sweets and the squeeze....

7/31/07

There was a weird sound in my motel room yesterday evening. The sound began again this morning at 8:00.

It's a hard sound to describe.... you could feel it more than hear it. The sound started low, then gained in intensity, vibrating the whole room, then stopped. It restarted half a minute later. It was similar to the sound of a bearing going out on a machine, but by the sound of it I thought there might be a battleship engine on the roof.

I was surprised when I finally figured out what it was... they were grading the road beside the motel. The giant roller that compacts the road base didn't look like it was bouncing up and down, but I guess it was.

I blogged another hour this morning, then left. I think I'm getting writer's cramp instead of rider's cramp.

By now you're probably thinking that bicycle touring is all fun and games. It's not. Sometimes you have to make the hard choices. I realized that that time had come for me today...

Standing there in Safeway in front of the powdered donuts and the custard-filled chocolate-covered donuts, I knew it was crunch time. Should I go with the tried-and-true powdered donuts, the perennial bike tour favorite? Or should I go with the custard/chocolate combination and the promise of even more calories in a smaller package of confectionery goodness?

Tough call, but I'm up for the challenge.... I go with the custard/chocolate donut.

By the time I finally left New Town, I mean Newport, it was around 10:30.

One thing I haven't really mentioned as I've been writing about specific details of the trip... where/when I stop, what I eat, who I meet... is how much fun I'm having. I don't know if it comes across in the writing, but this is FUN. (perhaps you should try it)

On the way to Sandpoint, a bee landed on the left lens of my sunglasses, spun around in a circle, then flew away. By the time my slow-processing brain could form the thought ''There's a bee on my sunglasses," it was gone.

There was some loose gravel for about four miles, then some packed gravel for another twenty or so.

Pop Quiz: What's the only road surface worse than ChipSeal?
A: human bones
B: hungry, sentient flesh-eating bacteria
C: loose gravel
D: mud

Answer: C! Always choose C if you don't know the answer!

There is a bike trail from Sagle to Sandpoint, approximately nine miles long. Bike paths are always nice.

Just before I arrived in Sandpoint, my chain slipped off and got jammed between the freehub and the chainstay. I coasted to a shady spot to fix it. (Mark's Bike Tip #1: Always stop in the shade) When I say jammed, I mean it took a pair of pliers to pull it out.

As I was riding today, I kept getting a whiff of what smelled like a Porta Potty, or a sewage treatment plant. I never determined where it was coming from, but I smelled it for at least thirty miles.

In Sandpoint (pop 6835), I picked the Blue Moon Cafe for lunch, partly because I liked the name and partly because I heard Norah Jones coming through the speakers.

I arrived at 2:24. They close at 2:30.

As in Usk, I didn't linger.

After lunch, I tooled through the downtown area and stopped at two bike shops to see if they had any padded handlebar tape. My tape is coming off and I've been wanting to get something padded for a while, but neither place had any.

There's something I find interesting about Idaho. I've pedaled through a lot of states, and Idaho is one of the most beautiful. It's truly gorgeous.... and yet, if you look at the license plates, what does it say?

Famous Potatoes



The road from Sandpoint to Clark Fork was pretty bad... not much of a shoulder and enough traffic to keep me on my toes. I would've liked to listen to some music, but didn't think it was safe enough.

This part of the country, I hear, is having record highs. It's toasty today. One nice thing, though.... once the sun goes down it cools off nicely.

I stopped for the evening in Clark Fork (pop 530). I rode hard to get there before the bike shop closed at 6:00.

I arrived about 5:45 and asked the owner it he could adjust my bike. We rolled it around to his workshop where I took off the panniers and he put it up on the stand.

As he was adjusting it I looked around the shop. In addition to cycling posters of the Tour de France, Eddie Merxx, and old advertisements for bicycles, I noticed some bicycles with the name "Sweet" painted on them. The name of the bike shop was Sweet's Bike and Marbles Gift Shop (the store is also a gift shop).

''Did you build these?" I asked in amazement. Some of them were very impressive-looking.

He said he had. One, in particular, caught my eye. It was a flat gray- colored cruiser with no markings on it. It reminded me of something you might see being ridden during WWII. I took a picture of Jim next to his bike but saw it looked better in real life.



I rode my bike for about fifteen seconds and it seemed to be working okay. He wouldn't let me pay for the adjustment.

I asked him about places to camp and he directed me to the Clark Fork Lodge where you can pitch a tent and get a shower.

When I got there I asked about a campsite, but was told there weren't any vacancies.

''For a tent??" I asked.
''Oh. I thought you had an RV."

With the sweaty face, helmet hair, and biker's tan I could've fooled anyone.

By the way, a biker's tan consists of tanned thighs and calves, but white shins and rear thighs. (picture a person on a bike and you'll see why) The back of the hand will have an irregularly-shaped area of tanning consistent with the shape of the person's gloves. Some people, like me, have two bars on their forehead where the sun shines through the vents on the helmet.

All together, it's quite an attractive look.

I paid my $10.00 to be able to pitch a tent and take a shower. Out of curiosity, I asked what a room costs: $50.00.

I set up my tent, showered, put some clothes into the washing machine, then pedaled to the Squeeze Inn. Jim had described it as "upscale" and I was curious what "upscale" meant in a town of 530 people.

I wasn't disappointed. The food was excellent. As I was enjoying some black bean soap I wondered, "Does food taste better after you've been riding a bike all day?"

Absolutely. I don't know why, but it does. Taking another step back I asked myself if this meal would be as good if I'd eaten it after working all day, or was it good simply because I'd been riding.... I think I would've enjoyed this particular meal regardless, but it tasted even better today. I decided it over the huckleberry ice cream for dessert.

I got back to the washing machine at 8:30, and put my clothes into the dryer, thinking everything would be dry by 9:00 when they closed but it took another twenty minutes. Valerie and her husband waited patiently.

That evening, after having ridden all day, showered, and eaten I lay in my tent quite content.

Miles 64.40
Max 34.8
Avg 12.0
Time 5:23:20
Cumulative 440.94

golden spur, golden china, golden triangle....

7/30/07

I woke up at 7:00, thirty minutes before my alarm went off. I had wanted to be ready to go by 8:00, and I was...

Ready for breakfast, anyway.

They made scrambled eggs with pine nuts, hash browns, and bacon. I took the last few pictures on my SD card so John and Mica spent some time copying everything to a DVD, which they then presented to me. John also gave me the phone number and address of his cousin who lives in Sandpoint, Idaho, where I'll be in a couple of days.

I left at 9:30 and started missing them before I even passed the gate.

I crossed the Pend Oreille river and started pedaling south into a stiff headwind. I'd have the river beside me all day today. The terrain was mostly flat with some ups and downs.

Sometimes I'll see an abandoned house on the side of the road like this one. I always wonder about the stories behind it... Who grew up there, what kind of hardships did they have, and what happened to them. If only the walls could talk....



I passed a few bikers... six or seven, then ten. I started counting. About two hours and eighteen miles later I had counted 248 riders on a variety of bikes ranging from road bike, like mine, to tandems to recumbents.

The road was small, so I greeted each biker I passed. There's really no way to just ignore them.

Do you realize what it's like to say hi 248 times? Unless you're a flight attendant, I doubt it.

As I greeted each one of them in turn, my routine went like this:
"Hi" then "Morning" then "Hello"
After a while, in order to avoid getting in a rut, I changed it to "Morning" then "Hello" then "Hi." I'm nothing if not flexible. Just to stretch my limits, I occasionally said ''Good Morning" instead of "Morning."

Interestingly, of the 248 people only 4-5 weren't smiling. That must say SOMETHING about bicyclists. (Although it could be, "I sure am enjoying this tailwind you're pedaling against.")

Rattlesnake Mountain, Echo Mountain, Stone Johnny Peak, Lost Creek, No Name Creek, Ruby Mountain, Cee Cee Ah Peak.... the cool-sounding landmarks keep rolling by. It makes me curious as to how each of them acquired their names.

I crossed the bridge at Usk and went into the Usk Bar and Grille. I arrived at 1:03; the closed sign went up at 1:22.

There's no air conditioning, and it's not much cooler inside. In the back of the place there was a kid sleeping on a couch. Three fans were lined up about every fifteen feet apart in an attempt the get the cooler air in the back, near the cooler, to the front of the building.

I didn't linger after finishing my meal. They were already closed, and I wanted to get to the library in Newport (pop 1921) before they closed so I could post some blogs.

Newport and Oldtown (pop 190) are basically the same city, separated by the Washington/Idaho state line (Yes, that means I finally made it out of Washington). I kept calling it New Town, then correcting myself, and everyone kept looking at me with sympathy.

I was at the library for a little over an hour in an attempt to upload my blog and pictures from my SD card. It had been several days since I posted anything and I knew people were wondering how things were going. Unfortunately, even with the help of the librarians, I was unable to get the computer to allow me to use my card reader.

After making a phone call they offered one possibility: there's a community college in town. I could sign up for one semester at their computer lab for $25.00. They were closed, but would reopen at 8:00 in the morning.

