Our West Coast Journey – Mile grinding

Grindingly obvious

It’s a long way from Vancouver to San Diego. Close to 3,000 kilometres. Riding in all types of weather and camping all the way, it will be a long grind.

Of course hundreds… maybe thousands of people have done this trip, and I’ve read some of their accounts. But their journey is not our journey. And with just two days until we set off, I feel strangely nervous.

This plan was hatched eight months ago. My neighbour has done a couple of long-distance bike tours and the idea appealed to me.

I asked my 20-year-old daughter if she’d be interested in biking across Canada. She wasn’t. But she returned and asked if I’d be interested in a different trip – biking to Mexico. And so we are.

Me – a 60-year-old with the motivation, time and resources to make this journey possible. Sophie, with the free-spirited and adventurous nature required for being my partner.

Let the mile grinding begin.

CROSSING THE LINE

Day 1 – Birch Bay – 74km

It was sunny and warm as we left Vancouver. Couldn’t have been better. Crossing the border at Peace Arch was interesting. Hardened borders mean long waits. We were in the line for pedestrians (who walks to the US?). With one couple ahead of us we still waited 30 minutes to get cleared. Not for lack of staff – there were burly border guards everywhere, impassively walking around behind the counter, which was lined with at least 25 work stations. But nobody was interested in dealing with people in line. Maybe we arrived during a shift change. When we finally did get someone’s attention it took all of 2 minutes for him to determine we weren’t a threat to national security.

LAND OF THE FREE

Day 2 – Larrabee State Park – 7okm

I’ve given up trying to use maps – too fussy, and Google Maps provides such detailed instruction (continue for 100 metres, go left for 2o metres…) that I’ve taken to navigating by the sun. We’re heading south, so any promising road in that direction should do… as long as we’re prepared for some confusion and extra mileage along the way. Extra mileage was required for getting to Larrabee. But I still like this strategy of celestial navigation – aided by the local knowledge of roadside bystanders.

Lunch in Bellingham. There seem be a lot of young, unemployed people in B’ham. Actually, lots of unemployed people of all ages. And lots of strong characters. This is America, after all. Land of the free. One 40-ish guy, certainly unemployed and, judging from how brown and gnarly he looked, maybe living rough, was covered in tattoos. On his forehead extending back over his balding skull he had a large tattoo of the Dallas Cowboys logo. Like tribal identity markers in Borneo. Or football as religion, giving meaning to life. I am a fan, therefore I am.

ATTITUDE IS EVERYTHING

Day 3 – Deception Pass State Park
60 km

Woke up to a drizzling rain that became pounding before I could light the stove for breakfast. Sophie still in her tent. When she poked her head out she was beaming. Everything sodden and the prospect of a long ride in the rain, and she was unfazed. I love this girl!

After fuelling up on oatmeal we packed – everything wet – and set off. The ride down Chuckanut Drive was beautiful – even in the rain. Eventually we emerged from the forest onto a looooong, inexorably straight country road, with a stiff headwind and pelting rain. It took 90 minutes before we came to a place where we could have coffee – Sisters Drive Through, with outdoor seating for non-driving customers. At least by now the rain had stopped. Brooke (the sister on duty) served us Americanos and hot dogs, Many of her other customers, most dressed in camo gear and gumboots, had come from salmon fishing on the Samish River. There was talk of guns ‘n stuff. This is Trump territory. Trump signs outnumber Hillary’s at least two to one.

We crossed the spectacular Deception Pass Bridge and rode into the park at mid-afternoon. The wind off the water creates a constant roar as it blows through the treetops. Similar, in fact, to the roar of the military jets that seem to constantly be taking off and landing from the nearby Whidbey Island Air Force Base.

HOME OF THE BRAVE

Day 4. – Port Townsend
50 km

A very nice ride down Whidbey Island to the Port Townsend ferry. Crossing Hood Canal we saw sea lions, jelly fish and even a salmon. Port Townsend has preserved its Victoiran past – virtually all of the buildings in the main part of town date from the late 19th century. Obviously a tourist town, but also apparently a capital of counter culture. Walking the main street felt like being on a movie set, with “characters” everywhere. A youngish woman dressed in baggy clothes played a monotonous new-agey tune on a home-made wooden recorder. Four young guys sitting next to the sidewalk were “jamming” with a couple of guitars they barely knew well enough to strum.

From our campsite we can see a US Navy installation of some kind across Hood Canal. And we can still hear the occasional muscle-flexing rumble of fighter jets from the Whidbey Isl air base. For that matter, we’re camped at Fort Townsend, an old military fort from the 1850s, of which nothing now remains but weathered signage marking locations for the officer’s quarters, etc. From this spot It’s hard not to notice how large a role the military plays in America.

REST DAY 1

Day 5 – Port Townsend

The outlook was for rain today, so we decided to hole up here in PT. Our campground is 4 miles from town and as we biked in it started to pour. We’re sitting in a cafe drying out. Ironically, it’s now become sunny outside. Further irony – I expect WiFi at my cafes, but this one doesn’t have it – the owner seemed proud of that. Probably explains its clientele – all the other customers look like aged hippies.

Spent the day poking through the local museum and hanging around. PT is a cool place – it’s got historic charm, great scenery and an artsy/folksy vibe – but to be here for no purpose leaves me feeling like there’s too many hours in the day. I want to move on.

