Three Things No One Tells You About Cycling the Aufderheide

There are three things no one tells you about cycling the Aufderheide: 1. the first 30 miles are straight uphill; 2. the second 30 miles are straight downhill; and 3. it ends at the magical Westfir Lodge. Let me explain. 

The Aufderheide is Oregon’s newest Scenic Bikeway, a program designed to showcase some of the state’s most remarkable landscapes—think ice-capped mountains, roaring rivers, hot springs, sasquatches, covered bridges and cultural history. Running 60 paved miles north-south along Forest Service Road 19, the route links Highways 126 and 58 and connects the McKenzie and Willamette Rivers. Don’t worry about the intimidating name—I found no single person along the entire route pronounced “Aufderheide” the same way, including me. The name honors Robert “Bob” Aufderheide, a former Willamette National Forest Supervisor who died in 1959. Apparently “The Bob” was not considered. 

My husband and I chose a delightful September weekend to do the ride, hoping for full fall foliage. After three long minutes of pondering an out and back ride to the tune of 120 miles, we opted for a shuttle from Westfir to the McKenzie side. (While Oakridge local companies Cog Wild and Trans Cascadia are considering offering scheduled Aufderheide shuttles next year, right now you’ll need to arrange shuttling privately with them, your lodging, or a wonderful friend who might want to spend the day fly fishing). The ride itself is remote and without cell service, so we carried four liters of water, a Sawyer Squeeze to refill from the river, four granola bars, two pastries, Skratch electrolyte mix, and, my personal cycling favorite fuel—a full pound of dried mango.

We started the ride in the eerily quiet burned remnants of the 2020 Holiday Farm Fire, with such little traffic that we decided to keep track for the whole 60 miles. (The full Saturday tally: 6 cars, 11 motorcycles, 22 squirrels). I’m a geographer and glaciologist—so my eyes were glued to the unmistakable rounded valley shoulders and glacial till piles visible to the east along the first few miles. During the Pleistocene, glaciers spilled from the Three Sisters and Diamond Peak and carved many of the broad U-shaped valleys the Aufderheide snakes through. 

Soon, the milky, sediment-thick turquoise expanse of the Cougar Reservoir appeared, dammed by a 519-foot-tall rockfill barrier on the South Fork McKenzie River. For miles and miles, the road hugs sheer cliffs with the blue reservoir plummeting off to the left while high road cuts on the right expose colorful layers of volcanic materials—think 20–40-million-year-old lava flows, tuffs, and ash scoured by glacial ice. Near the south end lies the trailhead for Terwilliger (Cougar) Hot Springs. We pulled in, and the Forest Service host explained the rules: all visitors must buy a $12 pass for a two-hour soak in the 115 °F water. The pools are cleaned every Thursday, each one drained, pressure-washed, and hand scrubbed. “Please, please tell people to stop sneaking in here at night,” he bemoaned. “Even I’m not allowed in then.” 

We carried forth. And as my husband and I grinded towards the summit, the grade steepened, gradually at first, and then to a 9.5% near the top. I was happily distracted by the California tortoiseshell butterflies flitting across my handlebars, the shadowy stands of western hemlock, western red cedar, and Douglas fir cozied right up to the pavement, and a crowded understory of salal, rhododendrons, and Oregon grape. The vine maples blazed red and orange, staking their claim as the defining colors of the Pacific Northwest tapestry. I adore a robust post-glacial landscape. 

We rested and explored each of the five campgrounds and many of the some 25 trailheads dotting the ride. It would be easy to spend a week here exploring, camping, riding more. Kevin English, from the gravel bike organization Dirty Freehub, told me he’s working on a “dirty” Aufderheide, building a route that’s mostly trail and gravel. After just surface exploration, I can’t wait to ride what he comes up with. 

My single minor complaint about the Aufderheide? After 30 miles stomping my pedals up hill, the summit is a mountain pass, a forested plateau. I was hoping for more Pearl Jam, big sweeping “you finally made it” drum lines, chains of volcanoes erupting in glorious victory, perhaps a pop-up coffee stand? Ah, we can wish. Instead, tucked in at the top was a cool log cabin replica of the old Box Canyon Guard Station (what was being guarded, you ask? In the 1930s, rangers guarded the forest from fire, timber operations, and various forms of elicit recreation). I celebrated the summit by giving a vine maple a high-five. 

And then… we dropped. Oh goodness I had no idea. The next 30 miles plummet through glacier- and volcano- shaped valleys dense with waterfalls, ferns, mosses and alpine forests. The Roaring River and Middle Fork of the Willamette River leap back and forth beside and under the road. Swimming holes beckon along the last ten miles, massive osprey nests dot the canopy, and the road just unspools in long reaches of down. The ride is fast, fun, a literal swoopy glide through dense forests and the closest I’ve ever come to my lifelong fantasy of re-enacting the speeder bike chase on Endor. 

Six hours later, we rolled into Westfir, exhausted and exhilarated, and poured ourselves directly into the Westfir Lodge and waiting beverages. 

This is the true secret of the Aufderheide: it ends at one of Oregon’s most welcoming cycling lodges. Situated at the intersection of the Office Covered Bridge and the Aufderheide, the historic former Western Lumber Company office is now an eight-room, spacious, espresso-magic-making cozy bike-centric lodge. After stowing our bikes, we collapsed into deck chairs with beers and a view of the North Fork of the Middle Fork of the Willamette River and all the mountain and road bike traffic coming across the Office Covered Bridge (Why is it called the Office Covered Bridge, you ask? This bridge—the longest in Oregon and the only one with a designated pedestrian path—once connected the old lumber mill to the company office. Hence, the name). 

New owner, Jara Mouracade, bought the Westfir Lodge in December 2024, and hasn’t rested since. “I’m so tired!” she says cheerily, and then rattles off all that she’s accomplished since moving to Oregon from Alaska: built partnerships with regional biking companies, ski resorts and other recreation companies, transformed the Lodge’s market and coffee bar into a “a community gathering space” for the 287-person town, joined Westfir’s town council, and managed to stand up a local book club. And the Lodge is now stunning, with carefully curated interiors and beautifully manicured grounds chocked full of native plants.

Dinner isn’t served yet at the Lodge, so my husband and I rallied into Oakridge for pizza at the exceptional Herbin’ Crust, a food truck run by Diana Alcantara. Her three-day cold-fermented dough produced the best pizza I’ve ever had in Lane County (yep, that’s a challenge—try Diana’s Macino pizza and prove me wrong. I’ll be dreaming about that pizza for years). 

Back at the Lodge, bellies full, legs tired, we settled into the evening soundtrack of Westfir: river murmurs, a passing train—and the improbable but unmistakable drumbeat of techno music. My husband and I instantly laughed. Earlier, we’d met Lady, the Westfir Lodge’s 31-year-old neighbor… emu. Emus make a deep thumping-drumming sound when they inflate a pouch in their throat. 

And so, at the end of an incredible 60-mile Aufderheide Oregon Scenic Bikeway ride, after world-class landscapes and hot springs and vine maples, after absolutely extraordinary pizza, we were lulled to sleep by Westfir’s resident beat-boxing emu.