If I could get my blog and pictures uploaded, it's not a bad idea.... I'd consider it, though I'd end up getting a late start.

I asked about the best place to eat in town, and the unenthusiastic response was Golden China.

I rode to the Golden Spur Motor Inn, one of two places in town. Their marquee said they had wireless, but I stood outside one of the rooms and checked to make sure my PDA got a signal before checking in.

After unloading my bike and waiting until it cooled off outside a bit, I asked the manager how far it was to Golden China.

''Only quarter mile," he replied. His daughter looked like she wanted to say something but didn't.

I think she might've wanted to say, "He means a mile and a quarter."

It was a decent meal. If I had to recommend it to someone I would, but unenthusiastically.

My fortune cookie: ''Keep an eye open for an opportunity soon to arrive." I sure will.

It occurred to me as I was walking back at approximately 4.3 mph that maybe I should be wearing my helmet. Or my steel-toed boots.

I blogged from 6 PM to 2AM, with an hour off for supper, then went to sleep.

Miles 55.12
Max 74.2
Avg 11.6
Time 4:46:11
Cumulative 376.54

mark goes to camp....

7/29/07

I was awakened by these words coming from the TV in the next room: "And thus spake Abraham to the Lord...." Oddly, though, the speaker sounded just like Bill Clinton.

That was at 5:00.

I thought it was odd that Jack or Linda would be listening to a televangelist, especially at 5 AM. Later, while riding, I realized that they probably turn it on and listen to it as white noise.

I wanted to wake up early so I could be out of their place by the time they left. While I was eating the toast and orange juice that Jack had fixed me for breakfast, Linda casually asked, "Aren't you going through Colville? That's where we're headed. Why don't you let us give you a ride?"

My thoughts, like coins in a coin sorter, deposited themselves on either side of the equation:
That's CHEATING!!!!!!!
It's not a competition.
You'll be missing scenery here because you're in a hurry to get to North Dakota?!?!?
This is a vacation - you're supposed to be doing what you WANT to do, not what you're SUPPOSED to do.
You're lazy.
It would be rude to decline.
Rude? Now you're really stretching.
You are SO far behind schedule.
What schedule? This is a vacation.

I get offers for rides all the time. I've only taken someone up on it once, with Rob and Rich from Houston to Tulsa, and it was only for 30 miles.

Finally, after the last of my thoughts dropped through the sorter. I said...

"Sure. That'd be great."

When I talked to Heather later that day she said, "You're STILL in Washington??? Am I going to be picking you up in Idaho??" At that point I knew I had made the right decision.

Later, writing all of it down, for a brief moment I honestly thought about lying. (Now, THAT'S a weird sentence: I HONESTLY thought about LYING...???) Really, it would've just been neglecting to tell you about it.

The reason I wanted you to know about it is to legitimize it: there's nothing wrong with taking a ride. This is a vacation! It isn't a have-to-get-it-done-at-all-costs trip, it's a go-when-you-want-stop-when- you-want trip. That's what bicycle touring is all about.... having fun.

Just before we left the saloon Jack gave me a T-shirt. On the back it says, "Government Policy: If it ain't broke, fix it til it is." And beneath that: "You just can't fix stupid!" The front of the shirt says Curlew Saloon in small print over the left breast.



I continued my trip in Colville. All morning I felt like I was really dragging, then finally realized I was going up a very low grade incline.

At Crystal Falls I stopped for about fifteen minutes to eat the brownie Linda had given me. It was wrapped in foil, and was warm when I was eating it.

The road got steeper as I pedaled, and the day was fairly warm. Within a few miles of Ione (pop. 479), there was a steep downhill. As usual, the temperature got hot fast as I descended. Ione would be the end of the day for me because there is nothing for another 51 miles. If I want to go farther I'll have to sleep on the side of the road. I was looking forward to an air conditioned motel room.

I rode the 44 miles to Ione without a good break. My legs felt like lead weights, but since I was planning on getting a motel I went ahead and pushed myself.

In Ione, which is on the Pend Oreille river (pronounced PON-duh-ray), I stopped at Los Sanchos to get something to eat. It's on a bluff overlooking the river, and I noticed some type event going on below. Then I noticed the hundreds of people along the shore and in the water. Yes, hundreds.

After about fifteen minutes, a waitress finally noticed me and, after ordering, I asked, "What's going on down there?"

"This is the last weekend in July... Down River Days. People come from all over. It looks like right now they're having the snowmobile races."

Two thoughts:
1) God is punishing me for accepting that ride... so much for a hotel or campsite.
2) What the hell?!? Snowmobile races on water? I later learned that yes, it was snowmobiles. If they slow down they sink very quickly - thus the specially-designed crane to collect them from the 50-foot-deep water, and the divers on standby to help collect the riders. Apparently they sink with entertaining regularity.

The service was impressively slow. I overheard a customer complain about it, and the waitress replied it was because there was only one cook.
"But this is a small town. I know people are lookinq for jobs."
''Yes, but the owner will only hire Mexicans to keep the food 'authentic.'"

There was no cellphone service, so the waitress let me use the house phone. I called all three hotels... no vacancy, no surprise. Since I had the phone and was generally being ignored I also called the library. They're closed Sundays and Mondays.

So, that's the way it is.... I wasn't going to be sleeping in a motel or a campground.

After my meal I pedaled up the road to the grocery store and bought a box of fig newtons for supper. I also bought some beef jerky, an apple, three Clif bars, and some Gatorade. What a sad-looking supper this is. I tossed in a plastic bottle of Mike's Limeade.

I play a game sometimes when I'm riding down the road. It's called, Pick A Great Campsite On The Side Of the Road. As I ride, I look for places to camp. Great Places must include scenic beauty, enough level ground for a tent, and invisibility from the road unless you're looking out your side window. I've found some superb campsites this way, and have even slept in some.

Looks like it's time to play in earnest this evening. I'll just ride toward the next town until I pass out from the heat or happen to find a campsite. It'll be fun. Really.

That's what I was thinking when Gary Altman walked by. My supper was paid for and I had done some rearranging to make room on my bike.

After a couple of quick initial questions he asked, "Where are you staying tonight?" I don't even remember what I said. I think I just shrugged and looked pathetic, although I might've impressed him with my command of the English language by saying something like, ''Down the road somewhere."

He said he could find a place to put me up, gave me directions to his place, then disappeared into the store. As I was riding toward his place I thought about telling him that I really need to put more miles behind me... Who was this guy anyway? But I didn't....

And, boy, am I ever glad I stopped.

This section of today's posting is really hard to write. I find that I'm just not a good enough writer. My descriptions are gray compared to the color I experienced. Still, I'll do my best.

You might've noticed that I never said "his house." That's because there isn't a house.

Gary's dad, Mark Altman, bought this place back in the early sixties. He started with a small camper trailer, and it's grown in a piecemeal fashion since then. The theme is something like... Everything here has to be used, not new, and you have to use it creatively.

Somehow, it works. It REALLY works.

Mark, now ''pushing eighty," built a small, office-sized one-room A-frame from discarded wood after a Down River Days many years ago. There are six or seven different colors of vinyl flooring that were remnants no one wanted.

There are other trailers as well. I slept in the one they call the "honeymoon suite." I was told it was broken in by a couple on their honeymoon. Only later did I learn that the groom, Mark's dad, was ninety years old at the time.

The kitchen is in the open and, it appears, an important gathering place. In addition to the usual kitchen items, there were other interesting pieces as well.... on a board overhead was a gallon can of cooking oil with a bear's teeth marks in it... a souvenir of his visit there. In the center of the kitchen was the dinner bell, a triangular piece of metal like you see in westerns. It works and is used before meals. (though, thankfully, not before breakfast). There was a grill used to burn trash with the words "Butt Warmer" cut into the metal. There's talk of turning it into a pizza oven.



None of the hundreds of eclectic small things have any significance by themselves, but when you put it all together... it just works. Each item at the camp seems to have some kind of meaning.

When I first arrived I was immediately shown the floating dock where I met Rose Bailey, Gary's wife. In short succession I met his sister Nancy, his cousin John, his teenage son Mica and three other boys, two of whom were cousins and one a friend. Later, I also met Mark and Mary Ann Altman, Gary's parents.

When l first arrived I sat on the dock, letting my feet dangle in the water while l talked to Rose and Gary. Eventually, we all swam out to an inflatable "island," a little more than twelve feet in diameter, where the four teenagers were playing.



When we went back up to camp everyone began helping prepare dinner.

Dinner, which was written on the large chalkboard attached to the front of the refrigerator, consisted of
angel hair pasta with grilled chicken, pine nuts, and a butter sauce. There was also chopped salad with at least ten kinds of organic vegetables and a delicious Asian dressing.

Rose rang the supper bell.

Not only the eating, but the preparation of the meal as well, was a social event.

I learned that I happened to come during the only weekend everyone was there. Gary and Rose don't even live there. This was their family reunion.

They sure made me feel like family.

Okay, I see I'm failing.... I'm going to take some writing classes and get back to you.

