Day 71 - the last day (and epilogue)

Sometimes I find myself at a loss for words. This may be one of those times. I'm sitting here in my childhood home trying to recount the day and all its intricate details, but the swell of memories, each with their unique emotions attatched, and the blur of days and locations and roads and faces is making it all rather difficult. But I'll try nonetheless.

The sun rose over the Sound and warmed the tent. A lot of dew. Stuff got pretty wet, but the thought of not having to dry it for the next night of camping eased my concern (though it raised some new ones). Couldn't tell if there was fog over the water or if that was still smoke. The last of the granola was had, and one of our friends who had let us camp there offered us a cup of coffee. Liam accepted, and the man with a "Damn it feels good to be American" t-shirt gave it to him in a USS Missouri souvenir mug.

Packed camp for one last time and rode off of the spit, receiving good lucks, congratulations and well-wishes from our friends. As we left, Liam showed me the "Trump that B****" and other similar bumper stickers on their trucks. Something to think about.

Just before we turned onto the road I found another handwritten sign that made me laugh. Look closely, there's a whole back story...

The road from Port Hadlock to Port Ludlow was hilly. Almost Midwest hilly. Frustrating hills too, the kind of residential roads that wind along the shoreline, riding up and down steep bluffs relentlessly. Most of these hills are steeper than the passes we did in the Cascades (though much shorter). That said, the scenery continued to be impressive.

Port Ludlow was ritzy. Much fancier homes, and a mall instead of the run down strip that Port Hadlock had. Went through Paradise Point and was just on top of another monstrous hump, peering down at the map when a lady rolled by in a car and shouted out the window quickly "They've closed the bridge and if you come down now you'll probably see a sub!" She had a curly perm and sunglasses that made her look like she had just come from Palm Springs, and both Liam and I were confused by what she said, but figured we should go down the hill after them and see what it was about. And what do you know, there, going under the Hood Canal bridge, was a massive submarine.

We circumvented the very long line of cars and went right up to the front to wait for the bridge to drop back down again. It did and for a while an onslaught of cars rushed past us. We turned off the road to take our first break of the day at Kitsap Memorial State Park.

There seemed to be a wedding reception being prepared for in the main building. We rested on a bench in the shade of the old cabin, and ate raisins and peanut butter. Looking at the maps there, rather laxidasically, it became apparent to me that we still had 23 miles to go until the Bremerton ferry terminal, and the next ferry left at 1:45, followed by a much later 3 o'clock ferry. It was just about noon then, and we figured if we were going to make the 1:45, we'd better get moving.

The old side roads on this stretch were just as hilly. Poor Liam on his 16 gears was struggling behind me with my 27. I knew he was hurting, but we were on a mission. We ripped past the U.S. Naval Reserve and some rural forested areas east of Poulsbo, then made our way into Silverdale. The malls and highway infrastructure of Silverdale nearly ensnarled us, but we pushed on in our mad dash to Bremerton. Past Silverdale I was on the point of giving up and settling for the three o'clock ferry, but we just had the slightest chance of still making it, so we raced on. After Silverdale we entered urban Bremerton and made several lights before being held up in the center of town by traffic. We stood there at an intersection panting, still a mile and a half from the terminal. I looked at my watch and it was 1:38. The finish line was at hand. There was a quick right on Crowell, and a left on Burwell which took us up and over one last massive hill. I nearly lost Liam behind me as I raced down the hill towards the terminal. He found me and we turned onto the loading dock where I rode up to a booth which was already closed. The man must have noticed my desperate look, and open the window to say "Go right ahead, boss. Lane 1. They'll tell you where to go." I smiled and we rode onto the ferry just behind the last cars to load. It was 1:47. Perhaps the fastest riding I've done all trip, and with the most varied conditions in one 23 mile section. It very well may have been the "boss level." If so, I think I just beat the game.

Liam and I sat on the ferry seats, smelly, sweaty, and stunned at what we had just done. The ride went quickly and I went out onto the observation deck as I had envisioned so many days before, to watch the skyline of Seattle grow rapidly before my eyes. It was all so surreal. I kept laughing to myself "It's really happening."

Had to get the Olympian photo there on the windy deck.

Rode off the ferry and was met by an enthusiastic lady swinging a sign- No, wait, that's mom.

She overestimated the miles a bit, but maybe I undercounted. 3,623 by my rough calculations.

Fella who took the picture happened to mention that he had walked from Los Angeles to New York. Wish I could have talked to him more.

