Grateful for Clouds

Finally settled in for the night, knowing that I have a plan for the next few days, I wait to feel sleep creep in. The darkness is interrupted by my cell phone ringing. I expect it to be one last call from Linda, but when I look at the little window, I am delighted to see the name of my workplace neighbor and one of my all-time favorite people, Chie. "Hello?" "Um, who is this" "This is Kevin, so nice to hear from you." "Thomas? Who is this?" "This is Kevin. I'm in Idaho. Where are you?" Laughter... Apparently she meant to call someone named Karen. Close but no cigar. I am wondering if she remembers I am on vacation because I think she says something like "I'll see you tomorrow." Which doesn't make sense either because tomorrow would be a Saturday. Not a dream, but entertaining.

Huge change in the weather today. I rolled out of town at 6:00 am, still fairly dark out because of the ample cloud cover, and made a quick stop at the Post Office to drop in a bill and an article for Theo I came across in the Lewiston paper the day before. It was about 70 degrees, even this early, but very comfortable. The route out of Lewiston takes me across another bridge, and then along a separated path that parallels highway 12. After a comfortable ride along the highway, I come to the junction with Highway 95 southbound. Big decision time. The Adventure Cycling map says that they do not recommend following highway 12 to Kamiah, due to lack of shoulders and heavy truck traffic. They recommend a longer route down 95 and then across the prairies to Kamiah. What makes it a hard decision is that highway 12 to Kamiah is pretty flat, and the "Lapwai" alternate has some climbing. A lot of climbing in fact. They advertise a near absence of traffic and decent shoulders, so after the stress of holding the white line for so much of eastern Washington's highway 24, I decided to try it out. If the big climb does me in, I can make it a short day and camp at Winchester Campground, located on a lake just after the monster hill. The distance differential is pretty big. Highway 12 to Kamiah, 68 miles. The Lapwai alternate worked out to about 87 miles. I headed out to 95 take the long way.

Today was almost entirely within the Nez Perce Indian Reservation. I read that the Nez Perce were the nicest, most helpful tribe to Lewis and Clark.

A short distance out of Lewiston, in the tiny town of Lapwai (place of butterflies) I stopped at a little diner for breakfast. I sat next to three native women at the counter and they immediately struck up a conversation with me. They were alarmed when I said I was headed to Missoula. "Honey, you're going the wrong way!" I explained the whole detour scenario, and they still seemed doubtful. I am suggestible enough that this starts to build doubts in my own mind, but I wasn't going to double back now. After breakfast, almost as soon as I got rolling, it started to rain. First time for the raincoat I had been portering along all this time. It was so warm and the rain so light, I almost didn't need it, but I kept it on until the drops abated. The shoulders were wide but strewn with debris. Just before the diner I heard a pop and then thump-thump-thump. I looked at my front tire as I rolled to a stop and a big screw was protruding out of the tread. I carefully unscrewed it,waiting for the hiss, but nothing. The tire was holding. I have had good luck with my Specialized Armadillos. I just hate flats, so I am OK with them being a little slower rolling.

Eventually, there is a right turn off the highway to start "the climb." It's called Winchester Grade Road, and it is about eight miles of tight switchbacks, uninterrupted ascent, inclines from 5 to 7% and in a few short places, even steeper. This would have been a killer in direct sunlight, but it was exciting to look back at each turn and see how much higher I was. The roadway was super smooth, so very comfortable to ride on. At about 3500 feet it levels off and the prairie component begins. Rolling high plains, almost zero traffic, but pretty rough roads. And, I notice that my front tire is losing air after all. I pump it up again, and find that it is good for about thirty miles each pump-up. I'll fix it tonight.

While I had cloud shelter for much of today's ride, the sun broke out at times in the prairies, and it was really nice. My legs were pretty wasted from Winchester, but I elected to keep going to Kamiah. There were numerous times where I would start down a huge hill only to see an equally long re-climbing of that elevation loss coming up. Finally, about nine miles from Kamiah, the road takes a steep, continuous descent to the little town. I am really spent, but I look forward to a short thirty mile leg to Lowell tomorrow, and a longer leg the next day.

