| DAY
ONE
I awoke at 4.30am after a restless night. Honey bees swarm the Californian
lilac bush outside the kitchen window. Beyond, the lake and mountains
are free of cloud - good cycling weather today. I check the bike
and bags several times to make sure that I’ve left nothing
behind and arrange to meet Alan and Vivian at Victoria. The driveway
is very steep and rough - what if I fell off here! A deer watches
me quizzically from the mottled shade of the pines. Once on the
road it’s downhill to Fulford ferry. My mind takes me home
to my family asleep in Australia - I’m going to miss them.
 The
ferry takes half and hour to Swartz Bay. Commuters, bleary-eyed,
look at newspapers through the distorted haze of coffee. I love
ferries - the quiet throb of the engine, smell of salt and seaweed
and the screeching of gulls as they feed in the wake. An Australian
folk singer sings about a Sydney Harbour ferry - the captain and
the passengers decide to head out to sea for the day instead of
going to work.
At Swartz Bay I take a bike trail all
the way to Victoria. The Galloping Goose Trail takes cyclists and
walkers away from the traffic. The track meanders through fields,
farms, woods and suburban streets. Part of the trail is unpaved
but the bike handled it well with the touring bags full. Eventually
the path sneaks into the city through the back door and suddenly
I found myself in the centre. I passed the Houses of Parliament,
took a photo of my bike with a statue of Captain Cook (and a pigeon)
then headed for the ferry terminal. Victoria is a beautiful city,
very English, impressive historical buildings and the best museum
I’ve ever visited.
At the terminal I wait for Alan and Vivian.
They arrive with my packed lunch - we hug and I’m off. 2 hours
to Port Townsend on the Olympic Peninsular. I go through customs,
wheel my bike onto the front deck and watch Canada disappear behind
me. It gets very cold and windy; rain clouds block the view of the
Olympic Mountains. People stop and ask me questions about the bike
and where I’m going. With 4 spare tyres it’s an expedition!
In Port Angeles I stop to adjust by bags
in the centre of town. Two policemen were leaning against the bonnet
of their patrol car. “Where you off to?” They ask. I
tell them I’m heading for Port Townsend and ask them the way.
One points up the street and the other down. While they argue I
cycle off and take the first road that heads east. It’s windy
and starts to rain. I stop to pull on my wet weather gear and look
around at the old wooden houses - most of them have US flags in
the front gardens and, further up the road, a sign in a garden reads
‘give ‘em hell George’. The road has a wide shoulder
and is straight and undulating. Just past Sequim I look for a place
to stop and eat my lunch. I pull up next to a group of Harley riders
- Kenny Roger look-a-likes with bandanas. We talked - they were
eating hamburgers while I had a salad sandwich with thick seed bread.
I suspected it would be difficult to buy good food from here on.
The bikers were genuinely interested in my bike and the journey.
I guess we are both out in the open air except the Harley rider
makes a bit more noise!
Tonight I'm staying with Jon Muellner,
a cyclist living in Port Townsend. I ring him from Discovery Bay
and head off up a long steep hill with no shoulder and a deep ditch
beside the road. I arrive at Jon’s house at 6pm. Jon, Kerry
and their daughter, Peri (5½), greeted me warmly. We went
around to the backyard and I put the Moulton in a REAL bike shed
- it housed about 10 bikes and a tandem (side by side) recumbent.
I carried my bags up to their studio in the attic - it is a familiar
environment as Jon and Kerry are Web developers working from a home
office. After a welcome shower I was treated to sockeye salmon for
dinner and we talked cycling. They had toured Alaska for a few months
before Peri was born and Jon, as a randonneur, knew most of the
roads in the State. After dinner we went to a 25 year celebration
at an ice-cream parlour. The owners were cyclists (bike Fridays)
and this was nor ordinary ice-cream parlour. A bluegrass band was
playing and the store was full of friends and customers celebrating
25 years of business. I wondered outside to the water’s edge.
Port Townsend id famous for my other passion - wooden sail boats.
I sat on the edge of the jetty while the yachts cruised by and the
music drifted over the water. I suddenly felt calm and inspired.
This is going to be a wonderful experience. Back at the house I
shared some red wine with Jon and Kerry. I got a lot of advice on
road conditions, food (or lack of it) and facilities along the route.
“And when you get to Idaho,” Jon smiled “it’s
up hill all the way”. Some information that will be part of
my “wonderful experience”.
DAY TWO
I didn’t get to sleep until about 2.30am. The clock tower
on the old law courts nearby tolled on the hour. They used it as
their kitchen clock. I was slow getting started as I repacked the
bags and talked over breakfast. At 9am we said our good-byes and
I cycled into town. The centre is full of interesting historical
buildings, curio shops and cafés. There’s a fairly steep hill
out of Port Townsend - I sat on the wheel of a mountain biker and
continued on towards the Hood Canal Bridge about 26 miles away.
The road has a good shoulder and passes through small communities
and forested areas along the way.
The canal bridge is about half a kilometre
long and rough - cyclists are advised to walk on the centre section.
