Commitment isn't what it used to be. Each New Year's Day millions commit to lifestyle changes that last, on average, two weeks. Couples vow " 'til death do us part," yet divorce is commonplace. True commitment - a parachute jump, for example - offers no escape. Like the rockslide I'm stuck in near Galice, Oregon. A narrow, rock-strewn path squirms past huge boulders, hanging over a 10-foot drop to the creek below. I thought I'd be able to squeeze by on the DL650 - but now the bike is wedged against a boulder the size of a Mini Cooper. One false move and I'll be in the creek with the bike on top of me. There's nowhere to turn around or even back up. I'm truly committed...
Out of the Cascades
Medford, the largest city in southern Oregon, sprawls across a broad valley between the Cascades and the Coast Range. Its inland location and meager elevation (1,300 ft.) mean hot summers and mild winters: the city is often snow-free while routes into the city, including I-5, are covered. And though it's a busy industrial and commercial center, the surrounding valleys and upland offer rare natural beauty and desolate wilderness. I guess that's why I'm here.
Heading south into the city, I swing left off Highway 200 at Eagle Point onto Jackson County Road 821 toward Butte Falls, and immediately the rushing commuter traffic disappears. I'm winding through grassy valleys as the road climbs back toward the Cascades. A neat, one-street, board-front town, Butte Falls slumbers in the late afternoon sun. I fill up at the two-pump gas station and hand my credit card to the young mom running the store, while her two-year-old daughter helpfully rearranges the candy bars on the lower shelves. "Come again," she says. I linger under shade trees and admire the tidy wooden buildings: fire hall, café, and the combined courthouse/police/city hall with its roof-mounted red siren. If I worked in Medford, this is where I'd commute from.
With the sun slipping into the hills behind me, I swing eastward across golden farmland toward Mt. McLoughlin's glacier-patched peak. I'm winding up into more fir forests until the road spits me out on Highway 140 near Fish Lake, just west of the 5,100-foot Lake of the Woods summit. I rejoin the heavy traffic heading to Medford from Klamath Falls, chasing the setting sun.