It has now been two weeks to the day that we returned to Kemmerer from our ride across Washington State. I can thank my boss for two weeks chock full of projects and deadlines that kept me from suffering post project blues.
Hard to believe it was two years ago that I was first inspired by Cheryl Strayed's book Wild, and 17 months ago that I bought Cycling the Pacific Northwest with the thought that I could pedal my way through one of the four sections of that ride.
I have so appreciated the love and support I experienced throughout this -- still amazed that anyone other than me actually reads this blog, and more amazed at the 3300+ hits it has accumulated as of today. Thank you so much to all of you who have commented, shared, laughed, inspired, prayed, encouraged and believed. My cup runs over.
One profound observation I have made is that when you stretch yourself and set a difficult goal, there is tremendous growth that comes so incrementally it is almost imperceptible until you look back over the change. I saw this in the physical... I didn't see myself daily getting stronger, but when I look back the progress is clear. I remember the first time I tried to ride up the hill just outside town on 233 (right before the llamas). I got about 2/3 of the way up and stopped because my heart was beating so wildly that it was a very real danger that I might have a heart attack on the side of the road. Today, that hill is nothing.... something that I don't even need to shift all the way down for and that hardly raises my heart rate. Amazing. At one time, riding 5 miles was epic. Today, riding less than 20 is an easy, short ride.
Emotionally, mentally, psychologically there have been changes, too. I had a lot of fear 17 months ago -- fear of going too fast, fear of falling, fear of getting stranded, fear of failing, fear of my own body and how this chubby woman would be perceived in full riding gear on the bike. Not anymore. I now love the feeling of flying on the bike and want to seek out more interesting and difficult rides. I could not care less what people think I look like in my cycling shorts and helmet -- after all, I am out doing it, and by doing so I am contributing to a better, fuller, richer, healthier life, and that is the main thing.
In my work I have the attitude of "How hard can it be?" But now I find myself saying that in the physical as well. I am more willing to try physical challenges even within my limitations. "I can do this... I've got this.... I'm going to try it... why not?" These are the phrases that have more frequently and naturally entered my vocabulary.
In the end, the ride was not perfect. We did not reach the 323 miles, for a host of reasons that include weather, unforeseen problems (ie. Fred's shoe breaking), at times disorganization and not realizing just how hard we could push ourselves. I am confident that we can fix all of that (well, maybe not the weather!) in our future rides. And oh yes, there will be future rides. We are already talking about the next one. (Still not feeling smurfy about "Riding the Rockies", Dianne!)
Adam and Aislynn have watched me take this on. I think it's such a good example to my daughter about setting longer term goals and working steadily to reach them. Adam is sufficiently fired up to want to get a road bike for himself, and to get me a better touring bike, which would allow Aislynn to use my current road bike so that we can do some family cycling.
I still have much work to do on my body and my health. I am convinced that I need to set a new goal and set it soon -- apparently I am of the nature that without set goals and deadlines, I will not be able to stick to or maintain a healthy routine. I have made peace with this part of my psyche, and know I need to work within who I am. (I'm reading The Happiness Project right now, and the author talks a lot about setting and reaching goals while "Being Gretchen" - herself. I need to "Be Jennifer" and stay realistic about how I approach things in order to give myself the most chance for success.)
It is not a secret that I was closer to my grandmother, Angeline, than I was to my mom, Jeorgi. For most things I have accomplished in my life, it is my grandma I rushed to tell, because so often she could really appreciate and enjoy my successes. But this one.... this one my mom would have really gotten and celebrated. So here's to you, Mom. And here's to learning from the challenges you faced and working to do things differently while still appreciating who you were and what you've taught me.
My friend Layne talks about each person having a hero's journey in his or her lifetime. He says that when it happens, that journey defines us and changes us forever. Layne, this was not that journey for me, but it was the precursor -- the adventure that has made me positive that my hero's journey is out there and that I will find it and accomplish it.
I have a lot of thank yous to give.
1. To Adam and Aislynn, for indulging me with our time, our budget, our conversation. Adam, you always allow me to reach for goals and support them in your quiet, steady way. Thank you, especially, for letting me fulfill this one even as you were reeling from your mom's unexpected passing.
2. To Jean and Ann and Jenny... you ladies have offered so much support and love through your comments and faithful reading of my posts. I'm not sure what interested you in them, but I want you to know that I got lots of encouragement and energy from all of you.
3. Janelle, thank you. You are such a role model for me with your healthy lifestyle and what I call your "high health intelligence quotient" (HHIQ). I really appreciate your advice and help.
