An epic journey....

I want to open with this picture, because I think it's freaking hilarious, and also shows how 3 people and 6 bikes were cohabitating in one Subaru.

Somebody was tired after his race. Ha.
So the following day we drove to Black Rock, Oregon, which is somewhere south of the Middle of Nowhere, but not so far south as Where the F*ck Are We?
This place is pretty epic with it's downhill trails. Locals have built and maintained Whistler-esque trails, packed berms, smooth jumps, sturdy wood features, etc. They have a couple races here each year, and actually some decent maps. Trails range from beginner to mega huck-your-carcas expert status. It's also beautiful. Ferns. Massive trees. Dense forest. Which you're gonna need. So the sun doesnt shine through. Cuz you're about to walk your 40+ lb. bike uphill for at least an hour. Yes the ride down is going to be fantastic. The most fantastic 8 minutes of your day. But then... the hike. Oh, the hike. And I like hiking. A lot. But holy mother, my calves were burning so badly by the end of the day, I figured I was going to wake up with bulging muscles like Popeye's forearms. Cute.
The shuttle roads are gated off because some creepy kid's camp happens at the base of the mountain, and obviously, no chair lift.
In any case, we didn't take many pictures here, because we were way to preoccupied with the amazing hiking biking that was happening. An image to capture the beauty of these Oregon trails though:

Cute kids.... they're smiling through the fact that they have so much hiking up that road ahead of them...

So fast-forward (through a day spent at the Spruce Goose air museum)...
Portland Oregon. 5 days of bike riding and the race day behind us. One day between us, and the sweet, sweet ripping trails of Whistler, BC. We're getting antsy. We might be a little cranky... but living conditions are like this:

Actually it's not so bad. It's kind of fun rolling around with 2 bikes per person. We get a lot of attention; a lot of people what to know who we are and what we're doing. As we were trying to make a U-turn one time, this dude rolled up and goes "I dont know what you're doing or if it's even legal, but I wish I were you". Pretty sweet.
So anyway, Crusty, Scott & I found a suitable motel in Portland... after a minor altercation at the world's sleaziest Motel 8.
Ok, in all fairness, we actually drove up to a Motel 8 and thought 'we could stay here'. So there's where the fault is ours. Here's where the fault is theirs:
The double queen room had two queen(ish) sized beds shoved so close together I could have sat on one and used the other as a foot rest. And they were pushed up against opposing walls.
The sheets were torn.
There was blood a dark red substance traced all over the stairs and hallway; obviously a dead body was dragged to the dumpster (speculation only, of course).
The bathroom was GROSS. Like I'd rather be back in Scott's college house bathroom. Ew.
It was expensive! $103.58 for all of that!? Reeeeally?
So Crusty & I went to the front desk after a few minutes and asked for a refund. The super huge bitch with too much attitude and no f'ing brain woman who was probably over worked and underpaid at the desk told us, I would only give you a refund if you had been here 5-10 minutes. You've been here too long.
I proceeded to pull out my receipt and show her that it was printed 9 minutes ago. Unfortunately this just angered the beast, and she told us to get out.
I'll paraphrase the rest, because otherwise my whole post would be hotel drama. We got uppity. She got uppity. Scott gets uppity-er. She wouldnt call the manager or give out his number. Four letter words happen. I called the Motel 8 customer service hotline. She threatens to call the cops on us. Crusty threatens to call the cops on her. Its relatively funny. We get our money back. We file the formal complaint with the Motel 8 supervisors, and they told me we got over charged by $35. 
Her name was Pinal, so she's probably had a hard life.
Mooooooooving on.... we found a very nice, large, cheaper spot 2 exits down the highway. We had good sushi, then shitty thai food, then beers in the hotel room. Our fourth companion (we'll call him Crusty Jr.) showed up at midnight. We got some sleep (sort of, somebody makes some weird noises in his sleep), and prepared for the next leg of the journey.
The next day we consolidated, and became one seriously formidable opponent (which is good, because Crusty Jr. was flipping people off left and right on the freeway. Let that kid go 80mph in a 55, or he's gonna get pissed). But seriously, check out this rig:

So 8 bikes, 4 people, and one truck later, we're on the road to Canada! And 8 hours later, we make it!
....barely. Border patrol stopped us and ran all of our background checks. They asked how much beer we had in the car, which I may have underestimated a tad, and they didn't ask how much hard alcohol, so, um, I didn't say. Needless to say, I was having a heart attack while they were doing our background checks. What if they check the truck??? What if they find my Ketel One?? I mean of course they're still going to let us in the country, but it will cost me eighty bucks to replace that vodka because Canada is crazy expensive, and I just cant afford that right now!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
They didn't search the truck. Thankfully Crusty/Jr. have clean backgrounds. We got across.... to gridlocked traffic.
Fast forward a few hours, and we FINALLY make it to Whistler. Crusty Jr. has long since relinquished his driver's seat, and is about 8 beers in, and is about this classy:

I believe he called it "pissing with a view".
Anywho, we made it.