Miles 42.42 (doesn't count the 50.8 miles in the van)
Max 36.5
Avg 10.5
Time 4:02:11
Cumulative 321.42

yeehaw, it's chesaw!!! (and the clown, and the saloon....)

7/28/07

I woke up at 5:30. Actually, I woke up at 3:30 because the watch I used was set to the Central time zone, but easily went back to sleep.

Knowing I'd need a good, hearty breakfast for the day of climbing I had ahead of me I went with the powdered donuts and chocolate milk, and I bought some snacks to eat later. I filled one of my three water bottles with Gatorade, then began the long climb out of town.

I started riding at 6:00 sharp, taking note of the bank's marquee which said it was 68 degrees.

I climbed and climbed up a very steep, very quiet road.

What a difference a mere thirty degrees makes... I could smell the cut hay, and as I climbed out of the valley the scenery became more and more beautiful.

Hawks screeched overhead, and the sound echoed. Everything was so QUIET.

My route took me through Chesaw. When I looked it up at the library yesterday, MapQuest said it was 36.5 miles. The road sign at the edge of town said 26 miles. We'll see.

The names of the streets, rivers, and mountains out here are great.


"This town ain't big enough fer the two of us, Sheriff."



Along the way I stopped to eat a muffin, one of the snacks I had bought. Two thirds of the way through it I was amazed to see the nutrition information. There were 220 calories per serving. A serving size was one third of the muffin.

It was starting to warm up some. I always stop in the shade if at all possible. Out here, the only shade was from a telephone pole. I positioned myself in its shade, but to my surprise I found that if my head, torso, and legs were in the shade, my stomach wasn't. I just wasn't able to shade my lower back and my stomach. How odd.

I finished my muffin.

I climbed for over twenty miles then, all of a sudden, I started going downhill. Really fast.



I stopped at the General Store, one of two buildings, and went inside to look for lunch. There was a lot of stuff crammed onto the shelves, most of it dusty and all of it overpriced, but there was nothing I could eat for lunch.... it was all canned goods, insect repellant, fly paper....

After cooling off a few minutes and drinking a pop, I asked the cashier if there was anything to eat. She said not really, but the bar had food. I thought it was surprising that she directed me to her "competitor," and she must've read my mind. ''I own them both," she said with a smile.

I finished my drink and strolled next door. As I was walked in I half expected to see her at the bar, wearing a different hat and saying, "Yeah, I'm the barkeep. And the mayor, and the sheriff... So you jest keep on rollin' stranger."

She wasn't. The only other person was the waitress/bartender. Deputy sheriff? And no one came in while I was there.

I sat down at a table and ordered a mushroom Swiss cheeseburger and a Coke.

It was tolerable.

I learned that Chesaw is only three miles from the Canadian border. "But there's no road from here to there," the waitress added.

By the way, my cyclometer measured the distance from Tonasken to here as 29 miles.

I bought some Gatorade at the General Store and left about 1:00. After a few miles of climbing (see picture below), I started dropping into the next valley. As usual, the temperature climbed as my altitude dropped.



I passed Beth Lake and took a picture of a kid swinging into the water.



It continued to get hotter, and around 2:00 I stopped at an intersection to look at my map. Taking a wrong turn in a car is inconvenient. On a bike, you could lose half a day.

When I tried to start riding again, I found that my left foot and my front tire were stuck to the road. The tar in the road had melted because of the heat. It's not possible to get it off, and once I started riding again it collected things from the road and made a funny sound the rest of the day.

Once in the valley the road leveled off and I began following the Kettle river. In addition to the heat, I now had a headwind.

A woman on a racing bike with aero bars passed me, but I was going so slow in comparison that our conversation was only about fifteen seconds long. She's from Canada.

The heat, the headwind, and getting passed by someone who wasn't even sweating? None of it mattered because the moment I'd been waiting for was coming.... Ronald McDonald's gravesite.

I have to tell you... I felt a little guilty wanting to see the burial place of The Clown, the one responsible for bringing so much love and plaque-building lipids to the hearts of so many millions of people. I was kind of ashamed of the fact that I didn't even know he was dead. (And isn't it interesting that one of the world's most recognizable clowns was from such a remote area?) Still, the excitement built until, finally, there I was....

...only, I didn't remember him having a pointy beard down to his chest. Or such a sallow face. Or being so skinny.

Looking closer, I saw that it's Ranald McDonald, not Ronald McDonald.

I continued riding, disappointed on the one hand for my silly mistake, but quite happy on the other hand that Ronald is alive and well, exploiting clowns to sell cheeseburgers.



The hot, humid headwind lasted the rest of the way to Curlew (pop 1285), about twenty miles, and by the time I arrived I was hot and tired. I bought a cold drink from the General Store and held it to my neck and forehead for a few minutes before I even opened it. Then I drank it very slowly inside the store, which was about fifteen degrees cooler than outside.

When I asked Joyce, the cashier/owner about the cycling camp, she cocked her head sideways and thought a minute. "I think she's still doing that," then gave me directions to her house.

When I got there I walked up to the gate and a dog started barking. Just in case it was the wrong house I tried to look lost, figuring that if it was the right house the lady would see my bicycle and know why I was there. When the dog started salivating I went back to downtown.

This time, I tried the Curlew Saloon. Inside, I asked about a place to pitch a tent. One of the ladies at the bar said that there was a lady who has a cycling camp, "But I haven't seen her in a while. She used to come in and leave flyers, but she hasn't been here in a couple of years." I rode back to the house, and this time I left a note saying I was at the saloon.



I sat down at the bar between Jack, who I later learned is the owner, and Dennis, a local resident who works thirty days on a boat and thirty days off as an OSHA engineer. Jack's wife, Linda, was also part of the conversation. We all chatted a few minutes as I answered the Frequently Asked Questions, and learned some about them.

Jack (75) and Linda Heerman (about 60) are the owners. It's interesting how two people communicate after having lived together for so long. After talking for about ten minutes, Linda looked at Jack, subtly tilted her head toward the back of the store, then raised an eyebrow. There was a pause of about three seconds, then Jack dropped his chin in a nod.





Then, for my benefit, ''Hey Jack, what do you think about letting him stay in our extra bedroom?" "Sure."

Their living quarters are part of the same building as the tavern. The master bedroom is closer to the front, and the three guest bedrooms are toward the back, separated from their sleeping quarters by the living room and kitchen.

I picked out a bedroom and started unloading my stuff.

Interestingly, Jack and Linda lived together for 30 years, and just got married on July 3rd of this year. She tells people, ''He got me pregnant." He tells people, "I got so old she finally caught up to me."

I sat at the bar for a while, cooling off, then went to take a much-anticipated shower.

When I got into the shower, I first thought the hot and cold valves were switched. After about five minutes of jiggling with the knobs, I realized the only two temperatures I was going to get were "ice cold" and "frigid." It was physically too painful to stand under the water.

So, the question arises: What is the correct etiquette in a situation like this? I've been graciously offered the use of a shower... how would it now sound to whine because it's too cold? "Jack, the water's too cold... and this a shampoo/conditioner combination, and the towels are rough."

Plus, there's the fact that I was already buck naked standing in the shower. What COULD he do at this point?

So today, not only are you going to read about my daily ride, I'm tossing in one free lesson on how to take a cold water shower. That's right, we at markonabike go that extra mile for you.

First, you point the shower head so it's spraying the wall. Then, you stand there about five minutes trying to think of a way not to freeze your ass off, but nothing comes to mind. The next step, of course, is to stand there a few more minutes. Finally, you put one foot in the water, get it wet, soap it up, then rinse it. That will take about 3.5 seconds. Simply repeat with other body parts. When you're finished, start breathing again.

Refreshed and dressed in clean clothes, I waited until my heart rate dropped below 150 then went back to the bar.

I ordered the prime rib for supper. Even though it was a small town, this one was cooked perfectly. Linda gave me a brownie covered in chocolate syrup with ice cream on the side for dessert.

Dennis and I sat around talking about his sprinkler system and other matters vital to the security of the nation, then he left to go do some work around his house.

At 8:00 the tavern closes because "You only get the drunks after then anyway."

For the next couple of hours Jack, Jeanne (the waitress), her husband Scott, Linda and I sat around as I caught up on the local gossip.

Jack and Linda were planning on leaving in the morning around 7:00. They go grocery shopping in a nearby town on a biweekly basis. I didn't want them to have to leave their house with a stranger in it so I planned to wake up early and leave at the same time.

As I was drifting off to sleep. These thoughts floated through my head....

So, Mom and Dad... It's come to this: your son has left his hard-working wife alone, fled to another state, has been eating and drinking with known profligates, and is now falling asleep behind a saloon. Where did you go wrong?

Miles 64.69
Max 39.3
Avg 9.8
Time 6:37:21
Cumulative 279.0

it's not the heat... it's the lack of air conditioning on a bike

7/27/07


I woke up at 8:00, packed, and left by 10:00 to go to the cafe for breakfast.

I met Margie on the way out, standing among her potpourri of pottery, and we chatted a few minutes. She let me know that the cafe closed and, although someone else bought it they were having to do some repairs because the people who moved out didn't empty the pipes and they froze during the winter. You learn all kinds of information on a bike trip, most of it quite important to the person telling you.

