I took a break from my near perpetual state of panic to go ride a bike yesterday. This meant crawling out of the basement where I’m staying and actually riding a bicycle outside–something I haven’t done since the long drive to Portland.

While my legs didn’t atrophy completely, my steady diet of cookies, Nutella and Deschutes Black Butte Porter (when in Rome) “heightened the sensation” of the initial 1,000 or so foot climb. I think my sense of “big climbs” is going to take some time to recalibrate.

Jason, my unofficial tour guide to Oregon life and the man responsible for getting me back on a bicycle, is shown here, chugging on up the long climb that starts the ride.

Where were we? Hell if I know. Somewhere in the direction of Mount Hood. I’ve made a life of having as little interaction with or knowledge of my surroundings as possible. This way, if I’m ever abducted and held for the ransom that is my bikes (Pivot, Indy and my Parlee Z3 are really the only truly valuable things I own), the kidnappers won’t even need to blindfold me. See how cooperative I am, potential future kidnappers? You’re welcome.

Here, my 429 briefly contemplates its new life in Oregon, deciding eventually that it must have died and gone to 429 heaven. Mt. Hood is centered behind those tree-covered mountains, but it’s obscured by clouds, poor photo technology, and my incompetence as a photographer.

There it is.

It’s tough to describe trails in Oregon without resorting to stupid exaggerations like “best ever” and “changed my life.” They’re really nice. I’d ridden in Southern Oregon before, but have always wanted to ride in the even denser, tighter and trickier Pacific Northwest.

The trails are incredible from top to bottom, and the amount of work local trail crews had in them was evident every inch of the way. What I particularly liked is that the initial climb wasn’t the only climbing you got to do. These trails didn’t just drop in and head straight back down the mountain. There was a fair bit of level and climbing, and that really makes the ride so much better.

Conditions were wet, but not particularly muddy. I discovered that I love the way Oregon mud smells. If you’re going to find out there’s something weird wrong with you, I highly recommend this quirk.

Waterfalls and bridges are pretty common on Oregon trails, and this section was amazingly fun to ride.

There was one rock garden I didn’t clean, which is the East Coaster’s equivalent of being slapped in the face with a white glove, so I’ll need to visit this place again, wherever it was. Big thanks to Jason for getting me off my ass and out into the woods on a bike.