4. To Nancy, being a support driver is a pretty tough role... lots of hours alone, just waiting, waiting, waiting. Having plans change on a dime and having to adjust to our aches, pains, moods, energy levels, whims, etc., could not have been easy. We could not have done the ride without you, and your presence allowed us to focus on the ride in a way that we really needed to and appreciated.
5. To those of you who checked in on the blog from time to time, thank you. You made me accountable to finish what I started, and you gave me a place to think, consider, vent, cry, rage, laugh, and share. And more than you know, you made me get back on the bike time and again when I might have otherwise ditched the whole project.
6. To my friends in Kemmerer, thanks for asking me how it was going when you saw me. Thanks for being excited as the trip got near. Bob, thanks for taking me out to practice and for picking me up. Kathy, thanks for rescuing me with fluids and carbs when my idiocy and lack of planning threatened my stamina and health. Thanks for your prayers and thoughts toward our safety the week we rode -- so glad to be back safely.
7. Matt, thanks for all the brotherly advice and for lending me your expertise when I needed answers. Bec, thanks for listening to me drone on and on and on and on about this. So lucky to have siblings who are also my close friends.
8. Sharon, thank you for the prayers. I know you don't always understand my whims, but I can always count on you to pray for me and share your love and concerns.
And finally...
9. Fred.... thank you. The greatest show of love, friendship and support was you agreeing to do this WITH me. Especially awesome is the fact that you weren't even a cyclist and took it on so I wouldn't have to do it alone. You are a wonderful riding partner, an easy travel partner, and a great mentor. Did you ever think that two months after your 70th birthday you would be pedaling your way across Washington? Thank you for saying yes, with all the time, expense and effort it entailed. We did it!
And so I have come to the final entry of this blog. I have tried to write blogs many times before and have never been able to keep them up, so this is another first for me embedded in the journey. It feels so strange, and a little bittersweet, but I am comforting myself with the thought that this is not an end, but rather a beginning of sorts.... of great things to come.
What other way is there to finish this than to say..... Thanks, blog.
Sunday, October 6, 2013
Friday, October 4, 2013
Day 6 The Second Last Post for This Blog (Punting is Still Points)
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.
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.
Saturday, September 28, 2013
Day 5 It's All About the Ride
Day 5 was, in a word, extraordinary from a riding standpoint. I originally imagined that our best days would be 1 and 2, and that we would get cycling fatigue in our muscles and minds as the week progressed. I envisioned us having to fight to stay on our bikes in the last few days.
Reality was just the opposite. As the week progressed, we felt stronger and better, able to tolerate more miles with leftover energy. And so it was that Day 5 was our kick-butt day on the bikes. We agreed to meet Nancy in Aberdeen, and headed off down the Elma-Monte (or was it Monte-Elma) Road, a long road that paralleled Highway 12, weaving through little northwestern towns and then stretching out through the countryside.
It was the first day we were able to do a lot of side-by-side riding, thanks to the lack of traffic, bright sunshine and flat terrain. Fred and I both agreed that if only all routes were this easy, we could ride endlessly. In Satsop we took pictures of the cute buildings and chatted while a young couple waited for a bus that went between communities. In the book, Cycling the Pacific Northwest, author Vicki talks about the miles flying by. Indeed.
Before we knew it we were in Aberdeen where we lunched at a Mexican restaurant (Mazatlan) and I nursed my little ice cream habit with a treat at Dairy Queen. Then it was back on the road. I remember the exact scenery, though I am not 100% where it was when Fred commented, "I never want to get back in a car again." That's how I felt as we rode on Day 5. We were flying... I was in my zone, making long, smooth strokes on my bike, shifting easily just at the right time to stay really efficient and effortless on the bike.
What a wonderful way to enjoy the sights... the roads, the trees (oh my, so many trees!), the sky, the orchards, the flowers, the sign we rode past that read, "Correctional Facility. Do not pick up hitchhikers." Well, actually, that last one probably looks better from the seat of a car going about 70 miles per hour... but you get the idea.
We rode into a little town called Bayview. The route turned right toward Westport, but we were staying in Tokeland that night, for which the road went left. It was about 6:00 pm and we sat outside a gas station with a Subway. There was a little picnic table next to the building, which we claimed as we waited for Nancy to come find us. I took my shoes and socks off. Glorious. Truly, there's nothing quite as luxurious as being barefoot after a full day of riding.
We sat there about a half hour and then decided we were game to ride even more. I was torn. On one hand, I was still new enough at this to feel OCD about "the route"... "the instructions"..."the path" laid out by Tom and Vicki. On the other hand, it seemed silly to ride toward Westport only to have to drive back toward Tokeland after.