Lluc also met us at the terminal prepared to ride the last leg with me. What a good friend. Liam led the charge down Alaskan Way and on to 1st Avenue through Pioneer Square, then left on Jackson passed King Street Station and through Chinatown. Then left on 12th and left again on Yesler up to the Broadway cycle track. We rode that thing all the way up the hill to the crest at Swedish Hospital, then down the dip past Seattle U and the Garage, before riding up again past Seattle Central. Now I was really on my turf again. Booker T and the MGs accompanied me as I waved to Jimi's statue and up past BoMo and Dicks (the smell of greasy fries wafting across the street and strongly tempting me). Past Olive and John, by all the shops and storefronts I knew so well. Seeing the old neighborhood was like seeing a friend again after a long time away: Clearly different on the outside but still with the same quirks that made you friends in the first place.

Liam stopped at Roy and let me ride first down Boylston and onto my street, good ole Summit Avenue. Pulled up to the garage like so many times before and let out a big breath. Wow.

There were pictures and it was a good time. Walked through the house still in wonder. Not sure what to do with myself, I went downstairs to unload Breezey. "We did it, Breezey," I said. But then I realized Breezey had never been to this home before. "This is home," I said.

Jumped in the pool for a moment and instantly felt like little Finley playing in the pool on a Summer's day. I giggled at the proposterousness of what I had just done.

The neighbors were having a potluck for the birthdays of grandchildren the age of 5 and other neighbors the age of 80. We went over and congratulations went all around and the air of celebration was all around. Later, ma made a mighty salmon dinner and cake afterwards.

*      *      *

I could offer some inspirational advice like "You can do anything you set your mind to," or "There's adventure out there if you go out and get it," all of which may be true, but you've probably heard it before, and who am I to tell you what to do? All I did was take the long way home from school. I could say that I'm a changed man, but so am I after a long shower, or any old day, for that matter. I guess what I'm saying is that even the ordinary can be extraordinary, and the extraordinary can be ordinary. If you're confused, well, so am I. I've seen too much too quick to make sense of it all. I do know that I'll be bike touring again, and that I love my country and my family and friends just as much as before, despite thier heartaches.

So hear this: if you dislike airlines as much as I, and you were lucky enough to get my card somewhere along the way, or even if you didn't (I'm telepathically sending one to you now), that is your ticket; Fly Trans-Love Airways. It's always free and it can take you anywhere. As long as you've got an open schedule, and open mind, and an open heart, it'll get you there on time. 

Day 70

When I was thinking this whole thing over, way back last summer, I guessed it might take me 70 days. And here I am, just on the other side of the Sound from home. One ferry ride away. I would be lying if I said I wasn't ready to be home. I am. As much as it's been a wild ride, all good things must come to an end. Or else they might stop being so good.

The morning came slowly. Cool by the ocean, and good for sleeping in. I got up first as usual and futzed around until the others got up. Granola and yogurt for breakfast. After that we all packed up but this time Liam and I loaded up our bikes while Evan, Lluc and Ian threw the rest in the car. They'd be heading back down I-5 towards home. We said our goodbyes and see-you-soons and they rolled outta there. We followed suit shortly after and began a fairly hilly ride along the western shore of Whidbey Island.

 Some Naval bases around here, and lots of Fighter jets roaring over us while we rode. Pretty little seaside shacks lined up along the beach here. We stopped and ate celery on the beach by one of the largest bull kelp forests in Washington.

God darn I love Northwest beaches. Rough stones covered in barnacles, piles of driftwood, slimy globs of sea weed and tall sandy bluffs.

We rode for a while longer along a winding road under peeling madrona trees by a little bay.

Eventually found ourselves in Coupville. Cute waterfront street.

Had a hot dog at a little stand before realizing we had a ferry to catch to Port Townsend in 45 minutes. Busted out those 5 miles to Fort Casey and got to the ferry terminal with time to spare.

More views of beautiful Whidbey on the way.

At the terminal we chatted with some friendly cyclists also waiting for the ferry, who congratulated me on my travels. Seems odd to be accepting congratulations before I'm home but I guess I kinda have done the thing. Still, I won't be satisfied fully until I'm at my front door.

The ferry was short, but I had time to go up top and get a photo approaching Port Townsend.

They had ropes hanging with which to tie the bikes.

Liam broke my flag again while dismounting, but I forgave him.

Port Townsend was nice. A little strip of San Francisco out here on the Sound.

Hit up a Co-op to get some snacks and scored a half a bag or tortilla chips in the dumpster. Rode out of town on a bike path past a lumber mill on the water,  which shortly turned into a wagon road right out of a fairy tale.

It wound this way and that through forests and fields until Port Hadlock. The most interesting bike trail I may have ridden on yet.

