The Awkward Pose

August 28, 2015 – Partly sunny, 65 degrees

Miles Today: 50

Miles to Date: 6,276

States to Date: 22

 Much as I enjoyed Seattle, it felt great to climb on Surly, pedal down to the waterfront, weave through the container port, cross over the West Seattle Bridge, and log some distance. Five low mileage days made me antsy. Even though today’s route wasn’t difficult, it was more than mere commuting.

I climbed through West Seattle and descended to the Vachon Island ferry port. Ferries are an integral part of Seattle’s transportation infrastructure. Still, I was surprised how many people and vehicles took the twenty-minute ride midmorning. Crossing Puget Sound with ferries, pleasure boats and freighters all in view, I recalled how water used to connect us. Before railroads, before roads, rivers and bays were our thoroughfares.

Now, land connections dominate and water connections are weak bonds. Vachon Island is a separate world a mere two miles from the City of Seattle. It reminded me of Cape Ann in Massachusetts – varied terrain with lush greenery, well-kept vintage houses and a quaint scale. The grocery store where I stopped at noon was crowded and inefficient but no one seemed dismayed or rushed. Island time exists wherever water surrounds us, even if we’re only 15 miles from Amazon headquarters.

The ride after lunch only got better. Sun streaked through tall trees and illuminated mounds of fern and moss. I descended into the village of Burton. Magnolia Beach opened before me, an arc of fine sand beach and frame cottages. Seagulls lofted above. The sweet scent of salt air rushed my nostrils. All at once I was back home. Then it struck me. How far I’ve come. Until that moment my journey from Cambridge to Seattle had been measured in time and distance. A single jolt of sea air clarified my emotional distance. All the months I’ve traversed farms, prairie and mountains I never thought about the sea. But one waft from the opposite coast made my heart pulse a homesick beat. The world is not just round in shape. Memories retrieved mark the cycle of our growth. Like rings of a tree. Or seagull squawks that echo true on either coast.

 I took a second ferry from Vachon to Tacoma, a short ride full of chatty passengers. The mainland greeted me with a great beer sign and blocks of amusingly tacky houses. Tacoma must have boomed when the bi-level was king, board and batten siding in vogue, and contrasting paint motifs all the rage. Baby blue with chocolate brown. Lemon with rust. Each house, identical to the next, screaming to be unique.

I passed the Tacoma Narrows Bridge, sight of one of the most famous civil engineering disasters of our era. Not the bridge I saw, which stands firm, but the one that wobbled in a 1940 gale and came crashing down. Beyond the bridge, I rode for miles along the bay. Hills, mountains, and sky all muted against the overhead sky. It started to rain – just barely. Puget Sound is like Ireland. Rain enhances the place.

I arrived in DuPont, where I will spend a few days with my niece and her family. When I stay with warmshowers hosts, I typically leave a calling card and a box of Altoids as gesture of appreciation. But my nieces rank flowers. I love riding with a bouquet popping out of my backside, proclaiming to everyone that, though I travel light, I still have space for something as ethereal as fresh flowers.

This opinion essay was published in The Seattle Times on Thursday August 27, 2015.

I am cycling toward Seattle at ten miles per hour, fueled by 5,000 calories a day and a question. Since May, I’ve logged 6,000 miles, traversed 22 states, and asked hundreds of individuals, organizations and companies, “How will we live tomorrow?”

Seattle is a key terminus for many cross-country cyclists. More than half of the riders I’ve met start or end here. For me, Seattle is a turning point, the place I stop moving west and start heading south. Seattle marks only the third point in my objective to pedal and pose my question in the 48 contiguous states. Still, reaching the upper left corner on the map is a significant landmark in my journey.

I undertook this adventure because I love to cycle and wanted to see America at an intimate scale. More importantly, I am concerned about the negative tone of our national conversation. I’ve no confidence the 2016 election cycle will rise above partisan discord to generate the thoughtful debate we deserve. So I decided to generate my own discussions, one on one, with people I meet riding a bicycle.

A guy on a bike is like a woman in pearls: my accessory earns me special attention. I supposed that people would be inclined to talk to a cyclist; I underestimated that by a wide margin. People love to talk to a guy on a bike. They seek him out. They open up. The bike sets me apart, and triggers unconstrained responses to my question.