Hitting the road again in the morning!

My peaceful day of rest ended on a huge emotional roller coaster as I worked out the potential ways the rest of my journey might play out. When I thought up this whole enterprise, knowing I didn't have unlimited time to complete it, but also not wanting it to be a death race, I was figuring my bail-out plan would be to pick up a rental car and fast forward a portion of it, hopefully a dry hot hellish portion, having just done one of those from Yakima to Palouse Falls.

First I figured out my legs across Idaho to Lolo, now with the help of my Lewis & Clark and Transamerica bicycle maps, and was getting excited about the sights and terrain coming up.

Once I started looking at which car rental agencies have locations in or near my route, things started looking bleak. It looked like I would need to decide whether to pick up at Missoula or West Yellowstone. I figured a drop off at Casper would leave me a nice two to three day stretch into Scottsbluff. Budget: "We cannot allow you to pick up and drop off between those cities, and we cannot say why." Enterprise: Very helpful sounding guy, who looked at it a number of ways but also came up empty handed, while calling me "Lance" on the phone, but said my only chance would be to call National. National has only one drop off site in all of Wyoming, Jackson, a beautiful place for sure, but a ways off route and leaving me a death race across Wyoming still. Then I tried Hertz. And they came through. I was at the point of thinking I'd have to do a 180 or a loop and just come back. Not a total loss, but I already named the blog! Anyway, now I know I can make it, have fun along the way, and for now concentrate of some cool little campgrounds and maybe even some cabins on my way out to Lolo.

It's still hot out, but some clouds have moved in to block the direct sunlight, and it makes a huge difference. Tomorrow and the next day, highs are to be about twenty degrees cooler, so it's looking like a "go" again, where a few minutes ago I was thinking of that scene in Apollo 13 when Jim Lovell says "We just lost the moon."

The photo I'm posting with this was somewhere between Othello and Palouse Falls. I immediately thought of another abandoned bus up in Alaska... Theo knows which one I mean. Side note on Theo and Apollo 13, I have a photo of Theo and Fred Haise shaking hands from a few years ago when he stopped in at Boeing Field. Some day maybe he will think it's cool.

I'm about to go into another region of "buried in the mountains" highways, so no telling when my next chance to upload blatherings and photos. At the least, I send text message updates to Linda and/or Theo periodically so they have some idea how far I am along each day.

I'm in Idaho! (where cyclists can legally treat stop signs as yield signs)

Today's ride was a gift after the last three days experiences. But first, I should cover my night in Pomeroy. Once the sun goes down, and things cool, it's hard to imagine why it seemed so hellish before. I was just beat, so I walked the length of the town to the Sagebrush Grill. Excellent bacon cheeseburger, which my body so craved. And another phenomenon which I have noticed sometimes occurs in small towns, order a glass of red wine, and it's not only cold, it's filled almost to the rim! This was heaven. I staggered back in the dark, and lay down on the bed. Though the place wasn't air-conditioned, it was only a little warm, or, my body is still radiating heat from the day, but Leann (owner of the B&B) said I could sleep with the door open to the outside and no one would bother me so I left it ajar, and could hear the crickets and neighborhood voices outside. You ever have that kind of tired where when you lie down, your body just hurts? I remember just sinking back onto the bed... a little while later, I was with people at work, and Tim was making fun of the way my whiskers had grown in all white (just shaved them off by the way), and later on, I was in a cabin and it was snowy outside. We were tossing little treats to the dogs romping outside in the snow. Then after some blurriness, I was sitting at a table with Virginia, trying to explain why the wine was so, so good, and my glass was broken but I was picking up the broken bottom part and getting the last drops out. Then I woke up and had absolutely no idea where I was. It came back gradually... I'm on a long bike ride. I'm asleep in someone's basement in a small town. Oh yeah, that's it. This was my first sound sleep of the trip, and maybe even for a while before that. I still had another hour before my alarm, so I relished it.