Tonasken isn't much more than fifteen miles down the road - I'll just get a bite to eat there.

Definition:
ChipSeal: (noun) a road surface used in eastern Washington which is comprised of broken glass, used razor blades, and carefully sharpened shards of gravel. After being placed onto the road it is meticulously formed into a washboard surface. When financially possible, cracks, holes, and fissures are placed in it.

That's all I have to say about that.

I stopped at 11:45 for lunch in Tonasket after what seemed an interminable morning. I ate at the pizza place, surrepticiously charging my PDA in a corner.

The temperature here is HOT. Did you notice the capitals? If you look in any basic grammar book you'll see that means to add another fifteen degrees to whatever temperature you're imagining. The hot, arid air dries out your nose and throat with each inhalation and, somehow, the sun seems closer.

To give you an idea of my impression of Tonasket, here's a conversation I overheard at the pizza place. It was between the owner and an elderly woman in a print dress:
"Are you going on vacation this summer?"
"Yes, we're going to (such and such place)"
"Is it nice?"
"Oh, yes. There's grass and some trees!"
(sharp intake of air) "That IS nice..."

From the pizza place I went to the library so I could upload some stuff to the blog. Unfortunately, you only get thirty minutes, and I never could get the library's computer to open my file, even after changing it to a text file.

So, I wrote in my blog until 4:00, then went outside. It was still over 100 degrees.

I had taken all of my electronics inside except my cyclometer. When I looked at it the heat had messed up the LCD. Fortunately, it started working again later.

I had a couple of decisions to make:
(1) Do I want to continue? Do I want to camp? Or do I want to get a hotel? Leaving Tonasket, there's the steepest pass this side of Glacier National Park. There's no hotel for many miles, and I don't know if the campground has a shower.
(2) Which route do I want to take?
* The southern ACA route, which has a higher pass, steeper climb and a reported section of twenty miles under construction per Sarin. It also has several historical/artistic sites such as the Stonerose Fossil Center, White Mountain Interpretive Site, and the Log Flume Heritage Site.
* The northern route is slightly longer, though the pass doesn't go as high. Historical sites? Looking more closely at the map, I notice... the grave site of Ronald McDonald.

I'm goin' north...

I can't remember which reason from my usual list I used, but I do remember thinking, "This freakin' heat SUCKS!" As much as I hate mornings, I justified the motel by planning to be on the road as close to 6:00 as I could.

From the library I called one of the motels and learn there's no vacancy. As I rode to the only other motel I saw a policeman getting out of his car and asked him if the campground had showers. No...

The motel's office is located at The Junction, a convenience store. There was one room left and I took it... it had wireless internet so I could finally post some blogs.

I blogged for four hours until my PDA died. It just stopped working. It was time for supper so I started some laundry at the hotel/convenience store/laundromat, then walked across the street to the restaurant and ate a giant plate of chicken fettucini.

Afterwards, picking up my laundry, I talked with Jessica as she was cleaning the up the laundromat. She was leaving early to go to her mother's 48th birthday. When she learned I was a bike rider she told me how she lost a hundred pounds simply by riding her bike every day and eating less. "Oh, and no ice cream. That was the hard part."

I learned a couple of other noteworthy things from her. One, without her knowing which way I was going, she mentioned how much she loves to drive the route I'm going to be riding tomorrow. That was good to hear. Two, seven eighths of everyone who lives in Tonasken has been in jail... but they're all good people. (I knew it!!!! I'm going back to Riverside)

Back in the room I rebooted my PDA. That fixed whatever was wrong with it. I wrote more in my blog and was asleep by 11:00.

Miles 17.35
Max 70.8
Avg 9.8
Time 1:46:46
Cumulative 214.30

shake and bake...

7/26/07

It was 55 degrees when I woke up at 5:30 this morning. I laid in bed for a while watching a few scattered ants crawl across the outside of the tent.

Tom fixed us a breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast before he headed off to work. He's an electrician and has his own company, Swift Current.

We slowly broke camp, then said our goodbyes to Tom and Carolyn.

Tom is an advocate of warmshowers.com and was even thinking about having some business cards printed up. I hope that everyone reading this will consider signing up, ESPECIALLY the people in Wabasha and Lake City. You're right on the Adventure Cycling Association's Northern Tier route, and you'd find some appreciative bicyclists. I know I sure am. It would be a benefit to you because you could meet some interesting people and hear some great stories.

Do you remember how I told you that when I first pack my bike for a trip I'm always surprised that it all fits? Well, something happens during a trip. Somehow, the items you packed transmogrify into something larger. It's interesting because they don't change shape - they just gain volume. It's imperceptible to the naked eye, but you can always tell because the same items that fit into your bags yesterday no longer fit today.

I carry a plastic garbage bag for dirty clothes, in order to keep the clean clothes separate from the dirty ones - for obvious reasons. This morning the bag of dirty clothes just wouldn't fit. It's not more clothes, just a shift in position from outside a plastic sack to inside a plastic sack. I pushed as hard as I could, to the point that I thought the seams on my pannier were going to rip - yet when I finally took a break, gasping for air and sweating, the bag just hung there like a black, shiny procidentia. (If you don't already know what a procidentia is, I recommend that you NOT look it up.)

Using the same laws of physics that governed the original alchemy of mass and volume, I removed one of my flip flops and strapped it to the outside of the bike. Although the flip-flop is about one tenth the volume of the plastic bag with clothes, this somehow freed up enough space so that not only was I able to fit the sack of clothes into my pannier, I was also able to fit Tom's large screen TV into it. (See what happens when you invite strangers into your house? People like me visit you) I don't understand this phenomenon but, like gravity, I can still work around it.

After the good upper body workout I just received, I thought I might exercise the lower half today (unlike yesterday), so we climbed on our bikes and rode to Twisp. There we stopped at the Cinnamon Twisp for a (what else?) cinnamon twisp.

This is where Howard and I go in separate directions. He's following ACA's Northern Cascades Loop, and I'm following the Northern Tier.

Any time you meet another biker you have a connection. Perhaps it's that missing self-preservation gene, or a mutated sanity gene. Or a common need to wear goofy clothes. Whatever.

With Howard, I think we'd have become friends even if we didn't have bicycling in common. I think you'd like him. I'll miss him.

I bought some replacement sunscreen on the way out of town, then headed east.

Today's route passes over Loup Loup Pass, and I climbed most of the day. Like many of the ACA routes, there were very few cars on the road. One thing that might surprise a lot of people is how QUIET everything is.

Riding, you can hear your breathing. Occasionally the wind blows through the pines, creating a lonely sound, then goes away. A bird will chirp. Everything is still.

I told you up front that I'm trying to get people interested in bicycle touring. Having come this far I can say with absolute certainty that blogging is more difficult than touring. But there's something you should know about riding if you don't already.

You're going to sweat.

While you're riding a fine film of cooling perspiration forms on your skin. If there's a breeze (and there's almost always a breeze because you create one when you're riding), then dust sticks to that sweat. When a car passes, road dirt floats up in its wake and sticks to your skin. The dust and dirt are accompanied by salt deposits as the sweat accumulates and dries throughout the day. There's also the sunscreen you're been applying.

But wait ! ! ! ! ! ! There's good news: it washes off ! ! ! ! ! !

A shower at the end of a cycling day will be one of the most gratifying showers you'll ever take. Maybe that's why Howard has a plumbing addiction.

No knee pain today, and my legs felt strong, though I only averaged 4.3 mph going up the pass.

My right index finger became numb late in the morning. That was weird. I've never had that happen before. There are five different positions for your hands on the handlebars and I tried to use all of them, switching regularly, but it's difficult in a climb. You can't get into a rhythm as easily.

I reached Loup Loup Pass at 2:15, where my average for the day was 7.7 after about three hours of pedaling. (It was downhill from Winthrop to Twisp) I then coasted all but one of the twenty miles to Okanogan.

It took less than an hour to get to the valley floor, and I could feel the temperature rise by the mile.

By the time I got to Okanogan (pop 2484) it was within a degree of being three digits.

I replaced my rear brake pads before I left Minnesota, but not my front ones.... (the front brakes, by the way, do more of the stopping than the rear brakes)

There's a bike shop in Okanogan so I dropped my bike off and walked across the street to eat while he worked on it. Could I have done it myself? Obviously, but I'm too lazy.

During one of my earlier bike trips, in 1991, I was on a quest for the country's best chocolate shake. (Or, perhaps like the "carb loading," it's just an excuse to eat a lot of something I like.) I had a shake just about every day.

Across the street from the bike shop is On The Avenue. Although I'm no longer looking, I think this place would've beaten any of them from that trip.

They also make their own sodas... root beer, cola, etc.... They mix it up right there. I drank 40 ounces of root beer plus my cheeseburger. (It was good)



I got sleepy almost instantly after my meal - only then did I add up the number of hours of sleep I got last night (4 1/2).

When I got back to the bike shop my brakes were good as new. They had just been old, and the pads stopped working as well. I also bought a small bottle of chain lube and refilled my water bottles.

