W*h*ine Tour - Days 1 to 4
Mission Accomplished - but miles still to ride to beat the heat!
A Short Introduction
After visiting Westport Winery we were impressed with their fruit wines and joined their wine club. This inspired an idea. Instead of having them mail us our wine, we would ride our bikes there to pick it up and test our touring setup at the same time. Not only were we testing gear but also testing our travelogue, video capture, and NAS access while traveling.
A route was created that would test most scenarios we would encounter as we live and tour on our bikes. The following daily journals were written by Deborah and the photos were mostly taken by Nivaun.
Deborah called this our W*h*ine Tour.
Cheers!
June 16, 2021 Day 01
I think we forgot the kitchen sink.
Adventure begins after years of planning and with retirement on the not so far horizon. We left the routines of the suburbs seeking anything but normalcy. There is something truly magical about being on trail whether by foot, pedal or paddle - being on the move with the unexpected rising up to greet you each and every day is so much more satisfying than any civilized routine I know. We sailed through familiar backroads where childhood memories and landmarks of barns, berry fields, orchards and horses looking for handouts had long faded from view. So much of what drew my family here has been swept away by the ever growing swell of suburban landscapes that leave only piecemeal bits, of what was the far-reaching pastoral, now neatly tucked between the never ending rows of backyard fences. A bit further and we were in the final fringe of farmland gazing at the hills that would take us away and further toward home.
After only a couple hours, we gratefully rolled onto our first rail trail gently paving our way down a green tunnel and into wide open forest land. Rail trails are such a gift to cyclists and road walkers alike. The path was dotted with young families as well as seniors enjoying care-free travel across the landscape laid out before them.
Each of our trips start out with a carefully thought out plan, pieced together after hours of analyzing maps and apps, thanks to my well-traveled mate. It is an art that is still beyond me and for which I am truly grateful and ever-trusting of my master guide. To ease ourselves over the thresh-hold from normalcy to nomad-ness, we arrived at our first camp with a reservation in advance. Unexpectedly our camp spot of one became a choice of 20 with no one else in sight. Our lucky 15 turned into 8 and we settled in to our most comfortable accommodations, amongst the beauty of the forest with a fresh water pump and pit toilets, including a garbage can! On our final trip to the water pump for the evening, our eyes were surprised to find another cyclist had taken up residence for the night. It was his first test run on a gravel bike, escaping a neighboring suburb, after a days work, to try out the life of bike packing travel. He was one of the many that took time to ponder life’s choices this last year, as routines were abruptly altered. And, now one of the few, choosing to make a path forward to a life of something better. Ours was just around the corner, and so close, we can feel it taking up a long awaited residence in our bones with every stroke of the pedal.
June 17, 2021 Day 02
Rail-to-Trails and forest roads. Nearly missing our turn.
Mornings in the out doors are amazing!! Every morning without fail to be roused by nature awakening your senses is such a gift, when contrasted with the routine of technology chimes attempting to mimic what only nature can truly deliver. We reveled in all that was alive around us over breakfast. You know you have crossed over to being in the moment when even the smallest of things capture your attention. In the coolness of the morning, even the mosquitos were skipping over our table, above our heads, choosing instead to sun themselves on a nearby leafy branch - so many trying to crowd on one sun lit leaf that, just like birds on a wire, there was a constant jockeying for position. I sat in amazement that even something as small (and annoying) as a mosquito could seek the same experience as me in the early hours of the morning. Just wow, Nature. Thank you for reminding me that we are one.
Excitement loomed, as this was our first day starting from the ground up, literally, saying good bye to paved paths, to head further into the forest, and a bit of uncertainty. We lingered at the last man-made respite, a neatly plotted small town fishing pond, encircled by the last of the paved rail trail. As we packed up our snack bag, the master plan was about to unfold, navigating us through the forest lands and onto rolling backroads leading down to the edge of Oregon, where we would make a landmark crossing in reverse.
As with all master plans, they quickly turn into guides in the loosest sense of the word. We were no sooner at the end of the neighborhood road that was to port us to the forest land, when our first debate began. We were looking at a sun-baked logging road heading vertical and around a bend, full of chunky gravel, nothing about it looked inviting - only the vision of what might be the reward at the end of the suffer-fest. It was supposed to be a connector to the continuation of the rail trail we had been following from which we would hop off and enter the logging roads pointing in the direction of our intended descent to the Columbia. Plan B - won us over without much deliberation.
After a short road ride, the master plan revealed, Plan C was actually possible, diverting us into the forest sooner. It looked ever more welcoming, after sweltering in the heat whilst hugging the 6 inch white line, between life at “55” miles an hour, and a non-existent shoulder.