I appreciate strangers who engage in lively discussion, but I marvel at the private audiences I’ve earned. I’ve discussed tomorrow with Chiefs of Police, scientists, cattlemen, futurists, oilmen, shaman, museum directors, farmers, and executives. I’m not a credentialed journalist, just a good listener in yellow spandex. Sometimes I ask my interviewees why they offer me their time. To a person, their answer is, “because you’re on a bike.”

Some people respond to ‘How will we live tomorrow?’ by describing their plans twenty-four hours hence; others talk of space travel. Many respond from a global perspective, others answer in the first person singular. Many rephrase the question to how should we live, or how they hope to live tomorrow. One man, a Navy veteran who put me up overnight, told me my question was too broad and diffuse. But the next morning he said, “I’ve been thinking about your question: We will live tomorrow in the memories of those who love us.”

Retirees give me cold water along the road, truck drivers buy me lunch, mechanics offer me money, and gardeners give me produce. I turn down money, but I’ve learned to accept food and drink. As one collared businessman said, “You’re living the dream, man. You’ve got to let others join in.” Strangers invite me into their homes, make me supper, give me a bed, and cook me breakfast. More then stuff, I appreciate people’s concern for my safety. Nuns give me blessings; Buddhists give me Karma; Native Americans give me talismans. Evangelicals pulled me into a prayer circle in a McDonald’s. As a tiny creature crawling across this huge continent, I’m grateful for all protection.

I could return to Massachusetts after I reach Seattle – most transcontinental cyclists are one-way travelers – and count my journey a success. Not that I’ve solved our nations’ problems. Rather, I’ve countered my worries with example upon example of personal generosity.

But I won’t dip my tire in Puget Sound and head home. After Seattle, I want to ask my question in San Francisco and Fresno, El Paso and Tampa. Everyday brings fresh responses and fresh energy. And often, a savvy local exposes the real purpose of my inquiry. “You know, the answers aren’t all that important. The important thing is asking the question.”

August 27, 2015 – Sunny, 80 degrees

Miles Today: 5

Miles to Date: 6,226

States to Date: 22

I started the day with a quiet visit to Steven Holl’s chapel at Seattle University, a contemporary building with many references to LeCorbusier’s Chapel at Ronchamp.

I quit that solitude for the frenzy of Rem Koolhaus’s magnificent Seattle Public Library, where I had two interviews about tomorrow.

One of the cyclists I met on my way to Seattle told me, “Being a cyclist is as close to being a celebrity as I’ll ever get. Everyone wants to talk with me.” I had one of those celebrity moments as I left the library and a passerby recognized me as the author of today’s op ed in The Seattle Times. Like actual celebrity, it was both gratifying and creepy. I didn’t actually see the piece until late afternoon. After lunch at the Pike Market, I returned to my favorite Seattle haunt, Elliott Bay Book Company, for a writing break. The hyper-skinny Seattle cafe habitués bemoaned summer on this sunny, perfect day.

No time for fame to go to the head of a guy who pedals for a living. Tomorrow I quit Seattle and head south.

August 26, 2015 – Sunny, 65 degrees

Miles Today: 14

Miles to Date: 6,221

States to Date: 22

I woke up to a Seattle panorama this morning. My host said, “Lots of people in Seattle have good views.”  The fact that its shared does not distract from its magnificence.

Seattle is a joy in every respect. It’s the first city I’ve been in that treats cycling as a legitimate form of transportation. The bike routes are well marked and connect places of work as well as places to play. Bike lanes are robust and vehicle drivers treat cyclists as equal participants on the pavement.

Seattle is also growing – fast. I don’t know if the city invented the Lego style of mid-rise condo development with boxy pop-outs of varied cutouts and materials, flat roofs, and angular surfaces, but they are everywhere, and more are under construction.

I had a series of interesting interviews today that took me to several different neighborhoods: Atlantic, Belltown, North Queen Anne, and Capitol Hill. My routes went through Seattle University, past the Gates Foundation Building (very elegant) and Gehry’s Experience Music Project (everything but elegant). Thank goodness for my granny gears – the gradient of many Seattle streets is steeper than any US Highway.

