We rent only mountain bikes. You know, fat tires. I'm glad I have an alpha-bike with full suspension and tire knobs the size of quarters. The terrain is tame by Pacific Northwest standards, but it still jostles my arms, legs and backside as if I were experiencing a seismic quake. About a mile into our ride, clouds amble over the ridges above us and seem to do a slow rumba with the tops of 200-foot conifers.
Rain begins to fall.
This is my first encounter with Portland's peculiar brand of precipitation. Just a spritzer. The showers unleash an earthy scent of mint in the woods that bites my nostrils when I downshift and pedal harder to keep up with Doug. We stop our bikes and watch. Clouds have drifted south along the path of the Willamette River, revealing just enough big sky to allow us to catch a glimpse of a snow-capped Mount Hood 56 miles away.