How to Circumnavigate Mount Hood in 100 Miles or Less

Mount Hood is one the most accessible mountains in the world. Thousands of people go up it every year and even more go down—it is home to the only ski lift that operates 365 days a year—but few people take the time to circumnavigate the active volcano, at least in something other than an automobile. So, on a scorching hot summer day, my good friend Dave and I set out to accomplish just that.

We head out early—6:30 a.m.—to ride some big miles. Dave meets me at my house near Mt. Tabor and we take the 205 bike path south before heading east on the Springwater Corridor, which is named after the former railroad line that followed the same route from 1903 to 1989, before it was converted into the 21 mile paved recreational trail that now sees over one million users annually. In the town of Boring, the trail disappears and we cross Highway 212, taking SE Richie Rd until it ends, and then a left on SE Kelso Rd. The rolling country roads provide little to no shoulder, but make up for it with the most incredible of backdrops—we take in an awe-inspiring view of Mount Hood, which from the west appears as beautiful as any mountain, anywhere in the world. Because it’s the weekend, and because it’s early, there is little traffic, and much to my surprise, not one hillbilly in an oversized truck slows down to yell at us (see: An Idiot’s Guide to Yelling, July 22, 2014).

When we hit Rt. 26, also known as the Mt. Hood Highway, we have a choice to make: take a right and ride with heavy traffic on the super busy four-lane highway, or go straight and take the longer, hillier, more relaxing, scenic route. We opt for the scenic route, dodging traffic across 26 like characters in Frogger, and continuing straight on Kelso Rd until it ends. We take a right on SE Bluff Rd, follow it to Sandy, and head east through the small town, before taking a left on SE Ten Eyek Rd. We continue on this road until it turns to SE Marmot Rd, which follows a seven-mile ridge known as the “Devil’s Backbone.” It received its hellish name because it was such a daunting task for Oregon Trail pioneers to descend their wagons down it, but today the rural road is one of the most beautiful bicycle rides in all of Northwestern Oregon—highly recommended for anyone who has a morning to kill. We keep on Marmot, which eventually turns into E Barlow Trail Rd. We follow this until it ends, before taking a right on E Lolo Pass Rd, which brings us into the town of Welches and back to Route 26. There’s a café/bakery on the corner—the last stop for supplies for a long while. We opt to cross the highway to use the bathroom and fill our water bottles at the US Ranger Station.

Again we have another choice and again we decide to bypass Highway 26, riding east along its shoulder for less than a mile, before swinging a right on Still Creek Road. The pavement quickly ends and we head up the gradual incline of a narrow dirt road that parallels the small stream for which it got its name. There are no other vehicles in the thick forest, which is overgrown with tall monstrous pines whose shade keeps us cool from the late-morning sun. The road spits us out at Trillium Lake, where Dave gets a flat tire, which isn’t a big deal, because if you’re going to get a flat, there’s no better place to have it happen than at Trillium Lake, where the scenery is as good as it gets. As he works on his bike, we are granted an awe-inspiring view of Mount Hood, which from the south appears as beautiful as any mountain, anywhere in the world.

We take Trillium Lake Road back to Highway 26 and then follow the Mount Hood Highway as it heads north and becomes Route 35. We climb up to Bennett pass, which at 4,650 feet is as high as we’ll reach all day, and then go for a ride as we descend down the other side. We don’t quite reach 40 mph, but we come close as we tuck our bodies in as low as we can and bomb down a slope that seems to go on for so long that I eventually start to look forward to some more uphill. It eventually flattens out and we take a left on Baseline Rd and follow it into the tiny town of Parkdale. I look up at the mountain to my left and it reminds me of an enormous ice cream sundae with hot fudge swirls. This is a bad sign—if you start dreaming about food while riding big miles, that usually means it’s too late; that usually means you should have eaten thirty minutes ago. Fortunately, Parkdale has many food options to choose from—a brewery, a burger joint, and a BBQ. Unfortunately, we’re short on time and have to settle for a quick bite from the local grocery store. We eat a small lunch of deli wraps, chips, and bottles of soda, as we marvel at an awe-inspiring view of Mount Hood, which from the east appears as beautiful as any mountain, anywhere in the world.

We’re back on our bikes in no time, following the Dee Highway north before taking a left on Lost Lake Road. It’s close to 100 degrees outside and what shade we should have disappeared with the trees when the area was clear-cut for lumber. The sun bakes us as we travel uphill towards Lolo Pass. When we leave Lost Lake Road for the unpaved NF-18 (National Forest Route 18), the forest reappears, as does the cool shade, but it might be too late—the heat has gotten to Dave. He gets off his bike and pukes up his lunch. It’s sad to see a perfectly good meal go to waste, but it’s even worse to see a fellow rider in such agony. This will turn out to be the longest ride Dave has ever done in his entire life, but right now we still have fifty miles to go.

Normally, I might be concerned; I might be wondering how we’re going to get out of these woods. But with Dave, I’m not worried, for he’s one of the toughest men I’ve ever had the pleasure to know (when he’s not completing epic bicycle rides, he’s choking people out at jiu-jitsu tournaments). And I don’t know what you would expect a tough guy to do in a situation like this, but I’d expect him to drink some mountain water straight out of a stream and get back on his bike without complaining. And that’s precisely what Dave does. We complete the 3,415 foot climb up Lolo’s pass, which brings us so close to the mountain’s peak that you feel as if you can almost reach out and touch it—an absolutely awe-inspiring view of Mount Hood, which from the north appears as beautiful as any mountain, anywhere in the world.

We fly down Lolo Pass Road, which is paved, and find ourselves again in the town of Welches, filling up our water bottles at the Ranger Station. On the way back, we opt to take the more direct route, riding with traffic on Route 26, back to the city. The entire ride comes out to just over 160 miles, with almost 11,000 feet of elevation gain. But if you want to do just the loop and say that you circumnavigated Mount Hood, then I would suggest driving to the Welches Ranger Station and parking in their large lot. From there, the ride should be about 80 miles, completely circling Mt. Hood, which from any angle appears as beautiful as any mountain, anywhere in the world.