SO LONG MR. APPLE BUDDY

Day 6 – Potlatch State Park – 100 km

Apples picked from roadside trees have been part of our daily diet. The trees are thick with the fruit – juicy, sweet and crispy, with a tangy tartness. Perfect! At our campground in PT we found an apple buddy to keep us company.

Today we rode 100 km in great weather. Sunny but not too hot. And for encouragement we could look to road signs with names like “Never Give Up Road”. Although that sentiment is wasted on the various land-stranded yachts we’ve seen.

For long stretches the road – a 50 MPH highway – provided only a very narrow shoulder. At one point I was climbing up to a corner and was aware of a vehicle coming up behind me, ready to pass. At that moment a semi truck rumbled around the corner toward us. The vehicle behind me had to change plans very quickly. Only when it passed me did I find out it was a monster RV towing a car. I suspect the driver nearly had a heart attack, but I was blissfully unaware. Sophie trailing well behind me saw it all.

Here in Camp Potlatch I met a 30-ish guy at the washroom who I saw earlier using a metal detector around his campsite. He’s clearly a bit uncentred, a lost soul with a faraway look in his eyes. He’s recently moved to WA from Flint Michigan. Flint is the hometown of “Roger & Me” director Michael Moore, and was once also home to three major GM assembly plants, but not now. He has a beaten up old camper that I suspect he lives in with his wife. Hard luck types. Flinty, you might say.

ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE IN AMERICA

Day 7 – Lake Sylvia State Park, WA. – 91 km

Nice day for riding. Sunny, warm and rolling hills. Roadside shoulders non-existent in a few too many spots. That, combined with the frequent rumblings-by of fully-loaded logging trucks and semi-trailer trucks makes for some exciting times on the bike.

We stopped for lunch in McCleary, and sat at an outdoor table in the sunshine. An old guy in t-shirt, suspenders and jeans walks by and strikes up conversation by asking about our bikes. He then casually mentions he recently sold 19 bikes from his garage. Turns out he’s an old-time/long-time cyclist. He told us all about his various rides, his longest ride (Seattle to Portand – 105 miles) the best routes for where we’re going, to be careful of the RVs (driven by “old guys like me”), etc. It was all very pleasant and friendly, but he must have gone on for 15 minutes, only stopping when our lunch arrived.

As we ate lunch another cyclist – 60-ish, well tanned and fit looking with a long braided ponytail under his helmet – pulled up to the cafe and sat at the next table and started to tell us all about his riding adventures. Riding from Florida to California, around the Olympic Penninsula, etc.

Earlier in our campsite, as we were packing up to start for the day, a lean 60-ish woman with long grey hair and over-sized sunglasses ambled up and started to chat…and chat… We heard all about her experiences with the WA county justice system and the its predilection for handing out fines for dubious misdemeanours – DUI on marijuana is the current big one. “It’s all based on a system of racketeering.” We heard about her work as an artist doing metal sculptures. She claims to have sold $150K worth of her work to some millionaire who has mansions all over the place and a swimming pool with an island modelled on Pirates of the Caribbean. Why am I not surprised to hear of this? In fact, I fully believe it. All of it. Anything is possible in America.

The further takeaway from today’s encounters: There’s no denying how friendly people here are – they certainly do like to talk. But they don’t tend to ask many questions.

I AM THE MACHINE

Jim, the caretaker at Bruceport campground

Day 8. Bruce Port County Campground, WA – 64 km

A further brief observation from yesterday. At the Lake Sylvia campground, which was only perhaps 1/4 full, there were just three bike-touring couples. Sophie & I, Colin and Cass (late-20s from Vancouver – we had met them previously at Potlatch), and a retired couple from Vernon. All of us Canadians. The Vernon dude is hard core. He’s cycled this route previously and last year rode a route from Vernon to Southern California through the mountain passes. He says he gave up in Yosemite (he called it a “brutal ride”) and headed for the coast to complete the trip. He and his wife are doing 90 kms per day – about double our average daily distance,

Today’s ride has brought us to the west coast of WA. It wasn’t particularly long, but featured five long climbs and descents. As we got closer to the coast it levelled out and we had long straight stretches. When you work up a long hill or sustain a pace on a long straight road your mind can go blank – well anyway mine does – and into a kind of meditative state. The repetitive skreet-skreet, skreet-skreet of the chain over the chain ring becomes like the tick tock of a clock, or a mantra, and everything – your breathing, the motion of your body, the cadence of your pedal strokes – comes into rhythmic alignment. The effect can make you feel like a machine; the finely-tuned engine of the machine you’re riding. It’s very satisfying.

ALL FIVE VERSES OF OH CANADA

I met a guy of about my age dressed in camo gear (it’s very fashionable in these parts) outside the campground washrooms. He said he needed to wash the blood from his hands. He was holding a knife. This was a big guy – 6′ 3″, 250 lbs. It was dark, we were alone. I became a little concerned. Turns out he’s a hunter and had just killed an elk with a crossbow. The animal weighs 600 lbs so he had skinned and gutted it and would be returning in the morning to carry out as much as he could of the meat.

We chatted and he discovered I was from Canada. “I love Canada,” he says, adding that he’s probably been to more places in Canada than I have. I doubted that, but he then explains he used to play for the Detroit Red Wings junior hockey team and they toured all over Canada. So it was true. He had been to more places than I had.

He then asked me if I knew our national anthem, Oh Canada. Of course I do, I said. “All five verses?” he asks. There are five verses? Who knows that? He does, because he loves Canada.