Rails 2 Trails

Wash(ington) me Away

I always love it when the best is saved for last. I cycled into Washington State on this awesome monstrous bridge over the Columbia river and I knew it would only get better from here on. It made me a little nervous at first, that always happens when I'm cramped on a shitty shoulder on a tight space with cars zooming past me and I'm struggling to go up or try my very best not to veer into traffic when I go down, but once on it, high up in the sky, I gave me the Bosporus-feeling. And it was good.
Washington is gorgeous. Like a glossy cherry you just want to get your teeth in and never let go off. It's nice and quiet, meadowy, pines, rainforest, horses, snowy peaks, lots of space and rolling hills. I was doing 75 mile days and I wished they'd never end.
Since I ran out of maps reaching the coast, I freestyled my way up to Seattle and stumbled upon these great, beautiful European-style bike paths, rails-2-trails, all catered with benches, water fountains and other pleasures a biker might like (like a bike-shaped frame to lean your bike on when you're having a rest). I played hide and seek with Mt.Rainier who kept popping up from time to time in al it's mountainous majesticy. And although I got seriously headwinded nearly all the way, I will remember these days as one of the most beautiful and pleasant of the whole trip.
I stayed with the most amazing people, enjoyed the best gin tonic of my life (and there were quite a few) and for some reason Washington is full of lamas, so I guess that says it all. Amusement guaranteed. The only thing that would make this picturesque picture complete are a couple of scattered ancient castle ruins and a big cathedral, wat or mosque here and there. But then again, I might not want to push it.

By the Sea

This post reaches you from Seattle, where I take a last rest day before bicycling a final century to Anacortes, WA from where I'll ferry-hop to Vancouver, Canada (with a few-days-intermezzo at the San Juan paradise islands). I cannot believe this bike ride is drawing to an end. I honestly thought there’d never be an end (especially back in those early days when I sat - pondering - on a piece of Georgian plantation staring at the map. For real, cycling to Vancouver from Florida, who does that?).

But here I am. It was quite the adventure when Lauren, Zach, Jacob and I made it to the Pacific Ocean in Florence, Oregon and filled the endless horizon with screams, cheers, hugs and beer. I even swam in it! (so to say, in full enthusiasm I accidentally fell in but technically that’s the same). We had a little celebration-party on the beach, with a campfire, smores and a cool but moistly fog rolling in at night which made us rethink the sleeping-under-the-stars-plan. Pitching a tent in the powdery sand, not so great, so Jacob and I ended up sleeping in my supposedly 2-person tent but really just fits 1 and it got even better when the thing, all damp on the inside, collapsed on us in the middle of the night so I could get out and erect it again with pieces of driftwood I stumbled over in the dark while Jacob, peacefully, snored through all this. Anyways that night I slept like a baby in a too small womb.

When Lauren and Zach left the next day by car, Jacob and I pedaled the stretch to Portland. And you won’t believe but cycling in Oregon, on the very scenic 101 coastal drive, got even worse when we nearly, and I really mean missed by an inch, got deliberately ridden off the road by a big, I assume frustrated-drunk-and tired of life, semi-truck driver. The accident made me very upset and confused but sandwiched between ocean and coastal cliffs, there was but one way and that was keep moving forward on this highly scenic tunnel of death. It was hell on a bike but we made it alive, had a nice couple of days off in Portland (which smells like coffee and tattoos, very cool) before I left for final destination. It’s a farewell to my friends but for sure no goodbye!    

Oregon Ospitality

So here's a fact for you: wind rolls down from a mountain. From the top, all the way down to the bottom. So when you are climbing a mountain, say ... on a bike, and the wind is in your face and you think "ah life's going to be better behind this hairpin curve", forget it. You will be even more miserable cause the actual curves seem always just that little bit grade-increased and the wind is still there. And cycling, the wind is there all the time, you know that, and you learned to accept it, to get over it. Though climbing, steep climbing, you can appreciate all the support there is, and not the kind that hits you in the face. It hurts. My feelings in the first place, my little fire lungs in the next.

Next to brutal headwinds, winter conditions didn't lift our spirits either. One time we had a pity party, sheltering behind a bridge column for wind gusts, when Lauren, determined to take the high way out of despair, decided to give her hitchhiking skills a first-time-ever try. I'm still debating whether it's naïve inexperience or just sheer beginners luck when she managed to flag down the, rather uptight, county sheriff who kindly but firm reminded us that his vehicle is "emergency use only" and that hitchhiking is illegal in the state of Oregon. Oops. Back on the bike.

Idaho as well as Oregon has the right cycling mentality so we pretty much WarmShowered our way through this whole stretch. Which is awesome. We stayed with so many nice and interesting people, all involved in a variety of hobbies and projects. We cannot do more than express our inexpressible gratitude and act as polite as possible (turning their kitchen floor into a murder scene by bleeding blisters, Fien, not cool).
Something else that's not cool is finally crossing into Oregon-bike-loving-state-of-America expecting to get a lot of love but instead getting flipped off the road, yelled off the road, honked off the road and get half a full beer can thrown at us out of a moving vehicle, missing us by an inch, which, I assume, pretty much is a summary-action off all the above. Hey Oregon, what's up? So we are very much working on our karma these days.
And I think it's working cause after summer disappeared for a good 5 days (but came back around after), one night we got, drenched and cold, very last minute saved from overnight-hypothermia by a very flexible WarmShowers host (thank you).