My warmshowers hosts were a delight. They topped off a great dinner with molten chocolate cake that was so rich I had a difficult time getting to sleep. Or maybe it was because I only rode 14 miles. Or maybe it was because I am a city guy at heart, excited by the pulse of this place.

August 25, 2015 – Sunny, 65 degrees

Miles Today: 25

Miles to Date: 6,207

States to Date: 22

The bike trail into Seattle from the north is a terrific path with gorgeous views along the top of Lake Washington, along the lake’s west side, and into the city. I meandered through University of Washington, descended into Montvale Playground and then ascended up to Interlaken Park before wending my way to Elliott Bay Book Company, where I spent the afternoon absorbing Capitol Hill’s vibe. Seattle is full of thin androgynous people. All that coffee, all those grey skies, all that progressive thinking blurs lines in every direction.

I got lost getting to my warmshowers host. When I finally arrived, she explained that Seattle is divided into nine quadrants, each with its own system of streets and numbers. 9^th Street has no relationship to East 9th Street. 12^th Street is numbered up to 2300, and then starts over at 100 when it becomes N. 12^th Street. It is a challenge my mathematical mind embraces, but I haven’t figured it out yet.

August 24, 2015 – Sunny, 65 degrees

Miles Today: 33

Miles to Date: 6,182

States to Date: 22

For the next week or so, my trip will take on a different rhythm, as I will be four days around Seattle and then visiting my niece and her family in Dupont. In the early morning I took a gorgeous ride from Sultan to Monroe. I spent most of the day there setting up my Seattle itinerary and interviewing a Microsoft consultant. Then in late afternoon I took an equally tranquil ride to Bothell. Except that somewhere I made a wrong turn, went way out of my way, and was running late. I decided to get onto Highway 523 to avoid being too late. Oops, bad shoulder and another flat tire. My sixth for the trip. At least I am getting speedy at the repairs. I arrived in Bothell late but warmshowers hosts are understanding about the delays that accompany bike travel.

August 23, 2015 – Hazy, 80 degrees

Miles Today: 79

Miles to Date: 6,149

States to Date: 22

The ride out of Leavenworth and up Stevens Pass is beautiful and strenuous, but at this point a 4,000 foot pass is not too difficult. I reached the summit by eleven.

Unfortunately, the path down proved much more challenging. US. Route 2 west into Seattle is like a country road, with narrow bridges and tight shoulders. The traffic out of the mountains on a Sunday afternoon was heavy and none too happy about the cyclists in their midst. I was very cautious, pulled over to let traffic pass many times, and signaled when I had to ease into the lane at constrictions. Still, I got horns and hollers. I was mighty pleased to pull into La Hacienda in Gold Bar for a long lunch.

I got off US 2 at Sultan and pedaled a gorgeous side road to my warmshowers host. That’s when reality finally sunk in: I have left the mountains behind and am in the incredible rainforest of the Pacific Northwest.

Brian, another long distance cyclist staying with the same host, let me into a spectacular vertical house deep in the woods. Turns out our hosts had to go out, so Brian and I spent the evening together and turned in early. Maybe I’ll meet the owners in the morning…

August 22, 2015 – Hazy, 80 degrees

Miles Today: 25

Miles to Date: 6,070

States to Date: 22

I meandered out of Wenatchee for an easy travel day and some fun touring along the way. First stop climbing the Wenatchee River Valley: Aplets Candy Factory and Store in Cashmere. Their harvest bars are without doubt the best energy bars I’ve ever eaten, so I added a dozen to my pack.

Back on US 2 outside of Cashmere I met up with Peter, the cross-country cyclist I connected with a few days ago. He was travelling with Brian, a guy doing the perimeter of the United States, and a third cyclist. As we chatted, Matt, the British cyclist I stayed with last night, caught up with us. The end of summer is near, and folks with Seattle as their terminus are zeroing in on their destination.

We disbanded to all ride at our own pace, but four us met again at the McDonalds in Leavenworth. They were heading over Stevens Pass today; I am waiting until tomorrow. I’ll see Brian again for sure; we both have the same warmshowers host tomorrow night in Sultan. The long distance cycling community is a small, tight world.

