Dear Blog,
Let’s here it for success! Three cheers for 100+ miles!! I am feeling proud of myself and am going to bring you in with me. I never thought I would actually be on an adventure. It seemed like it was never going to happen. But I have spent hours and hours on two spinning circles making my way south. The motor has had some troubles, but for the most part, has been a real trooper, taking me up the hills and through scary merge situations on questionably biker-friendly highways.
A recap: I set out from Mercer Island around 2:00.
A recap: I set out from Mercer Island around 2:00.
That's I-90. You can see Mercer Island across the bridge.
I biked downtown to Pier 52 where I boarded the ferry to Bainbridge Island. I had planned to make my way off the island by nightfall, but was foiled by my ineffable dread of being alone in the in-between of towns. So as per a man’s suggestion on the ferry, I decided to stay in the Fay-Bainbridge State Park on the northeast end of the island. En route, I found myself with a grand view of Seattle from across the Sound and I bid an over-due adieu to the city I cam to know so well. And I never saw it again. (or at least I haven’t yet).
I spent the evening trying to ward off the piercing alone-ness by catching up with as many people as I could and spent the night in a little slug-loved and damp campsite in the park.
A view from Fay-Bainbridge park
The next morning after getting to a late start, I discovered I had a flat front tire and experienced my first flat-fixing session with a loaded-down bike. Then about a ¼ mile into my ride, the idler pulley that gives the chain on my motor its tension decided to play hide and seek in the bushes while I was flying down a hill. This meant I would either have to hurt my knees on the up-hills or wait for help. Wisely, I chose the second option, and serendipitously, a pick-up stopped next to me, offering me a ride wherever I needed to go. He dropped me off at a hardware store, where it just so happened to be customer appreciation weekend and I was handed a hot-off-the-grill hot dog. They didn’t have what I needed, but I found my way to a bike shop where the mechanic there dedicated himself to my problem, crafting a new idler pulley out of an old rear derailleur. After several hours of sweaty adjustments, I had a working motor again. I decided to spend the remainder of the afternoon/evening in a coffee shop, planning out what to do next. As evening fell, I went in search of a sleeping spot. Bainbridge Island seems to be pretty well snatched-up as far as land goes. So I biked up a long residential hill, asking anyone who was outside if they wouldn’t mind lending me a section of their lawn to set up a tent. The 4th guy I asked said yes. He was interesting in that there was nothing interesting about him. Nor was he interested in why I was asking to sleep in his yard or who I was or anything. He matter of factly offered me his hose an then later a shower (which I declined). After a good meal of split pea soup and leftover salsa from my Mercer Island days I was feeling darn good. Being alone was no longer nearly as daunting and lonely. I think that actually having a small crisis and then overcoming it did a lot to my easing my anxiety. It was as if the whole time before, I had to throw up. Then finally I did, and felt much better afterward.
I left early the next morning and headed for Belfair, where I had arranged a house to stay in via warmshowers.org. It’s funny, after blasting destination orientedness, and our culture of destination orientedness, I found that having a destination is very comforting, and in this case, not limiting. Knowing where I was going, and knowing that I was going to have a place to sleep waiting for me helped me to have a really nice ride that day.
I remember one moment in particular when I was riding right through the Hood Canal watershed. The terrain was perpetually slightly downhill. A cool rain was falling through the canopy above and I was surrounded by old firs, ferns, and a sundry of other green things. The tall trees were wrapped in the mossiest-colored moss I have ever laid eyes on. It was as if a mob of mossy minks scurried in tight spirals around the trunks and limbs, leaving dense trails of fur behind them. It was magical. I couldn’t imagine the landscape without rain. Rainy seemed to be its natural way of being and I was perfectly content being a part of it all. After passing the entrance of a Christmas tree farm and then the exit and one Doug Womack for mason Public Utilities sign after another, I made my way into Belfair. David, my host for the night came and picked me up in his pick-up in front of the QFC and drove me to his beautiful 40 acre family plot. His house was situated near the top of this hill, next to a flourishing garden. I enjoyed talking with him, meeting his family and eating his delicious, expertly-executed omelette. We toured his garden and he gave me various colored potatoes.
Today was a nice ride; much drier than yesterday’s. I made my way to Olympia, stopping in Shelton for a grilled chicken wrap and a Blizzard from Dairy Queen. Sections of my route were along water: Oakland Bay and Oyster Bay. I finally got myself onto the Scenic Pacific Coast Byway (101) and made good time, as most of it was downhill, and my knees were hurting enough for me to use my motor liberally.
