Backyard Biking on Birdseye Creek Road

Cycle Oregon riders departed from their adventure yesterday, but I remain in the Mythical State of Jefferson, which is perfect because this is exactly where I want to be. Having 2,000 visiting cyclists in the region—and right here in the neighborhood—last week inspired reflection about the place I accidentally landed 30-some years ago. It made me appreciate home territory anew, and I looked with special fondness at my personal neighborhood workout hill—Birdseye (pronounced Birds-eee) Creek Road, classic State of Jefferson terrain, which is minutes from my backdoor. It's three miles uphill, down in a flash, and about 30 minutes max, start to finish. Doable even when I "don't have time" or "don't feel like it." But always a challenge.

I've burned enough calories on that hill in the past 25 years to equal several barrels of cabernet sauvignon and a gymnasium-sized slab of dark chocolate. (These are my major vices, but by no means my only ones.) It is a contest about what is going to prevail: my exercise or my excesses. So far I think, it's neck and neck. I eat and drink what I want and credit Birdseye hill (and yoga), with keeping me more or less in line.

I never tire of Birdseye Creek Road. It's a mini-topo trip through State of Jefferson bioregions, and with almost no traffic, even an aging but earnest biker like me can enjoy the sights, sounds, and smells along the way. To get to Birdseye, I navigate .3 of a mile of Rogue River Highway, which is sometimes an annoyingly busy road, but still offers a good look at the Rogue Valley's claim to fame: the Rogue River.

Birdseye Creek Road is a right turn off the highway and takes a sweeping curve past the lower pasture of the Birdseye Creek Ranch, where cattle enjoy lush pasture. I've seen cattle in the eastern Oregon desert and worse, in feedlots. Those cattle can't imagine such luxury as this:

The road climbs to a higher pasture, still part of the original 360-acre Birdseye homestead, which is on the National Register of Historic Places and also for sale.

Already the terrain is drier and madrones and oaks dominate.

I love madrones and the mixed woodlands where they prevail. This time of year—late fall—after several hot dry months, their bark peels in characteristic fashion, and the forest smells fresh— sweet and astringent at the same time. If I walked in it, the forest duff would crackle and release sweet fragrant oils. Climb, climb, climb, and the hills close in and the creek can be seen and heard and the woods look like this:

And this—mixed pines, firs, big-leaf maple and much more:

I can't see worth a damn, so maybe my sense of smell is heightened. But I know that each of these patches along 3 miles of country road has its own distinct perfume. I suck it in on the way up, and catch snatches of it on the way down. Then I go home and eat chocolate.