Multisport

Saturday, March 6, 2010

Toutle River 1400 cfs

Class III-IV

4 miles

Due to dry weather, sunny days and cold temps, the rivers were low. All of them. Except one. The Toutle, the river that will have a bit of water in it when all else fails. Chris and I were the only ones who wanted to get wet so we met at Fred Meyers and loaded into the Previa with two kayaks and a bike.

It didn't make any sense to us to bring two cars with us and have to drive an hour and a half in lonely silence, so we opted for the bike shuttle. The bike shuttle made this a multi sport day for me, kayaking with some biking. Nothing better than a little cardio to top off the end of a kayak trip.

At the take out we changed, stashed the bike in the woods and locked it to the biggest tree that I could find, and drove to the put-in. The river was fun, sunny and warm with some waves to surf, eddies to catch and a beer to share between friends (after the rapids Mom).

At the take out I peeled off the extraneous gear, grabbed the bike and began my ridiculous bike ride to the car. Ridiculous for a couple of reasons. 1) I was wearing my kayak helmet and my bright orange drysuit, I probably looked like an astronaut. 2) I was wearing my booties which made riding surprisingly more difficult. 3) I failed to remove my specialty clipped pedals and replace them with my platform pedals. This final bit was the most troublesome on the steep hill climb back up to the top.

One thing that I had forgot about bike riding and hill climbing in particular is how much more of your surroundings you are able to observe whilst riding through the country. As I began plodding up the hill in my silly outfit I was keen to snoop into peoples backyards and observe the piece of country I spend plenty of time driving through.

The first piece of Americana that I noticed was a house - and I use that term very liberally - with a sign out front that stated the name of the house or perhaps the inhabitant; Unka Dave. Now notice the manner in which David spells his name; U-N-K-A, this is perhaps a reflection of his education or a deliberate attempt at standing up to the establishment. I would think that the latter is likely considering Unka Dave's dilapidated abode and his belief that having a trash pile as a yard ornament would be good for property value. I had a good giggle over Unka and continued my tour north toward the car.

As I rode by a well manicured and modern home I was greeted by the beginning of the chorus in Ozzy "The Prince of Darkness" Osbourne's first single "crazy train". It was blasting out an open garage door where a gentleman was working underneath what I believe was his Chevy Chevelle SS, a classic car worthy of the Prince of Darkness. I flashed him the devil horns and sang along as I peddled my happy ass along.

As I huffed and puffed up the steep pitch to the top of the last hill before the car I was reminded why riding on the road surrounded by errant drivers and speed freaks always worried me. As is chugged around a sharp bend in first gear I heard the approaching engine of a commuter sedan. The Geo Prizm flew by me at a good clip, the two liter, four cylinder engine whining away at 6,000 RPM under the strain of it's hefty occupants. They either didn't see me or didn't care, I find it more likely that they didn't see me because as I've mentioned before I was wearing a bright orange drysuit that to the untrained eye might be mistaken for a prison jumpsuit. They left me sucking black smoke from the oil burning in their cylinders, and with a heart racing due to the close call. In their defense there is no way I would have seen me either if I was driving as fast as they were.

Once at the top of the hill I was able to make quick speed down to the car, the sleeves of my drysuit tied around my waist flapping erratically in the wind. Once back at the car I loaded up the bike and drove back to Chris at the take-out, who was sleeping soundly in the sun, from the road any one who didn't know what was up would have thought that there was a man in his PJ's sleeping in the parking lot. The drive back to Fred Meyers was uneventful because were were in a Mexican food induced coma, or maybe it had to do with the MSG.