From here it’s 9 miles to the ferry at Kingston. Here is the
classic Bicycle Shop where I bought new gloves. Apart from selling
new bikes, they have a wonderful collection of old bikes and parts.
I could have stayed there hours but had to press on. The guys in
the shop loved the Moulton - I think they wanted to keep it.
I was half an hour early for the ferry
so I went to a local café for lunch. Food seems to be in 3 categories
here - grease, salt or sugar! I had 2 hamburgers (do you want hash
browns with that?) and took the half hour ferry ride to Edmonds.
From here you are, more or less, in the outlying suburbs of Northern
Seattle. I wanted to head across to Highway 2 which, I thought,
looked fairly straightforward on the map. It was nerve wracking
cycling through heavy traffic. Climbing the steep hill out of Edmonds
a man waved me down “High I’m Bill” he said. He
had passed me in his car on the hill. “I’ll be cycling
along Highway 2 tomorrow towards Stephens Pass I’ll probably
bump into you. After about 15 miles the road left suburbs but continued
with no shoulder. I stopped at a service station for a drink and
snack. It’s amazing to see that there’s a charge to
put air in your tyres - I hope that doesn’t happen in Australia.
When I reached Monroe it was getting late. I was on Highway 2 which
would take me to Wanatachee. I asked if there was a campground near
Monroe. “You got an RV?” the lady asked; “No,
a tent”; “No tents around here”. I found a small
cabin for $25.00 and headed back into town for some dinner. The
main street is wide, about a kilometre long and has about 50 fast
food outlets. All I wanted was some pasta or meat, potato and veg
or, for that matter, anything that didn’t resemble fast food.
I ended up buying a pizza and taking it back to the cabin.
DAY THREE
During the night I heard police car chases, train horns and people
arguing. I should have just put my tent up down the road. I left
Monroe about 9am. As I travel down the highway, the scenery improves.
There is nothing between towns as I pass through Sultan, Gold Bar
and on towards Skykomish and Steven’s Pass. There are a lot
of large trucks and even more RV’s. It’s holiday time
in the US and huge Winnebagos are cruising the highway. As big as
a Greyhound bus, with a 4WD vehicle in tow, 6 miles to the gallon.
When they get to a park, rooms extend sideways, awnings pull out,
pot plants are hung on a fence, outdoor furniture arranged and satellite
TV. As if this isn’t bad enough, I’ve heard stories
of people accidentally leaving the steps down and wiping out cyclists
as they go. Thank goodness for my small helmet mirror - I can see
the logging trucks and RV’s a long way down the road.
When I get near Index I catch up with
another cyclist. His mountain bike has no bags and small bottle
of water. His name is Coy and he’s part of a tour by ‘Cycle
America’. “We’re going to Skyhomish today. I left
at 5am so that I can get there first. We have sag wagons that supply
everything - food, drink, even pick us up if we’re tired”.
After 30 minutes he said he was stopping here - lunch was being
served soon. Well, that was a meeting I didn’t need! I stopped
down the road, started up my gas stove and enjoyed thick vegetable
soup with crusty bread and a cup of tea. After about an hour there
was a small store - I stopped to buy some chocolate or candy - (I
bought both). The dusty old store had stuffed animals on the shelves,
a large woman was counting her money at a wooden table “What
you need is some Clam Chowder” she said. She was right - I
felt good - fuel for the legs! I reached Skyhomish in the early
afternoon - it’s a bit like a Hollywood movie set. Run down
western buildings - a small town that was once prosperous. I walked
into a bar to get some Potato Chips and a sugary drink to help me
climb Steven’s Pass. A couple of locals were lining up the
beer bottles. The lady behind the bar said “You’re in
the wrong place, the Lyons Club is putting on pasta for you cyclists
down in the park”. I explained that I wasn’t with the
group and decided to sit down and talk to the locals for a while.
When I went outside there was Bill, the guy that stopped me on the
hill yesterday. I asked him if he wanted to climb the pass with
me but although he wasn’t with the group, he would stay here
and tackle it with them first thing in the morning.
 The
pass rises up to 4,100 in the 15 miles from Skyhomish. The scenery
is beautiful, mountains, pine forest and snow around the ski resort
on the pass. The melting snow gave me fresh cold water to drink
as my legs began to get tired near the summit. I put some warm clothes
and thick gloves on for the descent. It’s a great feeling
speeding down a mountain for 15 miles! It’s about 40 miles
from the ‘Pass’ to Leavenworth and by the time I was
halfway I saw a sign ‘FREE COFFEE’. I pulled in and
walked up to the counter “Are cyclists on your list for coffee”
I asked, “cyclists are the top of the list”, they replied
“and, as it’s Father’s Day here in the US you
can have free cookies too!” I downed a couple of coffees and
we talked about Kangaroos, Koalas and Grizzly Bears.
Just along the highway in Chiwaukum I
stopped the bike to take my warm gloves off. A man with a handlebar
moustache and a gravel voice came out of the store and asked me
where I was from. He went back into the store and presented me with
a can of RED BULL. “This is free - it’s rocket fuel.