This was the moment I realized it's more about time on the bike and mileage than the exact lefts and rights. So we hopped back on, clipped in and headed toward Tokeland for another 6 miles or so.
Tokeland, as it turned out, was incredible. We stayed at the Tradewinds on the Bay, where each unit was a darling mini-house, with a bedroom, kitchen, living room and bathroom, and doors in the front and back. We were all immediately regretting that we hadn't booked two nights there.
What a great day. But it was bittersweet, because on one hand it was our most successful day of all, and on the other hand, it showed me that I could have been pushing myself further, harder, more, and here we were at almost the end of the ride and I realized we could have been closer to goal had I figured out my limits sooner. So much still to learn about myself.
Thanks, blog.
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Day 4 (the day after the heebie jeebies)
Evening 3 was not nearly as glamorous or glorious as Day 3. On the drive of the route in June, we had met a charming proprietor of a small mom and pop motel. We chatted about the motel, life in the small town of Lilliwaup, and lots more. I was hooked, and took down the name and number of the motel for our ride, then booked the rooms a few weeks before we left.
Unfortunately, one thing I didn't do is actually look at the rooms. Yeah, no bueno. Not especially comfortable, but more distressing, not particularly clean. You know, my brother tells the story of one of his friends whose house is so filthy that when Matt uses the bathroom there, he lifts the toilet seat up with his shoe so he can pee. See, girls don't have that option. But know that I am unhappy anytime I have to clean the toilet at a motel before I can use it. One big ewwwww. I did not sleep well, tossing and turning, worrying about bed bugs and germs.... 'cause once you get the heebie jeebies in an unknown place, it's hard to recover from it.
Enough said.
Another issue. As we were checking into this motel, Fred's cycling shoe came apart, with the sole separating from the rest of it. We considered our options. Fred did not want to take away from our schedule or mileage and suggested riding the rest of the route in his tennis shoes on the side of the pedals that didn't have the clips. Tempting, and selfishly, that would have been nice. But I knew there was no way I would have wanted to do that, and suggested instead that we drive into Olympia first thing in the morning to get new cycling shoes. I reasoned that way he could finish the ride in comfort and strength, and return the faulty shoes when he got back to California.
And so it was that Day 4 began with an adventure into the "big city". (That's what it felt like after all these days of country and small town riding.)
The bicycle shop opened at 10, and we did find a great pair of cycling shoes for him. (It took a few tries. Fred has big feet, and the store did not have several styles in stock in his size.) Anywho, we were ready for breakfast at that point, so the clerk at the cycling shop directed us to a charming little café called New Moon, which was apparently some kind of co-op.
In that café, I proceeded to have the best omelet I've ever had in my entire life. Truly incredible. Each table in the café had a little journal where diners could write their thoughts, or draw, or copy a favorite verse, etc. All three of us contributed some words to the journal on our table, but if you want to know what I wrote, you will have to visit the café!
From there we rode back to Shelton, and Fred and I got on the bikes. It was a fairly easy ride from there to Elma, especially once we got on Highway 12, which was flat and easy with a very wide shoulder. Nonetheless, our impromptu trip to the capital cut out quite a bit of our riding time, so the day was short on mileage. Things happen, right?
The good news was that Evening 4's hotel, the Guest House, was LOVELY.
Night, blog.
Unfortunately, one thing I didn't do is actually look at the rooms. Yeah, no bueno. Not especially comfortable, but more distressing, not particularly clean. You know, my brother tells the story of one of his friends whose house is so filthy that when Matt uses the bathroom there, he lifts the toilet seat up with his shoe so he can pee. See, girls don't have that option. But know that I am unhappy anytime I have to clean the toilet at a motel before I can use it. One big ewwwww. I did not sleep well, tossing and turning, worrying about bed bugs and germs.... 'cause once you get the heebie jeebies in an unknown place, it's hard to recover from it.
Enough said.
Another issue. As we were checking into this motel, Fred's cycling shoe came apart, with the sole separating from the rest of it. We considered our options. Fred did not want to take away from our schedule or mileage and suggested riding the rest of the route in his tennis shoes on the side of the pedals that didn't have the clips. Tempting, and selfishly, that would have been nice. But I knew there was no way I would have wanted to do that, and suggested instead that we drive into Olympia first thing in the morning to get new cycling shoes. I reasoned that way he could finish the ride in comfort and strength, and return the faulty shoes when he got back to California.
And so it was that Day 4 began with an adventure into the "big city". (That's what it felt like after all these days of country and small town riding.)
