Pam Stevenson

This is my 100th column for the Source… and my last. Look for changes in your favorite paper – new formats, new material.
Two years ago, when I accepted this writing gig, I thought, “Well, I probably have ideas for three or four columns.” I really wasn't sure what I'd do after that, and I was a little worried. I wasn't a writer; at least I didn't see myself as one. I thought it would be a way to share my love of the outdoors with my fellow Bendites and an interesting new creative challenge.

Time trial bikes, tandem bikes, hand bikes, mountain bikes, cruiser bikes. Bikes were everywhere in Bend last week. Unless you're a party pooper living on Skyliners Road or a worker for the ODOT maintenance crew, you probably agree with me, the more bikes the better! Despite the efforts of Skyliners Road residents to rid themselves of bikes and ODOT's best attempt to thwart us with chip seal (now they've chip sealed Highway 242 from Sisters to the gate on Mackenzie Pass Highway… ugh) Bend really may be becoming Bike Town USA.
Endorphins in the Air
The concentration of endorphins in the air in Central Oregon reached a record of 1,000 ppm this past weekend. More than 5,000 people participated in the Pacific Crest Triathlon Sports Festival in Sunriver, while some 200 mountain bikers raced at the Wanoga complex in the Pickett's Charge. That's in addition to the 750 cyclists who competed in the USA Cycling Junior, U23 & Elite Road Racing National Championships.

Woof! Sprocket here. Every Monday morning for the past two years, my mom has typed up a column for the Source. You know, she does a pretty good job of bringing home the Milkbones, so I thought I'd help out this week. I'm an Australian shepherd, so my grammar and syntax are in the 99sprocket dog, th percentile, and I have a very important issue to write about: playing in the forest.
My most favorite thing in the world to do is run in the forest, especially with my friends, like Bodhi or Rio. Again, I'm an Australian shepherd, so I can run circles around them. I like to go every day, or else I get pretty grumpy.

Do you have a theme song? Mine is by singer/songwriter Jana Stanfield. The chorus goes like this:
I'm not lost, I am exploring.
Life is an adventure worth enjoying.
Though I may not know where I'm going,
I am not lost, I am exploring.
The way I figure it, I've never been lost, because here I am. Though I may have been slightly misplaced at times. The ability to find one's way in the wilderness is not only useful; it's a survival tool.

If April showers bring May flowers, then what do May flowers bring?
Pilgrims, of course.
Backcountry skiers and mountain bikers have been pilgrimaging to Bend lately for our coveted spring conditions. Like an anthill covered with ants, South Sister has been a magnet for backcountry skiers since the Cascade Lakes Highway opened on May 25. About 370 bike racers stormed along the Peterson Ridge Trail for the inaugural Sisters Stampede on May 30. Eight hundred trail runners will be stampeding into town this weekend for the sold-out Dirty Half. But sometimes it's a good idea to mix it up and go the other way, so I headed east with a friend last weekend to find respite from the rain, balloons and beards.

Alas, PPP is over, but I thought I'd wrap up this year's race with a few stories.
LEW AND ROGER
On Friday morning before PPP, I was standing in line at the race check-in and Lew Hollander was right in front of me.

My alarm goes off. It's 6:30 a.m. I feed the dog, down a bottle of Frappucino, eat a can of Chef Boyardee Overstuffed Beef Ravioli and three electrolyte capsules, and pull on my race outfit. All my gear is in the van. My trusty support person, Greg, is standing ready on his doorstep as I drive up. The sun is shining. It's a perfect day for PPP.
The buzz at the mountain is electric. I rack my bike, take a couple of practice runs on the downhill course and then head out for a little warmup on my Nordic skis. POP! I look down at my right boot. The lace loops have just busted. I go back to the van, make a hasty repair with safety pins and duct tape and dash onto the lift to get to the start. The wave of women is all chitty chatty and one woman is shooting video with a “titty cam.”

Have you seen that hilarious xtranormal cartoon about the Pole Pedal Paddle that made the rounds of the Internet last month (http://www.xtranormal.com/watch/6369207/)? If you haven't, then you have definitely been under a rock or on a deserted island without Wi-Fi.
In the video created by JoeBlackCoffee (I'm dying to know who that really is, by the way), a typical Bendite explains the PPP to a long-haired poet: “It is such a Bend thing to do. If you don't compete in the Pole Pedal Paddle, you might as well not live in Bend. I do it every year and I get a mug every year. The Pole Pedal paddle is so sick. It is so sick that you basically have to call a doctor.”

I had just deplaned a 19-hour red-eye trek from Maui to Bend, saltwater in my hair, sunscreen in my eyes and sand between my toes. Kerie picked me up at the airport and we headed straight to 10 Barrel for a coffee porter. Halfway through our beers, she mentioned something about going to Hawaii for the weekend. At least, that's what I heard in my sleep-deprived, porter and melatonin daze. I looked out the window at the late April snow flurries and said that sounded good to me.
“Owyhee” is what she really said. It's actually an old spelling of “Hawaii.” The Owyhee River was named for three Hawaiian trappers who disappeared while exploring the uncharted river in 1819. It is a 280-mile long tributary of the Snake that flows through parched and sparsley populated landscape of northern Nevada, southwestern Idaho and southeastern Oregon. For kayakers and rafters, though, the Owyhee River is a dramatic high-desert float, full of sheer volcanic canyons, dry washes, prickly terrain, rollicking rapids and sweet hot springs.

This is my final column in a three-part series based on Hawaiian values. By the time you read this, I will have traded my Mr. Zog's sex wax back in for Swix yellow. But at least I've replenished my stores of vitamin D and vitamin sea, too.
PO'OKELA [poh'-oh-kay'-lah] – noun. Commitment to excellence
In Hawaii, the ultimate term of respect is to be called a “waterman” or “waterwoman.” He or she is a master of the ocean, excelling at all watersports: surfing, swimming, windsurfing, paddle boarding, canoe paddling, spear fishing, etc. On my first stay on Maui, a friend introduced me to Mary, a small, gruff, pig-tailed woman with bright white sunblock on her lips. She kind of harrumphed and climbed into her Zodiac, which she was piloting as a safety boat for a canoe race.