The owner, Sarin Molnar, appears to be in his early to mid twenties. His dad started the bike shop many years ago, and Sarin recently bought it from him.

One of his dad's trademarks is a "kickstand" which he placed on every bike that came through. Touring bikes are too heavy to have kickstands - they would just fall over. His dad's device is actually a front brake lock which makes it MUCH easier to lean it against something without it falling over. The brake lock, in this case, is a nut attached to a string. When you squeeze the brake handle, there is an opening on the top. This nut fits perfectly to keep the handle depressed. A bike tends to fall over because it rolls.



Sarin also told me about a better route. He said there's about twenty miles of construction the way I was going, and recommended going through Chesaw instead of Wauconda and Republic. Even better, there's less traffic and the scenery is more beautiful. If I can make it as far as Curlew, there's a bicyclist's camp. He printed a map for me, and by the time I left it was 6:00, closing time.

It was 110 degrees when I left.

Next stop: Riverside. I rode slowly, trying not to get overheated, but it was difficult. I stopped regularly, and always found a patch of shade, however small, to stop in, but when it's that hot only an idiot would be outside riding a bike. Fortunately, it was only 15 miles.

The old gospel song, "Down by the Riverside," kept going through my head as I pedaled toward my stop for the day.

In Riverside (pop 348) I stopped at the General Store for over an hour. Although it was only being cooled by an evaporative cooler, the store was much better than standing around the campground.

Every town is "famous" for something. I've seen signs welcoming me to the town with the world's largest hand-dug well, Ms. Oklahoma (around 1963), and, of course, state football champs (fill in the year).

In the General Store there was a newspaper article laminated and taped to the wall. Just beneath the article you could see the object it was written about.

A pocket lint jar.

The owner, according to the cashier, got tired of picking up pocket lint from the floor so she put a baby food jar on the counter. The size has become bigger and bigger over the years. "There's even lint in there from Japan and Italy," the cashier reported.



I rode to Margie's RV Camp and Pottery where I was met by Jeanie, her daughter-in-law, who was so drunk she didn't recognize the numbers on a $20.00 traveler's check. She was walking away when I called it to her attention.

Jeanie was dressed in a robe and slippers. Of course, that's what I'd be wearing right now given the choice between that and stinky bicycling clothes.

Come to think of it, if I lived in an RV Park where the temperature was 110 degrees I'd probably be drunk by 9 AM.

The shower felt really good tonight. I blogged till 11:00 or 12:00.

Miles 56.53
Max 39.2
Avg 10.8
Time 5:14:56
Cumulative 196.88

www.warmshowers.com...

7/25/07

I woke up at 8:00 and shortly thereafter Howard and I went to the restaurant for breakfast. I ate scrambled eggs, a pancake, and bacon - not the wholesome breakfast I had in Rockport but it should hold me for the grueling day of riding that you'll be reading about. We went back to our room and started packing.

I was all loaded up and about to leave when Howard asked me if I wanted some sunscreen.

When you're packing before the start of a trip, and even after you're riding, you always wonder if there's something you left.... something you forgot to put on your list or simply forgot to pack... like your bicycle, for example. (I actually know a woman who forgot her front wheel on a day ride, but I'm not going to mention her name because I'd like to continue sleeping with her.)

It was at that point that I realized I had forgotten my brand new bottle of SPF 50. It sure could've been worse. (like my front wheel, for example)

As we were leaving I realized my gloves were missing. After asking all the employees on the site, I learned that I had taken them off when we first arrived and placed them on the back of my bike. When I rolled my bike around to our room last night they fell off near the front door of the restaurant. The lady at the front desk had seen them this morning, but now they were gone.

We finally left at 11:30. It was already hot. There's a dramatic change in climate and terrain after crossing the mountain pass. The forests are much more open and sparse. This land is much more desert-like, but it has pine trees and sagebrush instead of cactus and sand.



We rode the fifteen miles to Winthrop (pop 349), then stopped at The Emporium so I could buy more ibuprofen. Howard needed some things, too.... A backup washing machine or something.

Then we walked across the street and ate some homemade ice cream.

One more stop... we rode down the street to the bike shop so I could get some gloves.

I called the local library and learned that they do have public access computers, but there's a thirty-minute time limit. That'll be our next stop.

Howard told me about www.warmshowers.com a couple of days ago. It's a website where you can sign up to offer someone simply that... A warm shower. There's also the choice to offer a place to pitch a tent, an extra bed, or even a meal, though the main focus is at least a shower. Howard used it twice last year, once in Winthrop and once in Fargo. Before we left town he wanted to give the guy he stayed with a call to say hi. The guy's name was Tom Sullivan.

When Howard turned around to say something to me he came face to face with... Tom. He practically bumped into him.

We chatted a few minutes, but Tom had to go to a meeting. Before he left, he offered his yard and a shower. Of course, fifteen miles is way too short of a day so we said no.

Until I learned I could use his computer.

We were at his house a few minutes later. We pulled into the yard and pitched our tents. I almost immediately went to the computer.

The Sullivans, Tom and Carolyn, were so gracious. In spite of being in the middle of a personal family crisis, they both made us feel like we were the two most important people they knew. Tom helped me get set up on his computer since I'm Apple-challenged. At last I could post my blogs. I spent a long time at his desk.

Howard wanted to take the three of us out to eat at someplace nice. We ended up in Twisp, a 15-minute drive to the next town. We ate at the Twisp River Pub.

We ate outside by the river. There was live music, and when I took a closer look at the musicians I did a double take of the saxophone player.

I don't think I've ever seen a more unlikely-looking sax player. He was thin, and almost cachectic-appearing. His gray beard seemed almost a foot long. He wore a baseball cap, and he sure could play the saxophone.

After we got back I used the computer to upload some more pictures, then went to my tent and blogged for an hour and a half. My flashlight went off at 12:30.

I never really expected to make it all the way from Seattle to Rochester. In order to make it in my three-week vacation I would have to ride more then 100 miles a day for three weeks straight with no rest stops. That doesn't sound like a vacation.

Perhaps I'll change it from "riding to Rochester" to "riding towards Rochester," although if I do that I may as well change it to "riding towards Maine." I'm doing that, too.

Miles 14.52 (not quite my record, you know)
max 30.6
Avg 10.8
time 1:20:14
Cumulative 140.35 (2 miles more than my longest day)

pass the ibuprofen, please...

7/24

We woke up to blue skies. It was the first time Howard had seen sun for more than thirty seconds in 9-10 days.

He fixed breakfast for both of us... oatmeal and hot tea. We set all of our wet things in the sun to dry.

Jeff the RV Guy came out and Howard and I took turns talking to him. When I'd get ahead of him in my packing I'd make a comment or ask Jeff a question. Howard would slip away and return the favor a few minutes later.

By the time we finished tag-teaming Jeff and getting packed, it was 11:30. After I calculated my climbing speed (slightly more than 4 mph, the pace of an elderly woman using a walker) and the distance to the second summit (29 miles, 283 times the distance of the first airplane flight), I realized that we would reach the peak at 8:30, right about sunset. Oh, well. Time to start riding.

When I got on my bike and began pedaling, my left knee hurt so bad I was unable to use it; I had to pedal with just my right leg. I had already taken a couple of ibuprofen but took a couple more. After I warmed it up some by riding around camp I was able to use it, though it continued to hurt all day.

Less than a mile from camp, we hit a 6-7% grade.

The ascent was spectacular. I took a lot of pictures, but when I looked at them on my camera, they seemed tame and confined.



One really nice thing about being on a bike is that you can stop anywhere for a picture. It's too dangerous in a car, or even a motorcycle, but completely safe on a bike. I've been able to get pictures I wouldn't have been able to get otherwise.

There's a weird phenomenon when bicycling. I understand it's just a matter of perspective, but there are times when it looks like the road in front of you is going up when it's really going down. Or worse, the road in front of you is going down when it's really going up.

Today, we experienced the latter - after a grueling climb (6-7% is pretty steep) I'd see a short downhill section. When I reached it I tried coasting, only to find that if I didn't keep pedaling I'd stop within three feet. Instead of climbing up an EXTREMELY steep grade I was climbing up a VERY steep grade.

When I'm pedaling up a steep section of mountain, something happens... I call it The Rhythm... When it happens, it happens all at once. After climbing a ways, all of the muscles I'm not using completely relax, especially from the waist up. Even my legs relax some as I even out the use to all the muscles. I turn the crank at an even, consistent pace, my breathing becomes regular and actually slower, and after a while I think my heart rate slows down just a little, though I've never checked it. It's not a fast pace, simply one that is sustainable for a surprisingly long time.

I love the names of some of the mountain peaks we passed: Cutthroat Peak, The Needles, Big Devil Peak, and others.

About halfway up the mountain I did something that won't surprise those of you who know me... I rode without a helmet.

Yes, that's me... a risk taker. Sometimes I don't wear ear protection when mowing the yard, I've been known to use a weedeater wearing shorts instead of long pants and steel-toed boots, and occasionally start the car without having first securely fastened my seat belt. It's the thrill of living on the edge.

