he explains his sudden impulse to hike the Appalachian Trail:

Four years ago, on my bike ride to the ocean to start my climb of Mt. Washington, I passed this sign in Lebanon, New Hampshire

and thought OMG, that’s the Four Aces Diner! Alas, there were no such characters inside then, but there were there this morning, right out of central casting, sitting around drinking coffee and mercilessly teasing the weird guy in Lycra with the titanium bike. I wish I’d taped the banter, it was priceless. The line I remember was, you’ll have wind up your ass all the way to Idaho.

I presumed he meant tailwinds, magic words to any cyclist. And sure enough, I had a good stiff breeze pushing me the 53 miles to Umatilla. The hills had moderated, the pavement was smooth and sparsely trafficked, my bravado came back and I thought, yeah, I could have done this last night. I’ve got a good headlight. I could’ve done that century.

It never fails. You get cocky, reality kicks in. The mouse in my left knee started squeaking.

A joint mouse (corpus liberum) is a loose piece of cartilage or bone tissue that floats freely through the joint, most commonly the knee.

I’ve had one for years, normally giving me no trouble. But every once in a while, it will float into the articular surfaces of the knee, like a burr in the gears, and produce sharp pain. Then, after a few more steps, it floats out of the way and everything is fine.

Lately it’s been serving as a wakeup call, a warning when I’m overdoing it. Last fall, on our campervan tour of New Zealand, we were racing to catch a ferry on one of the world’s premier trails, the Milford Track, and the knee started acting up. I (and Jane) could hear a pop with every step. We made the ferry but the pain persisted, this time for months. The Mouse That Roared. An orthopedist said yeah, you’ve got osteoarthritis, like everyone else your age. Our good friend and crack physical therapist Lesli Bell gave me exercises but the pain abruptly stopped and I never did them. Doctors make the worst patients.

The last mile to my motel was comically steep, it had started raining, and I was limping. My body was telling me, Dude, there’s no way you could have fined that siècle.

You think I’ll listen?

Distance 53 miles, 865 total. Time 5 hours with stops. Elevation gain 1,341 feet

©️ 2024 Scott Luria