As we squeezed ourselves, and heaved our bikes at cross-ways angles, between the locked gate, and the carved out hillside, we felt the freedom of all that was before us; despite the ominous property signs intended to keep us out.
Abandoned logging roads are also amazing! Even as the forest reclaims what was once laid a waste land, bringing itself back to life, and all the forest dwellers with it, there remains a remnant of easy grade and girth just waiting in the undergrowth for one to weave a pedal trail. To be able to experience all of this on two wheels brings the joy of travel to new levels. The rumble of pavement warriors chasing us down the hot tarmac in the blazing sun was replaced by continuous bird chatter, filtered sunlight coming through the trees, lighting up the underbrush, gently gracing our backs, and a cool breeze brushing our faces, as we rolled up and down our own green high way through the very same forest as the road we had left behind. What a gift!
Our Plan C track took us up to our intended route, across the main road to follow another gentle grade, or so we hoped. I had been dreading pushing my fully-loaded bike up the first un-rideable grade. I was barely able to move it’s weight up a slight side hill on our first day to check out some Goldilocks-style wooden chairs a local had left along side the rail trail for those needing a rest and a smile. We had just loaded up with extra water, preparing to dry camp that night, and there it was...a side road that was no longer visible except by map, and went straight up, taking us further into the forest.
I’m so grateful that somehow my body still manages to pull together and do what is needed to keep my adventuring alive, and that my mind can calm itself, hunker down devoid of unnecessary chatter. A few steps and rest, a few steps and rest. As the road became more visible, it also began to level out, we found a nice flat shelf alongside and settled in for the night to rest amongst the slugs and the snails. We were quite comfortable with our new found pace, and felt at home amongst those that shared the same.
June 18, 2021 Day 03
Of reroutes, fallen trees, grassy roads, and bushwhacking.
Moving by 9 is our travel M.O., doesn’t seem to matter how early we awake to the day, yet we were anxious to see what lie ahead on our next track through the forest. We had been graced with easy travel, sans our final push the day before, but more of the unexpected lie ahead, before our planned re-entry to the paved domain.
Not far along we met up with our first fallen log, then a smallish fallen tree hanging over our heads. Nivaun had come prepared to test out all that we may need for life on the less-traveled roads, and made quick work of branches, limbs and logs to clear our path. Our trail was again smooth and green, filled with wild iris and sweet smelling air, all along our gradual ascent. After a short break, and a studied look up the increasingly bushy road, we strained to see...was our good fortune about to leave us to fend for ourselves?
As we pedaled closer, then clamored over most of what was too many downed branches to clear, we both quickly realized that the clutter of bushes and trees, was just that, bushes and trees. No road to be seen - only a dense mix of fir, vine maple, fern and brush in every direction.
In these moments when nature rattles our senses, years of shared back country travel experience, without fail affirms in us - we will get each other through and out of, whatever our travels get us in to, and we will be better for it. So, following a short stint of the mandatory thrashing around in the trees and brush, navigation skills prevailed, making visible scant remnants of a crooked path through the trees just ahead of us leading up and over an old washout, and on to another perfectly groomed forest road. A few more minutes of trail-clearing, and we were portaging our gear, then our bikes through our first challenge! After a well-earned lunch in the shade along our new found road, and a final validation we were back on our intended route, we set off again.
Further up the road, we were graced with our first sighting of forest dwellers larger than ourselves, an Elk, that I think we surprised not once, but twice, after taking a quick back track to a missed Y in the road. We hoped that maybe a herd was nearby and would show itself before we left the forest behind.
A quick check of the map near the top, where our road merged into a well-traveled gravel road, showed our route darted off onto yet another side road, heading further up across a clearing to our final descent out of the forest. We felt all the rewards of reaching the top. Enjoying awesome views across meandering valleys of trees flecked with signs of every day life below, mixed with the anticipation of an awesome downhill before crossing back to civilized roads...or so we thought.
Around the corner, stopping at a vantage point to view the other side, we looked for our downhill ride across a cleared hillside that was now dotted w/ sapling firs. We faced a final Y. Hesitantly rolling past what looked to be the less traveled leg, we discovered our route was turning us back to take the shabbier looking road that dropped steeply down the cleared hillside. What started out as shabby, quickly narrowed to a wide-ish trail full of random bumps and rocks and sticks. Reminding myself to feather, not grip, both brakes, we descended quite rapidly down the hill with no end in sight. After rounding a bend, a familiar sound of truck brakes rose up from down below, and then a brief glimpse of traffic, breezing down the same road we expected to reach via a bridge over the creek that lie between us and the road. As our descent leveled off, we felt the elation of having navigated through our first forest trek of the trip.