The bicycle shop opened at 10, and we did find a great pair of cycling shoes for him. (It took a few tries. Fred has big feet, and the store did not have several styles in stock in his size.) Anywho, we were ready for breakfast at that point, so the clerk at the cycling shop directed us to a charming little café called New Moon, which was apparently some kind of co-op.
In that café, I proceeded to have the best omelet I've ever had in my entire life. Truly incredible. Each table in the café had a little journal where diners could write their thoughts, or draw, or copy a favorite verse, etc. All three of us contributed some words to the journal on our table, but if you want to know what I wrote, you will have to visit the café!
From there we rode back to Shelton, and Fred and I got on the bikes. It was a fairly easy ride from there to Elma, especially once we got on Highway 12, which was flat and easy with a very wide shoulder. Nonetheless, our impromptu trip to the capital cut out quite a bit of our riding time, so the day was short on mileage. Things happen, right?
The good news was that Evening 4's hotel, the Guest House, was LOVELY.
Night, blog.
Friday, September 20, 2013
Day 3 - The Egg and I
Day 3 of the journey did not start out well at all. The Best Western we had stayed at the night before had a broken elevator, a broken jacuzzi and a broken laundry detergent vending machine. To add insult to injury, in the morning we all enjoyed the same continental breakfast we'd had at the other two Best Westerns, only to find out that at this one it wasn't complimentary and was going to cost us each $7.95... something we were told after we had consumed it.
As we left Silverdale to head back to Port Townsend where we would pick up our bike route, we stopped at a Starbucks. It was the first time on this trip. Washington is fantastic in that you can hardly go a block without seeing one of those "photo-mart-ish"-sheds-turned-espresso-shops, and until that point all lattes had been purchased at the little sheds (each individually owned) or at quirky little local coffee shops. But in this case, Starbucks was right there, and Fred and I were both looking for a boost.
I got a salted caramel latte that was marginal at best. But Fred's plain old coffee with cream was pretty much the worst cup of coffee either of us had ever tasted. Definitely not up Starbucks' standard and not even close to the delicious coffee that had us spoiled so far. We were trying to find the right words to describe how bad it was... Metallic? Bitter? Stale?
We headed north to our drop point with Nancy driving, me riding shot gun and Fred in the back seat. I could hear him rustling around in the back but got distracted watching the scenery. After a short time he said, "Well, I have a definitive way to describe just how bad this coffee is."
"What's that?" I asked.
"I just spilled some of it in my shoe, and I didn't want to throw it out the window, so I poured it from my shoe back into the cup...and it actually tastes better now." (That comment caused me laugh and spit out the coffee I was drinking.)
When we got near Port Townsend, I had Nancy pull off the road so we could unload the bikes. As we took them off the rack, she noticed at we were actually in a bus stop, where a sign read, "No parking." She was quite worried about it, very likely because by now she knew how long it took Fred and I to get all our gear packed onto the bikes and get moving each time. Happily, no buses approached before we started to ride.
It was a great morning. Overcast and a little misty, but no heavy rain. I felt great...better than I deserved to feel given the previous day's crash. The highway was smooth with wide shoulders, and lined with evergreens and foliage. What a wonderful day to be on a bike.
We rode furiously to Chimacum, an easy, mostly downhill jaunt with the wind at our backs. There were moments there when I felt like I was flying. In Chimacum, Nancy caught up with us and gave us some chain lube she had purchased at a bike shop so we could clean and lube our chains and gears. My gears were still slipping a little, and while I had figured out how to handle it when they did, I was hoping that by cleaning and lubing the chain, I could avoid another crash.
We took off again, heading toward Quilcene on Hwy 19. It was still a fairly easy ride, but now there was tons of traffic, especially truckers, with little-to-no shoulder to keep us out of harm's way. About 20 minutes into it, Nancy drove up and pulled over, telling us we were headed the wrong way, and that we should have turned onto Center Road. We had driven up to the drop point through Quilcene, so I knew the highway we were on would take us there, but we also had to consider the traffic and road safety.
The thought of going all the way back to Chimacum to take the right road wasn't all that pleasant,
though we considered having Nancy drive us back to it and starting over from there. Nancy
consulted the map. "Hmmm... If you take the next right, The Egg and I Road, you can connect to Center after about 2 miles and keep going from there.
That seemed reasonable enough. So we started up again, turning off at Egg.
And that's the thing about maps. Just because it is a nice, flat line on the page in no way means it translates to a nice flat road. About the third extremely steep, miserable hill I had to walk up, I was not thinking the most charitable thoughts about Nancy and her @$&#% iPhone, and was cursing myself for not following my own instincts and staying the course.
