Oregon Trail Tour 2026

"Pauline (Parkman's horse) strained, unable to proceed further. I dismounted and attempted to lead her, but my own exhausted strength soon gave out, so I crawled up on my hands and knees, gaining the top, totally exhausted." Francis Parkman, 1846

"Naivete is the mother of Adventure" Rinker Buck (opening line to "The Oregon Trail")

By the time they reached modern day La Grande, where I began this day, the pioneers had traveled for three months and covered over 1500 miles. Without question, they began the journey naïve. After all, many of them paid good money for cholera medicine in Independence, MO. Without a doubt, there were some who, given full foreknowledge, would have never come West. But, reading the journal excerpts in the museum yesterday, I got the strong feeling that for most, "the juice was worth the squeeze". They came West for a reason, and if they survived the trip, they achieved prosperity and independence unavailable in "The States".

Having traversed the Plains, the deserts, crossed the treacherous Snake River, there were only two major obstacles left. Immediately in front of them were the Blue Mountains, and crossing them meant clearing Deadman Pass, nearly 2000' above the valley, followed by a steep descent of nearly 3000' down Emigrant Hill to the Umatilla Valley on the other side. My mission for today.

I had thought I had left my interstate travels behind me, but I found after clearing La Grande my route was again on the highway, sandwiched between I-84 and the Union Pacific main line that parallels it. The grade was steady, but not overly steep. I went into what my friend Coach Dave calls "diesel mode", steadily chugging, but not overworking. I passed the time contemplating the trash on the side of the road. Most was "routine", but I was surprised by the # of plastic disposable flossers and disturbed by the number of plastic soda bottles filled with urine. To my pleasure, after a half-dozen miles, I was able to get on to a side road, and then had fifteen blissful miles steadily working up the hill, seeing exactly two cars and getting passed by two women cyclists (sadly, I was too slow to keep up with them, I would have enjoyed some company, they were the first cyclists I had seen since day 1).

I cleared the climb and rolled downhill into the village of Meacham (pop. 85), the only civilization for 25 miles in either direction. Like the "town" card in the game, I knew this was my stop. Especially when I was presented with the Oregon Trail Café and Deli. It was only 10am, but I decided to go for a full "Oregon Trail" (yes, that's what it was called on the menu) second breakfast. See photo. There were only a handful of customers (shocker), so I had a chance to chat with the owner. He had on a Seahawks hat and a lot of logo stuff on the walls - he and his wife had moved to Meacham nine years ago, tired of the bustle of Seattle, wanting his own business somewhere quiet. Meacham gets a decent amount of traffic from the adjacent interstate, the other customers, like me, were "passing through". As I was leaving, I noticed there was money sitting in the café's ATM: three $20 bills. The owner remembered who had used the ATM, it was a local, he was going to call him and return his money. We all agreed it was a good karma thing, and on the Oregon Trail you need as much good karma as you can get!

Reaching Deadman Pass required fifteen miles of up and down rollers, and then: you were standing on top of the world, looking down at the valley below. For the covered wagons, getting down the mountain was in many ways more treacherous than climbing, and so the road down looped and swerved to take the grade down. You can see the looping road in the photo. For me on a loaded bike it was perfect; I could coast down without touching the brakes.

Before reaching Pendleton, my overnight stop, I visited the Tamastslikt (in the native language, "interpreting our own story") Cultural Institute, the only Native American museum on the Oregon Trail. Those of you who were along for my Oklahoma Trail of Tears journey will remember my sharing the stories of injustice experienced by the tribes there. Tamastslikt does a wonderful job of bringing to life the story of the Cayuse, Umatilla and Walla Walla tribes native to northeastern Oregon. Once the trail brought tens of thousands of pioneers to Oregon and the 49th parallel was established as the international border in 1846, the territorial governments of Oregon and Washington aggressively jammed treaties down the native people's throats. Treaties that were later amended, as in Oklahoma, to take away even more land. I especially enjoyed the stories about how the natives had worked hard to help restore the land, especially their efforts to show the whites the benefit to restoring salmon migration in rivers that had been blocked by dams - that the economic benefit from the tourism would outweigh the irrigation lost.

After enjoying the exhibits, I chatted with the young docent, asking about her feelings, being native, surrounded by whites, knowing what they had done to her people. She acknowledged it was hard at times, that she didn't bear the whites any ill-will, but also noted "It bothers me that so many people in Pendleton, six miles from here, don't know any of this history, and don't make the time to try to learn". It bothered me to think that Pendleton schools didn't find it important to take field trips to Tamastslikt to learn their shared history with the native tribes.

This was my best day of the trip so far. I cleared the mountain challenge easily, enjoying every mile (especially the coast down Deadman Pass!). On to the flat lands!