They each offer a concentration of trails for all levels of riders, active trail-building clubs hard at work on new trails, and mountain town or city amenities that make a multiday bike trip that much more memorable.

Hood River, Oregon

The town of Hood River sits in the transition zone where the Columbia River Gorge shifts from dripping hemlock to dry foothills, where the last stringers of wet westside weather blow themselves out on the river’s legendary gales. It’s long been known for its wind-surfing scene, but the tailgates and trailheads around Hood River tell a story about the town’s rise to fat tire fame.

In the 1990s, trail builders began constructing rogue freeride lines—massive gaps and high-wire, high-consequence wooden features in the forested hills of Post Canyon, located 10 minutes southwest of downtown Hood River. But the tracks ran afoul of the county forestry department, which manages the land for its primary economic use of timber extraction.

After a catastrophic windstorm in 2012 toppled scores of trees onto the trails and the salvage logging that followed disturbed the area even more, local builders approached the county to plead their case for new trails.

Thanks to the efforts of the Hood River Area Trail Stewards (HRATS) and its volunteers, the county acquiesced. And although the county continues to manage the area with timber top of mind, Post Canyon has weathered the storm and come out of it a stronger trail network, showcasing the trail-building transition from rocky, root-tangled tech to contemporary bench-cut jump and berm trails.

One look at Family Man Staging Area, one of the main portals to Post Canyon, shows that, although Post Canyon may have matured, there’s still plenty of high-energy riding here. Come midweek and you’re just as likely to see preschoolers on push bikes rolling out next to big senders.

The bidirectional trails, like Lower– and Upper Eight Track, are smartly laid out and rarely overwhelming to ride; riders going uphill aren’t likely to hit a wall or stall out on steep climbing turns, but beginners can build their descending skills on the return trip.

Meanwhile, expert riders can descend from the top of Upper Eight Track on Bad Motor Scooter and Upper Grand Prix, where one immaculately crafted berm after another connects massive tabletops, step-ups and step-downs.

Upper Eight Track also ties into a broader network of singletrack and motorcycle trails that honor the area’s legacy of chunky, suspension-testing tech. Now, though, the trails are legal and sustainable.

This year, HRATS has ambitious plans to give Family Man a facelift and expand Golden Eagle Bike Park and Pump Track in coordination with Hood River Parks and Recreation. It’s all part of a plan to nurture a grander transition: from beginners to lifelong bikers.

Spring is an ideal time to visit Hood River: Passing showers give the trails a regular refresh but don’t tend to be day-drenching affairs. When in town, don’t miss the legendary Dirty Fingers Bicycle Repair, a Hood River institution and an all-in-one bike shop and pub. Next door, KickStand Coffee & Kitchen will get your caffeine and calories sorted.

HRATS, informally known as the Hood RATS, build and maintain the trails at Post Canyon in addition to backcountry trail networks along the Hood River and across the Columbia, so consider making a donation after enjoying their trails.

Wenatchee, Wash.

On the sunbaked east slope of the Central Cascades, Wenatchee has developed into a shoulder-season destination for riders on both sides of the state, thanks to the hallmarks of east-slope riding: towering pines and steep, flowing descents on the sandy ridgelines that separate the Wenatchee Valley from the Cascade Crest.

In the foothills on the west side of town, #2 Canyon has transitioned from a rogue riding network to a fully sanctioned and Forest Service-supported trail system. The Central Washington chapter of Evergreen Mountain Bike Alliance put the public’s pandemic-inspired desire for outdoor activity to work for them, building out miles of new, buttery-smooth trail to connect to classics like Stairway to Heaven mtb trail.

The flowing berms on New Sundance replaced a heinous fall-line climb but kept the spectacular views of Mount Stuart and the central Cascades, while The Still added a swooping, 3-mile loop that flows equally well in both directions. And Evergreen has ambitious plans for even more miles this year.

Thirty minutes west, Leavenworth Ski Hill/Freund Canyon rewards riders with immaculate flow and a bird’s eye view of the Bavarian-village vibe of Leavenworth—that is, if you can take your eyes off the sidehill gap jumps of Rosie Boa.

Methow Valley, Wash.

