I brought my bike in hopes of riding the Covered Bridge Bicycle Tour, but only the hardest-core cyclists in the group ventured forth to try legs on the “68, 85 and 100-mile routes” (even the “short” tour was 40 miles; fughettaboutit). Turns out, most of the bridges are located in and around Scio, a town several miles away and the butt of local jokes; just look up "Scion" in the Urban Dictionary. (Scio: Where one’s family tree does not fork.)
A couple of us sensibly left our bikes behind and set out to sightsee in a car, but we bagged only one bridge before becoming distracted by the several Sweet Home garage sales. (You’ve seen one covered bridge, you’ve seen them all, right?) I returned to the comfort of the DWR campchair in the shade, and watched the fishing folks walk back from the stocked pond holding high their limit of rainbows.
Later, wobbly on my hand-me-down Softride after years of neglect, I joined the casual cyclists and idly peddled around and around the campground loop.
Another perfect Airstream weekend.