With a final squeeze of the brakes, we instantly realized why the road we had just descended so quickly turned to rough trail, it was gone! Instead of a bridge, we were now staring at 5x the amount of obstruction we had faced that morning - underneath, around and overhead. There were over-abundant blackberries, nettles, scrubby vine maple, sapling firs, and all manner of logging debris underfoot just waiting to swallow a misplaced foot, or limb, as thorns and stingers jabbed you on the way down. What made this all the more distressing is that we were out of water, and could only hear the creek, we should of been crossing via the now non-existent bridge.
A repeat of thrashing around, only proved it was punishing and pointless to push through the tangled thicket - we were at a definite dead end. The irony was...we could see the road at eye level now, and yet, could not see a way to reach it. So if we cant go forward, go backward, but how far??? There was no way we were pushing up and back from whence we descended. We had to figure a way around from where we were, and find a way to the creek. As we retraced our steps, our heads cleared, and a bushwhack to the creek started to look possible. Over strewn logging debris, and down through the sun-filled meadow we went carving a trail leading us into the moss covered trees draping themselves above the creek. A few more steps and we entered another world, gloriously damp and full of coolness. The creek and lite breeze felt amazing on our sweaty, and now prickly, scratched exteriors. Relief, and a new plan began to take shape, we would camp near the end of our road/trail, and portage our packs and bikes in the morning, traversing our way downstream to where we could gain access up and onto the road - finally success, just not according to Plan A. By now, we were on to Plan D, and it was only Day 3.
Long distance hikers often refer to trail “magic” as something external to the experience they find themselves in - water jugs, pop, snacks, or a whole buffet setup along the trail, in unexpected places, and amazingly just when it is needed most.
What I marvel at most is the “magic” that Nature provides all on its own. We were wore out, scraped, scratched and needed some reprieve. With no outside intervention, as we collected ourselves, reaching much needed water, and locating our way forward, Nature provided all that we needed for a glorious evening. We took showers under a giant fir, aired our clothes in the sun, sat in the shade next to our tent, made our evening meal, and enjoyed the glorious display of birds being birds - more types than we had ever seen in one place, singing their cheerful melodies, as they flitted between the trees above our heads. We were at peace and content. As we got cozy in our tent, the air had cooled to invite us to rest. Our heads were still buzzing about the day, holding our gaze back up the hillside, when above us appeared, a young bull Elk, looking most intently at what lie below him and his herd. We were sure he must of thought - WTH this is a dead-end, logged out road - no one should be down here for years to come....
June 19, 2021 Day 04
Creek portage and society overload begins with blueberry pancakes.
There is nothing sweeter and more soothing than song birds awakening ones senses in the early light. Knowing we had a path forward, we let ourselves linger over a blueberry pancake breakfast, enjoying the last of our pleasant stay in the forest land. As much as we were excited, and a bit anxious to move forward given our delays, we had no real plan for where we would stay, once we crossed over into Washington and started traveling back country roads.
This was our first trip, truly traveling as we had dreamed, living day to day, by bike. Intended to be a 2 week test-run to sort out final preparations of gear, and get a feel for how we generally wanted to live on and off road. It is one thing to “live” travels vicariously watching cinematic U-Tube footage, and quite another to be faced real-time with the off-camera experience of the unknown, gauging your surroundings, the people, defining what is safe and what is not. Back country forest for us is our comfort zone. This morning we were about to take our final steps, out into the familiar, yet unknown.
We traversed our make-shift trail down to the creek. First with our bags, then bikes, and with far fewer explicatives than the day before. After precariously heaving one bike, and then the next, over a fallen moss-covered tree at the creek bank, we were ready for the final portage down the creek and up to the road. The irony was not lost on us, as we thought of the many canoe treks in Nova Scotia we had watched, where land was the barrier, and now for us it was a portage of bags and bikes down and across a creek.
Feeling quite accomplished finally standing alongside the pavement, we loaded up our bikes, and rolled over to the point on our route where we should have crossed over by bridge the day before. As we stared at the other side, it was still a dense thicket of trees and bushes. Without question, a bridge, or even a road, had not been there for many, many years. Back country lesson affirmed - no amount of research can ensure even a logging road route will go as planned.
We headed on down our chosen back country road, enjoying the extended stretch of forest mixed with wetland trailing along beside us. Several bucolic rolling country roads later, we got our first glimpse of the Columbia with just the tips of Mt. St. Helens and Rainier gracing the sky line. A final ascent and we were once again moving rapidly down hill, this time through the hillside neighborhoods of Rainier, across the highway to take a momentary rest alongside the river’s edge. We were here, civilization, with a major bridge span to cross taking us back to our adopted ‘home’ state.