I am now In Olympia, feeling more American perfectly American, sitting in a coffee shop. The house whose yard I will be sleeping in is bright yellow and very pleasant. Like many of the homes out here, it is adorned with beautiful plants edible and ornamental. I am very intrigued by this city. It seems so familiar to me. It’s beautiful, full of beautiful people doing beautiful things.this is the yard where I slept my first night in Olympia
It’s the kind of place that makes you acutely aware of your lack of spunk, of your mediocrity. But then you realize the people you’re surrounded by are not too cool for their britches, but simply seem like they have figured out what they want and need and are at peace. They seem intelligent and open to casual encounters with strangers. Everyone seems organic-fed and bicycle-thighed (this is only an assumption because most people’s thighs are stylishly hidden behind well-fitting blue jeans. But there are bikes everywhere. It’s the kind of place where you don’t want to be a passer-through, but actually live in. You look at everything with envy and awe. Looking out the window of a café, you have seen one person turn into three, turn into eight, all the while, the same chairs finding bottoms from new people. It’s like a low-pace game of musical chairs where everyone seems to know each other and instead of music, there are conversations. These conversations are embellished with friendly waves, shared cigarettes, shared doodles, and shared high fives. You see vagrants of all kind, young, dirty and healthy, living out of ratty back packs or crappy yard sale bicycles with wooden slats holding up a bundle of necessities. You want to be in the scene. You wish you grew up here. You wish you had a schtick or a very long luxurious beard or could sit for hours playing Go with an older intellectual.
It’s a place where you’re not rewarded with attention when you’re doing your own thing because everyone else is doing their own thing and doesn’t wonder at you or feel any jealousy.
How’s my body? Sore. My knees undertook a beating today and my elbows and wrists are starting to file complaints about the handlebars they’re forced to lean on. My muscles are feeling the burn, but in a good way. I think I have discovered that if I focus on using my muscles, my joints hurt less. Perhaps I have spent my life relying on my structure to do the motions rather than my muscles. Perhaps this would explain my perpetual and mysterious problems with joints. Perhaps it would explain my lack of large and impressive beach muscles. But these are all just peculation. I will have to look more into this topic.
I keep feeling like I should have something on my back. Perhaps it’s an association in my brain with this trip and the many back-packing trips I’ve taken over the years. Or maybe it’s some weird thing that happens when you are being propelled by a motor. I just hope its not a vacancy where my guardian angel usually hangs out.
I have not picked out a route for the rest of my way to Portland. And when I’m doing that, I’m not going to use Mapquest, because as David explained to me last night, when Mapquest doesn’t find the street you typed in, it defaults to the center point of the zip code. For Belfair, this spot happens to be in the woods next to David’s house. He wrote Mapquest a letter after many encounters with folks looking for the library and other institutions highly unlikely to be found way up his windy gravel road.
So I don’t know yet how I’m getting to Portland or when I’m getting there, but the prize is in sight. This excites me greatly and fills me with confidence that I can in fact accomplish a goal this summer.
Thanks for reading, and I wish you all good luck and motor assists in your own journeys.
It’s the kind of place that makes you acutely aware of your lack of spunk, of your mediocrity. But then you realize the people you’re surrounded by are not too cool for their britches, but simply seem like they have figured out what they want and need and are at peace. They seem intelligent and open to casual encounters with strangers. Everyone seems organic-fed and bicycle-thighed (this is only an assumption because most people’s thighs are stylishly hidden behind well-fitting blue jeans. But there are bikes everywhere. It’s the kind of place where you don’t want to be a passer-through, but actually live in. You look at everything with envy and awe. Looking out the window of a café, you have seen one person turn into three, turn into eight, all the while, the same chairs finding bottoms from new people. It’s like a low-pace game of musical chairs where everyone seems to know each other and instead of music, there are conversations. These conversations are embellished with friendly waves, shared cigarettes, shared doodles, and shared high fives. You see vagrants of all kind, young, dirty and healthy, living out of ratty back packs or crappy yard sale bicycles with wooden slats holding up a bundle of necessities. You want to be in the scene. You wish you grew up here. You wish you had a schtick or a very long luxurious beard or could sit for hours playing Go with an older intellectual.It’s a place where you’re not rewarded with attention when you’re doing your own thing because everyone else is doing their own thing and doesn’t wonder at you or feel any jealousy.
How’s my body? Sore. My knees undertook a beating today and my elbows and wrists are starting to file complaints about the handlebars they’re forced to lean on. My muscles are feeling the burn, but in a good way. I think I have discovered that if I focus on using my muscles, my joints hurt less. Perhaps I have spent my life relying on my structure to do the motions rather than my muscles. Perhaps this would explain my perpetual and mysterious problems with joints. Perhaps it would explain my lack of large and impressive beach muscles. But these are all just peculation. I will have to look more into this topic.
I keep feeling like I should have something on my back. Perhaps it’s an association in my brain with this trip and the many back-packing trips I’ve taken over the years. Or maybe it’s some weird thing that happens when you are being propelled by a motor. I just hope its not a vacancy where my guardian angel usually hangs out.
I have not picked out a route for the rest of my way to Portland. And when I’m doing that, I’m not going to use Mapquest, because as David explained to me last night, when Mapquest doesn’t find the street you typed in, it defaults to the center point of the zip code. For Belfair, this spot happens to be in the woods next to David’s house. He wrote Mapquest a letter after many encounters with folks looking for the library and other institutions highly unlikely to be found way up his windy gravel road.
So I don’t know yet how I’m getting to Portland or when I’m getting there, but the prize is in sight. This excites me greatly and fills me with confidence that I can in fact accomplish a goal this summer.
Thanks for reading, and I wish you all good luck and motor assists in your own journeys.
No comments:
Post a Comment