But hills notwithstanding, the sights were breathtaking. Up one winding hill, we saw a tiny little shack overgrown with ivy at the end of a long driveway. It had an open doorway and a little built-in bench. I whimsically guessed it was a kissing booth, but Fred correctly surmised it was a homemade bus stop for children who had long since grown up and gone on with their own lives.
This third day was the first where we did some riding into the evening. I loved it. Around 6 pm, the sun was starting to set, and we rode through a wooded area next to a long lake. The purples and pinks in the sky were reflected on the water, and woods had an enchanted silver-lined quality. Magic. I felt strong and content, and at some point during this leg of the ride, I felt my entire body sigh and finally...finally...relax.
It's a great day to be a cyclist, blog.
As we left Silverdale to head back to Port Townsend where we would pick up our bike route, we stopped at a Starbucks. It was the first time on this trip. Washington is fantastic in that you can hardly go a block without seeing one of those "photo-mart-ish"-sheds-turned-espresso-shops, and until that point all lattes had been purchased at the little sheds (each individually owned) or at quirky little local coffee shops. But in this case, Starbucks was right there, and Fred and I were both looking for a boost.
I got a salted caramel latte that was marginal at best. But Fred's plain old coffee with cream was pretty much the worst cup of coffee either of us had ever tasted. Definitely not up Starbucks' standard and not even close to the delicious coffee that had us spoiled so far. We were trying to find the right words to describe how bad it was... Metallic? Bitter? Stale?
We headed north to our drop point with Nancy driving, me riding shot gun and Fred in the back seat. I could hear him rustling around in the back but got distracted watching the scenery. After a short time he said, "Well, I have a definitive way to describe just how bad this coffee is."
"What's that?" I asked.
"I just spilled some of it in my shoe, and I didn't want to throw it out the window, so I poured it from my shoe back into the cup...and it actually tastes better now." (That comment caused me laugh and spit out the coffee I was drinking.)
When we got near Port Townsend, I had Nancy pull off the road so we could unload the bikes. As we took them off the rack, she noticed at we were actually in a bus stop, where a sign read, "No parking." She was quite worried about it, very likely because by now she knew how long it took Fred and I to get all our gear packed onto the bikes and get moving each time. Happily, no buses approached before we started to ride.
It was a great morning. Overcast and a little misty, but no heavy rain. I felt great...better than I deserved to feel given the previous day's crash. The highway was smooth with wide shoulders, and lined with evergreens and foliage. What a wonderful day to be on a bike.
We rode furiously to Chimacum, an easy, mostly downhill jaunt with the wind at our backs. There were moments there when I felt like I was flying. In Chimacum, Nancy caught up with us and gave us some chain lube she had purchased at a bike shop so we could clean and lube our chains and gears. My gears were still slipping a little, and while I had figured out how to handle it when they did, I was hoping that by cleaning and lubing the chain, I could avoid another crash.
We took off again, heading toward Quilcene on Hwy 19. It was still a fairly easy ride, but now there was tons of traffic, especially truckers, with little-to-no shoulder to keep us out of harm's way. About 20 minutes into it, Nancy drove up and pulled over, telling us we were headed the wrong way, and that we should have turned onto Center Road. We had driven up to the drop point through Quilcene, so I knew the highway we were on would take us there, but we also had to consider the traffic and road safety.
The thought of going all the way back to Chimacum to take the right road wasn't all that pleasant,
though we considered having Nancy drive us back to it and starting over from there. Nancy
consulted the map. "Hmmm... If you take the next right, The Egg and I Road, you can connect to Center after about 2 miles and keep going from there.
That seemed reasonable enough. So we started up again, turning off at Egg.
And that's the thing about maps. Just because it is a nice, flat line on the page in no way means it translates to a nice flat road. About the third extremely steep, miserable hill I had to walk up, I was not thinking the most charitable thoughts about Nancy and her @$&#% iPhone, and was cursing myself for not following my own instincts and staying the course.
But hills notwithstanding, the sights were breathtaking. Up one winding hill, we saw a tiny little shack overgrown with ivy at the end of a long driveway. It had an open doorway and a little built-in bench. I whimsically guessed it was a kissing booth, but Fred correctly surmised it was a homemade bus stop for children who had long since grown up and gone on with their own lives.
This third day was the first where we did some riding into the evening. I loved it. Around 6 pm, the sun was starting to set, and we rode through a wooded area next to a long lake. The purples and pinks in the sky were reflected on the water, and woods had an enchanted silver-lined quality. Magic. I felt strong and content, and at some point during this leg of the ride, I felt my entire body sigh and finally...finally...relax.
