2010 February 15
Dosewallips State Park > Sequim Bay State Park
Distance biked: 40 miles
At 6:30 AM I woke to begin reading the New Testament again. After prayer I rolled out for breakfast, oatmeal mixed with a packet of apple cider, and the ubiquitous cup of cocoa. Whatever energy resides in such foods was absorbed to the limit by the first hill of the day, a punch up Walker Point. Half way on I stopped to make coffee - I swear by the Melitta drip cone! - and snacks. The ride down was well worth the effort, being a screaming, freezing descent. My face and hands went numb from the brisk wind and my nerves were a bit wracked by the nearly 100 lbs. of trailer weight pushing me over 30 mph downhill. Yes, I prayed against sticks and potholes.
A ranger station down the hill supplied me with maps and featured an interesting scale topographic model of the Olympic mountains. both helped show me that i was far from any State or National camps.
Pedaling my way along a silent ribbon of asphalt cut through dense emerald woods, I was struck by a splash of vibrant colors. Some jovial saint had decorated a pine at random with an array of Christmas ornaments. Some other Grinch, I presume, had cut it down.
This was not the only felled tree that I saw. In some places just behind a front wall of spruce and fir, acres had been cleared for logging. This rather disturbed me, except in areas which had been prodigiously replanted and were now sprouting hundreds of two-foot tall saplings. The sight of man working in harmony with nature, reaping the bounty and alike replenishing it cheered my heart.
Bicycling affords a certain calm that fosters prayer and meditation. In the afternoon I prayed for everyone I could think of. Happily during this time I saw one of the great blue egrets mentioned in my guide book.
By this time the sun was setting. I still had little idea where I would sleep and hadn't yet fully warmed to the notion of guerrilla camping. Hoping to consult more detailed maps, I entered a rather fantastic gas station, fully outfitted with deli, butcher, coffee shop, and groceries. I've never enjoyed fish, but, needing cheap protein and against all previous inclinations, I purchased a can of tuna and raided their supply of mayonnaise and relish. While I was at it I pocketed some coffee creamers for the road. To this I added one corn dog which, being hot and fatty, was better at that moment than most deserts. I ate my tuna in a light drizzle. Cindy Lauper crooned over me from speakers mounted overhead.
By now it was good and dark. Even if I wanted to sleep on the shoulder of the highway it was difficult to see where was best, and too early for traffic to side long enough for me to evade notice. I just needed somewhere unmarked and undeveloped, and out of sight but finding that place was harder than I thought. I pedaled on.
And then, to my astonishment, was a sign announcing my entrance into Sequim Bay, just fifteen miles from Port Angeles. I had gone 40 miles, without realizing it! And to my left was an entrance into Sequim Bay State Park. I found my site in the "Primitive" section reserved for hiker/bikers and it was gorgeous, surrounded by 100' conifers on the edge of the water.
Despite being worn out in my back and shoulders - surprisingly not my legs - I made dinner and wrote for several hours, listening to jazz flowing clearly through my weather radio. The report also congratulated me with promises of fair weather for the next few days.
Before bed I checked messages on my cell. Erin had texted me, "Were you eaten by bears?" It would be an ironic text if I had been.
Dosewallips State Park > Sequim Bay State Park
Distance biked: 40 miles
At 6:30 AM I woke to begin reading the New Testament again. After prayer I rolled out for breakfast, oatmeal mixed with a packet of apple cider, and the ubiquitous cup of cocoa. Whatever energy resides in such foods was absorbed to the limit by the first hill of the day, a punch up Walker Point. Half way on I stopped to make coffee - I swear by the Melitta drip cone! - and snacks. The ride down was well worth the effort, being a screaming, freezing descent. My face and hands went numb from the brisk wind and my nerves were a bit wracked by the nearly 100 lbs. of trailer weight pushing me over 30 mph downhill. Yes, I prayed against sticks and potholes.
A ranger station down the hill supplied me with maps and featured an interesting scale topographic model of the Olympic mountains. both helped show me that i was far from any State or National camps.
Pedaling my way along a silent ribbon of asphalt cut through dense emerald woods, I was struck by a splash of vibrant colors. Some jovial saint had decorated a pine at random with an array of Christmas ornaments. Some other Grinch, I presume, had cut it down.
This was not the only felled tree that I saw. In some places just behind a front wall of spruce and fir, acres had been cleared for logging. This rather disturbed me, except in areas which had been prodigiously replanted and were now sprouting hundreds of two-foot tall saplings. The sight of man working in harmony with nature, reaping the bounty and alike replenishing it cheered my heart.
Bicycling affords a certain calm that fosters prayer and meditation. In the afternoon I prayed for everyone I could think of. Happily during this time I saw one of the great blue egrets mentioned in my guide book.
By this time the sun was setting. I still had little idea where I would sleep and hadn't yet fully warmed to the notion of guerrilla camping. Hoping to consult more detailed maps, I entered a rather fantastic gas station, fully outfitted with deli, butcher, coffee shop, and groceries. I've never enjoyed fish, but, needing cheap protein and against all previous inclinations, I purchased a can of tuna and raided their supply of mayonnaise and relish. While I was at it I pocketed some coffee creamers for the road. To this I added one corn dog which, being hot and fatty, was better at that moment than most deserts. I ate my tuna in a light drizzle. Cindy Lauper crooned over me from speakers mounted overhead.
By now it was good and dark. Even if I wanted to sleep on the shoulder of the highway it was difficult to see where was best, and too early for traffic to side long enough for me to evade notice. I just needed somewhere unmarked and undeveloped, and out of sight but finding that place was harder than I thought. I pedaled on.
And then, to my astonishment, was a sign announcing my entrance into Sequim Bay, just fifteen miles from Port Angeles. I had gone 40 miles, without realizing it! And to my left was an entrance into Sequim Bay State Park. I found my site in the "Primitive" section reserved for hiker/bikers and it was gorgeous, surrounded by 100' conifers on the edge of the water.
Despite being worn out in my back and shoulders - surprisingly not my legs - I made dinner and wrote for several hours, listening to jazz flowing clearly through my weather radio. The report also congratulated me with promises of fair weather for the next few days.
Before bed I checked messages on my cell. Erin had texted me, "Were you eaten by bears?" It would be an ironic text if I had been.
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