It rained all through the night though we were cozy in our hobo den. From the muggy and buggy hovel we heard the log truck's approach near dawn. Up around the corner, down again fully loaded. We knew we wanted to get up the hill between loads. After a breakfast of power-gruel we spun up the hill, gaining an excellent view of our tree-packed valley nook.
Winding through fields at a quick pace the darkening skies threatened to dump their payload. With the threat of foul weather we had our first mechanical failure: Laura's rear shifter would not hold tension. We resolved to fix it in Goldendale, several miles down the road. Departing the sparsely populated highway we found a vibrant main street. After a cup of java from Coyote Coffee we took another look at the shifter. The problem was discovered to discoved to be a small break in a tiny piece of the ratchet mechanism. Dispensing with several parts the ratchet shifter was turned into a more robust friction shifter. Now Laura wouldn't have to ride up hills one handed, using the other to maintain low gear.
Raw raspberry honey from the Grist Mill and improving weather pushed on to a sunny crash-nap at the beautiful Bagder Gulch. There we met a lean, mean wild rooster we named Butterscotch (in retrospect.)
We climbed out of the gulch and gained a view of the wavy, slanted "v" of the road. Car interruptions were scant along the tarmac as we flew through a fragrant ponderosa, scrub oak land filled with bird song. In a place where most of the land is private we searched for an acceptable campsite. We found an accommodating schoolyard in Bickleton, a town so tiny, clean, and quiet it could have been the setting for a cult or an episode of the X-Files.