Gig Harbor Washington to Bar Harbor Maine 2001

I woke up about 5am but didn't get up until I thought I heard a Mike. It was just the crows eating our pretzels. I had breakfast, sacred cereal, and read the first few chapters of my book, Indian Killer by Sherman Alexie, looks like a good one, before the rain ran me back into the tent.

It rained off and on all morning and we didn't get on the road until after 11. We had a five mile ride into Anacortes. While Gridley and I had a fantastic meal at the Calico Cafe (the portobello quesadilla was excellent), Garcia found a bike shop and got a rear rack and bag to replace his handlebar bag, which he then mailed home.

More food. Hallelujah!

By 2:30 we had the rack mounted and left Anacortes. In another 5 miles Garcia began having the same derailleur problems he'd had yesterday and we stopped and Gridley readjusted. It appeared that he hadn't tightened a couple of nuts fully yesterday.

I was looking forward to riding an old industrial side road and taking a picture of the drive-in circus that had amused me on my last ride. Turned out that it was actually an old drive in theater that was now a storage yard. Not nearly as funny.

Applying for the clown jobs

Back on the highway we had a little climb and a fast descent on a bridge over the Swinomish River, through a ton of crap collected alongside the road. As soon as we got off the highway for another backroad, Garcia had a flat. We were blaming ourselves for not pumping up our tires this morning, but he'd actually picked up a big wire staple. At least I had a chance to change into my shorts and moon the back roads of Washington. We still didn't have the nerve to moon I5 as we passed over it a few miles later.

Flat #3

We rode through a lot of rural neighborhoods with gardens in full bloom. I've never seen so many irises, poppies, lupines, and huge bushes of primroses. It was tough to keep our eyes on the road. A rose garden strategically planted on a street corner at about nose level was an aromatic delight.

But, it was now about 4:00 and we'd only gone 15 miles. We had about 100 miles to go to Colonial Creek campground, the last place to stay before Washington Pass. I was determined to make some miles today so we wouldn't wear ourselves out tomorrow before climbing the pass the following day. We stopped for a second lunch about 10 miles later and it was nearing 6:00 with 25 miles down.

We did get onto some of my favorite roads. I swear I can remember every inch: the old man riding his cruiser that was blown away that I was riding to Idaho, Polly and ? Henderson who gave me a peach or some cookies each time I passed them, The beautiful sunny road along the opposite side of the Skagit River from the highway. Of course, this time it was cold and wet and we were beat.

I'd been pretty proud of myself for keeping up with or leading the pack on my recumbent. Now that we were on relatively flat lands, Gridley was kicking ass. I was slowly, steadily plodding along and Garcia bounced back and forth between us. I'm just as unfamiliar with riding flat roads as Gridley is with roller coaster hills - the difference between riding in Houston and Gig Harbor.

We were getting tired and considering campsites at about mile 30. There was a place right there and another place in 30 miles. We went for the farther campground, but not with everyone's full agreement or understanding. It was hard.

We made it to Concrete, looking for a campground east of town. When we'd run out of town Mike went into an Italian restaurant to ask where the campground was and how late the restaurant was open. We managed to find it and set up our tents and get back for some great spaghetti before they closed.

It was getting dark when we rode to the restaurant and was pitch black when we left and rode a few miles to a store and back to camp. We had one and a half lights with us and somehow managed to avoid catastrophe.

The campground truly sucks. They are used to desperate cyclists and charged us ten bucks a head to pitch our tent in a long unmown field, soaked from the day's rain and covered with slugs. They gave us a key to the tiny, dirty, bathroom/shower that not only didn't have any toilet paper, there wasn't a place to put toilet paper. Nevertheless, we showered and fell into our tents. Between the cars racing by on the highway, you can hear the river washing by, high in it's banks, and a chorus of frogs. Garcia was asleep and snoring mightily before I found my computer. Sounds like a pretty good idea.

Stats: elevation gain 1900 ft, riding time 5:09, average 12.4 mph, mileage 63.2

Cumulative: elevation gain 10,400 ft, riding time 16:45, mileage 181.9