If you haven’t ridden the Methow (“Me-tow“), go. Now. The wildflower displays on the open sage-covered hillsides, with the snow-capped battlements of the North Cascades in the background are second to none.

First, the bad news: The catastrophic wildfires that surrounded the Methow Valley in summer 2021 decimated the Chickadee trail system at Sun Mountain, where the Methow chapter of Evergreen Mountain Bike Alliance had just completed a three-year building campaign on trails such as Thompson Ridge—a trail that had opened the year prior and offered a backcountry mini-epic to the popular trail network’s forested, flowered tracks.

The good news: The Methow Valley boasts a number of other trail systems, such as the classic singletrack loop on Buck Mountain and the Rendezvous Hut network outside of Mazama. Better news: The community in the Methow Valley is resilient and has already been hard at work raising money to rehabilitate its trails, which are a pillar of the recreation economy and the community’s identity.

Support the Methow Valley’s efforts to recover by shredding, sipping and shopping in the region—and go the extra mile by donating money or muscle to Evergreen’s “Bring ‘em Back!” rebuilding campaign.

Sandpoint, Idaho

Despite being home to Schweitzer, one of the largest ski resorts in North America, Sandpoint locals and tourists alike often refer to the city on Lake Pend Oreille as a lake town that just happens to have great skiing. And although they share similar sentiments about the community’s trail offerings, Sandpoint is quietly developing into a dirt destination.

The transformation is in large part thanks to the Pend Oreille Pedalers (POP) and their work on the Syringa Trail Network on the west side of town. Syringa, which encompasses a trio of public lands and private parcels—Sherwood Forest, Pine Street Woods, and Velo Tout Terrain (VTT)—offers a healthy mix of kid-friendly rollers and expert-level tech.

And POP continues to add new trail as fast as people can ride them; this spring, they have already opened two new trails in VTT, the newest acquisition at Syringa. Zen Garden and Chaos Theory trails add intermediate- and expert-level tech to VTT’s entry-level berms and rollers.

Meanwhile, up on the mountain, Schweitzer is putting the finishing touches on three new flow trails, a beginner, intermediate and expert. With these new additions, Schweitzer adds some modern manicured lines alongside its notoriously gnarly old-school tech trails like Pinch Flat. And it’s only the beginning: Like its neighbor down by the lake, Schweitzer is building them as fast as its guests can ride them.

McCall, Idaho

Like Sandpoint, McCall is known first and foremost as a lake town. And like its North Idaho counterpart, this southwest Idaho community on the shore of Payette Lake boasts its share of excellent biking, with trails that bridge buffed-out flow to backcountry epics.

The Payette Lake Trail (PLT) aims to combine the two. Modeled after the Tahoe Rim Trail, the approximately 30-mile Payette Lake Trail will circumnavigate the mountain lake on mostly new, modern singletrack.

And, like the famed Tahoe Rim Trail, the PLT will feature near-constant views of the lake far below. So far, crews have completed the west leg, which ties in with the Payette Rim Trail, a McCall classic.

This season, Brundage Mountain Resort, in collaboration with the Central Idaho Mountain Bike Association, will build an 8.4-mile connector between the resort’s 30-mile lift-served singletrack system and the Bear Basin trails, a 15-mile network of flowy machine-built trail on Forest Service land just outside town.

Bear Basin trail system connects with the Payette Rim Trail, which means that, in seasons to come, riders will be able to drop off the top of Brundage and circumnavigate the lake, all on trail—proof that McCall is truly both a mountain biking and lake town.

Boise, Idaho

Idaho’s City of Trees is also the city of bikes. Centerpiece to Boise’s biking bona fides is the Boise Foothills trail system, which encompasses some 200 miles of tread radiating out from two-dozen trailheads across a patchwork of private and public lands only minutes from downtown.

The urban trail network has earned the city the honor of being an International Mountain Bike Association gold-level ride center, one of only seven in the world. From the trailheads, often at the end of tree-lined residential boulevards, the singletrack curls and snakes through the scalloped ridges and ravines that border Boise to the north.