What can I say about Leavenworth, WA? To call this pretend Bavarian town kitsch is an understatement. But that doesn’t stop us from flocking here on a summer Saturday to stroll the three blocks along Front Street, eat all kinds of festival food and shop. The town is festive, the people watching superb.

I made special effort to go to the Nutcracker Museum. Truly a gem of a place. Perhaps my next major trip will be to visit every $5 museum in America. Each delivers a half hour of fascinating insight into the peculiar human fetishes. The Nutcracker Museum has thousands of nutcrackers, useful and ornamental, sentimental and political, austere and sexual. The proprietress at the register in her long Martha Washington gown and bobbed white hair is as much part of the experience as any wooden-jawed statue.

My warmshowers host, Kristin, is a waitress, so she asked me to come in the afternoon and visit before she headed out to work. Like many who choose to live in a resort area, Kristen has an assortment of odd jobs to cobble a living. She drove me up Icicle Road through a beautiful valley. We traded stories while she showed me houses she cleans and fed horses she tends. After she went to work, her neighbor Sally brought dinner over for me.

My bicycle is so much more than a vehicle to take me from A to B. It’s my conduit into people’s lives and the key that unlocks their generosity.

August 20, 2015 – Smokey, 90 degrees

Miles Today: 78

Miles to Date: 5,978

States to Date: 22

Fires to my north. Desert to my south. Smoke in my nostrils. Wind in my face. Rough aggregate roads. Washington is a trial. I will persevere until Seattle.

No horizon line this morning

Roosevelt Lake stretches 150 miles toward Canada

Grand Coulee Dam

Chief Joseph Dam

After 66 miles I reached Bridgeport, a funky Mexican community with cool carved trees (enjoy these stock photos – in my pictures the sky is green). I finally reached Brewster where Naomi, the motel clerk made everything good. I met her three pugs, heard about her four daughters and the husband that got away. She gave me a discount. She nodded toward the window, “No one should have to pay to breath this.” Then she gave me a memorable response to my question.

August 21, 2015 – Sunny, 90 degrees

Miles Today: 67

Miles to Date: 6,045

States to Date: 22

Washington State has a way of turning even the most benign ride – 65 miles downhill along the Columbia River – into a challenge. Dawn broke with smoky haze and strong winds that kept me working hard all morning. It’s discouraging to see whitecaps break upstream on the mighty Columbia. Thankfully, the skies cleared and the wind settled toward the end of my ride, so I could focus less on pumping my legs and more on the splendor of the valley.

The vagaries of the ride could not distract from the day’s main event – apples! I saw enough steps in harvesting along my route to piece the process together, and appreciate the hard working Mexican-Americans who bear the biggest burden to ensure we have Washington Applies all year long.

The basic unit of harvest is the crate: four feet square and 30” deep. They come in wood or plastic, with the orchard’s name and apple type stenciled on the side. When an area is ready for harvest, wide strips of plastic are laid out between the rows of trees and an empty crate is set beneath every second or third tree. Farm laborers with three-legged ladders and frontpacks that look like giant snugglies climb into the trees, pick apples, and deposit them into their pack. When full, they amble down and transfer the produce to a crate. Then repeat the process. I asked one guy how many crates he filled per day. He said twenty, but since his English wasn’t much better than my Spanish, don’t quote me on that. There are a variety of small tractors that run between the apple trees and convey full crates to a loading area. Many semis with 40 or more crates whizzed by me on US 97.

Some laborers have cars, but many go from orchard to orchard in school buses or white vans. Other white vans transport the fire fighters I see on break in many towns. A few parks have been commandeered into makeshift camps for fire crews. Others are still full of RV’s and campers enjoying their vacation. There is a sense of an emergency: near, but not here.

By noon the sky turned blue as I’ve seen in a week and the river turned ultramarine. I passed a few more dams. Dams along the Columbia River are frequent as service areas along the New Jersey Turnpike. The dams turn the river into a series of lakes. Elaborate vacation compounds line the shore. The difference between the lush vegetation,  irrigated orchards, and barren mountains is striking.

I stayed with a top-tier warmshowers host in Wenatchee, along with another cyclist from England. Dinner was terrific, especially squash blossoms: the flowers of a squash plant, stuffed with goat cheese and lightly batter-dipped. Yummy!