This is the deal: at some point on the side of the mountain, I realized that I WALK faster than 4 mph. I don't wear a helmet when I'm walking. Well, hardly ever anyway. If I fall, so what? And if a car hits me, well, I'm going to need a lot more than a helmet to protect me. Maybe even more than long pants and steel-toed boots. So, I took it off and strapped it to the back of my bike, safety be damned.

My knee discomfort was tolerable and not getting worse. I nursed it and kept the ibuprofen going.

Along the way, we each ate a Clif Bar, a Power bar, a banana, and a little chocolate.... and dreamed of steak.

About 3/4 of the way up we saw Jeff on the side of the road. He gave us some water and wished us good luck. I love people from Wisconsin. I've met a lot of them in the last two years and I like them all.

On all of my trips, I've taken music to listen to. I learned in the harshest way that I can't listen to it in the morning. When I do my pace quickens, even if I try to go slow. By afternoon, I have nothing left. Nothing.

With about an hour left of climbing, I pulled out what I call the afterburners. I put in my earbuds and within two chords the world around me transformed. The heavens opened up and I heard angels singing, though they sounded suspiciously like Bruce Springsteen and John Mellencamp. My knee pain vanished, my pace quickened, and my heart rate dropped to 55 beats per minute. I stopped sweating. I stopped smelling bad.

I was no Lance Armstrong, but I was nearly superhuman.

Within a few minutes I passed Howard. A few minutes later I looked back and he had fallen far behind.

I reached Washington Pass, 5477 feet, and waited for Howard.

We took pictures by the signs, (including a biker's favorite sign: Downhill 7% grade for 7 miles) then began the long descent to Mazama.





I'm not going to try to describe the feeling of screaming down a mountain on a loaded touring bike. Not now. I have to think about it. But I will say, like the cheeseburger... it was good.

In Mazama there were two places to stay: one of them is more than $300 a night. We stayed at the other one.

On the way in there we passed two people on horses going in the opposite direction, a mother and her daughter. The mom yelled, "Is your butt as sore as mine?" I thought, "Lady, if you only knew."



Howard and I split the cost of the $100 room. After cleaning up we had a pretty good steak, though it was slightly overcooked. We wondered why it is that every cafe in every small town always overcooks steaks.

I did laundry then blogged until 1:00.

According to Howard's GPS, we climbed a total of 4908 feet today. (if you start at zero feet, climb 20, drop 20, climb another 20, then drop back to zero, that would be 40 feet. It calculated climbing, not change in altitude)

Miles 50.68
Avg speed 8.8
max speed 77.2 (it was about 32)
Time 5:45:00
Cumulative 125.83

rainy days and Mondays...

7/23/07

Uh-Oh. When I got out of bed this morning my knees were sore. That's bad... I'm about to do a lot of climbing in the next several days, and knees can end a trip.

Many people think that if you're not pushing really hard on the pedals, then you're not getting any exercise. In reality, your feet should be spinning around fairly fast. If you have it in a higher gear and it's harder to pedal then not only are you not getting the exercise that you could be, you might actually be injuring your knees. At best your knees are going to be sore. Only novices do that.

Now, where was I.... Oh, yes. My knees were sore. I took some ibuprofen, packed up, and left at 10:00.

Let this be a lesson to you: no matter how excited you are on your first day, don't push too hard.

I rode eight miles to Rockport (pop 102) where I ate three Bear Claws and some chocolate milk for breakfast. I would've gotten something healthy but they were out of powdered donuts.

While I was sitting in front of the store eating my Breakfast of Champions, a guy on a loaded bike pulled in... another tourer. He had a very nice, custom-built bike which even had his name painted on it: Schwinn or Huffy or something.

Really, it was a Waterford - just like the crystal, but less breakable and more beautiful, and it did indeed have his name painted on it: Howard Neckel.

Howard is a 60-year-old retired software designer from San Francisco. He has a great laugh and an admitted ''plumbing addiction," as he calls it. Camping is okay. Camping without a shower is not okay.

We rode together toward the next town, Marblemount. I use the word "with" loosely. He's a lot stronger rider than me in spite of the fact that he's riding with front panniers as well as rear panniers.

That's one of the nice things about traveling together on a bike.... It's a loose connection. If one person rides faster he doesn't have to wait - he can ride ahead and the second person can catch up later. I did a lot of catching up when we rode together.

We stopped in Marblemount (pop 251) and each bought an apple and a drink. While we were sitting on the bench in front of the store, a man of about 65 came out sat on a barrel beside us. He was wearing bib overalls and had a white beard. Looking back, I guess he looked a little like Santa Claus, but it didn't strike me at the time. He lit up a pipe, then asked us the usual questions. Then he started talking. I love listening to guys like this. By the time we left he was displaying some bullet wounds on his right leg.

The store owner also came out to visit between customers. He was one of those large men with an even larger gut. He was wearing a blue polo-type shirt which had a few holes in it. His lower lip stuck out a little, but it didn't make him look pouty any more than Forrest Gump's best good friend.

While the four of us were talking, a guy of about 22 drove up in his car. He was wearing a big sloppy grin on his face when he got out of the car and held up his bandaged thumb. "I split the bone in three places and got six stiches!" ''How'd you do that?" the Owner asked. '' Chopping firewood," was the reply. The Owner nodded, then said "Dumbass" under his breath. I really think Larry was rather proud of his self-inflicted wound.

Just before we left I asked the pipe smoker if I could take a picture of him. He looked uncomfortable and said, "I don't usually let people do that." He didn't feel comfortable letting me, and I didn't went to make someone mad who has bullet wounds.

It rained most of the day today. I know I told you in the FAQ that it usually doesn't rain all day - it rains on and off. I do not retract my statement, but would like to amend it... it only rains when my crank is turning.

Because of the rain I decided that I'm going to buy a rainsuit. You say, "But I thought you already had one. I saw it in your list of gear you take." I reply, "Oh, you mean that water-soluble, yellow piece of fabric in the shape of a rain suit? The piece of see-through plastic which not only seemingly manages to absorb every drop of water within a ten-yard radius of the wearer, but also traps and holds body odor inside it causing a greenhouse-like effect which then allows those smells to simmer like three-week old fishheads in a plastic bag?" "Uuuh, yeah. I guess," you say. "I don't think it's very effective."



Don't feel sorry for me - Howard's trip started eight days ago and because of the rain he's been stuck in Anacortes, just up the road. He finally decided to just start riding anyway. At one point, shortly before pulling up to me, he was so miserable that he decided to turn around and call it quits. A friend of his in San Francisco had encouraged him to "cut his losses," and come back home. He rode about a hundred yards back toward his starting point, then changed his mind and decided to continue. He later told me that, as he was riding, it occurred to him that if he quit now, he was locked in to being miserable. If it continued raining he'd be pissed, and if it quit raining he'd STILL be pissed.

I took a lot of pictures today. Rain or no, this is a fantastically beautiful area.

It started raining again after we left Marblemount. In Newhalem we stopped for supper. Since there was no cafe I picked out a meal (a foot-long sandwich) from the General Store and ate it outside. Since we'd be camping tonight, I also bought a sandwich for supper, plus snacks and trail mix for the road.

While we were in Newhalem another biker pulled in and got something to eat.

Brett Ferguson is 49-year-old guy who worked for FedEx for around thirty years. He hated his job... being on call 24/7, having to commute from Seattle to San Francisco every weekend, and being told where and when to move.... so, he just quit. Then he bought a house in British Columbia, Canada, and has been riding and skiing since.

He looked happy.

After a quick bite to eat and a friendly chat he took off toward Anacortes, the direction we had just come from.

Howard left before I did because he wanted to set up camp. Like many bikers, he carries a small stove and is able to cook his own supper. He even occasionally cooks steak. Nice steaks. I'd cook, but I'm way too lazy. It would involve work cooking and work carrying it around.

There are two tunnels between Newhalen and our campsite. At each end there's a small sign that has a picture of a bicycle with the words, "Push button before entering tunnel." There's a larger sign for other vehicles: "Bikes in tunnel when flashing. Speed 30 mph." I'm hoping the speed limit is more than just a recommendation.





I pushed the button and saw the yellow lights start to flash. Then I wondered how long they would flash.... two minutes? five minutes? A mocking thirty seconds? I began pedaling as hard as I could, but I was still going uphill so I couldn't go very fast. As soon as I entered the tunnel everything got really dark. Surprisingly so. There is no shoulder, and the tunnel was narrow.

Of all the sounds in the world, there was one sound I really didn't want to hear while pedaling through the tunnel.... The sound of tires on the pavement. Fortunately, I didn't.

At least until I was halfway through.

My senses were already on High Alert, especially my hearing. When I heard the truck behind me, I hoped it wasn't an eighteen-wheeler. Sounds are REALLY magnified in an enclosed space like that. I would've guessed there was a four-engine jet plane behind me.... It was so LOUD. And getting louder with each second. Good Lord, how fast was he going??? I braced myself for the blast of wind as the semi passed. When he finally did, he smiled and waved. The driver was on a motorcycle, barely larger than a Vespa.

