The Awkward Pose

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!

August 19, 2015 – Hazy, 90 degrees

Miles Today: 66

Miles to Date: 5,900

States to Date: 22

 Every few weeks I forget the rule than fifty miles before noon is easier than thirty miles after noon, and have to learn that lesson all over again. It was hard to leave Ryan and Sabina and their other warmshowers guest Al. We had a great breakfast conversation and it was pushing nine by the time I left. How hard could 66 miles be?

 The first ones were easy, across the Spokane River and rising up along the Centennial Trail. Cool shady mornings even make climbing pleasurable.

By the time I reached the plateau, about ten miles along US 2, the sun was high, the fire smoke made a brown band in the sky and I knew it would be hot. But the road surface was good. Beyond Quest Casino and Wal-Mart, Fairchild Air Force Base and McDonald’s, the land became an immense, undulating blanket of tawny wheat; as if the past six weeks of mountains disappeared and I was back in the Dakota’s. I spun fast, in keeping with the gigantic scale, until the wind imitated the Dakota’s as well, bearing straight at me with no relent.

I was famished by lunch, and disappointed when Davenport’s Safeway was the dinkiest possible store: no prepared foods or place to sit down. Still, I can always put together a good lunch in a grocery store. A dozen tired guys in white pick-ups with flames on their T-shirts came in as well: fire crews on break.

Beyond Davenport the road was recently paved with rough aggregate safety engineers must love for the friction, and cyclists abhor for the same reason. I jostled on an oily goo of tiny pebbles for twenty miles. Everything vibrated, my bike, my hands, my head. It was an interminable MRI test. No matter how much I savored the scenery, which had turned to sagebrush, or was thankful for no of rain, or no fire, I could not forget the bumpy shoulder. Finally, I came to Cresston, where I promised myself a break. But Cresston’s a shell town; nothing left. Until I passed a roadside chapel that was open and cool and let my jangled nerves approach equilibrium.

The road wasn’t all that much better for the last ten miles, but my spirits were. I found the energy to pump hard up the hills, and brace Surly against the cross winds. Every flag stood straight out from its pole. The Willows Motel in Wilbur is much nicer than I would expect from such a sleepy place. I found adequate eats at their local grocery and was simply happy not to be vibrating anymore.

August 18, 2015 – Hazy, 80 degrees

Miles Today: 52

Miles to Date: 5,834

States to Date: 22

 My nephew Joey has an early job, so I was on the road shortly after six, revisited Coeur d’Alene’s lakefront in the early morning light, and was on the Centennial Bike Trail before the morning commute. Centennial is one of the best trails I’ve been on: great pavement, generous width, and terrific views along the Spokane River. The river’s water level changed dramatically along the route. A series of markers explained how the Prairie Aquifer feeds the river and vice versa, as the relative height of the aquifer and the river change along the route.

By eight the sky turned hazy and smoke from the region’s fires masked the sun. By the time I arrived in Spokane, this railroad hub was shrouded in pollution. I meandered through Spokane’s industrial east side to visit Self Storage of Spokane. I’ve seen so many storage facilities across the country I wanted to investigate how they figure into tomorrow. The manager gave me a terrific interview and different perspectives on who rents storage facilities and why.

East Spokane includes miles of pawnshops and used car lots on streets not well suited to bicycles. Eventually I made my way to the University district (Gonzaga, the perennial NCAA basketball contender is in Spokane) and landed downtown, where I found a cool Mexican restaurant for a satisfying lunch.

Downtown Spokane is all about fun – it’s easy to see why the city hosted a World Expo back in 1974. There’s a carousel along the rive, an amusement park on the island that held the Expo, and cable cars that traverse across the spectacular Spokane Falls and under the impressive Monroe Street bridge.

 I took a writing break at the Spokane Library, where I had a study carrel with a view o the falls as well as the not-too-distant fires. I am so impressed by the libraries in this country. Cites have invested so much in them over the past twenty years and in town after town I enjoy seeing how well used.

My warmshowers hosts, Ryan and Sabine, live a few miles out of downtown in a quaint 1920’s bungalow. They set a high standard for friendliness and amenities, including fresh garden salad with our al fresca pasta dinner. Such thoughtful people make me feel good about tomorrow.

August 17, 2015 – Sun, 80 degrees

Miles Today: 55

Miles to Date: 5,782

States to Date: 21

I meandered through Sandpoint on my way out of town, and visited the beach I missed yesterday. The distant mountains were silhouetted in the morning light.