With forecasts of 100+ degrees in Lewiston, my plan was just to make it to Clarkston, only 29 miles away, and take a rest day while it's super hot. And, I wanted to arrive at my destination before the heat did (see? I'm learning) so I headed out of my room close to 6:00 am, and rolled down to Donna's Cafe for breakfast. I know, I was just at a B&B, but I didn't want to make my host get up that insanely early. It was the least I could do for the great night of sleep. Two old(er than me) guys at the next table asked me about my ride, and assured me that I shouldn't have too much trouble making it up and over Alpowa Pass.

About a mile and a half out of town, a brisk headwind set in. Not sure where it came from but it was steady and strong. I had to shift down even though I was only going up about 2-3%, and I was starting to wonder if this was all part of a series of signs trying to tell me something. "Don't leave Washington on your bike! Go back!! Whoo, scary..." I tried to stop thinking of how many miles left and when will I get there, and just more of "where am I right now." Sure, headwind was slowing me down, but it felt good on my face, and the countryside was beautiful. Some things I learn so slowly in life that I wonder really, maybe I am a slow person. I was probably in my forties before I realized Lewiston and Clarkston, two towns right across the river from each other, sound ominously close to the names Lewis and Clark. Well, now I'm riding roughly alongside the Lewis and Clark Trail, and every few miles I come across viewpoints with stories of their journeys just over two hundred years ago. This is like riding through a living museum. And I realize, I'm having fun. Headwind, schmeadwind. The climb up to Alpowa is gradual, never more than 5%, and soon I reach the top, about nine miles out of Pomeroy. And there are restrooms. Can it get any better? Well, yes.

After Alpowa, you start downhill, and it's about eleven miles of uninterrupted descent. I hardly had to move the pedals. At this rate, I was going to get to Clarkston about two hours earlier than I had conservatively guessed when I planned my departure. Now, I know this will sound like Homer Simpson complaining the turkey's a little dry, but once you finally get to level ground, the shoulder surface becomes pretty bumpy. However, since I was so far ahead of schedule, I started just slowing down, and then the bumps were not so bad.

Rolling into Clarkston, where my librarian resource assistant had helped me set up reservations at the Best Western (pricy but I just had to get out of the heat) I see a huge billboard for Econolodge, with rooms starting at 34.95 a night. I'm wondering: what's wrong with this place that the room costs a third of what Best Western is charging? The sign says free wi-fi and pool. What's the catch? No air-conditioning? No TV? Dry turkey? I have plenty of time on my hands so I call the number on the billboard, and ask to be sure the price is 34.95 and is there air conditioning? The Indian accented man tells me... something, but with all the traffic noise I can't be sure what. "You come down here and we will honor that price." So, I head on down the road, cross a bridge, and wow, I'm in Idaho! Last time I rode over the border of Washington into Idaho, I was with my son (who wishes not to be named on line, so I will use the code name Theo) when we rode from Spokane to Coeur d'Alene. But I digress. I walk up to the Econolodge lobby desk and ask, just to make sure, do the rooms have air-conditioning? He shakes his head. "No sir, rooms have no air-conditioning. No TV, no bed, no bathtub." I decide I like him, he's funny. So now I am taking a rest day off in Lewiston. The forecast says maybe things will ease off the hundred-ish highs in a day or two, so I will rest, recover, and go float in the pool. There's a tiny sporting goods store across the street, maybe I can also replenish my white gas supply for the stove.

Canyons, Coulees, Still Seeking Shelter

I woke up at 4:30 am, in preparation for my pre dawn departure, but it was still so dark out I didn't think I'd be able to see well enough to work. So, at 5:00 am I started the process of taking my tent down and packing while making coffee and oatmeal. The sun crested the horizon just as I started up the gravel drive to get back out to the highway from Palouse Falls.

It was nice last evening. As soon as the sun went down, it started cooling to a tolerable point. I made a huge pot of linguini (the box weighs a whole pound so I wanted to start converting it to sweat) with tuna stirred in. I went into the tent by 8:30 and just listened to my neighbors on both sides. Entertaining enough. Somewhere I think I slept but have yet to really enjoy a night of sleep.

