NB: Squiggly lines on map usually means a hill...
For the last few months I've been good about commuting to my Tues-Thurs evening class. So much that once a few weeks ago I ended up driving in one day and showed up in civilian clothes and everyone was quite surprised.
So last night we had a scheduled field trip out to a monastery in the countryside outside of Newberg, and I decided this would make for a lovely long ride - adding up to a daily roundtrip of 60 miles. I figured this wouldn't be too much of a stretch, I've been commuting hard over hills a lot, and the flat metric century that I did a few months ago was a breeze. Besides, I didn't see the point in commuting downtown just to ride back to the same general neck of the woods in a passenger van. I just had to do a little route-planning, that was all.
For the route there, it was an easy choice to go from my work all the way down a busy highway that leads straight there. Looking at google maps online, I hastily scratched down a basic route of back roads that would lead me back to my house for the return trip. I knew there was a big hill nearby, but the road I picked was going around to the side of it and I was expecting a nice mild rolling hills for the trip home.
I failed to remember one cardinal rule of mapreading:
Squiggly lines on a map usually means a hill.
The ride out was a bit hot and muggy, but I greatly enjoyed sailing past all of the idling cars stuck in stop-and-go hell. Once I got off the main drag and headed out into the country it was so beautiful. Lots of green rollicking hills and valleys. When I departed to come back, the sun was starting to set and the humidity and clouds made for a stunning sunset. The temperature was mild, and there were blissfully few cars. Then I got to the squiggly part and started climbing.
And climbing. And climbing. The sun set. Dusk was falling. And I was still climbing. And of course, when you don't know where you are it always seems to be taking forever to get to where you're going. Suddenly I came around a bend and saw the road finally flatten out. A signpost proclaimed: Mt. Chehalem, summit 1250 ft.
Thankfully, there was just enough dusklight left for me to see the road as I zoomed all the way back down to sealevel in the next few minutes. Soon after, I finally reached the familiar roads closer to home where I was delighted to notice that the streetsweeper had been by recently. A few weeks ago these same shoulders were full of rocks and trash. Even with a headlight, trying navigate through debris fields at night is asking for a flat.
Once I arrived home, the uploaded Polar postmortem data reveals that this little hill is 4 miles at a 4% grade, and I maintained 7.5 mph avg for the entire uphill. So in the end, all was well but I got a little more of a workout than I'd bargained for.