June 12 Mitchell to Dayville 42 miles 4:08 riding

A steep climb first thing made me regret eating all those pancakes. 1400 feet and a couple of hours later, we tipped over into the valley of the John Day River. John Day, incidentally, was never anywhere near Dayville, the town of John Day or the John Day Fossil Beds National Monument. His fur-trapping party was attacked by Indians, who took everything they had, down to their clothes. I guess this was good for a laugh to the other trappers. The river mouth where the event occurred became known as the John Day River and everything upstream wound up with the same name. We turned off our route a couple of miles to visit the National Monument. Unlike other national monuments, this is an active research facility where one might see fossils being preserved in the laboratory. It's one of the most important sites in the world because whole communities were preserved intact beneath mudslides. Something about the volcanic ash allows unusally precise dating of the fossils.

The Presbytarian Church in Dayville opens its doors to hikers. One may camp on the lawn or sleep on the floor of the social hall. There's a shower, a kitchen, a computer, a washer/dryer. Donations are gratefully accepted. The caretaker is a wheelchair-bound woman of maybe 50 or 55 who breathes with the aid of seven liters of oxygen per minute. She reports she is dying of some lung condition and that she is ready to go. Her children suggest that she move somewhere bigger (Dayville's population is under 200). The daughter adds, "Mom, I'm not going to care for you the way you did for your parents." So the caretaker has decided, no, she'll die in Dayville where she's at home.

The Dayville City Hall would probably fit inside my office. Roy found some rum at the Dayville Mercantile! We nuked a frozen pizza, chips and salsa. Ahh!