Yellowstone 2006

When you sign up for an organized tour, there’s always anxiety at the first meeting. How many riders will there be? Will it be full of racers? How will the tour leaders do things? So with trepidation we approached the Bozeman High School to sign in and find our way.

We soon had our tent set up and made our way to dinner and to meet the group. The food was some of the best we ever had by an outdoor catering company (contracted by the tour company for the night). The group of 50 seemed to be in the range of “normal” and the tour leaders seemed to have their act together. A positive start to our ten-day tour of the Yellowstone-Teton area.

Bozeman to Ennis
As usual, the majority of riders are up early, getting to the breakfast place, eager to get out on the road. The pace is always faster on the first half of the first day than it is on any other morning. We were quickly away from the urban edges of Bozeman and out into the rolling land and big sky of Montana. The sun was shining, warming the cool morning – a beautiful day to be riding except for the headwinds slowing my descents more than I would have liked. At almost 40 miles we began a three-mile hill. Not knowing what the days to come would bring, I put my bike in a low gear and settled into a comfortable pace. There’s usually a reward at the top of fine views and a nice downhill, but this one also hosted our mid-ride “picnic.” When the tour figures it’s time to refuel, which usually has nothing to do with the time of day. The “picnic” was the best “on the road” food ever, a good variety of proteins, carbs, salts and sweets. This did not waiver as the week went on, there was always a “special of the day” and some other items to follow the theme and then the usual sandwich fixins’ and other mainstays. The great view completed the package. For desert a marvelous downhill and flat roads for the rest of the way into the Ennis High School, our camp for the night. There was time for us to walk into town for a snack and then hang around camp until dinner is served. A number of us went into town again after dinner picking out the tavern that we thought would have the least smoke for a beer.

52 miles

Ennis to West Yellowstone
Leaving the High School we gradually gained 2,500 feet over the next 50 miles. We crossed or were next to the Madison River with its many big white swans most of the day, so there was always some beautiful scenery to look at. We also started to see more fly fishermen, art of me thought “what a bore,” but part of me could see the allure of it; the peacefulness, the rhythmic flow of the cast and lots of time to think and relax. At 44 miles we arrived at the visitor center that educated us on the huge earthquake that happened many years ago. The exhibit included first-hand accounts, re-enactments, plenty of scientific explanations and a big window to see where it all happened. A few miles later we were at the highest point for the day and continued at that elevation to West Yellowstone. We bypassed the tourist trap and continued on to our camp eight more miles down the road. I was hot and sticky at this point which the big biting ugly deer flies loved. We tried to set up the tent, avoiding the dog (or ??) poop piles and slapping at the feisty flies – I went completely cranky crazy. I was never so happy to get a tent set up, have a shower and get cleaned up.

80 miles

West Yellowstone to Grant Village
Into Yellowstone we go! We’re up early and pedaling the same eight miles back into town for breakfast. After stuffing in as much as possible, we rode into the park. Early on we came to an eagle nest with a nesting pair of eagles almost old enough to fly. A ranger was there (before the no stopping protection zone) with a scope, so we could stop and see the babies, whereas the cars bypassed the site. More miles down the road we stopped to observe a group of elk in a river, again most cars passes by. Then we turned onto Firehole Canyon Drive, there were not many places for cars to stop, but on bikes we rode on the edge of the road and could easily look over the edge and into the river canyon at the rushing water. When we wanted to stop for a longer look at the beautiful waterfalls, we could stop wherever we wished on the narrow shoulder because we didn’t block traffic. On the way to our lunch stop we also spent time at the many geysers and paint pots. Some rain fell on us the last miles before Old Faithful, but ended by the time we actually got there. We poked around in the various buildings and looked at the displays until it was time for Old Faithful to do her show. The display over, it was back on the bikes, but not before getting pictures of the bison crossing in front of us. The climbing started and we crossed the continental divide two times. Once at 8,262 feet and another at 8,391 with 600 foot drop in between. The grade was very doable, I kept waiting for the “hard part” that never came. A downhill run into Grant Village was about as much fun as you could have. It took us all day to ride the 67 miles with all the stopping (the slowest with good weather ever), but the sites worth every minute.