The Spanish speaking families were interesting. I could hear little spurts of conversation coming from the tents all night. At about four, someone sang a few lines of something. When I got out of my tent at five, there were two people out firing up the propane stove, but by six they were all back in their tents again. The couple from Seattle stayed up pretty late, and in the morning, not a sign of life. I really wanted to sleep in. I thought of taking a rest day there, but when Linda found me a room on Pomeroy, I decided to head on.

The route out of Palouse Falls is amazing. Mostly descending, and I'm pretty sure steeper than what I climbed to get there from the west. Highway 261 winds like a snake down through deep canyons, until you pop out at the Snake River by Lyons Ferry Park. There is tons of camping around Lyons Ferry, though my Washington Bike Map doesn't indicate it. Also water for swimming. I wonder if they even had showers? From the bridge I had super-smooth, wide shoulders, until the town of Starbuck, then it was back to hugging the white line. There is very little traffic on these highways, at least this early, but most of it is big rigs. Most of them are very nice about easing over as they pass, and the couple who tooted their horns I think were more of a "hello" than "get out of my way." One funny thing about that flag on my trailer. It looks too jaunty. I could be about to die of heat stroke, but people would probably just say, "have a nice one!" People have been pretty friendly, and I am surprised how nice people are on the road in rural areas. So why is it was I can ride in a congested city or out in the middle of nowhere and feel like I belong, yet in between, say Carnation, being seen on a bike elicits such hostility. One exception to the "nice" streak. I was just heading out of Starbuck, and could see an apparent hitchhiker standing at the edge of the road with a couple of bags. I'm on a bike, and he's just standing there, so this is one of those slow approaches like the castle charge in Monty Python's Search for the Holy Grail. Finally I'm about a car length away and I give a wave and say "morning," and I pass within two feet of him, but he just gives me a silent stare as I pass. Like if I stopped maybe he would stick a knife in me. Seconds later, a car pulls slowly by me and I hear a voice coming from the passnger window. It's my camping neighbors, and the woman shouts out "enjoy the rest of your day!"

I've also had a couple dogs sprint for the front gate as I go by, but so far only one tried to catch me beyond that. I could see him round the corner and accelerate, but it was downhill so, no contest with this trailer pushing me.

Temperature was very nice, until about the last eight miles. At that point I started fading fast, and it started getting pretty hot. I arrived in Pomeroy, anticipating that "step into the air-conditioned motel room feeling," and found a deserted, locked up motel. At first I couldn't even find the door to the office. Did I say it was hot? By now it was feeling like a hundred, though it was probably not that hot yet. When I tracked down the phone number I got a recording. Back at the ranger station at the town's edge, they told me "oh, he's really hard to get hold of, they don't usually open up until four." It was after 12:30, and I could not imagine waiting all afternoon in the sun in my bike clothes. The woman at the ranger station had also mentioned there was a B&B in town, but that was it. I rode back, and she gave me a phone number. Turns out the owner had just stopped in from her other job when I called. In ten minutes, I was checking in and apologizing for my appearance. After a shower, I had a great roast beef sandwich and huge salad at the Soggy Bottom Coffee House. The B&B is Maggie's Garden. I'm not the only bike traveler to have stayed here, she says. It is very comfortable and feels like a refuge. If not tonight, I may take a rest day tomorrow in Clarkston. I really need recovery time. Forecast to be 110 in Lewiston tomorrow. There's no way I should be outside when that happens. Only thirty miles to Clarkston, but there's an almost 3,000 foot pass to clear. I will have to reach it while it's still cool out.

