Part Two of this nine-week Western journey is complete. I've arrived in Seattle, finishing a 30-day solo ride from San Francisco that covered 2240 miles, averaging 80 miles a day for the 28 days I rode. And I ended it with a flourish: after taking a ferry into downtown Seattle from Bainbridge Island, I rode straight to Safeco Field, home of the Seattle Mariners, and saw the Mariners play my beloved New York Yankees from a seat right behind home plate!
A lovely afternoon at Safeco Field
View from the good seats, Mike Mussina on the mound.
More on that story later. Meanwhile I now have five days to rest up before the final leg (part 3): the American Lung Association's Big Ride Pacific Coast, which will leave from Seattle this Saturday, September 13th and deliver me back in San Francisco on the 27th. The good news is that it's a supported ride, so I can take the packs off my bicycle and ride a little easier. And certainly I'm in shape for the ride, after my six-week, 2800-mile warmup. But still it won't be easy: the 80-mile-a-day pace is brisk, the coastal route is extremely hilly, and the shorter days will put pressure on riders to get moving despite the chilly mornings and potentially chilly days. As a teacher, most of my biking over the years has been limited to summers - i.e., hot-weather riding - so these early-autumn temperatures are a relatively new experience. When the sun is shining, the cooler days can be glorious, but amid clouds and rain, the cold can seep into your bones, as I discovered this week when riding over the northern Cascades, descending from 5,000 feet in a light drizzle, the temperature 50 degrees and the headwinds creating a fierce wind chill.
Here's a summary of the ride since my last post, as I rode on Route 20 east to west across Washington and then south on a coastal route to reach Bainbridge Island:
Wednesday, 9/3 (day 26, after and off-day in Colville): 86 miles toward Tonasket, WA. After the day off, I felt raring to go, ready for a hard day of climbing: a 4500-foot ascent to the top of Sherman Pass, elevation 5575 ft., and then after decending to the town of Republic, another ascent of 2000 feet over Wauconda Pass. Unfortunately as I set off I could tell I was dehydrated, having drunk too much coffee and soda and not enough water while blogging the day before. I took it easy, thus, and drank a lot as I rode through Kettle Falls and descended to the Columbia River (Lake Roosevelt), having last been beside it nine days before, in The Dalles, and then began the long, 25-mile climb. The morning was cool but sunny, and the slow ascent was enjoyable. I saw a pileated woodpecker with its bright red head, and an hour later a coyote and I shared a moment: I heard it moving from the road's edge, but then it stopped, turned around, and we stared at each other. I also enjoyed stopping at a heritage site: an old CCC camp nicknamed "Little America" that highlighted all the good work the CCC did during the Depression,as well as what the program did for the young men who participated. The roadside exhibit included a copy of a letter home from one of the participants who raved about the the three square meals a day and "all the pie you can eat."
In all the ascent of Sherman Pass took me about four hours. The descent was cold, I wore my jacket, and then after regrouping in Republic, I set off around 2:00 p.m., climbing again. Wauconda Pass was considerably easier. I made it to the top by around 4:00 p.m. and had only to ride to Tonasket, nearly all downhill, to complete a really challenging 100-mile day. That's when I had a breakdown, the story of which I tell in detail below (see kindess story #6). But in the end it merely shortened by day to a more reasonable 86 miles, and all's well that ends well: I spent a comfortable evening in a Tonasket motel.
Thursday, 9/4 (day 27) - 87 miles from Tonasket to Mazama. My toughest day mentally ofthe whole trip. The day started well as I rode south on Route 20/U.S. 97, a flat stretch in the Okanonda River valley, helped by a big tailwind, for 28 miles. But then the route turned west again, creating a crosswind, and I started a 3000-foot climb to Loup Loup Pass. The grade was significantly steeper than the climb up Sherman Pass had been; and maybe I was worn out from the day before, but this one really hurt, and I found myself unnerved by a lot of small annoyances: the road was narrow and winding, so cars were buzzing by too closely and the roars of motorcycles were especially grating; clouds kept blocking the sun, making me alternately cold and hot, and the afternoon too dark for sunglasses and then too bright to be without them. Etc. And then after the steep descent, I spent the rest of the afternoon fighting a really fierce headwind all the way to Mazama.
Descending Loup Loup Pass, with the Northern Cascades in the background
By the end I felt worn out, but I recuperated that evening over an upscale dinner with my biking pal Big Eric (see kindness story #7 below).
Friday, 9/5 (day 28) - 95 miles from Mazama to Concrete. Feeling revitalized, I had a big day climbing over the North Cascades to the Skagit River Valley. The headwinds were still there but they bothered me less, and they let up as I drew closer to Washington Pass. The climb was another really long one - 18 miles - and the coldest: for the descent I put on nearly all the clothes I had.
Climbing toward Washington Pass
View from near the top of Washington Pass
After a short, steep descent, there was one more climb to Rainy Pass - my fifth summit in three days, and then lots and lots of downhill, as I was descending from 5477 feet toward sea level.