67 miles

Grant Village
During the night we could hear several coyotes barking far away, they seemed to be talking to each other relaying important information. A day off the bikes, we hoped to take a bus tour to get to the other parts of the park we couldn’t get to on bike in one day, but they were all booked up and we ended up going to some ranger talks and relaxing around the lake and at camp. Before coming to Yellowstone I was a little worried about riding a bike in Yellowstone having heard it would be dangerous, but I found this not to be true and felt quite comfortable.

Grant Village to Jackson
We were not allowed to ride the rest of the way out of Yellowstone. Something about us being a group. If you were an individual cycle-tourist, you’re not stopped, but I guess a group of 50 is considered a hazard. From the vans, we could see that the road was not as nice as what we had been on, but I wouldn’t have had any worries if I had been on my own. Out of Yellowstone with our bikes returned to us we began cycling in Grand Teton National Park. Bob and I went “off route” on to a secondary road west of the main highway. It was a beautiful ride, the Teton Range spectacular! We saw bear at one point and stopped at the Jenny Lake Lodge and Jenny Lake. After lunch we joined our prescribed route at Moose Junction. A few miles later, 3 miles from the Park boundary, we were stopped by the Park patrol. We were not allowed to ride any farther. They said our tour company had not paid the proper fees and so we were not allowed to continue. The officer suggested we backtrack a couple of miles to a village where we could wait in more comfort until our vans could pick us up. Apparently some of our group was stopped immediately upon entering the park and others were stopped in-between. We were not happy about being stopped and delayed for whatever reason, and we never did get a good explanation from our tour leader.

53 miles

Jackson
For our day off in Jackson, Wyoming we decided to go river rafting. We were picked up by the rafting company at the campground entrance and slowly made our way to the office and through the routine of getting signed in. Then it was on the bus for the ride to the “put in” point. Our guide for our raft of eight tried to entertain us with his bad jokes and got the raft into the rapids where we would have the most fun. The season was waning some so the white water wasn’t too wild which was fine with me. The gal behind me did manage to get tossed into the river through one of the rapids. It was sunny and we had a great time. Back in town we had a beer and snack at the saloon with horse saddles for bar stools (and they think bike seats are uncomfortable). While we were inside the skies opened up and hail plummeted to the earth. I’m so glad we took the morning raft trip, others in our group where on the river during the storm. Spent the rest of the day sightseeing and had dinner at a really nice restaurant with good food, but a very inattentive waitperson.

Jackson to Ashton
We rode about 3 miles to breakfast at a coffee/bagel place. Immediately after leaving we started the 5.5 mile climb to the top of Teton Pass. We could go on the main road or take the old highway that would have some rough pavement sections and places where the woods would be taking back the road, but most riders chose the old highway for the lack of traffic. Who needs drivers in cars watching you struggle, I would rather suffer alone or at least with other riders who are going through the same thing. This was the hardest climb I had ever done, supposedly 7% to start and 10% at the top. I concentrated on the flowers to keep my mind off my legs and back and kept waiting for the little flat spots to come like on every other climb where your body can catch up a little, but this only had less steep spots. Finally at the 8,440 foot summit, everyone was taking pictures and marveling at where we had just come from. The downhill wasn’t as fun as it could have been, because of the steepness and the way the wind would blow us around, I had to take it easy and stay in control. Down on the flat land we were directed onto a sweet bike path, former railroad grade that paralleled the road, perfect for pumping your pedals and moving fast, the tailwind didn’t hurt either. After lunch we still had almost 40 miles to go through a very hilly section and the former lovely tailwind was against us most of the time. I finally got to the school where we would spend the night on their wonderful grass lawn. I staked out a spot for our tent and got back on my bike and went into town where I figured Bob had gone to find food. He was coming back down the street having scoped out the whole town and we headed for this old fashioned car hop type place. There was a picnic table and we settled in to eat a couple of burgers and fries, a great place to hang out for awhile before heading back to camp. After dinner most of the riders walked into town and took over one of the bars with a big screen and watched the days results of The Tour. Our small town bar came with the crusty bar tender, moose head, bored patrons and one really angry and noisy wife hunting for her wayward husband (he calmly finished his beer before heading home).