Othello to Palouse Falls

As I type this, I am sitting at a picnic table next to my tent. The sun just went below the horizon and it's getting really nice. There's another couple adjacent to me who drove here from Seattle, and on the other side, a couple of Spanish speaking families, with six kids and a little dog. It's almost as good as TV. Speaking of which, last night in Othello, Once I had recovered some of my senses, I walked next door to a little Mexican restaurant. I think I was the only gringo there. The food was cheap, and amazingly good. There was a big color TV blaring some seventies sitcom I had never seen. Like being in someone's house. I had "Camorones ala Diablo," and it was perfect. As Steve Ahlbom would say, "it was so spicy I could taste it with both of my mouths." I hope I'm not misquoting him.

So. I was thinking this leg would be a refreshing break from my desperate ride of Monday. Fewer miles, though more than I thought because I miscounted on the map. I was expecting 46, it was actually 60. Not only that, but even though I left at dawn, temperatures rose even faster than the previous day, and halfway through I was once again questioning whether I should be doing this at this time of year. In Connell I talked with the local police, I had pulled into the shadow adjacent to him to call about camp reservations. Then I realized it probably looked like he had pulled me over. He laughed when I said where I was going: "Oh, it's all just more of the same, hot and dry. You'll like the falls though." I had my first flat just outside of Connell. Front tire, a goat thorn or a radial wire, both were embedded about the same place. I had just finished fixing it and was getting back on my bike when a voice came out of nowhere: "You all right?" There was a woman out running, and in the wind I didn't even hear her approach. We were about five miles out of town so i wasn't expecting someone not driving a big rig. I said I was fine, and then she laughed and said "Not that I could have helped you if you weren't." Fortunately, the town of Kahlotus sat midway through my ride, and I thought I would fuel up with a good lunch there. Unfortunately, riding into Kahlotus in the late morning is like entering one of those Twighlight Zone towns. It looks like a town, it has buildings and trees, I even hear voices in the distance, but I saw almost no people. The sensible citizens of Kahlotus were probably inside out of the heat like they should be. There was no store, no cafe. Fortunately, there were restrooms with water, so I topped off and drank as much as I could, similar to the previous day at Saddle Mountain. Then I struck out for Palouse. The only relief from the blistering heat (radiating back off a very black road) was a decent quartering tailwind. When I stopped, I actually felt cooler. Once I reached the turnoff to Highway 261 towards Palouse, I looked up and saw the road winding steeply into the hills. As it turned out, most of the remaining nine miles was uphill. 10% grade in some places. This was really not fun. In Fall or Spring, it would be delightful. There was one turn where the rock cliff gave me about thirty seconds of shade and I felt just fine until I went back into the sun.

Finally, I reached the turn to the campground. Hard packed gravel. It was ridable but a little washboarded, and it's all downhill, for two miles, which means I have some work to do to get back out, but I'll do it at fifty-five degrees, maybe before dawn. this time.

Tomorrow I'm riding to Pomeroy. I have a room reserved. It's only forty-five miles. I wrote all the numbers down and added very carefully. The camp host tells me it's mostly downhill, not like the way in here from the west.

Highs the next couple days are predicted to hit mid-nineties. I will have to devise a plan to make this survivable. Thinking I might see about getting a rental car to fast forward to some more forested sections. Or pray for clouds. Gotta do something, or I just don't see how I can do this. Anyhoo, it's so beautiful here. Clear sky, (nice at night, deadly by day!), the falls, which I had never seen before are stunning. And my neighbors are entertaining, even though we haven't actually spoken to each other yet. Sure would be cool if they said "want a beer?"

It's a Dry Heat

Wow. Today began nicely enough, Across the street from my motel in Yakima, there was a separated "Greenway," for bikes and peds. It took me all the way around the city, followed a river, and it was early, so the temperature, while slightly chilly, felt great. From there I headed out a few side streets on the east side of town past beautiful vineyards, and hooked up with highway 24. I had heard that morning on the news of a huge fire north of Sunnyside, which had 24 closed down on Friday, maybe part of Saturday. I also read about a restaurant, the Silver Dollar Cafe, that had burned in the fire. The local news said the roads were open, so I went for it. Scorched Earth! It was black on both sides of the highway, mostly to the south. The road itself was nice, big shoulders, smooth pavement. So far so good. I did go by the charred foundation of that cafe, that was sad. And as I would realize later, it might have been a great place to get some food. At one point there was a hand painted sign that said "Mule Poo, Back-Ordered." I wish I had taken a photo.