Ask a local for a favorite route, and they’ll likely recommend the one closest to their driveway; they’re uniformly good. And from most of those trailheads, riders can climb some 5,000 vertical feet to Bogus Basin Bike Park. Here, amid subalpine firs, a far cry from the dry sagebrush below, riders can circle the ski hill on Around the Mountain—Idaho’s top-rated trail on Trailforks—or sample the lift-served trails that have received the input and manpower of the of the numerous pro riders that call Boise home.

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You need to be in shape to ride and/or push 30-70 mile days, depending on how long you take to do the trip, on a loaded bike with lots of climbing. You also need to be completely self-reliant, carrying tools, several days of extra food, and a large water capacity.

If I ride this route again, I will find another more interesting way to skip the Sheldon NWR section. Relentless wind was our nemesis and slowed us down enough that we ended up taking a day longer to finish.

To better your chances of completing the ride, make sure your bikes are in great shape and well maintained, as a mechanical you can’t fix on the trail will send you home early.

Finally, to really enjoy this amazingly beautiful place, take your time and budget a few layover days for hikes, hot spring soaks, and exploring the sites along the way. To plan a safe trip, do your research at Bikepacking.com and other online sources.

Read Derrick Knowles’ Big Country experience in his story “9 Days on Oregon’s Big Country Bikepacking Route” from the July-August 2021 issue.

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The 357-mile ride with 18,350 feet of climbing through the mountainous desert terrain of extreme southeast Oregon and northern Nevada was pioneered by Bikepacking.com contributor Gabriel Amadeus around 2016.

The route crosses three mountain ranges, the Alvord Desert, and three national wildlife refuges. It also stops by five different hot springs and a funky desert town on the Oregon and Nevada state line.

Three of us set off from Spokane in early June 2021 with a vanload of mountain bikes and bikepacking gear headed to the tiny outpost of Frenchglen, Oregon.

The following morning, after donating blood for several hours to highly aggressive mosquitos, we set off with way too much camera gear, an obscene amount of wine and other luxuries, and only a vague notion of the challenges and surprises ahead.

Day 1: Malheur National Wildlife Refuge to Steens Mountain

After a late afternoon start to avoid the 90-degree afternoon heat, we pedaled through the roadside wetlands of the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge and then up into the mountains.

We arrived at our first camp after dark partway up the shoulder of Steens Mountain.

Day 2: Up and Over Steens

After watering up at a spring, we climbed slowly over rocky ranch roads, following our Ride with GPS route map up faint tracks through wildflowers and sage that at times looked abandoned. Despite the hot temps, the wind gusted and storm clouds threatened rain.

We finally crested the shoulder of Steens Mountain into a wonderland canyon with aspen and a rushing creek. Plunging down the steep, technical doubletrack, my front brake failed. I doubled down on my rear brake, pausing from time to let it cool.

Near the bottom, we reached our second camp next to a beautiful little creek and a giant juniper tree.

Day 3: Across the Alvord Desert, Up Big Sand Gap, & On to Willow Hot Springs

We woke much earlier than expected, thanks to an insane wind storm that blew one of our tents down around 1 a.m. The 25-35 mph winds howled all night, and with only a few hours of sleep, we set off at 6:30 a.m. for a roughly 25-mile ride to Alvord Hot Springs.

We weren’t super stoked for a hot soak in the 95-degree sunshine, but after loading up on drinks from the small store, we spent several hours sitting in the only sliver of shade in the roofless hot springs shack. We still had over 30 miles to ride that day, including the 8-mile crossing of the baking Alvord Desert.

Once on the other side of the dry lakebed, we faced several miles of bike pushing through sand of aptly-named Big Sand Gap, followed by mile after mile of rolling ranch roads and opening and closing countless cattle gates.

Just before sundown, after crossing the only paved road of the day, we rolled into the primitive campground at Willow Hot Springs.

Day 4: The Trout Creek Mountains

Day four was all about the Trout Creek Mountains, an incredibly remote Great Basin mountain range along the Oregon/Nevada border with peaks as high as 8,500 feet.

Roughly halfway up, we paused for a nap under a cluster of wildfire-burned mountain mahogany trees. Our camp, and next water source, was somewhere high above us, so we pedaled on up steeper and steeper doubletrack into a fierce, unrelenting headwind.

As the sun dropped closer to the horizon, each false summit revealed another climb. There was some cursing, long silent stretches, and plenty of pushing. Eventually we passed over the real summit and began a wild, raucous descent into an entirely unexpected canyon full of aspen glowing in the golden light of the setting sun.