65 miles

Ashton to West Yellowstone
More pedaling to do through some pretty a varied terrain. A good climb had us moving back up into the trees. I was going to meet Bob at one of the waterfall overlooks and we were going to ride together for awhile, but I think I stopped at the wrong one and not seeing him, moved on. Peddling along through the high trees and meadows, I was having a good time moving down the road, when finally Bob comes up behind me. I figured he was way ahead at the lunch stop by now, but there he was, so off we rode. Lunch was great at usual, even though we were getting to the end of the trip and thought they would be getting rid of stuff by now, it didn’t seem that way. Fortified with lunch we again rode together for awhile until he split off to do an optional route. I continued on to a nature conservancy viewing area, but I think it was the wrong time of day to see animals. There was another 7,072 foot continental divide coming up so I was mentally trying to get ready for that, waiting for the hard part to come, but again it never did, the grade again being shallow. Some tourists agreed to take my picture, but nobody stayed long at the summit as the ugly deer flies were there biting. I got back on my bike to out run them on the down hill, but it took some doing, those suckers are fast. I got back to the same campground with the flies and poop we had be visited at the beginning of the trip, but we had already reserved a hotel room after the previous bad experience.

56 miles

West Yellowstone to Bozeman
Last day of our trip and we were hoping to make good time so we could get a good start heading home. Again we rode the 8 miles into town to stuff in one more biker breakfast and headed on down the road. We had just a little bit of climbing to do and then it was a downhill run along the Gatlin River. The wonderful scenery took my mind off the increasing heat. There were plenty of sections of the rivers used for rafting and we saw many groups making use of it, they looked very cool on the water while we were soaking bandanas in cold water trying to stay cool. As we got close to Bozeman, farming became more prevalent and we started to share the road with farm equipment, passing some of it at one point. The hills also got more numerous and sapped more strength out of our legs. Finally in the distance we could see the edges of Bozeman, like horses smelling the barn we found our second wind and cruised on in, even adding a few extra miles to make it a complete century ride.

100 miles

RAGBRAI 2005

Iowa is not flat. We did not need fancy altimeters to prove this fact. Our legs gave us all the feedback we needed when we rode across Iowa at the end of July. We entered the lottery for the 33rd RAGBRAI (The Register’s Great Bike Ride Across Iowa) in March and began our training for Iowa as a prelude to the “Ride the East” tour we would be doing at the end of summer.

We formed our group “Team Bacon” with three friends from California (LaVaun, Doug and Sig), along with my childhood friend Karen (now living in Iowa) and Bob and I. LaVaun, who wasn’t crazy enough to ride a bike, drove our support van, providing us with extra options for getting to restaurants out of typical bike range and to a hotel one night away from the masses. “Mothership” as we called her, was a lifesaver in many ways.

We left our car at the finish town and rode a charter bus west across Iowa to the LeMars, the starting town. In 100 degree heat, 10,000 riders and support crews camped out, filling a football field and beyond the first night. Our group coming from multiple locations finally found each other and launched ourselves into festival. Mothership got us temporarily away from the masses for dinner, but we had to go to the Blue Bunny along with everyone else for ice cream. We finally turned in for the night, trying to sleep in the hot humid climate. I had just dropped off when the RAGBRAI fireworks started – who thought this was a good idea?

LeMars to Shelton
Sunday we started our 500 mile serpentine route east into the oppressive heat and humidity. But wait! Karen, Doug and Sig had locked their bikes together and had lost the key! So there we were itching to get going and instead we’re waiting for a locksmith. Once we got going, it was an incredible day of riding – the rolling party of riders was a sight to behold. I was amazed by the mass of colorful and sometimes costumed riders. Bob and I stopped often at food stands, I’m thinking we’re going to eat across Iowa, no weight loss on this bike trip! We learned the temperature was to cool down significantly the next day and I was thinking “yea! Seattle cool, gray cycling!” I wasn’t thinking that this dramatic drop in temperature can only happen in the Midwest with an atmospheric clash of hurricane proportions.

