Camping, Cycling, and a Comedy of Errors in the Yakima Valley

There are some bike trips where everything goes according to plan.

This was not one of those trips.

And that’s exactly what made it fun.

In mid-May, Patrick and I packed up our camping gear, loaded up our bikes, and headed east to Yakima Sportsman State Park for a couple of days of camping and riding. It was my first time camping at the park, and I was pleasantly surprised. The campground was well maintained, and the setting was beautiful.

After getting my tent set up, I had some time to kill while waiting for Patrick to get his tent set up.

And, as usual, Patrick took approximately three geological eras to set up his tent.

Okay, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration.

Since sitting around doing nothing has never been one of my particular talents, I decided to go for a hike.

I found a trail that took me around some of the lakes and spent some time taking photographs. It was lovely—quiet, peaceful, and a nice way to stretch my legs after the drive.

The only problem was that I was hoping for a longer hike.

Unfortunately, I had done a self-check-in, which meant nobody handed me a park brochure or map. I couldn’t find much information about other trails, either. So eventually I gave up my search for adventure and headed back to camp.

We had both brought our own dinners, so once camp was established, we settled in for the evening.

The next morning, there was no reason to rush. We lingered over breakfast and coffee, enjoying the morning before finally getting around to cleaning up camp and preparing for the day’s real adventure.

A bike ride.

Into the Yakima Valley

I had planned our route using Ride with GPS, but there was one small problem:

I had never actually ridden it.

Which, as it turns out, is an important detail.

We headed out from the park and made our way toward Moxee, where we stopped to take a photo in front of a beautiful mural. Because what’s a bike trip through a small Washington town without stopping to photograph a mural?

From there, we continued toward Zillah.

One of the things I love about exploring by bike is that you notice things you would probably miss while driving. You get to see the little details of towns and neighborhoods, and you have plenty of time to wonder, Why did they build that there? or I wonder where that road goes?

Just before reaching Zillah, our route took us onto a bike trail rather than the road. It appeared to have been constructed alongside a housing development that was still being built.

I was perfectly happy to have a dedicated trail instead of sharing the road with traffic.

In Zillah, we stopped to see one of the town’s more unusual landmarks: the historic Teapot Dome gas station.

Yes, a gas station shaped like a teapot.

You really can’t make this stuff up.

From Zillah, we continued toward Toppenish, and by that point our stomachs were beginning to make their opinions known.

Murals and Mexican Food

Toppenish is famous for its murals. In fact, the town has a mural map and boasts more than 30 murals throughout the community.

Naturally, I wanted to see as many as we could.

But first, we needed food.

We got lucky. Just as we were turning toward town, we spotted a Mexican restaurant and decided that food took priority over art.

I’m very glad we made that decision.

The food was really good.

And after putting some serious miles into our legs, that burrito tasted even better.

Once properly fueled, we headed out to explore Toppenish’s murals. We didn’t manage to see all of them, but we visited quite a few, and each one told a little piece of the area’s history and culture.

It was one of those unexpected highlights of the ride—the kind of thing that makes exploring a new place by bicycle so much fun.

Eventually, though, the road was calling.

Or maybe our legs were.

Either way, we continued on toward Wapato.

Calves, Horses, and a Flat Tire

In Wapato, we rode past a large arena where something very interesting was happening.

There were horses everywhere.

And a LOT of people.

We soon realized we’d stumbled upon a calf roping competition.

It’s always fun when a bike ride unexpectedly turns into a cultural field trip.

We continued past Wapato, and eventually our route took us onto a mostly dirt trail.

And that’s where things got interesting.

Somewhere along that stretch, I managed to pick up something that punctured my tire.

My guess?

A goathead thorn.

If you’ve spent much time riding in Eastern Washington, you probably know the little devils I’m talking about. Tiny, innocent-looking things that apparently exist solely to ruin cyclists’ days.