It's a great day to be a cyclist, blog.
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Day 2...Separation Anxiety
Early on today, I decided I am not a huge fan of riding through rain. It rained yesterday, but somehow today was different. Mile after mile of humidity, mist, and pouring rain, complete with limited visibility and darkness. Most of the ride I couldn't tell whether I was wet from the outside in (rain) or the inside out (sweat). Add to that lots of traffic on the two way highways and steep climbs and descents as well as my somewhat irrational but still strong fear of hydroplaning and wiping out, and it made for a harder second day than the first.
We started out from the town of Anacortes, weaving through a residential area on a series of roads that seemed to go up, up, up endlessly. I remembered from driving the course back in June that the first half of the day had lots of climbs, but did not make detailed notes about where they were. About midway through the day we descended into Oak Harbor and had lunch at an Applebee's. In my notes, I had written "Hill!!!!!" right after Oak Harbor. Sure enough, we turned right onto Highway 20 and a tall winding hill was there. Ah ha, I thought, there's the hill I referenced. Halfway up, we turned right onto Scenic Heights Road, and saw a huge hill up in front of us. Ohhh, I thought, that must actually be the hill I noted. We pedaled another half mile and turned again to a monumental hill. Wait...THIS must be the hill.... And so it went for some time after that.
Before we started the ride, Fred and I talked about getting whistles to wear. Due to the heaviness of traffic and narrowness of the shoulders, we knew we would be riding mostly single file. Whistles would be an easy way to signal needing to stop, or "car backs" or other issues. We never did get them, though... Didn't find any at the few stores were we remembered to look.
We discovered today just how helpful they would have been. About 6 miles out of Oak Harbor, Fred was riding ahead of me on Highway 20. He passed a Y intersection, and when I came to it, I saw the road name and realized right away that we needed to turn there. I unclipped myself and stopped, calling and calling Fred's name as loudly as I could. But since we were riding into the wind, there was no way he could hear me, and he continued pushing up a large hill until he disappeared over the horizon.
I called Nancy (thank goodness for Nancy!!!) and told her what had happened, explaining that she should go get Fred, and I would continue along the correct route.
For 10-15 minutes it was heavenly. I rode along the water enjoying the scenery at my own pace. Then I started climbing another steep, winding hill, and all of the sudden, my gears locked and the chain fell off. Before I realized what was happening, my bike lost its momentum and stopped, and I was still clipped into my pedals. I couldn't put my foot down or do anything to salvage the crash. Over I went, into the road...very rough road, at that. It took me a few seconds, lying there, to assess whether I was broken or just bruised. My next immediate panic was disentangling myself from the bike and getting out of the road before I got run over by a car. As I stood up and started to examine my bike, the pain in my body was enough to nauseate me. Within a minute, Fred and Nancy drove up.
Fred jumped out of the car, and I explained what had happened. He set about fixing the chain. I watched for a minute, but then excused myself to go sit in the back of the truck to regain my bearings. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.
Ow.
(A later examination revealed lots of bruising and scrapes with some gravel mixed in...lovely.)
Nancy took us to the top of the hill I had been climbing and we got back on our bikes, me quite gingerly. We began riding, again in wet weather, and as we were climbing into Coupeville, I called to Fred to stop. We pulled over to the side of the road and I started to cry. The adrenaline had finally worn off, and I was now aware of just how much I hurt. As is our custom, Fred just quietly let me
cry, and after five or six minutes, I took a deep breath, said, "Okay", and we we on our way again.
I loved Coupeville for two reasons. First, it was a really cute Victorian town with darling houses, gardens and shops. Second, it was the last little town before the ferry, which was situated right next to Fort Casey. I was so glad to get off my bike, although by then I felt like I was soaked clear through my skin to my very bones.
It occurred to me at some point that this ride has reduced my entire existence to four constant quests: calories, hydration, getting dry, and relief from any one of a given series of aches and pains. So much for my lofty ideas of life revelations and the rebirth of my creativity!
But... I am doing it.
Thanks, blog.
We started out from the town of Anacortes, weaving through a residential area on a series of roads that seemed to go up, up, up endlessly. I remembered from driving the course back in June that the first half of the day had lots of climbs, but did not make detailed notes about where they were. About midway through the day we descended into Oak Harbor and had lunch at an Applebee's. In my notes, I had written "Hill!!!!!" right after Oak Harbor. Sure enough, we turned right onto Highway 20 and a tall winding hill was there. Ah ha, I thought, there's the hill I referenced. Halfway up, we turned right onto Scenic Heights Road, and saw a huge hill up in front of us. Ohhh, I thought, that must actually be the hill I noted. We pedaled another half mile and turned again to a monumental hill. Wait...THIS must be the hill.... And so it went for some time after that.