We awoke to at 2 a.m. to the horrific sound of our tent being whipped about and morphed into shapes that a flimsy nylon structure was never designed to contort into. We jumped outside to reinforce the tent staking and dove back inside to keep our tent from becoming airborne in the 80 mph winds. The driving rain came through the tent walls, the lightning flashed with the brightness of 1,000 suns, and the thunder crashes could only be matched by a bombing raid. My mind jumped from being totally terrified, to this is so cool! This tent is going through this apocalyptic event and we’re ok! After the lesser second storm of the night blew through and we could finally get back to sleep, trying to avoid the puddle that had formed on my side of the tent. In the morning we found out that many tents had broken, one rider died when a large tree branch fell on him while in his tent, but the Ride went on.

Sheldon to Esterville
Doug decided not to ride the next day after staying up half the night, so he and Mothership gathered up a bunch of our wet items and found a laundry mat. They opened the dryer door and were about to throw in the first load when they discovered a dead rat in the dryer! We considered changing our team name to “washed rat” for our next outing. It was still cool and gray when the rest of us had arrived in Esterville, we found out that LaVaun had booked us into a motel, thinking we all needed a calm, dry night.

Esterville to Algona
The ride continued to astound me, we were never out of the sight of hundreds of riders. They took up the whole road, even slow riders occupied on the center line requiring faster riders to pass them in the oncoming traffic lane. Fortunately for us, Iowans know the RAGBRAI route when its in their area (it changes every year) and found other roads to travel on. There were also police officers at every intersection directing traffic. It’s all a part of getting this rolling party down the road.

Algona to Northwood
While attempting to leave Algona after eating at a nondescript fast food joint for breakfast and we planned to cycle straight down the highway until we joined the route to keep from backtracking and avoid the crowds of cyclists for a few more miles. I was leading our group and bypassed the uniformed patrol officer directing us to take the turn into town and onto the official route. I chose to ignore our donut dunking demi-god and proceeded to run his carefully controlled intersection. Karen dutifully followed me into our life of crime while lemming like, our male cohorts dutifully followed the appointed route.

Apparently our favorite officer had a fight with the wife that morning and wasn’t about to let a couple of girly cyclists contradict his commands. Sig heard him say “Guess I’m going to git me some cyclists” and off he went in hot pursuit after us, lights a flashin’. He got to the next intersection ahead of Karen and I and was obviously steaming at our total disregard of his power. I made one more attempt to pursue my version of the day’s route, but was met with the piercing glare of the Iowa state patrol and we dutifully turned at the appointed spot and into the mass of riders, wondering if we would ever find the rest of Team Bacon. We did find the rest of our group fairly quickly and had a good laugh. Karen and I were now know as Bait and Little Bait. For dinner that night we drove many miles away from RAGBRAI and when we came back at dusk there were still riders coming in. They weren’t slow, just drinking and having a good time at the traditional penultimate town party.

Northwood to Cresco
RAGBRAI was still entertaining me as much as the towns entertained the riders. Each town we went through had multiple food booths. Bob and I had three rib-eye sandwiches at one place. Usually Bob would get something and I would have a bite or two and he would move on to something different and I would have a bite, that way I could sample a lot of different things. But the rib-eye was so good we kept going back for one more until we had eaten three. Along with the entertainment the towns offered (Frozen t-shirt contest, jump in the pool and see how many oranges you can stick in your bike shorts, duck poop bingo – don’t ask) it was so congested, we usually had to dismount and walk. This day we were in an Amish area. While the men folk were in the fields working without mechanical means and the women were in town selling their home-baked pies to us. Everyone benefited.

Cresco to West Union
It’s amazing how RAGBRAI has become what is has. Starting 33 years ago by a couple of guys from the Des Moines Register wondering if anyone wanted to bike across the state to this 10,000 registered rider rolling party (even more than that participating on their own). The terrain is beautiful in its own way, rolling hills and a river at both ends. The rows of corn and soybeans appeal to my sense of pattern and design, but it really doesn’t change much from day to day. It’s definitely the man-made scenery that keeps people coming and coming back for more. The themes each town comes up with, their local entertainment, the multiple food booths in the towns, along with the mobile vendors on the route (Mr. Porkchop, Farm Boys Breakfast, Tender Tom’s Turkey, and many more) and the energy of the riders – everyone wants to have a good time.