The first ten miles toward Coeur ‘d’Alene is a good ride along a bike path along the lake. The next thirty miles were less fun. US 95 turns away from the water, has a variable shoulder, and heavy traffic. Ten miles outside of Coeur d’Alene I was able to shift to a local road, and resume a pleasant ride.

I did pass an awesome logging facility with this huge overhead crane that loaded logs onto rail cars. Giant sprinklers spewed water fifty feet high to keep the logs moist in this area rampant with fires.

I arrived at Coeur d’Alene just after noon. After last Friday’s blowout, I had called ahead and made an appointment at a local bike shop to have my ride overhauled. I settled into a corner of the shop while the mechanic performed magic on my trusty steed. Every bike shop amazes me in how they respond to long distance cyclists. I was happy to be on the road within two hours. They were happy to have a customer so easy to upsell. I replaced my punctured tire, rear bearings, front derailleur, chain, and brake pads. I can’t skimp on Surly.

 I spent the rest of the afternoon cruising beautiful Coeur d’Alene and writing in their gorgeous library at a table overlooking the lake. Then I pedaled up French Gulch to visit my nephew Joey, whom I had not seen in ten years, and his wife Amanda, whom I’d never met. We had a great evening catching up in their cool and remote-feeling cabin only three miles from downtown.

August 16, 2015 – Sun and haze, 75 degrees

Miles Today: 53

Miles to Date: 5,727

States to Date: 21 

I was happy to discover a coffee spot a few miles beyond Noxon this morning. I chucked to myself when a guy half my age with twice my waist told me cycling was unhealthy in this smoky air and that trucks would run me off the road. I checked delivering a reciprocal comment about what his XXL microwaved burger from Quick Stop was doing to his health. My New England penchant to keep unsolicited advice to myself is a good trait in a country where people dole out opinions as fact and expect thanks in return.

For the next fifteen miles smoke laden air infiltrated my lungs, but the hour of exercise it took to get me out of Montana will probably not kill me. Idaho brought brighter skies and cleaner air, though the summer haze lingered.

 Lake Pend Oreille is a spectacular place; New Hampshire’s Lake Winnipesaukee on a grander scale. It’s the last remnant of the ancient Lake Missoula, part of the Western Interior Sea that included the Bonneville Sea in Utah and the ancient ocean through Eastern Colorado. I pedaled along the eastern shore to arrive at Sandpoint by noon thanks to crossing into Pacific Daylight Time.

I enjoyed the afternoon in Sandpoint and a fun dinner with my warmshowers – a family with four lively children.

August 15, 2015 – Cloudy, 75 degrees

Miles Today: 64

Miles to Date: 5,674

States to Date: 21

An uncharacteristic morning for the West; thick clouds spanned the horizon. Hard to tell which were passing moisture and which were entrapped smoke from the fires all around us. The air smelled of cinders and tasted of soot.
Coming off the hillside where my warmshowers hosts live I came upon several signs: I Control My Own. An Internet search didn’t reveal what these signs were protecting, but in Montana, it could be most any form of private property.

In time, streaks of sun began to filter across the mountains. I could only imagine how glorious the Clark Fork Valley would be in full sunlight.

I appreciate that Montana was the first state to install historical markers along highways (1938). They are uniformly interesting and informative.

However, I am less convinced that every little shack with a coffee pot is brewing Espresso.

I stopped for lunch at the Trout Creek Huckleberry Festival. I find a festival most every weekend, and they are all pretty much the same: lines of craft booths; an alley of food vendors; kiddie rides and a performance stage. The variation (in this case a plethora of products made from huckleberry and art created by chain saws or made from chain saw parts) is insignificant compared to the similarities. Festivals are no place to talk about tomorrow. They are full of people in groups, enjoying each other and their neighbors. Hardly conducive to the conversations my question triggers. Still, I devoured excellent fajitas and a giant bowl of huckleberry ice cream before moving on.

Just outside of town I met a woman cleaning up from her yard sale and we had a terrific interchange. Nothing restores my spirits more than a positive interaction. Besides, the sun came out and the mountains shimmered all the way to Noxon. The Noxon Motel is as basic as can be, yet perfectly clean and neat. I had several hours of solitude until my recent travel companion, Peter, showed up around nine to crash in my room. He’s a nice young man from New Jersey I met three days ago. We’re on the same route. We don’t cycle together – every cyclist has his own rhythm. Still, we’ve landed in the same place the last two nights. Whether that will continue, only the road can tell.