I rode to Colonial Creek Campground, the last campground before beginning the steepest part of the climb to the summit. We decided to stop there because it will give us less to do tomorrow. This campground is right on Diablo Lake.

And the rain continued.

When I arrived, Howard had already set up his tent. We both set up our tents in the rain. Howard was fixing supper and even offered me one of his small bottled (plastic) wines he was carrying. (The guy has everything) We stood around our campsite and chatted after the rain stopped for a while. He brewed some hot tea for me.

The guy in the campsite across the street came over a few times. He had a huge RV that even had a washer and dryer. Howard and I were laughing at ourselves because we arrogantly make fun of people who drive those gas-guzzling road hogs, yet we were both looking over there and sighing longingly. If he had offered us the use of a hot shower, Howard and I would've clubbed each other to death to be the first one in.

Jeff, the RV guy, said he was from Fresno, California, but I asked him where he's REALLY from. With his liberal use of the words "Yah," and "ya know," he sounded like Margie from the movie Fargo. He's from Wisconsin, and I knew it before he answered.

We talked for several hours, finally climbing into our tents late. I ate the sandwich I had bought in Newhalen, then blogged a while, but around 11:00 I got too sleepy to do any more.

Miles 41.73
Max speed - unknown - see below
Average speed 9.8
Time on bike 4:16:15
Cumulative 74.93

Max speed: There's an interesting phenomenon with wireless cyclometers. It's nice not having to deal with the wires since they can accidentally get cut or pulled apart. Sometimes, however, there are errant radio waves (or something) that also trigger it. While I was copying the different numbers onto my PDA I saw that my maximum speed was 77 mph. Then I noticed my current speed was 77 mph, right there in the tent. It was then that I realized that my PDA was probably the culprit.

it begins...

I woke up, showered, and loaded the bike and gear into the truck. By the time we left it was 11:00. My plan was to pick up the Adventure Cycling Association route in Sedro-Woolley. That would get me away from the traffic of the Seattle area. Rob drove me to Sedro-Woolley, but because of a wreck on the freeway it took five hours. The traffic was horrible. He dropped me off by the city limit sign. After a quick picture he took off back home. I'm really appreciative that he was able to do this. He leaves tomorrow morning for several months, and today is his last day to spend with his family. After he left I strapped my gear to the bike and rode to Subway.

You want to know what it's like to do a bike trip? At this point, there's a knot in my stomach. I've been training for months. A lot of preparation has gone into this trip. The first thing you do to get ready for a trip is decide to do it. After you decide, the trip takes on a life of its own and starts picking up momentum. It culminates in this point, right before you ride your first mile, and this thought slaps you in the face: WHAT WAS I THINKING?!?!?!

Because it was so late (4:30), I considered camping in Sedro-Woolley until I looked at the map and saw I could at least put in a few miles before dark.

Once I started rolling, once the trip was actually underway, I remembered how FUN these trips are. My pedaling was fueled by excitement for the rest ot the day.

It was incredibly humid, but not hot. It was so humid, in fact, that my shirt was soaked. It looked like I had walked through the shower. After half an hour or so I thought it might be lightly sprinkling but couldn't be sure. Maybe it was just the humidity dripping off the leaves. After another half hour I saw that it was sprinkling, but very lightly. I was already wet and it wasn't making me any wetter. A little later I noticed that I was actually riding through a lightshower. It was the most insidious rain I've ever experienced.

I got a bug in the right eye, then one in the left eye ten minutes later, so I put on my glasses. They have interchangeable lenses: dark for sunny days, amber for dusk, and clear for rain or night. I put on the clear lenses, but they kept fogging up so I had to look over the top of them, but at least there weren't any more bugs.

The scenery was quite beautiful. Everything was lush and there were low-hanging clouds hugging the mountainside. My route took me alongside the Skagit river and in many places the mist rose and swirled on the river.







When I arrived in Concrete (pop. 790) I tried to decide whether to camp or not. The thing about decisions like this is that when they're made at the end of the day there are so many reasons to get a hotel. I have a long list from which I select a few at random: I'd really like to sleep in a real bed tonight. I rode X number of miles today. I DESERVE to stay in a motel. A hotel will fit in my budget, especially since I didn't spend much on breakfast or lunch. It's raining. I need to be well-rested.

Tonight, I used every one of them, including a new one. I noticed these words in capitals on my map: ''IT IS 109 MILES BETWEEN CONCRETE AND WINTHROP. SERVICES ARE VERY LIMITED. CARRY EXTRA FOOD AND WATER BETWEEN THESE TOWNS." I added a new excuse to my list: I KNOW I'm going to be camping tomorrow, so I should get one tonight.

When I arrived in downtown Concrete I asked two local women where the hotel was. They were sitting outside smoking under an awning. Both were in their forties and had the type of haircut you see on a lot of small town women: long in the back with bangs in the front, but not a mullet. I was told there were two. The first is back the way I came and "is a little spendy." (I thought that term was local to the midwest, but apparently not)

The other motel is the Eagle's Nest, just around the corner and more reasonably priced. I asked about good places to eat in town then rode to the motel.

In spite of ''the list" I don't actually decide to get a motel until I see the price. Sometimes I'll even set a limit before I ask, saying, for example, "if it's less than $40.00 THEN I'll get one." (or 50.00 or 60.00, depending on where I am) The Eagle's Nest cost $45.00 for a double.

After I told the lady at the motel I wanted a room I was courteously informed that they only take cash. I brought $400.00 worth of traveler's checks but had hoped to be able to use my credit card for most of my purchases. The hotel will consume an eighth of all my cash on the first night.

Oh, well. When I got them out of the front pocket of my handlebar bag, only then did I notice how wet they were. The paper envelope they were in simply fell apart, and for a moment I wondered if I might be camping on the side of the road after all. The checks were soaked and stuck together, but I managed to peel the top two off and sign them without ripping them with the point of the pen. I also gave her a ten dollar bill. The manager was almost completely blind and had to ask whether I gave her fifty or a twenty. "Oh, those were both fifties." When I got the change back I thought, "This is better than an ATM." Then I thought, "Damn. I should've said hundreds." (This is the point at which my mother actually pees her pants - of course I'm just kidding, mom)

Normally I like rooms on the second floor. Normally I'm not riding a bike loaded with gear. I could've asked for a different room but it would've been more trouble than just hauling it up. So, one step at a time, I dragged my bike upstairs. Could I have taken everything off the bike and made several trips? Yes, but (1) I would've had to leave my bags alone in the breezeway while I was upstairs, and I've heard there are some unscrupulous characters around, the kind who would steal from a blind lady. (2) When I was standing at the bottom of the steps, soaked, with a warm, dry room at the top... well, I just wanted to get there.

Once in the room I dried off and began unloading my bike and bags. My rear panniers are water resistant, but not waterproof. What that means is that all my gear will remain absolutely dry unless, of course, it rains. Fortunately, nothing in the rear bags got wet because there was a large, human-shaped figure blocking most of the rain. My handlebar bag got fairly wet, but most of the items in it were in ziplock bags (with the exception of the checks).

I put on some dry clothes and placed my wet ones near the heater to dry. I REALLY didn't want to get back out in the rain but knew I'd regret it later if I didn't eat, so I put on my rain jacket and rain pants and rode back to the downtown area. Fortunately, it wasn't raining.

Although it had only been an hour since I was last here, both of the restaurants the two women had recommended were closed. In fact, as I continued to look around, ALL of the places to eat were closed.

Then, through the diminishing light, I saw the one place where I might be able to find some food: The Hub.

Every small town has one - a local bar where everyone drops in to have a drink, play a game of pool, or catch up on the gossip.

I mentioned in a previous posting that I take a pair of cargo pants with me on my trips. What I didn't mention is that they're a little too short. You can see my ankles. Nor do I recall mentioning that I only have white, ankle-length bicycling socks, or that my bicycling shoes are black. This, along with a long sleeve white T-shirt is what I was wearing when I entered the bar. Most of the people were gracious enough not to gawk or laugh. For my part, I was also gracious enough not to gawk or laugh at most of the people there.



The Hub has one long, narrow room with an evaporative cooler which kept the place at a comfortable level and provided some white noise for the background. There were also some oscillating fans on stands. The music from the jukebox was being blasted through some refrigerator- sized speakers hanging from the ceiling. Van Halen's "Jump," and Bon Jovi's "Wanted: Dead or Alive" played, as well as some AC/DC and Tom Petty. There were two pool tables, both of which had games going. The number of people ranged from 15-20 people, and they were all having fun and enjoying themselves. Maybe they weren't laughing at me after all. The kitchen was closed so I order nachos. It was the biggest plate of nachos I've ever seen, and I was only able to eat about a quarter of it.

I finished my supper and pedaled back to the motel, then worked on the blog for a while. I was actually a little sore this evening, not too surprising considering I haven't ridden a bicycle in more than a week.

33.28 miles
Max speed 24.3
Average speed 13.0
Time on bike 2:33:36
Cumulative 33.28 miles

things to do in seattle, but only if you're a sailor...

7/21/07

I woke up to the smell of cigarette smoke and the sound of a 4-year-old girl's voice. In my sleep-deprived brain I wondered if they were coming from the same person, but of course they weren't.