West Union to Guttenburg
Last day of riding so we got going quickly. 53 miles was the shortest day, but finishing the ride was only part of our day’s activity. We needed to start driving back to Seattle upon completion and hoped to get into South Dakota by day’s end. My legs were little tired after cycling all week plus the rolling hills of Iowa get steeper as you get closer to the river, but finally from a high ridge, we caught site of the Mississippi River, We flew downhill into Guttenburg spraying each other with our water bottles as we rode through town, sand the end of RAGBRAI.s

Oregon Bike Ride – Crater Lake 2004

Roseburg to Gendale
The group of 250 was up early with poles clicky clacking as tents were broken down and shoved into stuff sacks. First day eagerness had riders out on the road quickly, finding their place in the bell curve of abilities. Lacking much training I was hoping to stay with Bob for at least the first day. The ride was kind of blur as I tried to stay on or at least in sight of his wheel. There was a 700 foot climb at miles 8 that took a bit out of me, but somehow stayed with Bob. After a 600 foot drop it was gradual up rollers into camp. The high school where we camped had a pirate theme going. Three times was a charm when they finally were able to pass a bond issue to refurbish the outside of the school. After a passerby commented during the process that it looked like a prison the contractor put his creative mind to work and came up with a ship for the roof, a treasure chest of educational gold; books on math, science and literature; a big compass in the patio area and a “wooden” cement plank walkway.

80 miles – 2,600 feet climbing

Glendale to Cave Junction
Day two had us doing a 350 foot climb at mile 3, then it was generally downhill for the next 30 miles, but it involved up and down curly spaghetti like roads with thick trees on both sides – it was a blast to ride. Later we also had many views of the Rogue River, beautiful always and wild at times makes it a popular river for white water rafting and very pretty from the seat of a bicycle. We can’t have a flat ride, so the route had to head back uphill over the next 26 miles and then a final 350 foot pop. The climb wouldn’t have been so bad, but it was getting increasingly hot. I was able to refill one of my water bottles at the top, but it tasted horrible. Thankfully I still had one bottle of good water to drink and I could periodically pour the bad water on my head to keep cool. I finally arrived at camp (Bob already had the tent up) and we immediately rode the mile back into town and sat in an air conditioned mexican restaurant and drank margaritas – it was 100 degrees.

75 miles – 3,200 feet climbing

Cave Junction to Oregon Cave
Although it was hot during the day, as soon as the sun went down it cooled down immensely and a good night’s sleep was possible. The third day was an optional riding day. You could get on your bicycle and pedal 20 miles and climb 2,500 feet, or you could take the bus up. With the heat and lack of training made my decision a no-brainer – take the bus! The tour of the Oregon Caves was fantastic (and cool.) Our guide lead us through as we admired the bulbous, drippy forms. The weird forms calcite could take was amazing. After the hour and a half tour, it was back on the bus for the hot ride back. The rest of the afternoon was spent following the shade around to stay out of the blazing sun and reading detective paperbacks.

Cave Junction to Ashland
Back on the bikes for day four. We backtracked over most of the last climb into Cave Junction. It didn’t seem so bad climbing during the cool part of the day. After descending, for the rest of the day we just biked along enjoying being outside on small roads with farms and trees to look at. We generally increased elevation for the rest of the day and I was getting more tired. The last 7 miles were on a bike path and I could hardly wait to make it that far thinking it would be flat and easy, but I was wrong. It turned out to be your typical bike path, fine for your basic Sunday bike rider, but woefully lacking for real travel. Curvy paths, with no signs to guide you, makes it almost impossible to know where you are, especially if you’re a total stranger to the area following a cue sheet. Bob celebrated finishing the day by having explosive flat on his rear tire in the final yards before reaching Southern Oregon University in Ashland, home of the Ashland Shakespeare Festival.

77 miles – 2,700 feet of climbing

Ashland to Fort Klamath
Leaving Ashland my legs felt used and abused, every little grade took more effort than it should, I’m thinking this is going to be a really hideous day. After about 10 miles we started our longest continuous climb of the trip – 2,000 feet. Nothing else to do except put it in a low gear and keep pedaling - forward progress, no matter how slow, is better than none at all. Switchback after switchback I climbed, my slow progress gave me ample time to enjoy the scenery. Grinding along, I don’t even want to think of how long it took me, I just know I made it to the top where the rest stop with snacks was waiting. The rest was short lived because there was more climbing to do on a series of smaller rollers that gradually gained elevation over the next 30 miles where our second rest stop was at a serene lake. After fueling up, thelast 35 miles went quickly with a decrease in elevation and the pace line I got in to speed up the flat parts. I was very happy to collapse in camp with the tent again put up again by Bob before I got there.