Port Hadlock was confusing. Never heard of this place nor had a reason to go here even though it's not far from home. Pretty tired and probably dehydrated so I took a wrong turn and ended up in Chilicum. Realized the mistake and tried to right it but ended up just taking another wrong turn. You'd think I'd have this navigation thing figured out by now...

Eventually figured it out and found camp at a county park on the Sound.

A little spit sticking out with some picnic tables and fire pits. Fella hollered at Liam while we rode in and told him it was $20 to camp, but they had an extra site we could stay in for free if we wanted. They seemed like nice folks,  having a cook-out or family reunion thing,  so we accepted.

Charismatic middle-aged dude with granny glasses talked to us as we cooked supper about a bike he used to have, and later asked us, "You guys don't drink milk, do ya? Like from a cow?" and continued to tell us how he makes kombucha (he pronounced 'kum-BU-ka'). They gave us some chicken that we threw in our rice and beans.

Night came and we crawled into the tent listening to him ramble on about something. Life on the road never fails to deliver surprises.

Day 69

Woke up before the rest of the guys and got some water going. The lake was glassy. Approached the car to rummage for breakfast items but saw Lluc sleeping in the trunk. Guess the bugs were too much last night.

They stirred eventually and were soon congregated around the picnic table. This machine works efficiently now, without orders. We decided that the guys would stick around and ride with me for one more day, and make it all the way to the ocean, and then split as to avoid the ferries and let me pull my own weight on the way back home.

The road out of camp was long and gently sloped down. (A nice reward after yesterday's climb). Beautiful dense trees on either side with the morning sun just barely poking through. At the bottom we crossed over highway 20 to get onto a side road that wound along the Skagit once more, where large grey sandbars appeared, isolated between ice-blue waters. The farms were small, muddy, and ramshackle. Western Washington has this dark green sheen- a slimy growth that covers every nook and cranny, every car hood and roadsign, that dries out to a crusty powder in August. Never realized how much I could miss a thing like that.

Had intended on stopping in Hamilton, but the "downtown" evaded us, so we just rode on to Lyman, another five miles on. However, we did pass the archaic facade of the Hamilton Gymnasium; an art-deco relic far too grand for its present surroundings.

Our road turned to gravel where a chip sealing operation was underway, so we had to hop onto 20 for a little ways. A rest found us on the lawn of town hall, another grand looking affair.

Gotten pretty good at balancing four bikes around one tree.

Ian has been chasing us around, trying to follow our vague directions (not to mention learning how too drive on the opposite side of the road...) but he somehow always manages to find us.

Next we headed for Sedro-Wooley. The road once again turned to chip-seal, though it was more worn and solid, so we thought we might ride it out,  but a construction worker redirected us to a road he thought would be better. When he spoke to us I was surprised at how normal he sounded. Perhaps the first local I've heard talk whose speech sounded like mine. Getting ever closer to home.

Road lead us right into Sedro where we rolled through downtown, took a look at an impressive mural, and then hit the road once more for Burlington.

We ride as a tight pack.

Plopped down in a small park in Burlington across the street from several taquerias and a bar, advertising this game of pull tabs phonetically.

This mural was less grand but no less charming.

Grabbed some Granola at a store before hitting 20 again towards Anacortes. Saw my first sign with Seattle written on it. That was pretty exciting.

The ride was pleasant. Many winding sideroads through blueberry fields, and rows of Himalayan blackberries loaded with ripe berries along the road. A hobo's heyday. Here we could finally smell that salty ocean air. It feels thicker, heavier, laden with moisture.

After the side roads ran out we were back onto 20 again which wasn't great, but up on top of a bridge, we had our first sighting of the ocean.

Many a hoot and a hollar going over that bridge.

On the other side traffic got bad for a moment as 20 split into two, one going to Anacortes and the other going south. We took the latter. It went up a drastic hill, and I took us off of it to get another side road which went through Dewey, and then back onto it again to cross over Deception pass; an awesomely commanding set of bridges straddling an island between Whidbey and Fidalgo Islands. Just around the bend we entered the State Park where I had reserved a site. Glad I had. The place was gorgeous, (and campground full). Found the site, dumped out stuff and went to the beach to perform the ritual that seemed necessary upon reaching the ocean. We cracked a few cold ones, took a photo, and then jumped in the water. Success.

Dinner was 3 mighty bowls of pasta (which Lluc presided over) and we returned to the beach later for the sunset, though it was obscured behind the smoke. A tremendous couple of days riding from mountains to sound with these guys. Reigning in this wild thing that I've done with new energy. I'm on top of the world.