And so we are all nearing the end of our trip. We climbed more long, big passes, held euphoric scream-parties on nearly all of them, had a first glimpse on the Cascades and eventually enjoyed a long ways down towards the ocean (I did a record 108 mile day).
Vancouver, j'arrive!  

Neusje van de zalm

One day we were cycling along the Salmon River and it happens to be salmon season. So this nice little river valley gets filled with us 4 cyclists, some traffic and a 10 000 fishermen. They for sure blew the lest-just-camp-on-the-side-of-the-road-plan as every patch of lush looking roadside grass, pretty much from the shoulder on, was taken. Trapped in the valley and caught by the setting sun, it looked like we were about to smooch up the gravel for the night. Though Jacob and I were really not feeling that vibe so we knocked on some doors (the only 2 around) and I gave Lauren minor heart failure when I just walked into somebody's back door (after my wimpy knock, they did call me in though). "Seriously Fien, people will shoot you!" Turned out we walked into a Dutch-speaking soccer-loving/watching couple's home. What are the odds?! Some beer, bbq, breakfast, a good night sleep and some drop (Dutch liquorice) later, we were good to go.  

Reunion

On my way to the others, I met a nice other touring couple, early fifties, going the other way. They are shooting a documentary (while cycling) about small-town-entrepreneurship. Very interesting. The man, after telling my story and capturing some of it on camera, said goodbye with the words "Wauw, you're like a role model. We all want to be like you when we grow up". I like the way we moved away from crazy-out-of-your-mind-homeless-girl here.

In the next leg I got seriously rained and thundered on while climbing a huge never-ending pass and was saved by a friendly stranger in a truck (many thanks). Reunited with my friends, the next couple of days it went from summer to winter again but we got treated to some of the most spectacular views of the trip so far. America as well does keep surprising me.

I-da-ho

Eugene, Oregon, 66 miles separate me from the great Pacific Ocean. If you inhale deep enough, you can actually feel saltiness scavenging through your lungs (not really but very imaginary).
So what happened between here and parting from love? A lot of pine trees, sagebrushes, rough-rocky landscapes and of course my friends, our steady gang since Kansas, colored the landscape.

Parting from Lander was easy and hard at the same time. I was very much looking forward to hit the pedal again and I would see him in another month or so, I can take that. At the same time I'd take off on my own again and though I'd been a worn out cyclist by now, cycling for over two months, that point where you leap into the unknown, by yourself, letting go of all securities, still gives me chills. But that did not last long. I guess I'm in a new comfort zone.

It was a beautiful day and I soon found myself in an impressing canyon filled with pines and cramped with deer. I rode into Pacific Time and I swear I could feel a salty breeze sweep through my hair. Ocean, await me!
Meanwhile eastbound season really took off. One day at least 15 bikers past me, some of them heavily light weighted. That's when I found out about the race (www.transambikerace.com). Apparently this year an unofficial TransAm bike race is on and rumor has it that the guy in lead will pedal my 3 months blood-sweat-and-tears-haul in 18 days (that's right, 18 days). No stopping and shooting pretty pics at state-line-signs for these guys I bet.

But I'm still in this gorgeous canyon, pretty much a 100 mile stretch of no service. And with no service, I really mean no service, not a store, not a cafe, not even a house nor a spicket. You're on your own. So no choice but to freestyle and pull off on the side of the road that night. The one thing I promised I wouldn't do is to randomly steltcamp without anyone knowing where I'm at but, big surprise, no phone service either in this rip in the earth. I choose a very inviting ghost-camping on the side of the road as my nights rest. Once for sure a picturesque place of pleasure and delight, these days rather long forgone glory. Jungly. I waited for the sun to set to set up camp, a little nervous I have to admit. And man does this wilderness turn into a freaky scene at night. I got teared out of my sleep (yes I actually fell asleep) by a howling or growling. Crap. Here I'm lying, surrounded by food (as I was, of course, too lazy to tie any of it in a tree), soaking oats, a muesli bar or two, some bread and cheese, cranberries, an apple and an orange. I'm like a yummy smelling lobster on a bed of greens with all that's separating me from a set of canine teeth is a flap of vinyl. Very reassuring. After listening to the howls for a little while, I think I was exhausted enough to fall back asleep. I'll never know what it was but it definitely sounded like a cross between a wolf and a deer, but it might as well 've been a combo, say a wolf eating a half-alive deer, who knows, I didn't step outside to join the party. In any way, I was happy to see that sun rise for yet another day. Survived incognito steltcamping. It's nice to know that after three months of road-life I'm still up for pushing some being-bold boundaries. I surprise myself.

More pine-canyon lay ahead of me that next day and it was beautiful, an endless series of deja-vu's. Every curve to the left or right looked like an exact copy of the one I just did before, and the one before that one and the one ... and so on, like cycling into a mirror reflecting a mirror. But I did not get tired of any of it. They did, for diversion/excitement's sake, throw in a bunch of (bathing) deer and the butterflies too asked for full focus. You do not, after all, want to catch its entire canyon-population in your front wheel.
Two days back in the game and I caught up with the others again (Jacob, Zach and Lauren), who lay low for one afternoon so I could catch up. I guess this team is meant to be ...