It is always an odd feeling re-entering the buzz of normality after spending time away, no matter if it’s a few days or weeks. We sat along side the river watching the daily routines of life around us, in the park, on the water, and wondered what experiences the rest our trip, winding through towns and rail trails would bring.
As we were packing up, our bikes caught the attention of a Dad with young kids in tow. After the usual exchanges of where did you come from, and where are you going, he sank to the grass and began to reminisce about bike travels taken while he was young, and those he still hoped to make some day. It impressed upon me even more how long it had taken to break out of daily routines to live my own dreams. Hoping no more, we set out again, living our new reality.
It was just a short distance to the on ramp, and I was trying to quickly gather myself for once again riding the Longview bridge, only this time with traffic in full force. Thankfully it was Saturday, and not Friday...we agreed maybe it was well-timed that we were a day behind.
As we started the long, slow pedal in the shoulder, littered with road and logging debris, I questioned whether I could make it all the way without stopping, a puncture, or worse, a un-seen obstacle launching me into the busy road inches away. To settle my head, and garner motivation from within, my mind went back to when I first cycled this same bridge. Immediately, it began to swell up in me what a monumental crossing this actually was for both of us. It had been over 27 years since Nivaun and I had first crossed this bridge, nearing the end of our first Seattle-to-Portland ride of 200 miles. We were young and newly in love, after a chance meeting in a bike shop. My new found excitement over bike travel had materialized into riding the STP, and our chance meeting, made the dream of having someone to ride by my side more real by the day. Many relationship roads later, we were now riding as one, back over that same bridge, to begin the first of many bike treks as roamers of the world.
We hooted and bounced on our bikes in a make-shift dance, as we crossed under the “Welcome to Washington” sign - so happy to be back in our most favored state, we call home! Excited to share my “ah-ha”, heart-felt reflection on the other side, I heard Nivaun calling out.
Oh life - always putting a spin on things...his rear tire had gone flat, right at the bottom of the bridge, right at the start of the side road....well I guess we can be thankful for that, then, eh? Seeking the most immediate shade, we were fortunate to be able to duck around the corner of the closest industrial-looking building to make repairs. Our plan was to load up on some real food for dinner, since we were in the midst of full-on town now, and conserve our back country meals for the unexpected. Then move on to catch the start of the rail trail leading out of town. Im not sure whether it was still the unease of just having left the forest that morning, or a general unsettling feeling that we were in unfamiliar surroundings, amongst too many people living on the edge, but we could not get out of town, and down the trail and roads fast enough, on the hunt for a piece of quiet and green all to ourselves. Lingering thoughts of our perfect campsite the night before was setting the bar too high. Our route took us along the back roads paralleling I-5. At times we were above it, and then right along side it, until we found ourselves looking at concrete barriers in the middle of the road, and a ROAD CLOSED sign to greet us.
Did I mention, we are one? With hardly a discussion, we pushed past the barriers and realized things were looking up, maybe... We at least had a piece of road to ourselves...and there just happen to be some dense, yet skinny saplings that looked almost like a small woodland along side. As we pedaled on down to find the source of the closure, we were both scanning for anything that looked like it could work for the night. The source of the closure, was a sink hole that ate up most of the road, except for a narrow passage just wide enough for loaded bikes. Relieved to see we could make it through and proceed on our way, the question we had to answer, while feeling exhausted, overheated, and low on processing power, was now, or in the morning? I had already Googled for campsites, called the nearest one only to find out they no longer even had tent sites, and had looked for hotels in the next town. All were miles ahead, none of which sounded inviting, and we were ready to be done.
Sometimes its hard to be grateful for what the trail provides, but I was, really...after all this was not the forest. Nivaun had bushwhacked a couple places into the woodland and found all that was required, a dry, flat camp spot big enough for our tent. Decision was made, we would nonchalantly unload our bags and then slip our bikes over the guard rail down into the trees and be out of sight from I-5 with no concern of cars coming down the road. Fortunately, we had enough water, combined with our real food for dinner, to get us through to the next morning. Yay!? Until the first freight train, then Amtrak, came by squealing and screeching just above our heads....oh, it was going to be a loooong night.
I can actually say I did “awake” the next morning around 5 am, after a final short stint of barely sleep, between trains screeching, over top of the constant freeway noise. I can also confidently say, I now know my threshold for noise tolerance. I had struggled all night to keep my noise-cancelling airbuds in my ears to drown out most of it with limited success. After fumbling to find the one that had gone missing somewhere during the night, I popped them both back in, re-started the meditation music channel, and barely said more than a word, as we packed up the tent.