My limited braking capacity gave me some pause, but after a day of hard climbing, the rip-roaring free-fall down to camp was irresistible.

Day 5: A “Quick Bomb” Into Denio, Nevada

I intentionally, for the most part, read very little about the route before our departure, but we all remembered reading something about a quick bomb down from the Trout Creek Mountains to the only resupply stop in Denio, Nevada.

Even though the forecast called for another day of stiff headwinds, and the restaurant and store closed early on Sundays, we slept in and hit the trail late. We expected some climbing that day, but were surprised by the number of steep hills that broke up the occasional “quick bomb.”

Eventually, the climbing gave way to a rollicking, rocky descent to the valley floor with nothing but a steady 20-30 mph headwind to great us.

By then it was 3 p.m. and the restaurant in Denio Junction had closed and the store would too in another hour. We had 10 or so miles of hot, flat desert dirt road to cover, and it quickly became a funnel that drove sand and dust into our faces as we cranked hard against the wind. We were nearly out of water and hadn’t seen another human or vehicle in two days.

Shockingly, we rolled up to the tiny store with minutes to spare and set off hording snacks and drinks from the meager selection. Battered by the wind and blowing sand, we booked the last available motel room and settled in at a shaded table out front to hydrate and watch the parade of interesting characters stopping for gas and provisions.

At one point, after lamenting that we’d missed a hot restaurant meal, a guy in a truck delivering grass fed beef out of Reno pulled up. We chatted him up and a few minutes later we were searing four amazing steaks on a camp stove and frying pan we borrowed from the restaurant.

We passed around chunks of delicious steak on plates cut out of the cardboard box they came in, grease dripping down our hands. I can’t remember a more enjoyable meal or a time when I was so filthy and a shower felt so good.

Day 6: Off-Route to Virgin Valley Hot Springs

After a leisurely restaurant breakfast, the wind was already a force to be reckoned with by the time we hit the trail. Cutting off around 20 miles by taking a more direct route to Virgin Valley Hot Springs seemed like the best idea.

Less than 30-miles later, after some desert doubletrack, a stretch of highway riding, and a steep push and fast descent down a rough dirt road, we arrived at the hot springs just as the wind reached a new level of intensity.

We soaked in the barely warm natural pool and learned from soaking old timers that the big draw around those parts was the nearby recreational opal mine.

Back at our camp, we endured a few hours of being blasted by the wind before drifting out into the desert to watch one of the longest and most beautiful sunsets I’ve ever seen.

Day 7: A Long Ride Through the Middle of Nowhere

Maybe it was something we ate, or the wind, or the strange campground noises, but we all had a hard time sleeping that night. Morning came early, and for only the second time on the trip we got an early start.

We had no idea what to expect from the Sheldon National Wildlife Refuge section that day but hoped at least the wind would back off. No dice. Mile after mile of sleep-deprived pedaling through an unfortunately bleak, sun-blasted landscape made for a long, quiet day in the saddle.

We all agreed that this long stretch of mostly flat, scrubby Nevada sagebrush would be worth bypassing if possible. As if to punctuate our ongoing critique of the Sheldon NWR section, we camped that night in a waterless, wind-hammered, jack rabbit shit-littered cluster of knee-high sagebrush that stretched on as far as we could see.

Day 8: Hart Mountain National Antelope Refuge

By now the temperatures had cooled considerably as we continued on a long, flat ranch road to the second of two historic, abandoned ranches. From there our route began to climb through increasingly lush desert terrain.

We saw plenty of antelope, made several deep stream crossings, and, with the wind finally at our backs, reached the flank of Hart Mountain and a forest of pine, fir, and aspen. After watering up in the crystal clear waters of Guano Creek, we climbed the final miles of the trip to a pass with some truly big country views.

The rollercoaster descent down the lightly-travelled doubletrack eventually spit us out abruptly amongst car campers, the first other humans we had seen in two days, and the inviting stone walls of the Hart Mountain Hot Springs.

With storm clouds building to the west, we soaked off layers of dirt and sunscreen from the trail, then hurried to set up camp and cook dinner before the rain started. I pulled my pot of food off the stove just in time to dive into my tent as a deluge unloaded on us.

