Each Mile – Episode 3 – A Leap of Truck Faith

A Very Unhappy Klalita in Port Angeles

 

Hell on Earth. I am a man of little faith, admittedly so. But man am I happy that hell exists for me to use it as for the descriptive purpose of summing up the worst day I have ever been on a bike. No sugar coating it, no looking on the bright side, so thinking of the starving kids in some less fortunate setting, no. All I could think about was how am I going to make it out of this endless climb and rain and speed demon logger trucks.

There is very little footage of that day. In fact, after I left Port Angeles with an unexpected amount of miles to cover, the next time I turned on the camera was late in the evening, standing half nude, eyes ablaze, red, body swollen, staring at a reflection of myself in a mirror, as if I was a cat or bird who had no concept of self.

It was all in the poor planning, which something I will note in my tips section of this site. Long story short, I ended up on a weaving loggers road, where big ass trucks whizzed by, drivers on triple overtime shifts, beeping at this pea sized biker (me) and almost several times knocking me off the side of the cliff lipped coastal switchbacks. In the back of my mind the voiceover for the monster truck infomercials kept playing as each barreling, multi wheel bullet shot by. I mapped 100 km, which turned into 140km. Rain made the roads slicks, and me a lot slower. My legs pleaded with me to throw in the towel, but my freeze corpse whinnied  my chariot onwards. For some reason, I don’t recollect eating a thing. I remembering using a nameless pub as a rest stop, so I could stand in front of air dryer for a few moments to thaw.

All bike signs lead to the papermill, Port Angeles

A paper mill, a hill, more houses, road, another town, another hill, 45 more trucks. Then, the mile markers ended. The mile markers, small stubby white sticks at the side of the road, with black numbers etched into them that count the miles til the end of the road and in this case to the place I was trying to get to, Neah Bay. I looked, I searched, but no more were to be found. Where was Neah Bay? Maybe a mirage on a map, an ancient city that the forest has reclaimed. Curse you Google Earth. I turned 180 to stare at my load. My blue tarp, drenched and shining, would provide me with ample cover. I stopped at a well, thicketed turnpike. There was barely enough room, but I think I could do it. My eyes welled with tears and the salt from the sea burnt my face, into my brain. This would be a terrible sleep or more specifically a bit of shelter until the rain and trucks let off. If they ever let off. A sudden veto, pushed me a few more miles and thankfully a town emerged, twinkling lights of a waning day welcomed me in.

Neah Bay, The Most Northwest Tip of the US of A

I had no address, but found a pay phone at the one, the only, the Tye Motel. Hiding under the lip of the small bent out of recognition, rain gutter, I shoved my scummy last quarter into the well used rotary time relic and slowly dialled the numbers. Couchsurfer Vicki answered. She asked where I was. Tye Motel. Well let me lead your vehicle to my place. I don’t have a vehicle. How did you get here? bicycle. Hang up. She gave up her bed so that I would have a warm sleep. She fed me elk soup. She said I was to never bike on that road again. Not even her grandfather, who would walk everywhere would set foot on that road. Sleep.

The next day, bright and early ,I was up. Vicki said….no, ordered that I was to stay the day in town and learn about the Makah Tribe, of which she was part of and who were the people of this land. With a past that extends back to the dawn of time, She told me many stories about the goats of Wada Island,  the lighthouse operator and many other tales of peril and survival of living on the most Northwest tip of America. Before I left, I meekly asked her son to help me figure out my tent. He didn’t need to figure it out, he knew. With a smirk on his face, he showed me the paint by numbers version of how to set it up. Then I was off.

Many Ships - Neah Bay

I explored the art of the people at someone’s private home gallery. A sign read please ring the bell. I did and I was let into a single room, full of brightly colored oil paintings of fishing and hunting, hats of earth tones made of bark from local trees. The Makah museum informed of a town near by Ozete, that had had a mudslide and had resurfaced and had excavated in the 70s. 100 of relics painted a beautiful picture of a very distinct and proud nation of hunters and whalers. I sat inside of a reconstructed log house and stared out the window at a fake ocean scene. If someone was teleported here from the past of anytime that had lived in this area, the only thing that stays somewhat constant in character is the sea. Interesting how much cosmetic work we have put into our cities and landmasses. To what avail? To make it our own? Nature seems more individualistic than anything else could be, from humans to drops of water. Too many surgeries, our planet looks fake, over prothesised and all the same.

