My Heroic Left Leg

There's no fighting it anymore, my knee is properly #$%^ed. Yesterday was probably the best day of the entire trip but it was overshadowed by the increasingly obvious fact that a very specific part of my body was simply not going to make it to Bozeman. Frankly, it wasn't even going to make it to Baker City and it shouldn't have made it the six miles over the pass out of Mitchell. It wouldn't have were it not for the valiant heroics of my left leg.

Mitchell is right at the base of Keyes Creek Pass. Immediately out of town, the road steadily climbs 1,400 feet over six miles. After a day off then the easy 40 mile day into Mitchell the day before, I felt good and that my knee would be happy to continue. About three miles into the climb it became apparent this wasn't the case. Four miles in and the pain was back in earnest. Five miles in I unclipped my right leg from the pedal and lifted it onto the rear rack to keep the knee immobile. My left leg took up the charge with fervor. The last and steepest mile was a surprisingly inspiring display of determination even to me. I didn't really expect to do it but, one little goal marker at a time, my left leg, seeing its brother fall, actually drove me to the top of the pass faster than the two of them had been able to manage together.

Out of habit, I shifted to a harder gear as I got to the crest (normally to prevent a rapid increase in cadence and laziness) and I laughed at myself, not even allowing a little ease up on the crest of a one legged climb. Nevertheless I kept on and enjoyed the decent into the next valley. That valley was the prettiest yet. Dramatic cloud formations all around, huge rolling fields rising into woods which rose into mountains, sheer rock walls that jutted out of the ground at odd angles making some look like enormous sinking ships of stone disappearing into a sea of green.

The valley was broad and climbed only slightly for many more miles so I was able to get to Dayville (40 miles in) for lunch and Mount Vernon (61 miles) before the day began to fade. Even without the strain of climbing, the motion of pedaling was painful for my right knee so most of the ride it had to stay on the rack and I relied solely on my dauntless and noble left leg pedaling on. Alone.

At Clyde Holiday State Park just East of Mount Vernon I set up camp and finally allowed a little time to acknowledge that I would not succeed.

I was happy to find that I couldn't be bothered with getting upset and pouty about it. Sure, I'm extremely disappointed that I'm not continuing but I know I'm stopping for a reason and not for an excuse. It's not too hard, I'm not bored, it's not because my butt hurts or because I'm tired of being wet. I'm not remotely relieved that I'll be going back to a warm bed and regular showering. It's an unfortunate fact: If I continue, the pain will continue to be unbearable and I'll tear my knee to shreds (if I haven't already). So I moved on quickly and easily from disappointment to working out how to make my way West.