Day 9: Hart Mountain to Frenchglen

A cold rain pounded us all night, and around 5 a.m., I woke to a lighter, familiar sound tapping on my rainfly. Since we weren’t prepared for riding in the snow, we hit the hot springs again that morning while we waited for the weather to improve.

The rain and snow let up mid-morning and the sun came out. We ended our trip with a 50-something-mile, mostly downhill and quite monotonous gravel road ride back to Frenchglen, Oregon.

Originally published as “Into The Wild Wind: 9 Days On Oregon’s Big Country Bikepacking Route” in the July-August 2021 issue.

Derrick Knowles is OTO co-publisher and editor-in-chief. He is a humble, hard-core outdoor enthusiast.

To learn more about bikepacking, check out related stories from the OTO archives.

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Day 1

My brother, John, and my son, Geoff, joined me in Klamath Falls on July 4th. The next morning, the hot sun blazed as we set out on the OC&E Woods Line State Trail, a rail trail, heading east and then north. In less than an hour we left the paved trail and civilization behind. We rambled through ranch land with countless cattle, pastures with horses, wetlands with head-high vegetation, and thickets of scrub brush. After 60 miles, we camped near a creek on the outskirts of the Fremont National Forest.

Day 2

We finished the rail trail and switched to gravel and forest service roads. Through forests and grazing land, we pedaled 72 miles to Fort Rock where we enjoyed draft beer served in frosted mugs at The Watering Hole Tavern. Searching for a place to camp, we spotted a lawn at the community church. Unable to contact anyone from the church we asked a neighbor if she’d think they’d mind if we pitched our tents there. “Of course not,” she said. “They’re church people.”

Day 3

Another sweltering day, and there was less water available along this part of the route. We suffered through the loose red dust of National Forest Road 22. The deep parts would bog us down like quicksand. Grinding away in the heat, we consumed most of our water. Arriving at Sands Springs, we found a fenced off puddle of murky, stagnant water with a cow pie at the water’s edge. We filtered some of it, but the resulting green liquid was too unappealing for us city boys. We decided to skip it.

Instead we took a 14-mile round-trip detour on Highway 20 to Brothers, OR where we ate, rested, and replenished our water. Thirty-two miles later we arrived at a campground by the Prineville Reservoir. We slept the sleep of the dead after an 84-mile day.

Day 4

The next morning we rode forty miles of paved road to the Ochoco National Forest. The route changed to a rocky road, and it was twenty-five miles of downhill across creeks and through trees to Ashwood. In Ashwood we found a small field with picnic tables and shade trees next to a grange building. A resident told us we were welcome to camp there. There’s a water spigot and pit toilets behind the grange building.

Day 5

It was supposed to be an easy thirty miles, but we ended up climbing more than on any other day. Trees gave way to scrubland and the sun was brutal. We enjoyed a relaxing afternoon in Shaniko that included cold beer and ice cream.

From Shaniko the final leg of the route called for 70 miles with no water and no shade. Fortunately, the temperature dropped to 80 degrees that day. At midday, we diverted to Moro on Highway 97 for lunch and water. We paid dearly for it. Leaving Moro, we fought a 20-30 mph headwind while climbing for several miles. Then we battled headwinds in wide-open farmland all the way to the Columbia River. We were relieved to arrive at the Deschutes River State Recreation Area.

Trip Planning

One of the first considerations for doing this ride is the travel logistics—how to get to the starting point and how to get home after you’ve finished. John lives in Tacoma and Geoff in Oakland. Getting to Klamath Falls was easy. I drove to Tacoma where John and I caught the Amtrak. Geoff also took the train from Oakland. When we finished the ride, John’s wife, Susan, was kind enough to drive three hours to pick us up. We dropped Geoff off in Portland where he caught the train back to Oakland. And I drove home after spending the night in Tacoma. We were very thankful for Susan’s help.

Much of our ride went through what could easily be called the middle of nowhere. We admired heron, hawks, an owl, a bobcat, and other wildlife. The Oregon Outback Route offers plenty of nature with a touch of civilization in just the right places.

Hank Greer is an avid bike commuter and runner.

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