I purchased a bumper sticker to put on the Klalita. She looked so pretty with it on, I blushed for her. Evening was slowly making it’s lumbering way in. I returned to Vicki’s home to say my goodbyes to her and her family. She was my mother for a mere two days, but her impact and kindness and big heart will be something I will never forget. One of those wonderful people that description does no justice describing. She alone is worth a trip, by car or bus, the mythical shores of that enchanting other realm.

Forks at Night. Go Spartans Go!

Onto the bus…vrooooom! I was in Forks. It was the dead of a cold night when I arrived. I emphasize dead and will continue to make vampire references throughout this paragraph, much to most people who read this’s chagrin. I bet not a person with braces reads my posts. Anyways, why vampires? Well if you love the Lights (the solo artist) and have just acquired a low voice (still with occasional pitch problems) and/or have a Chris Brown moustache, then you know that Forks is where the Twilight Series takes place. Art here, does not imitate life, but the other way around. That movie MADE Forks. Vampire pizzas. Vampire road signs. Even a guy selling wet kindle, saying it will “ward off the dark forces”. Wow. The kindling was tempting to buy, but I restrained myself, as I needed to find a place to sleep.

Fork's Past - Lumberjacks for days

Picking up some vampire pizza, which tasted as bland as Robert Patteson’s character, I got a lead that the Forks visitor centre is left open at night and was heated. So to the visitor centre I went and made my bed on a bench, across from a snoring burly road worker, who smelled  of a couple rounds to many to get back to his wife. The next day it was up with the sun again and off down the road to Amanda Park.

Ever changing plant life on the road

Stopped in Klalaloch for food. Curiosity of the odd had be follow a sign a few kilometers off course. The sign said “Big Tree” and I was curious as to what makes this tree worthy of a sign. Unfortunately the only way I could tell THE tree from all the other trees in the Hoh Rainforest was a placard below with a very distinct arrow pointing to it. The arrow almost seemed to expect that you were looking for Waldo in a forest full of waldos. So, saw the uninspiring tree. Thought positively about deforestation for a second and then I was on my way. Amanda Park was a trust exercise. A leap of truck faith and thank goodness trucks aren’t that sketchy looking thief at the beginning of the Aladdin movie or this story would have never been told (probably would have cut off my ear, cuz they didn’t like my face…it’s barbaric, but hey, it’s home). Check it out:

Even when everything seems miserable, you are reinvigorated by this.

 

What to Pack – A Very Biased List of What You Should Take with You and the Reasons Why Part 1 – GPS

My trusty flashlight kept the lions, tigers and bears away on my first night camping

Everyone will have their preference on what they should bring with them on a long haul bike adventure. As they should. For instance, some people like those quick dry towels, like the one I originally had by Mcnett (http://www.mcnett.com/). I ended up throwing it away. For me, it was too thin and felt like I was drying myself of with a wet dog. Not my cup of tea, but for others, it suits their needs.

So as I mentioned, this is my biased list. If you have beef with my list, drop me a line and we can duke it out American Gladiator style. No, but seriously, send me an alternative and I’d be curious to try it out on my next voyage.

The second thing to note is that all the items on this list were tried and tested items that were needed from day one to day final. I’ll mention as we go along items I brought and I threw away as well, just for comic relief, but I’m just letting you know I didn’t really research each item before I went on the trip. I used common sense about human necessities, went into the local outdoors and sports shop and filled the void. I think that’s a good starting point. It’s also nice to go into the store and listen to experienced outdoors men. They might bring your attention to things you didn’t even think of.

Okay. Enough banter. Let’s get into this.

