lost trails

The Alberton Papers, Vol. VI, #IX
By Dick Darne 5-27-08
This article will be about how I turned a five day trip to Portland into high adventure. (And sorta made me feel young again.) The main characters are me and my faithful companion, Nellie the Wonder Dog and a few people I met on the way.
The first one I met a few days before I left, a gentleman named Richard, who was cycling from Bend Oregon to Duluth Minnesota. He had a rest stop here in Alberton, where he told of his adventures spanning several weeks since leaving Bend. He told of some trails that were there and some a little hard to find. Since some of these trails could be useful cycling to Portland, I decided to check them out along with Nellie, since she is in intensive bicycle training.
We cranked up and loaded the old Volvo and headed west on I-90. The first stop was in Couer D’Alane, where the trail runs to the Wash. State line and joins the Centennial Trail, which runs along the Spokane River to River Park. First problem; no overnight parking anywhere around CDA except pay parking at the Inn. Great! Public money builds trails and you can’t get away from paying somebody. Washington side is much better, except no overnight parking but a note on the windshield and a cell phone number should keep the tow truck away, according to some locals. Things are looking better, this would be two days riding, now I only need a cheap motel.
Now to find the elusive trail from Spokane to Tri-Cities. We stopped in Cheney and on the way to city hall we came onto a bicycle shop that also was a music store and an animal house. The owner didn’t know much about the trail but he was a good enough salesman to sell me a combination picking stool and guitar holder. City hall sent me to the trail head which was unmanned, so gleaning what we could from the posted map, Nellie and I headed down the back roads through the wheat fields. Our combined sense of direction sort of led us down the wrong road, which was surprising, since it sure seemed we were going right.
We finally crossed the trail many miles down the road but had no idea where the interstate was. The postmistress in a town smaller than Alberton tried to send us back to Cheney then informed us we were so far off the interstate that it made no difference which way we went. We finally got back on track, but we would never make it to Portland in time for my granddaughter’s play.
It was not a good time to cycle in Portland, it being the monsoon season. We got Nellie some heavy traffic experience and while it was close, she didn’t dump me onto the pavement in public. Pain is tolerated easier than embarrassment. While resting in one of Portland’s many fine parks, I met two cyclists, Lester Miles and Roosevelt Smelmore. We’ll save them for later, as I’m running out of space. Also we checked out the Montana side from the pass down and it deserves an actual expedition, coming soon to a newspaper near you. Anyone up for some riding? No speed demons need apply. dd