Before we started the ride, Fred and I talked about getting whistles to wear. Due to the heaviness of traffic and narrowness of the shoulders, we knew we would be riding mostly single file. Whistles would be an easy way to signal needing to stop, or "car backs" or other issues. We never did get them, though... Didn't find any at the few stores were we remembered to look.
We discovered today just how helpful they would have been. About 6 miles out of Oak Harbor, Fred was riding ahead of me on Highway 20. He passed a Y intersection, and when I came to it, I saw the road name and realized right away that we needed to turn there. I unclipped myself and stopped, calling and calling Fred's name as loudly as I could. But since we were riding into the wind, there was no way he could hear me, and he continued pushing up a large hill until he disappeared over the horizon.
I called Nancy (thank goodness for Nancy!!!) and told her what had happened, explaining that she should go get Fred, and I would continue along the correct route.
For 10-15 minutes it was heavenly. I rode along the water enjoying the scenery at my own pace. Then I started climbing another steep, winding hill, and all of the sudden, my gears locked and the chain fell off. Before I realized what was happening, my bike lost its momentum and stopped, and I was still clipped into my pedals. I couldn't put my foot down or do anything to salvage the crash. Over I went, into the road...very rough road, at that. It took me a few seconds, lying there, to assess whether I was broken or just bruised. My next immediate panic was disentangling myself from the bike and getting out of the road before I got run over by a car. As I stood up and started to examine my bike, the pain in my body was enough to nauseate me. Within a minute, Fred and Nancy drove up.
Fred jumped out of the car, and I explained what had happened. He set about fixing the chain. I watched for a minute, but then excused myself to go sit in the back of the truck to regain my bearings. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.
Ow.
(A later examination revealed lots of bruising and scrapes with some gravel mixed in...lovely.)
Nancy took us to the top of the hill I had been climbing and we got back on our bikes, me quite gingerly. We began riding, again in wet weather, and as we were climbing into Coupeville, I called to Fred to stop. We pulled over to the side of the road and I started to cry. The adrenaline had finally worn off, and I was now aware of just how much I hurt. As is our custom, Fred just quietly let me
cry, and after five or six minutes, I took a deep breath, said, "Okay", and we we on our way again.
I loved Coupeville for two reasons. First, it was a really cute Victorian town with darling houses, gardens and shops. Second, it was the last little town before the ferry, which was situated right next to Fort Casey. I was so glad to get off my bike, although by then I felt like I was soaked clear through my skin to my very bones.
It occurred to me at some point that this ride has reduced my entire existence to four constant quests: calories, hydration, getting dry, and relief from any one of a given series of aches and pains. So much for my lofty ideas of life revelations and the rebirth of my creativity!
But... I am doing it.
Thanks, blog.
Monday, September 16, 2013
Day 1 ---- getting into the groove
It may not have been the most auspicious start to our trip. As we rode toward the Anacortes ferry, I couldn't quite decide if I was feeling the enormity of the day and what we were beginning or just the opposite.
We had decided that because of the expense of taking a car across to the island, Nancy (our support driver) would stay on the mainland and Fred and I would just get on the ferry with our bicycles. However, we were running sufficiently behind and the ticket cost for a vehicle and extra passenger was close enough to the expense of two bikes and two riders to even go across on bikes, that we ended up taking the Edge to the island.
Probably a good thing. We parked the car and started loading up our bikes...a process that in our inexperience and disorganization took over an hour..... That's right.. More than 60 minutes. We could have cut a lot of time off that if 1) I hadn't realized right then that my rear tire needed more air, 2) I actually knew how to fill my own tire instead of having had Adam do it every time and not having paid attention to how he did it and 3) we hadn't inadvertently got the pump end stuck on my valve and let all the air out of the tire in the process. After 20 minutes of sit-com ineptitude, I got out the "emergency" CO2 tube of air and attached it to the valves that Fred had finally freed from the pump. Three seconds of Zzzzzzzzzztttt and the tire was full. Amazing.
Once we had everything set to go, Fred realized he had to go to the bathroom again. I told him we'd stop as soon as we saw a place. Four blocks (yes, blocks) later we pulled over at Criminal Coffee. Fred went in to use the bathroom, and I decided I should order something so we weren't just gratuitously using their facility. And that is how it was that 5 minutes into the ride we were enjoying our first break, complete with a latte and pastry.