1. GPS – The Good, the Bad, the Ugly Miles

The GPS I used, the Garmin Etrex (www.garmin.com)

One thing I didn’t think of that I did purchase was a Garmin GPS system that would attach to the handlebars of my bike (http://www.garmin.com/us/). A man with a gratuitously large beard and a viking presence to him convinced me to get it. It had all the bells and whistles, maps galore, time keeper, long lasting life on double As and most importantly it was in COLOUR! As I started the trip, I was enthralled by this little device. It was my friend, my guardian angel,  my confident, my certainty that a town was around the corner and a good restaurant was near by. What I city slicker I was. The problem I started to find with it was that I would look at it constantly. I’d stare at the graphics of passing trees and golf courses, as opposed to the real beauty of the landscapes surrounding me. Nothing was unexpected, nothing just arose around the corner that I didn’t  know wasn’t there.

Now, that wasn’t to say that I DIDN’T look up and that I didn’t take in where I was. I ended up turning it off and using it only when I was desperate for food or shelter or was completely and utterly lost.  On the coast tour, it was hard to get lost. Almost impossible. If my bike was underwater, I was too far West. The issue was, in California was the road rules for bikes, not which direction I should be heading. I ended up ditching the use of the GPS all together. Due to my reliance on it I had started to have nightmares of miles, digitally counting down. That’s where I had to draw the line.

A section of Route Planning. Most important thing is you understand it.

Through touring, I discovered my love maps and route planning. I colour code my maps and note places of interests along the way as well (touristy things, different foods of the area, odd museums filled with stuff gophers in Cabbage Patch costumes). I am a big fan of the Michelin Map books, where you can tear out the pages as you go along. I’ll get into the details on those later. I love setting out down the road with a route in place that I have to check at each turning point, each gas station, each little town. And if, on a whim, I want to go somewhere else, I do, with full knowledge as to where I am going and what I am in for. If I’m lost, I can always ask someone as well.

The Heat. Never Bring a Backpack on a Bike Trip.

GPS is great in situations where there are few cities to use as checkpoints on a map to assess you are going the right way and/or where there are few people to ask directions. Asides from those instances, I feel that GPS take away from the thrill of adventure, the victory over struggle, the innocence of it all. As long as you do your prep route work then the GPS acts primarily as unnecessary safety net and even sometimes a deterrence to take the road less travelled. Plus it beeps a lot. Or worse, has a computerized voice that tries to pronounce street names. Thank god the english language has so many ridiculous rules that you get a to laugh at how horribly your GPS butchers them, as it desperately tries to sputter through multi-syllables, the silent g’s and h’s.

Wow. A lot to say about GPS and the reasons behind this list. Not much of a list with one item. But rumor has it that writing epically long blogs is synonymous with stereotypical grandparents showing their relatives slideshows of their “thrilling” vacation to Delaware. So next time, AN ACTUAL LIST!

Journal of a Road Warrior – Originally Posted March 16th, 2010

Well… Sometimes I cannot find internet, but none the less…I shall blog, you better believe.

Library House - Day 2 - Bellingham

I type this sitting on the deck of what one referred to it as a co-op home. The occupancy numeration is undetermined, the walls are littered with posters about the inner soul and BoyzIIMen (apparently the B2M is a “family heirloom) and the wonderful souls that I have met who live here are into ‘circus, yoga and healing. PLUS there is an alternative library that occupies the 2nd floor. Crazy wonderful ay? They weren’t even the people I was suppose to couch surf with…it just kind of happened after a successful movie showing at the Old Foundry thanks to Naomi and Seeds of Change. Donovan and his partner Hillary were on hand to make a batch of humus with delicious fallafel and Jack, an old crooner from Georgia filled in with song as well as the bearded and very Emile Hirsch-esque Eric, who also has a pension for whipping out a physical trick or two. Not making much sense ay? One of those you had to be there moments to really appreciate it. It was a wonderful day in Bellingham…the ride here was super tough, but I am hoping the rest goes well.

Trees, Water and Chucknut

Off the Anacortes and beyond!

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