82 miles – 6,100 feet of climbing

Fort Klamath to Diamond Lake
This was the day I was waiting for, we would finally get to Crater Lake. First there was the finest breakfast of the trip to devour. The women of the community grange cooked for us, anything you wanted to eat they seemed to have plus an assortment of home baked goods not to be outdone anywhere (course we’re on a bike trip, we eat anything and everything). With the stupendous breakfast being processed we headed toward the national park boundary. Again it was a fairly good climb, but it was spread out over more miles so it wasn’t as steep and the scenery was superb. I stopped several times to look at the valley below with waterfalls and the fossil fumaroles – wonderful shapes and interesting forms that had me thinking of how varied our landscape is. Upon reaching the Lake there was the usual picture taking, the wind bent bent trees made for interesting photos against the picturesque lake. I stayed a long time wandering around checking the informational signs and displays. Our route went around the north side of the lake requiring extra stops at the overlooks to take it all in. The effort of the climb long forgotten, we now had a fantastic downhill run into camp. Today I got into camp first because Bob decided to go completely around the lake, so I claimed all the baggage off the truck and set up the tent.

44 miles – 3,800 feet of climbing

Diamond Lake to Roseburg
It’s the last day and the longest mileage, but we dropped 4,000 feet over 30 miles! Woo Eee! What a rush! We flew downhill! I tuck in behind Bob (because he descends faster - bigger, more weight) and sit in his draft inches off his back wheel at 35 – 45 miles per hour. I feel like a bird, crouching down when I start to loose him to have less wind resistance and sit up a bit or swing out to catch some air if I need to slow down a touch. When I can take my eyes off the wheel in front of me to look around, its spectacular, the river rushing downhill with us, crashing into boulders or cascading over falls. Arriving at the second rest stop after 65 miles has everyone boasting about personal average speed records. Reality sets in afterward for the last 25 miles, its regular riding with rollers which feel like climbs. My legs are trashed and I’m in my granny gear for what would normally be an easy climb. Finally, the roads become the familiar ones we rode out on seven days ago and we are “home”

91 miles – 2,200 feet of climbing, elevation gain = minus 4,800 feet

My First Tour - Wheeling Washington 2001

This is the ride that started it all, my first bike tour.

The group gathered at the appointed place and we rode down to the dock for our first ferry ride across Puget Sound to Bainbridge Island. The riding began and we all spread out to ride at our own pace. Mostly back roads took us up the island through the quaint village of Port Gamble with its well kept row of clapboard houses, all with at least 8 steps up to the front door. Crossing the Hood Canal Bridge with its narrow shoulder and expansion joints placed at the proper wheel grabbing angle was a challenge for some. We continued north, up the Quimper Peninsula to Pt. Townsend. The correct route took everyone along the hilly shore with plenty of water views, but having biked that way before, I went up the center and enjoyed valley views of farms and animals. After setting up my tent on the football field on the edge of downtown, I wondered through the artsy community and met up later with my fellow riders for dinner.

It was still dark when the sound of many zippers zipping became the second day wake up call. I guess most of riders were very eager to get going. Another ferry started the day, this time over Admiralty Inlet to Whidbey Island. I was riding with a couple of guys most of the day. They kept me entertained and riding faster than I would have by myself. We rode tree lined rolling hills catching many views of the water through Coupeville and Oak Harbor on our way up the island to Anacortes where we caught our second ferry of the day over to Orcas Island. The ferry ride brought us amazing views as we sailed by some of the other islands in the San Juan Island group. There were little secluded beaches surrounded by trees, I could imagine having my own hide-a-way if I had piles of money. I was tired of cycling at this point so the hills probably seemed harder than they were on the way to our destination. I was very happy to get to our campsite for the night with a wonderful view of the water.