It was actually delightful if not deserved. The proprietors were an elderly couple who were drinking.. .coffee (what else?) and enjoying the newspaper. Another senior couple sat on the sofa in the shop. We chatted with them about our plans and Fred told them a corny joke. (Polite laughter.) What struck me about the two couples and the two young employees was that they were genuinely glad to see us and happy for our adventure. It was the kind of raw, natural hospitality that cannot be put on...it comes from the heart. Great way to start the day.
We did make more progress after that... Incredible scenery. Lots of green, water, gently rolling hills, really steep hills (one of which we ended up walking), and a really cute resort town called Roche Harbor, where we had a sandwich and watched all the boats rock gently in their docks and passerbys stroll around the piers. We even saw a camel (!!) named Mona and a bunch of alpacas.
We also saw a winery that had a wine tasting going on, but we didn't think we were advanced enough of cyclists to manage the traffic, hills and curves while inebriated. (Yikes!)
After the enormous hill I referenced above, the last seven miles seemed to fly by...easy peasy southern breezy. And that said, I was so happy to see the car when we turned the corner and saw it waiting for us right where we had left it.
We took the ferry back to the Mainland, endeavored to pack better and smarter for Day Two, played some cards with Nancy and voila, it was time to sleep.
I would like to say I had all this time to think deep thoughts and strategize for a better life, but much like Cheryl Strayed in the book Wild, my riding tme was pretty much dominated by watching the road, watching traffic, watching the scenery, and watching Fred weave back and forth across the white boundary of the shoulder from my careful vigil behind him.
Nonetheless, it was a great start to what I hope by Friday can only be called my epic adventure.
We had decided that because of the expense of taking a car across to the island, Nancy (our support driver) would stay on the mainland and Fred and I would just get on the ferry with our bicycles. However, we were running sufficiently behind and the ticket cost for a vehicle and extra passenger was close enough to the expense of two bikes and two riders to even go across on bikes, that we ended up taking the Edge to the island.
Probably a good thing. We parked the car and started loading up our bikes...a process that in our inexperience and disorganization took over an hour..... That's right.. More than 60 minutes. We could have cut a lot of time off that if 1) I hadn't realized right then that my rear tire needed more air, 2) I actually knew how to fill my own tire instead of having had Adam do it every time and not having paid attention to how he did it and 3) we hadn't inadvertently got the pump end stuck on my valve and let all the air out of the tire in the process. After 20 minutes of sit-com ineptitude, I got out the "emergency" CO2 tube of air and attached it to the valves that Fred had finally freed from the pump. Three seconds of Zzzzzzzzzztttt and the tire was full. Amazing.
Once we had everything set to go, Fred realized he had to go to the bathroom again. I told him we'd stop as soon as we saw a place. Four blocks (yes, blocks) later we pulled over at Criminal Coffee. Fred went in to use the bathroom, and I decided I should order something so we weren't just gratuitously using their facility. And that is how it was that 5 minutes into the ride we were enjoying our first break, complete with a latte and pastry.
It was actually delightful if not deserved. The proprietors were an elderly couple who were drinking.. .coffee (what else?) and enjoying the newspaper. Another senior couple sat on the sofa in the shop. We chatted with them about our plans and Fred told them a corny joke. (Polite laughter.) What struck me about the two couples and the two young employees was that they were genuinely glad to see us and happy for our adventure. It was the kind of raw, natural hospitality that cannot be put on...it comes from the heart. Great way to start the day.
We did make more progress after that... Incredible scenery. Lots of green, water, gently rolling hills, really steep hills (one of which we ended up walking), and a really cute resort town called Roche Harbor, where we had a sandwich and watched all the boats rock gently in their docks and passerbys stroll around the piers. We even saw a camel (!!) named Mona and a bunch of alpacas.
We also saw a winery that had a wine tasting going on, but we didn't think we were advanced enough of cyclists to manage the traffic, hills and curves while inebriated. (Yikes!)
After the enormous hill I referenced above, the last seven miles seemed to fly by...easy peasy southern breezy. And that said, I was so happy to see the car when we turned the corner and saw it waiting for us right where we had left it.
We took the ferry back to the Mainland, endeavored to pack better and smarter for Day Two, played some cards with Nancy and voila, it was time to sleep.
I would like to say I had all this time to think deep thoughts and strategize for a better life, but much like Cheryl Strayed in the book Wild, my riding tme was pretty much dominated by watching the road, watching traffic, watching the scenery, and watching Fred weave back and forth across the white boundary of the shoulder from my careful vigil behind him.
Nonetheless, it was a great start to what I hope by Friday can only be called my epic adventure.
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