I didn't start my trip today for several reasons. Although the chance of rain was 70%, that wasn't the primary cause for my delayed start. The main reason was that I wanted to visit with Rob, his wife Jenn, and their daughter MacKenzey. I hadn't seen Rob for about 8 years, and that's too long for someone you helped raise.

Even if I had seen him recently I would've considered it time well spent because of the places he took me. First, we went to the Horse and Cow bar for lunch.

The Horse and Cow is a submariner's bar, known by every submariner in the country. It was originally in Vallejo but the base closed so it moved to San Diego. When that base closed it was moved here.

It was at the Horse and Cow that I learned about a ''Flaming Asshole," a mixed drink in which you stick a length of toilet paper in your butt, then someone lights the end on fire. While it's burning you run from the restroom to the bar and drink your shot. Obviously, you have a limited time. Oh, and did I mention you're not wearing any pants? (Do I need to mention it? Is it safe to assume that anyone who would light their ass on fire is drunk enough not to notice the breeze down below which might be caused from a lack of clothing?) Looking at it from a medical perspective is somewhat interesting, too.... "Oh, that burn? Well, Doc, it happened like this...."

I also learned about a "Duck Fart." Apparently, a rubber duck is filled with some type of toxic beverage, and you drink it by holding it over your head and squeezing it into your mouth. When the liquid is gone it makes a distinctive sound, something akin to... well, I guess you can imagine.

I'm just relieved to know our country is in good hands. It sounds like the troops are exercising (running from the restroom to the bar), staying hydrated (drinking plenty), and practicing good personal hygiene (using toilet paper).

It was noon, and we had the place to ourselves. (Lest you think Rob and Jenn are negligent parents because they took their four-year-old to a bar, the Horse and Cow is a simple burger joint by day.) The bar was interesting with all of its signed banners, pictures, and other paraphernalia. One picture was of a submarine being ''depermed." That's when they remove the electromagnetic charge that develops as a boat glides through the water. The electromagnetic charge can enable it to be tracked so it needs to be depermed upon returning from a mission.... interesting, and not something I would have ever considered.

We had a burger and a Coke, then MacKenzey (four years old) beat me in a game of pool.


After we left, they took me to see some fountains near the ferry. They were really cool.... The intermittent jets of water look like salmon jumping upstream.



Rob is a cook (well, much more than simply a ''cook" but we'll leave it at that) on a very Top Secret submarine. For supper he cooked me a gourmet meal of salmon, steak, mashed potatoes, and green beans. Everything was prepared to perfection. He cooked for an admiral for three years while on shore leave in the early nineties and, as I said earlier, his skills are impressive. We stayed up until 2:30 trying to catch up but didn't come close.

Later that evening, in an attempt to get him to tell me more about his sub and its mission, I tortured him... first with corny jokes, then by telling stories of his childhood to his wife.

He didn't talk. Man, that is one tough sailor.

0 miles

flying in...

7/20/07
I worked at the Plainview Clinic, then flew to the airport that night, arriving in Seattle at 11:00 Pacific time (1:00 Central). I was really surprised when Rob picked me up at the airport because he was originally scheduled to be out to sea in the submarine. It was just luck that he happened to be here. We stayed up until 2:30 talking (4:30 CST). I hadn't seen him in 8-9 years and it was a good visit.

getting ready....

In the pictures below you can see almost everything I'm taking.







In the FAQ posting (below) you can see a list of everything I’m taking. Every time I take a trip I collect everything I need and spread it out over the floor. Then, when I look at it I think, “There’s no way in hell all of that’s going to fit in those two little bags.” (you can see a picture of the two little bags in the center left) Even before I start putting things into them I try to figure out what all I’m going to have to leave behind…. Do I REALLY need that much toothpaste? I could squeeze some out. I wonder if soap would work as well?

Then I start filling up the panniers, placing the heaviest items at the bottom to keep my center of gravity lower. I also try to keep the bags fairly equal in weight. After about 10 minutes of stuffing things into the bags, I look around and see that I don’t really have anything left to put in, and I have a little bit of space left over. I’m always surprised. Every time.

I actually have a set of front pannier bags, and have used them once. The reason I don’t use them anymore is because I found that if I have them on the bike, I’m going to fill them up. I start putting extra clothes and tools "just in case I need them." (I never did) Then, it’s just that much extra weight to drag around. It's easy to toss those things into the extra space, but when I'm grinding up the side of a mountain I have second thoughts about whether I REALLY needed to bring my bowling ball collection. At that point, it's tempting to just start leaving things on the side of the road and, in fact, I've passed some articles that people have jettisoned.

Taking a bunch of extra gear/equipment is sort of opposite of what I did on my first trip. My first set of panniers were tiny, about 2/3 the size of my present ones. I somehow fit everything into those, too. On that trip, I made it sort of a game to see how light I could travel. I did things such as leave the handle of the razor and just take the razor blade. I know I looked pretty silly trying to shave all summer just using the disposable razor cartridges. I used soap for shaving cream, shampoo, and conditioner. Out of curiosity, I weighed all of my gear on this trip... clothing, tools, tent, sleeping bag... all together everything weighs 35.0 pounds.

Usually, I take my bike with me on the plane. After arriving at the airport, I simply reassemble my bike and start pedaling right out the door of the airport. For this trip, I considered letting a bike store box it up and ship it for me (I’m pretty lazy), but I would’ve had to get it to them 10 days before I start my trip. That means no riding for the 10 days prior to starting; I thought that was probably too long to go without riding.

So, two days before I flew out I got the largest bike box I could find from beside the dumpster at the local bike shop, then started disassembling my bike. The handlebars come off, but stay attached to the frame via the brake and shifter cables. The front wheel comes off, then the fork gets turned around so the bike is shorter. The pedals come off, as does the seat. I place a hard piece of plastic between the front forks so that when the baggage handlers jump up and down on the side of the box, the forks don’t get bent. After that, I cover as many of the surfaces as I can to protect the paint. Lastly, I place other items into the box. I tuck my sleeping bag around the extra spaces. My tent poles, my helmet, my sleeping pad… whatever I can get into it. Otherwise, I have to either stuff them into my panniers to be checked or carry them with me on the plane to avoid paying extra, since you can only have two checked pieces of luggage.





For this trip, I flew Northwest. It costs $80.00 to take a bike with you, as long as it’s less than 70 pounds.

in the bag(s)

Q: What all do you take? A: Here's a list of everything I took on this trip: BICYCLE rear rack rear panniers rain covers for bags handlebar bag cyclometer (tells distance, mph, average speed, fastest speed, cumulative miles, time elapsed, and time) water bottle cages (3) water bottles (3) tire pump - about 8 inches long straps with buckles (to strap the sleeping bag to my rack) lock - this is a first for me... I've always used my eyes for a lock CAMPING tent/rain fly/poles stakes sleeping bag sleeping bag liner (sometimes I sleep on top of the bag and use the liner for a blanket) compression bag (makes the sleeping bag smaller/more portable) sleeping pad - inflatable flashlight pillow - inflatable MISCELLANEOUS adhesive tape playing cards - I don't really have a reason to take this. I can play solitaire, among other games, on my PDA. I think the only reason I take it on all of my trips is the fact that it's the only item which has been with me on every single one of my trips. It's a tiny deck, not much bigger than 3 inches by 2 inches. stamps emergency information card maps money/traveler's checks notebook pens swiss army knife wallet ziploc bags hand cleaner garbage bags (for dirty laundry - clothes are toxic after riding all day!) earplugs sewing kit CLOTHING cycling gloves cycling shoes flip-flops - for the evening and in the shower hat - used for covering up "helmet hair," though now my hair is so short I don't really need it helmet (cheaper than neurosurgery) bandana (2) - useful for everything! t-shirts (4) cycling shorts (4) socks (4 pair) long sleeve shirt head cover - for cold days, it fits under a helmet headband - actually an earband, it keeps ears warm on cold days underwear (3) cargo pants - the legs zip off so they can be used as long pants or short pants rain jacket/pants windbreaker sweatshirt sunglasses watch TOOLS/SPARE PARTS pliers tire tools allen wrenches chain tool spoke wrench screwdrivers, both slothead and phillips pedal wrenches lubricant spare tire spare tube freehub remover pocket vise spare chain links 3 spare cables: 1)rear brake 2)rear derailleur 3)transverse cable spare spokes patch kit HYGIENE/FIRST AID bandaids antibacterial cream ibuprofen acetaminophen dental floss toothbrush toothpaste detergent insect repellent sunscreen - SPF50 chapstick soap shampoo toilet paper camp towel razor blades shaving cream mirror ELECTRONICS pocket PC extra battery pocket PC recharger cellphone cellphone recharger camera camera charger iPod Shuffle Shuffle charger ear buds extra SD card for the camera and PC SD card reader - so I can transfer pictures to the blog while I'm on the road Taking all of the electronic stuff is sort of new for me, and I almost feel like I'm "cheating" somehow. Maybe it's because I'm not really "getting away from it all" if I have a cellphone.