The next day our ferry didn’t leave until afternoon, so we shuttled in the van to the top of Mt. Constitution, the highest point on the islands. It should have been an incredible view, but we saw mostly fog. We got back down to camp and pedaled back to the ferry terminal for a fairly long cruise to Vancouver Island, Canada. A very short ride on the other side over a sizeable hill got us to our camp for the night. We all pitched in money for a staff person to go into town for beer and wine. Most of us stayed up late talking and laughing, the group was really coming together.

After a good night’s sleep we were off to Victoria; again a short ride which some of us made even shorter (and flatter) by finding a waterside bike trail. We rode the tree lined trail over small creeks on our way into town. After cleaning up we then had the whole afternoon to explore the beautiful city - the harbor lined lamposts with baskets of cascading flowers, the Empress Hotel, museums and science center were all great places to visit. A bunch of us stayed out late and probably annoyed the rest of the group when we settled in for the night in our “indoor camping,” a school gym.

We were able to leisurely get to breakfast the next day because our next ferry across the Strait of Juan De Fuca to Pt. Angeles didn’t leave until 11 a.m. During the long ferry ride I took the opportunity to talk to some of the more experienced bicycle tourists. Two couples in the group had gone a year-long, all-over-the-world bike trip, I knew there was a bunch I could learn from these people. Their tour account and encouragement for me to tour had me thinking, “What ever happened to that dream of mine to bicycle across the country?” Then is was back to reality, off the ferry and cycling again. There were some rolling hills to get past, but I was feeling great, moving along watching the trees go by. I had a brief rest stop at scenic Lake Crescent and then it was a wind assisted ride into the logging town of Forks. Rain threatened, so most people opted for the “indoor camping” again, this time in a church.

No ferrys and 70 miles to go the next day, probably the best day of the trip. I rode by myself setting out in somewhat misty conditions. The route zagged back out to the coast, I was feeling good, letting my mind float to whatever thought came along, work and reality were nowhere to be found. When I got out to the ocean I spent some time exploring around Ruby Beach. Its a wonderful little spot with rock haystacks to observe, tide pools to ponder and a whole Pacific Ocean to wonder about. The route stayed along the coast until our Kalaloch lunch stop. By then the sun had come out and we could enjoy the beach until it was time to get moving again. Turning back inland I joined some people I hadn’t rode with yet. One gal from New York had only bought a bike about a month ago, I was surprised at how well she did. The group rode a bit more slowly than I would have liked, but the company made it very enjoyable. Our camp that night was at Lake Quinault, in the Olympic National Park, home to many huge trees.

Cool weather and a decent sized climb greeted us first thing in the mornings and then it was just a few rollers as we headed back toward the ocean again. The sun came out by mid-morning, making it a great day to cycle. There was another tiny passenger ferry to catch in Ocean Shores, but I didn’t know the schedule so I pedaled along at my usual pace only to get to the ferry with a lot of time to kill, but not really enough time to go back into town and look around. The baggage truck was there, with snacks spread out to us to nibble on to pass the time. I noted the seasoned bike touring couples were in the truck packing small backpacks. I wondered what they were doing, but didn’t give it much thought. When the ferry finally came we all helped each other lift our bikes into the boat and we were on our way across the opening to Grays Harbor. We were dropped off in Westport and only had a few miles to go to our camp and the end of our ride. Then I figured it out, the truck had to drive around the harbor and couldn’t leave until all of the riders had taken the ferry. The seasoned tourists had packed clean clothes and could take showers, while the rest of us had to wander around in our skanky bike lycra – another lesson learned – think ahead! That night we had a goodbye group banquet in town and most people stayed in the bar after to watch the karaoke performances of many of our staff, a very hilarious way to end our trip.

I decided that I liked bike touring, seeing and getting places under my own power. I kept thinking about my dream I had to bicycling across the country in my younger days. I relised I still wanted to fulfill that dream, how would I do it? Oh someday. Someday…

I went to work on Monday and told my workmates about my trip, most of them didn’t understand and didn’t know what to say to me. The day after was 9-11. I watched the plane fly into the World Trade Center and then collapse on TV. I finally went to work in a daze, wondering what was going to happen next? What control did we have? I finally said to myself, this is it, time to fulfill that dream. Within weeks I had signed up for Southern Cross, a trip from Disneyland to Disney World starting the middle of April. It was amazing how once I made the decision to go, everything fell into place, problems just took care of themselves all and all I had to do was train.