Thing is, from Moxee to Othello, or Connell (I think) There are no services. There is no shade. There are no shoulders once you turn north to go into the Saddle Mountain Wildlife Preserve. Still, The distance remaining looked OK. A little farther than I had hoped to do in a day, but, no mountain ranges, right?

My last bit of good news (possible life saving it turned out) was a rest area located Just before he refuge. Grass, water, restrooms! What an Oasis. I briefly considered camping there, because if I continued, it seemed like I'd be riding into the hottest part of the day, not a good idea. Still, only 36 miles to Othello, and a little further to Connell... I ought to be able to cover that right? Well, yes, but not the smartest thing I've tried. Once you turn east again, the road is as straight as you can imagine, and, it goes uphill. Not a lot, maybe 2-3%, but combined with chip-seal, no shoulder, and headwind, it was pretty difficult. As it got hotter, my speed kept decreasing. In two places, my attention wavered just enough to dip my wheel into the soft gravel off the edge of the pavement. I somehow didn't go down though, and was able to steer to a stop. I fantasized about someone offering me a ride. I started to get worried. Finally it seemed like I needed to stop every mile. I started worrying I might be getting into a bad region, medically speaking. I had water, though I was pacing it to make sure I didn't finish before I knew I had a destination within reach. There was eventually a ridge in view with some trees, the first possible shade I had seen in many miles. I got on the phone with Linda, and we decided I'd just make those trees, and then figure out what to do from there. Turned out to be an orchard, and I pulled in, there were sprinklers going, so I could drench my head cover without using drinking water. I dug into the trailer and got out my "camping food," and made myself a tuna sandwich of sorts. I could feel myself getting better as I downed it. After some time hanging out, I decided I felt good enough to continue, though Connell seemed depressingly too far. There was a sign, "Othello 10 miles," and though it was five to seven miles out of my way, I decided that would be my stopping place. Eventually, there was a really nice downhill. So strange to get back up into the twenties after forty miles of six to eleven miles per hour. Then, a left turn, and, uphill... well, by this time I was feeling better so I knew I could manage it. I even consulted a librarian to scope out the motels. On the way into town, my second Oasis: A taco truck! I stood in the shade and had two pork tacos. Then I asked the woman behind the counter how far to the nearest motel. Long blank stare. Finally, "Do you know where Main Street is?" Finally, I think maybe she was just trying to think of the words in English, but the way she explained it, It sounded like I was still many miles from a shower. Of course, one more hill up Main, I tried to find the Cabana Inn, but once I saw a Best Western sign, I was just done.

I think, tomorrow might be a short day. I need to make sure my routes have more towns. Some forests will be nice too. There is a campground not too far out, I'm going to think that over, and maybe make tomorrow be a little more safe and fun. Now to find some more food.

Over the Pass

My first night in the tent, I felt as though I didn't sleep a wink, in spite of the almost blissful feeling of lying down and listening to the river. I think I must have slept some, because I dreamt of being in a motel where the tub had a mostly painted over touch screen, and I was trying to look something up (Googling Cynthia Hall, in case you wondered), and the motel manager arrived. She was a small woman with no teeth. Later I was watching a parade of wild art cars where some commuters were stuck in the midst, and yelling out their windows at the parade cars to hurry up. Unless these things actually happened, I must have slept a little. So, I thought I was up early, but it took a while to take stuff apart and pack, plus make oatmeal and sort of wash up, so I hit the road a little late. I backtracked to the campground to top off my water bottles, and headed towards the pass a little after 8:00.

One funny thing yesterday, when I first arrived at Silver Springs and was riding through looking for a camping spot, I accumulated a escort of little boys on their bikes, who were enamored with my trailer, especially the flag with the "B.O.B" logo on it. "Cool, look what he has! I really like the way you attached that. Hey, is your name Bob?"

