Off-kilter

This pot is not even round any more. 

This used to be a pretty good tent.

I got off to a late start yesterday. You could call it poor time management, but I did enjoy myself. I partook heartily of the lush breakfast that came with my free room. Then I ran into my benefactor -- or one of them any way -- the esteemed Jonathan Grant, who runs the front office at the Whitman hotel. He was very excited about my MDA trip and I was just as excited about my room at the hotel. We must have shaken hands three times.

I asked him how the little town of Walla Walla could support a hotel like that. He said it was wine. I had passed cathedral-sized wineries out in the country -- huge edifices -- and virtually every street downtown had a handful of wine cellars and tasting rooms. It was actually hard to buy regular food. So the hotel benefits by traveling wine aficionados.

Wine wine wine

For Jonathan's exploits on "The Price is Right," see The Price is Right.

And for his celebrations of Adam West, a Walla Walla native, see Batman.

I stopped at the bike store again, to get my odometer going after it took an unauthorized vacation, and when I finally started riding, it was near noon. I got hopelessly lost in this small city, and when I found my route, it was uphill into a headwind on a regular basis.

I finally stopped in Waitsburg, and was charmed by it. It's still living in its rich past, and makes no apology. Most of the buildings are a century old, and there are charming -- or frightening -- statuary right out on the street:

Founding the village

Passing on the history

This poor little miscreant has to listen forever

I made it three more miles to Lewis & Clark State Park (there must be about 5 of these), only to find my tent pole broken.

I did well this morning, starting early and riding with a little gumption. But, man, it got hot. I started to take it in 5-mile pieces, stopping for a quick sip before going on. A young guy was walking on the other side of the highway and asked me if I had any extra water. Extra water? But I said he could have a gulp if he wanted. He came over and unscrewed the cap on my water bottle, looked at what I had, the put the cap back on and handed it back, taking none of it.

"How do I get one of these cars to pick me up?" he said.

"Stick out your thumb," I said.

We parted. I did glimpse, on his pack as he went, a gatorade bottle about half-full of water, so at least he had that.

I got to a much-advertised bathroom that I had thought would surely have water, and maybe snacks! But it was just an open pit toilet. The drivers that stopped all had water and ice -- they knew this country. There was a warehouse next door, and I went to explore. Two guys inside said there was no water there, but one gave me a cold bottle from his truck. I sat down under a tree and thought I would wait out the heat.

It clouded over briefly and I got on my bike -- and it shimmied. The back tire was soft, and I was bereft. After a bit, a retiree pulling a cattle trailer stopped. When he came back from the bathroom, I said, "You got any animals in there?" "Nope." "Are you to going Pomeroy?" "Yep." "I got a flat. Can I throw my bike in the back?" "Put it in then," he said.

So I cheated. 13 miles, and I don't even feel bad.

Sonny, who gave me a ride.

Gotta love it

Cathedral of wine

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