So there I was, beside the trail, fixing a flat.

And here’s where I have to admit something.

My brain was apparently not operating at peak performance.

I fixed the flat.

Eventually.

But between me and Patrick, the whole process became something of a comedy of errors.

There were moments when I was thinking, What the hell am I doing?

And I’m pretty sure Patrick was having similar thoughts.

By the time I finished, my hands were absolutely filthy—black with grease and dirt.

And that’s when I remembered something extremely important.

Latex gloves.

Why didn’t I remember the latex gloves?!

I have them.

I know I have them.

I have used them before.

But apparently my brain decided that this particular repair would be more authentic if I performed it bare-handed.

So there I was: tired, dirty, and wondering why I hadn’t planned ahead.

Just another day in the life of a touring cyclist.

Apparently, the Goathead Wasn’t Finished With Me

After fixing my flat, we got back on our bikes and continued toward the campground.

A few miles later, I noticed something that no cyclist ever wants to notice:

My tire was flat.

Again.

I pumped it back up and hoped for the best.

A couple of miles later, it was flat again.

At this point, the universe was clearly trying to tell me something. Either I had angered the bicycle gods, or there was a particularly determined goathead thorn out there that had decided I was its personal enemy.

Fortunately, we were near Bale Breaker Brewing Company, so we made the obvious decision.

We stopped for a drink.

There was no point in dealing with another flat while annoyed, tired, and covered in bike grease. Besides, sometimes the best bike-repair strategy is to sit down and contemplate your options first.

I ordered a lemonade.

Patrick, naturally, ordered a beer.

We sat outside around a fire pit, enjoying the beautiful afternoon while talking about our ride and swapping stories about other rides and adventures.

The brewery was clearly doing a booming business, and it was easy to see why. There were plenty of people enjoying the outdoor space, and it made for a surprisingly pleasant break in the middle of our increasingly ridiculous bike ride.

Eventually, however, we had to face reality.

My tire wasn’t going to magically fix itself.

We pumped it up one more time and made our way back to the campground.

At least we had lemonade, beer, a fire pit, and some good stories to show for the detour.

One Last Ride…and One Last Burrito

The next morning, we packed up camp and drove to the Rosa Recreation Site, where we planned to ride the Your Canyon for a Day route.

Except there was one small problem.

My tire was still flat.

At this point, I had officially lost the battle with the goathead.

Fortunately, there was a bike mechanic available, so I handed over my wheel and let someone who actually knew what they were doing deal with it.

And that turned out to be an excellent decision.

He had to do some serious detective work to find the culprit.

That damn goathead thorn was hiding under the rim tape.

Yes.

UNDER THE RIM TAPE.

No wonder I couldn’t find it!

I’d been looking for the thing on the outside of the tire, while the little bastard was apparently hiding inside the wheel like it had rented an apartment there.

Once the thorn was finally evicted and my tire was repaired properly, I decided I wasn’t going to risk starting the canyon ride until I knew the tire was trustworthy.

So I loaded up my bike and drove to the Ellensburg end of the route to wait for Patrick.

While I waited, I did what any sensible cyclist does when faced with an unexpected delay:

I ate.

And not just a snack.

I found a hearty breakfast burrito filled with egg, potatoes, and sausage.

A breakfast burrito seemed like the perfect way to finish the weekend.

After all, I’d already established a theme:

Burrito in, bicycle adventure out.

At least this time, the burrito didn’t give me a flat.

Looking back, the trip was a perfect example of why I love these little adventures. We had beautiful scenery, interesting towns, great food, murals, camping, unexpected discoveries, mechanical problems, questionable decision-making, and enough laughs to make it all worthwhile.

And, of course, one extremely persistent goathead thorn.

I’m pretty sure that thorn won the weekend.

But Patrick and I still had a great time.

And that’s what matters.

The miles are great. The memories are better.

And having a friend along to share the ridiculous moments with makes them even better.