Mitchell, Oregon

Crystalline day for riding. Cool temperatures, light breezes and sunny skies. Had to summit Ochoco Pass at 4,720 feet. The lady at the Prineville Visitor’s Center described it as steep with two false summits. Turned out to be a piece of cake made easier by riding up on a doctor from Clifton Forge, VA. We traded life stories (he did most of the talking) and our reasons for riding aand that took our minds off the climbs, which weren’t very bad anyway. He started in Seattle and will pull off in Denver top head back to work in the small hospital where he’s an internist. Also has a PhD in oceanography and has worked at the Scripps Institute and with Robert Ballard. I basically kept my mouth shut after giving him my basics. At the summit we stopped to snack and two guys from Colorado pulled up. They were heading to a week-long accordian camp. “If you had an RV you could travel to a different accordion camp every week of the year,” the older gentleman said. We screamed down the pass seven miles into Mitchell, which is described as the last authentic cowboy town in Oregon. While Dr. Crandall lunched at the Little Pine Café, Dee and I picnicked across the street in Lion’s Park along Bridge Creek.

We decided to make it a short day and got a room at the Oregon Hotel, which has been here since 1930. We’re in a two-bed room at the end of the hall. Linoleum floor, bare wood walls and ceiling, 1930s furnishings and a small sink. Down the hallway are the restrooms-men’s and ladies’, plus a bathing room with a claw-foot tub. The ladies’ room has a shower but no such luck for the men. After settling in we drove back up the route six miles to visit the Painted Hills. Amazing. Georgia O’Keefe-looking naturally occurring creations. The photos will show you.

(A historic hotel might initially be charming but not when the two guys in the neighboring room talk well into the night and you can hear every word since interior insulation was not thought of in the 1930s.)

Went into General Mercantile store for sodas when we got back and were greeted by the owner dressed in Carhart bib overalls and a gimee hat with his feet up on a chair playing banjo. He only stopped playing when we were ready to check out. He said with his other job with the state he has even more time to practice.