Rainy Pass - the final summit
The headwinds remained tough - gusty and frigid - until Newhalem but then relented late into the afternoon. I wanted to ride as far as I could and kept at it until nearly 6:00 p.m., reaching the town of Concrete, where I camped alongside the Skagit River and ate a good dinner. The highlight was right outside the town of Marblemount, where I came upon a black bear cub that was right beside the road and was ten yards from it as it dashed into a thicket. It was the closest I've ever been to a bear, and I was struck by its shiny black coat and handsome pale brown muzzle.
Saturday, 9/6 (day 29) - 86 miles from Concrete to Port Townsend. Another long day as I rushed toward Seattle, and a less scenic day, amid a lot of heavy traffic. The volume picked up as I neared Sedro-Wooley and then from I-5 to Fidalgo Island, nearing Anacortes. From there I turned south and benefited from the strong northerly wind as I crossed onto Whidbey Island and then along a pretty stretch on the coast, with views of the San Juan Islands. By 3:30 p.m. I'd ridden nearly 80 miles to reach the Keystone-Port Townsend ferry, a 30-minute ride onto the Olympic Peninsula. It was the weekend of Port Townsend's Wooden Boats celebration, so I was lucky to secure a campsite at Fort Worden State Park: the park was full, but I was granted their one "emergency" hiker-biker walk-in site, nestled in deep woods, and then rode back to town for dinner.
Sunday, 9/7 (day 30) - 55 miles from Port Townsend to Seattle. After a late start, not waking till after 7:00 a.m., I rode 50 miles by 12:30 p.m. to reach the Bainbridge Island ferry. The route had its share of scenery, particularly on Route 19 south of Irondale, where the road followed the edge of a deeply wooded ridge, offering views of the narrow green valley just to the west and the silhouettes of the jagged Olympic Range in the distance. Mostly, though, my thoughts were on the Yankeess, and the real excitement was the ferry ride with its views of downtown Seattle and then the absolute thrill of attending the game.
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That said, the real story of this past week was the extraordinary kindness and generosity I received from the people I encountered. It made me reflect on the whole trip: people have been kind everywhere; over these last days the blessings have been just more frequent and pronounced. Thinking about it all is also extremely humbling. I realize how fortunate I am to receive such treatment. This past year at the Dwight School, I had the pleasure of teaching juniors one of my favorite novels, Hermann Hesse's Narcissus and Goldmund. In it, Goldmund chooses the life of a wanderer, wanting to fully experience life, and as he sets off he is treated kindly because he is young, has cultivated manners, and his physical attractiveness makes him seem pleasant and nonthreatening. Implicitly, however, there is the caveat in the story that with over time - as he ages and the life he lives hardens him - strangers will not receive him with the same open arms. Of the fellow touring cyclists that I ran across this year, two-thirds were male, one-third were from Europe or Canada, and ages ranged from 20 to 65. But all of them were white, and I wondered especially after the night I spoke to the police in Reardon, Washington, and obtained permission to pitch my tent in the town park, would they have been as accommodating if I had been black, or Hispanic, or scragglier in appearance?
That said, here's a short recap of people's kindnesses during my solo trip - a Top Ten of sorts, in chronological order:
1. When I ran out of energy climbing out of Chico, California, in withering heat, the local fire station crew chief allowed me to stay the night. I was granted access to a shower and bathroom; the chief offered me dinner; and I left after having coffee with him in the morning.
2. While I rode in an all-day downpour from Breitenbush Hot Springs in Oregon, my biking shoes reached a new level of decrepitude. Reaching a gas station, I asked the attendant if he had duct tape. He went into the mini-mart, took a fresh roll from the shelf, tore open the cellophane wrapper, and handed it to me, telling me, "Keep it."
3. As aforementioned, in Reardon, Washington, when darkness was falling and there was no motel or camping option in town, the police allowed me to stay the night in the small town park.
4. In Colville, Washington, I went to a small coffee shop to work on my last blog entry. I ordered an espresso, sat in front of the one computer, and for several hours, engrossed in writing, I didn't move. Besides me and the young woman working there, the place was empty, and I guess she was impressed with my diligence and concentration, because at one point without a word, while I was still hard at work, she presented me with a fresh fruit smoothie, gratis.
5. In Republic, Washington, after riding up and over Sherman Pass, I was sitting outside a restaurant/convenience store eating a Powerbar. A woman entering the store asked me how I was doing, and feeling genuinely euphoric, I smiled and said, "Great." A few minutes later, as she came out, she handed me a king-sized Snickers bar, saying, "You earned it."