Anyway, I worked my way up to Cayuse Pass, about 9 miles of climbing, with stunning views along the way. I just got in my low gear and looked for that equilibrium of cadence and bike speed that seemed to work. Still early enough that traffic was light and the temperatures cool. Weird thing, yesterday, I would think that a long 4% grade was arduous and relieved to get a level spot. Today it was all up, and I found the 5% grades a relief, but the 6-7% grades pushing my comfort zone.

Once you get to Cayuse at 4,600 feet, it's not over. A left turn takes you up three mile-long switch-backs to crest Chinook Pass at 5400 feet.Then a moderately scary 7% descent that goes on for miles. My rear rim is not in the best of shape, and I worried about heating up the rims and exploding a tire. I'd stop from time to time to let things cool down.

At one point, I noticed a field of glass too late and went through it. So I stopped to check the tires for embedded shards. While lifting the rear wheel I noticed the trailer tip in a way it shouldn't and found I had installed the retaining pins incorrectly and one was completely out, the other halfway out. Would have been unfortunate to lose the trailer at 30 mph on the descent. I also had set my glasses on top of the trailer to take pictures, somewhere on the way up to Chinook, and justy before starting down, I reached for them in my pocket and, of course, not there. Fortunately I have a backup pair, but too bad. No way was I going to ride back down and look for them.

Much of the rest of highway 410 is a downhill grade that follows the river. It's beautiful, though my mood would ride and fall with the quality of the pavement. Also, my observation is that people with trailers seem to be pretty considerate and proficient in passing, while RV drivers don't give an inch, even when the oncoming lane is empty.

Eventually 410 joins highway 12, which becomes divided highway. It would have been a pretty depressing slog if not for the slight downhill grade and a healthy tailwind. I was holding 16-20 for a lot of the way. Traffic was increasing though, as well as the afternoon heat, so I was anxious to get this over and take the first motel sign I saw in Yakima.

Now I'm clean and full, and can relax and think about my route tomorrow, across Yakima to Highway 24.

10 is the new 16

Well, I received three pieces of advice in the last couple of days, all of which I have not followed. "Don't carry more than 5 dollars, wear rubber gloves, and camp near people."

First off, after worrying the first few blocks how I has going to get along with my fully loaded trailer, it definitely got better. On level or nearly level, once I get up to speed, I almost forget it's there. Speed will be a newer, lower number, but that's OK, I'm not racing anyone.

It was fun to pass through Renton on my way out of town. Since there was no one with me to have to endure my childhood stories, I just thought them to myself. Down Rainier, past the Why? Grocery, past the storefront (now a pet store) that used to be a bike shop, and from which I got my metallic blue Schwinn 3-speed, past the airport. I saw 269TP taxiing out, that was one of my "learning Cirruses." Then to the bridge between the airport and the stadium, where at about three years of age, I ran away from home (a trailer park which no longer exists) with my home made fishing pole to "go fishing." Never mind that it was after dark, and even though I told my parents I was going, I guess they didn't think I was that serious. I think this trip is borne of the same impulse, just a little more ambitious. This time, I mostly worry myself.

My idea of making it over Chinook Pass in the first day was pretty far outside the realm of "possible." Once I realized that between Enumclaw and the Crystal Mountain turnoff is a mostly steady climb from 500 to 2,600 feet, the timing and my body decided to stop at Silver Springs campground. Only problem was, it was totally full. There was a ranger station just a few feet up the highway, and the very nice woman inside explained the concept of "disbursed camping" to me, and directed me to a spot about a quarter mile further, which is unimproved, but OK to camp in. And, it's free so I save $18.00! The pamphlet she gave me (which I didn't read until getting here) says I need a USFS Permit though. I would have picked one up at Greenwater if I had known. Next chance for sure, and I just hope no one in authority finds me here tonight. Funny she didn't mention it to me.

Tomorrow, an insane climb up to 5,400 feet, via Cayuse and Chinook Passes. I will be glad to start those fresher than I was this afternoon.