Bear essentials ... Henry the bear enjoys a rest at Mitchell, Oregon. Susan Greenwood is not so lucky. Photograph: Susan Greenwood
Our green Netjetter Susan has almost finished her bicycle odyssey across the United States - and not before time, say her protesting legs, as they struggle on through Oregon
Let me be frank. I am knackered, shattered, utterly spent. I am no longer riding my bike but rather am clinging on for dear life. My posture has shrivelled into a bizarre parody of the Hunchback of Notre Dame with my head listing irretrievably to the left and my right eye twitching. Give me some bells and, by Zeus, I'd ring them!
My bike weighs an absolute tonne but I'm carrying less than I have done this entire trip. Twice I have fallen off on a perfectly straight road for no apparent reason. So consumed am I by exhaustion that nothing surprises me anymore. Yesterday I engaged in a 15-minute conversation with a bloke on a scooter as I plugged away uphill through a forest. After a while I told him not to wait for me but to go on. Only then did he reveal that he was already travelling at his vehicle's top speed. Incidentally, scooters are more prevalent on these sunkissed roads than Harleys: squint and it's Brighton. No, squint hard. There you go.
But of all the places in the world to be experiencing the unique sensation of having the life sucked out of you, mile by mile, I can't think of a better one than Oregon. It really is a remarkable state. The campsites are superb: for five bucks you get great scenery, hot showers and so many recycling bins that throwing away your trash takes ages. Cap on or off? Does a plastic bag count for the plastic box or is that just for bottles? What a fab dilemma, and quite a unique one this trip. Tumalo state park outside of Bend even has solar-powered showers.
Cycle Oregon is in full swing at the moment, having kicked off on Saturday. I'm currently living in fear of crawling to the top of MacKenzie Pass only to have a horde of purple and blue lycra bearing down on me, but if you've ever toyed with cycling in the US, Oregon would be a great place to start.
The John Day Fossil Beds, despite two freakin' gits of passes, are beautiful. As you come over Keyes Creek Pass you get the whole valley splurged out before you, dotted with mountains and hills that look like someone just chucked them onto the landscape. Kinda Itchycoo Park style. And with that as your backdrop, it makes perfect sense to rock up to the darling town of Mitchell, only to be greeted by the sight of a seven-foot black bear called Henry, whom the owner of the hostel, Hugh Reed, rescued from being put down.
"Sjfkjdbf nvndjfkiuf jdksjhu ride," said the strange-looking bloke on the corner of the street.
"Oh, quite right," I replied. "Fancy a beer?"
By the way, SeattleTrent, I'm heading to Newport - thanks for the tipoff! Oh, and who's for starting a "make not-recycling illegal" lobby?
