Our final state border crossing: into Oregon (again)...

Sep 11 - Roosevelt WA to Celiloh OR: 46.2 miles

I wake up partially, with cold feet. Hmmm, they're wet.

I put a hand down on the tent floor to hold up my weight so that I can shift on my narrow sleeping pad. Splash. Water. 

Other hand down.  Splash.  Water.

I sit up with a jerk. "....we're in a lake!"

I reach around to feel the state of my precious possessions.  The dry bag under my legs with all my clothes in it is completely wet on the outside. I hope that I closed it.  I feel around my sleeping bag: the top half is completely on my thick sleeping pad, and so isolated from the water. Whew.  Not for the first time, I wish I had a full length pad, like my sister has. I grab for my electronics that are in the tent cover over my head. Whew again, all dry up there. I immediately stuff my partly dry sleeping bag into my industrial blue dry bag.

Time: 2.40 am.   Argh.  

Is it raining?  Nope, no water on the tent fly.  I peak my head out.  We are in a lake, apparently caused by the sprinkler system, which is in the midst of its middle-of-the-night cycle, and all of the deflectors that we carefully set up the day before so that our tent would not get sprayed has resulted in lots of water being deflected straight to ground and pooling in any low spots.  Of course, being the last to arrive at camp the day before, we ended up in low ground, and are the only tent currently in standing water.

I wake up Heather and together we stuff our gear into our dry sacks to prevent further mishap.  This feels familiar. 

We agree that our only course of action if we want to get some more sleep is to get all of our gear out of the tent and move it to a new less damp location.

We haul everything out to the nearby bathroom building and start the debate on a new tent location by headlamp.  We trial nearby flat spots, and are consistently defeated as the rotating sprinkler heads eventually reach us at each one. We're both drenched.

The sprinklers stop.  Thank goodness. 

We pick a spot right under a nearby tree. It's sloping and bumpy, but who cares.  After getting the tent set up again, we spend the next quarter hour pushing water out of it with a towel and then continue to squeeze and mop until the tent floor is just damp.

We're fully re-installed and horizontal in our tent by 4am-ish.

I'm awake again at 8am. I pull off my buff scarf from my eyes. My alarm didn't sound - I probably slept through it.

Outside the tent, the other bike tourers camped nearby are all packed and ready to go.  Soon, we're the only people left for the camp host to talk to, which he does as we continue setting stuff out to dry in the sun. 

We finally leave our riverside oasis of green at around 10.45 and make it as far as the top of the road where we stop at yet Another Random Convenience Store for road snacks, and another cross-country touring log book to sign.  Now its 11am. 

Our route is Highway 14, which tracks the Columbia River on the Washington side. It's hot, and the surroundings are desert-like, with no trees or shade anywhere.  The shoulder for riding is nice and wide in some spots and almost non-existent in others; there's lots of big ups and downs.  There are huge windmills visible on both sides of the river.

One big climb leads then to a tricky left hand turn from the highway onto a super steep descent to a bridge that goes over the Columbia River for our final cross into our last state: Oregon.  The descent is very, very uncomfortable: long, no shoulder, lots of big trucks going both directions.  I pull up short just before the bridge at an enormous fruit and vegetable stand to recover.  $4.34 buys me a huge peach, 3 small apples, and dinner supplies of 3 corn plus yellow squash, jalapeño and zucchini.

The bridge is only one lane each direction and has no sholder, so I hold up traffic while I climb the steep uphill to midspan and in my effort to escape quickly, I take the first turn, straight onto a barge-filling access road (more trucks), and the I-84 onramp. As soon as I pull over, a huge blue heron takes off just below me and flies along the river.  My first heron sighting in the West!

I must traverse back to the high traffic bridge intersection and make my way to a large busy truck stop complex that has a Subway sandwich shop.  I don't hesitate to wheel in my bike and ask for permission to stick it in a corner of the Subway.

Once Heather pulls in and we both are satiated, we take our obligatory state crossing photo at the ugly truck complex, sans "Welcome to Oregon" sign (there is none to be found anywhere).  So be it.

We're straight on to our target campsite for the night: Deschutes River Recreation Area, where the Deschutes River comes down to meet the Columbia. 

Did I mention that it's the weekend?  There is NO camping at the Deschutes for us, and no overflow that they will let us use either.  I get another flat tire and  have to fix it in the park.

The camp ranger tells us to head up the road to Celiloh where we will find free camping at a park next to the river.  Sounds familiar, as that's the scenario from last night as well.  There's another desperate traveler asking the same questions as us: a young woman traveling solo by motorcycle that is anxious to have fellow women to camp with.  We're game, but she's likely to beat us to camp.

Once I reach Celiloh, I end up in a small village first before finding the park.  The village is really just a cul-de-sac of new looking houses that have junk piled everywhere, and families of Native American-looking people sitting quietly on the porches watching me go by.  I wave with no response.  Everyone looks tired.

Celiloh park is crowded. It's a large swath of very green grass right along the river. There are lots of RVs and trucks and boat trailers in the parking lot and lots of people with tents set up in the park. More and more people continue to show up into the night. It feels like a tailgate party on the river.

Our young motorcycle friend is happy to have us there. We spend a little time investigating the sprinkler situation before we select a spot for our tent.  They're turned off on weekends. Hooray!

We cook dinner on the ground in the parking lot (mmmm, boiled eggs) and chat with people cooking nearby.  We are gifted two Honeycrisp apples by a Native American fisherman in the truck next to us.

The sunset is stunning.  Welcome to Oregon indeed.