6. Later the same day, descending Wauconda Pass, I had a breakdown. I thought at first that I back tire had blown out, but what had actually happned is that the struts of my back rack - two thin, metal strips that attach the rack to the frame - had suddenly snapped, apparently due to wear and tear (I bought the bike in 2003), and as a result the whole rack had flipped backward and was dragging behind me - panniers and backpack still affixed. I got off my bike and was staring at it on the roadside, assessing what had happened and what I should do next. Still reaching the conclusion that there was no way to ride, I only half-heartedly waved as a red pickup drove by; the driver waved back, and then I waved after him. A minute or two later, the red pickup reappeared: deciding that I was asking for help, he'd doubled-back to assist me. The driver's name was Lee Hale. He drove me to Tonasket, 15 miles away, where he lives and which was also my destination (I'd already ridden 86 miles). There's no bike shop in Tonasket, but he came up with his own solution. Driving to his house, he went into his garage and brought out a hard rubber strap - shorter and less flexible than a bungee cord. By affixing it to the rack and hooking it around the stem of my saddle, he'd concocted a solution that has lasted to Seattle. Thus in all I was stranded for less than five minutes, and Lee repaired my bike for me, asking only in recompense that I read some Christian pamphlets. Lee is recently married - I met his lovely wife - and he credits finding Christ and being saved for his happiness.
7. "Big" Eric Knudson of Seattle, with whom I rode on the Big Ride Across America in 2006 and, most recently, on this year's Tour de Rubenstein, met me in Mazama, Washington, and drove me to his new vacation home, putting me up for the night. Which reminds me to also mention Steve "Big Rube" Rubenstein and his wife Carolyn in San Francisco and Carrie and Cynthia Stilwell in Corbett, Oregon, for also putting me up and being so generous. They're treasured friends.
8. The next morning, as I was beginning the long climb over the northern Cascades, a couple from Vancouver driving in a camper pulled over and asked me if I wanted a lift over the mountains. I declined politely, and then asked, Did I look like I was struggling." "Oh, no," the man said. "We just thought we'd offer." "Thanks," I said. "It's very nice of you. But I'll make it, and it's what I'm here for."
9. About that Mariners-Yankees game. I rode to the ballpark, straight from the ferry dock, on my fully-loaded bicycle, and as I neared the ticket window, a scalper asked if I needed a ticket. I rode past him saying that I couldn't buy from him; I had to talk to the powers that be about securing my bicycle. At the window I was assured that there was a place to stow it. The next question was what type of ticket to buy. It was already the third inning, and I had a choice between a good seat for $68 and a seat in the rafters for $25. Before I could decide, the same scalper walked up to me and handed me a ticket. "Here," he said. "Best seat in the house." As a New Yorker, I have to admit I was skeptical, but I thanked him, gave him $15, and went inside. As it turned out, he wasn't lying, and as I sat down I thought, "Wow, I must be doing something right." The seat was in the tenth row directly behind the plate, and it was a rare treat to be so near to the action - within ten yards of Derek Jeter, etc., as the players stood on the on-deck circle. I've been away from New York for 45 days, and it felt like being with old friends again, closer to home, even if they did go nearly hitless in my presence.
Jason Giambi after grounding out.
A-Rod strikes out. Later he walked and was picked off firsat base.
10. Finally, I should mention the gift I received when arrived here in Seattle and staying with the Clifford clan - my former wife, Susan, with whom I always stay, and her family - her mother Margit, father Tim, brother Ted and Ted's partner, Cass Turner. Cass is an accomplished quilter; and several years ago over dinner I mentioned off-handedly an wonderful quilt I'd seen made of all the t-shirts that a couple I knew had accumulated from bike rides they'd participated in over the years. "Send me your shirts and I'll make you one," Cass said; and with some help also from Margit, it was recently finished. The quilt consists of all of the shirts I accumulated over a six-year period, from of my first group ride (BRAG, the Bike Ride Across Georgia) in 1997 up to Bike Florida in 2002. It's a keepsake that I'll value always, both for the memories of that era and for the labor and artistry that went into making it.
The Quilt
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All in all, my solo ride was a wonderful adventure. I'm proud of the accomplishment, grateful for all the help and encouragement I received, and particularly pleased with the feeling of joy and the composure that I maintained throughout the journey, notwithstanding the one low day to Mazama. Overall I've learned to take things as they come, accepting road and weather conditions as all part of the experience. Even while bicycling amid an all-day downpour, I had the resilence to carry on, my spirits never plummeting, causing me to curse my luck, or the elements, or the gods, or my own bull-headedness for choosing to be out there. When things got tough I simply accepted them. There was no timetable, so I plugged away and made what progress I could, riding as far as I was able and carrying on the next day, and I arrived in Seattle just when I hoped I would.
Some tallies relating to the journey thus far:
Total days away from New York: 44
Biking days/non-biking days: 37/7
Miles biked: 2768
Flats: 0
Maintenance and repairs: Nothing a rubber strap, duct tape, or chain lube couldn't fix.
Animals sighted:
Black bear (cub) - 1
Elk - a whole herd
Deer - dozens, especially near Mazama, Washington
Coyote - 1
Rattlesnake - 1
Otters - a pair
Sea otters
Elephant seals
Harbor seals
Sea lions
Pelicans
Cormorants
Bald eagles - 2
Roadrunner - 1
Hawks
Vultures
Egrets
Blue herons
Turkeys
Quail
Pileated woodpecker - 1
and domestic animals: horses, cattle, sheep, goats, chickens and llamas.
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