Forget about going to Leavenworth you’ll be going too fast
to stop there!” He laughed and shook my hand. Whatever was
in it helped me get to my destination and stopped me sleeping that
night!!
Today I reached Leavenworth, Washington
state, just west of Wenatchee on the Columbia River after a 100
mile (160 km) ride over Stevens Pass. The highest point was 4,100
feet and I am thankful for the extra warm clothing I reluctantly
stuffed into my bag.
Leavenworth is a pseudo-Bavarian town
in the mountains. It was once a thriving railway town until it hit
hard times. Someone came up with this idea and now its popular tourist
destination. It was getting dark - I gave Marie a call in Australia.
My brother gave me a PennyTalk card number. Toll free calls and
about 5c a minute to Australia. On the phone next to me was another
cyclist, a Frenchman sounding angry. I said hello and continued
on to the campsite, putting my tent up in the dark, eating a banana
sandwich, quick shower and sleeping bag. The Red Bull was still
working so I lay in anticipation of sleep for some time.
DAY FOUR - WEATHER: WARM, SUNNY
Last night I rang Mike Sorenson in Wenatchee. Mike and Marilyn are
keen cyclists - they offered accommodation and help.
I headed for Wanatchee where I met Mike.
We enjoyed lunch at a Chinese restaurant. Mike is a modest, unassuming
man who cycled across America with his wife on a 3 month tour last
year. It was a relaxing and enjoyable stopover in Wanatchee. (Before
I left the Chinese restaurant I broke open a fortune cookie - the
message: “In every enterprise, consider the outcome.”)
The road has a wide shoulder and follows the Columbia River passing
the Rock Island Dam. Rock escarpments sit on the hills and the busy
road continues on for 30 miles before reaching the town of Quincy.
Along this section of road I met Laurent, a French chef from Reno,
loaded with touring gear on his bike. We sat and talked for a while
- I think he flew to Seattle and was heading back to Reno. He told
me his Schwinn was 20 years old and he bought it for $20.00.
We headed off together and Laurent told
me tales about cycling in Alaska. He’s a likeable man with
a “rough and ready” attitude, a cyclist’s racing
cap and a few days stubble on his chin. “You’re the
guy I saw on the phone in Leavenworth - you were angry!” I
laughed. “Yes, I rang my father in France and I had to talk
to an answering machine!”
When we arrived in Quincy it was dinner
time. It is a very small town with 5 Mexican restaurants and a McDonalds.
We asked a large Mexican looking man where we should eat - “I
wouldn’t eat in this town” he said. We asked about the
Mexican restaurant next door, “I wouldn’t eat that crap.”
We ended up eating enchiladas with lots of chilli and a few cool
drinks. Along the way we decided to stay in a cheap motel and make
an early start.
 DAY
FIVE
The wind was strong as we decided to ride south and cycle the freeway
to Moses Lake. The landscape is flat with fertile soil. Ground crops
such as alfalfa and potatoes grow from the roadside to the horizon.
The shoulder was wide and Laurent and I could ride side by side.
Between us the surface was corrugated to keep motorists awake if
they drifted off the road. With the strong side wind Laurent was
pushed into the bumps a few times - his bike would shudder and rattle.
I showed him how the Moulton performed on the corrugations and pedalled
50 metres on the bumps without the bone-shaking ride of a conventional
bike. He was impressed “This is a serious bike”, he
laughed.
The wind was so strong that irrigators
100 metres away would shower us with water on the highway. When
we turned east on Hwy 90 it was time to go up a couple of gears
and ride down the freeway effortlessly at a good pace. The shoulder
is wide but, as usual, you have to put up with the debris from motorists
- nuts, bolts, engine parts, broken bottles and a truck load of
rubber straps.
We pulled into a “rest stop”
my front tyre was flat (yesterday I had a bolt pierce the back tyre).
As I was changing the tube, Laurent took some photos of the bike
- I wouldn’t be surprised if he gets rid of his Schwinn and
buys a Moulton!
After 62 miles I left Laurent near Othello
and continued East on Hwy 26. Between Othello and Washtucna (42
miles) there was nothing except one service station. The road seemed
endless - a straight line through a hilly treeless landscape. A
vehicle would pass every 15 minutes or so and wave or sound their
horn. It was getting dark when I reached Washtucna - the small town
was quiet. I had already ridden over 100 miles but decided to press
on to Snake River. It was an eerie feeling riding through the hills
with the light of a half-moon showing the silhouettes of the treeless
landscape. I was tired and hungry and consequently became a bit
lonely. I had ridden another 15 miles, seen just 2 cars and the
hills were taking their toll on my legs. I stopped for a snack of
nuts and raisins on a lonely hilltop - a car came towards me and
stopped. “You alright?” -it was the Sheriff. He told
me to camp next to the river about 5 miles on. 5 miles is a long
way when you’re weary. I set up my tent beside the river,
made some soup with bread and was asleep very quickly.
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