It was hard to believe how quickly the week went.... kind of like a wedding or big party -- all that planning for months and months, and then it's over before you know it. I try to remind myself that this is why it's the journey that's so important... because all told we spend more time along the way than at any given destination.
I woke up on Friday exhilarated from the previous day's success and ready to go. This was it. The final piece that would culminate in a victory ride across the bridge of the Columbia River as we entered Oregon. What a thrill... what a rush... what an ending to an incredible trip... what an accomplishment... what a cold, wet, crappy, rainy, foggy, zero visibility day.
It rained. And rained. And rained and rained and rained. And then it rained some more. And not the rain of the previous days -- the fine mist that permeated everything but caused no real damage or delay. No, this was honest-to-goodness knock down, drag out hard rain. The kind you don't ride in. The kind that makes you stay inside with quilts and movies and popcorns. That kind of rain.
As we ate breakfast, there was a general testiness and anxiety among us, although as usual the conversation was good. When we finished eating, I took over at the wheel, needing the focus on driving to calm my nerves. We headed south on 101, reasoning that we might be able to outdrive the weather and get close enough to at least make the ride into Oregon.
By the time we got to Seaview, which was about 30-40 miles from Astoria, it became pretty clear that there was no way in Hades we were going to complete the ride anytime soon. It wasn't just how wet and slippery everything was; I had a hard time seeing 15 feet in front of me, and I knew that crossing a shoulderless, busy bridge in this rain would be akin to tattooing "Very Stupid" across my forehead.
We stopped at a gas station, filled up, inquired about the nearest latte and considered our options. I knew Fred would defer to whatever decision I made because he was so in tune to the significance of this experience for me.
On one hand, my frustrated perfectionist determination was coming out. I needed to ride across that #$%#$% bridge. On the other, my pragmatism was standing in full arms-crossed, eyebrow-raised skepticism -- this rain wasn't going to stop anytime soon. So did we try to wait it out or not?
I thought about it, going back and forth. Then I found myself thinking about moments throughout the trip... how I felt the very first time I clipped into my pedals on San Juan Island, telling the couple in the pick-up truck we had "only" done a 25 mile ride so far, falling on the road out of Oak Harbor and getting back on my bike, making it over the final hill on the Egg and I, riding into Aberdeen on a high I have never felt in my life, seeing the purples and blues of the sky reflected in the water next to the road, hearing Fred say he never wanted to get in a car again... and then I thought back to the training days, when 6 miles seemed interminable.. the first time I rode back to town from 12 miles out.... riding 30 miles to Viva Naughton and back.... climbing out of the canyon in Grand Junction... all of it.
At that moment, it dawned on me that the bridge to Astoria was not the end all, be all of this trip. In fact, it wasn't an end at all, but rather a beginning of a new lifestyle, new confidence, new goals, new dreams, new things to see and do.
Those thoughts allowed me to calmly, contentedly turn to Nancy and Fred and say, "Let's head back toward Mount Vernon. It's not about the bridge, it's about being on the bike. If it clears up on the way back, we'll get out and ride. It's all good."
And that's exactly what we did. We drove toward Mount Vernon. I reclined in the back seat, looking out the window at the towering pines passing as I listened to music through my ear buds. "On Earth As It Is In Heaven" by Ennio Morricone came on. It's from the soundtrack to the movie The Mission and is this incredible piece that combines orchestra, choir, percussion and a haunting oboe solo. It's incredibly powerful, and as I listened to it while watching the scenery of the Pacific Northwest, I felt overwhelmed by the beauty. I played it several times and then leaned forward, put my ear buds in Fred's ears, told him to look out the window and pushed play. He got it and didn't say a word as he listened to the entire song. "It's almost enough to make one a believer, isn't it?" he asked. Yes, Fred, it is indeed.
We got stuck in the traffic in Seattle, and I started climbing the walls of the truck, thinking I was going to lose my mind if I couldn't get out. So Nancy pulled off the interstate and we stopped at a McDonald's. The weather had cleared a bit. I went in to use the bathroom and get yet more coffee, and when I came out I told Fred I wasn't getting back in the car. "I need to get on my bike," I told him. We were south of downtown.
Fred looked toward the urban center of the city, which was maybe a mile or two from where we were standing. "Wanna ride to Pike's Place?" Oh, hells yeah. When Nancy came out of the restaurant, I was already straddling my bike in full riding mode.
And so it was that Fred and I raced through downtown Seattle on our bikes, weaving in and out of traffic, riding through plazas, looking at the buildings, skirting through the parking lots of Safeco (Mariners) and Century Link (Seahawks) stadiums and loving every minute of it. SO. MUCH. FUN. And we got to walk around Pike's Place Market to boot.
It wasn't the Friday we planned, but it was still a great experience and wildly fun. For me, riding through a city is actually LESS scary than riding along country roads with logging trucks whizzing by. I mean, city drivers are used to watching for cyclists and pedestrians, and the very heaviness of traffic forces them to crawl along slowly. (This is when I hatched the idea to do some kind of urban bike tour, exploring a new city by bike every 2 to 3 days and then moving on to the next city -- it could work!)
When we'd had our fill, we got back in the car and drove the rest of the way to Mount Vernon. That evening we had celebratory dinner where we all toasted each other with champagne and reflected on our epic adventure. (I ate a lot -- because when you are cycling 4-6 hours a day, you CAN eat. That, as Dianne noted weeks before, is a very good reason to keep it up.) I kept trying to think big thoughts about the experience, but found I hadn't yet digested it enough -- it hadn't sunk in that we had actually finished the week and our ride.
I felt surprisingly okay about skipping the final leg of Washington. I guess sometimes you just have to punt, and punting, after all, still brings in points for the team.
One more post to go, blog, to complete you. Thanks for everything -- conclusions to follow.
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