Thoughts from the road…
Today I am taking a rest day, having arrived in Lewiston, Idaho. Here are some thoughts from the road.
Landscape
Even though I move slowly west to east across this part of the country, I can see the landscape change from day to day. The starkest transition was when I descended from the Cascades to the agricultural lands of central Washington. I started the day amidst pines and firs under the shadow of broad shouldered mountain peaks, had coffee in the agricultural town of Ellensburg, with well irrigated fields (thanks to the Columbia Basin land “reclamation” project-- i.e., reclaimed for human purposes), and ended the day in the Columbia River gorge, where steep, barren ridges stretched for miles on both sides of the river. The next day those same mountain ridges continued their reach eastwards, slowly melting into the brown plateau, where I heard the gurgling of running water in roadside irrigation canals as I continued riding under a relentless sun through fields that stretched for miles, rising and falling to the horizon. The day after, I passed through dry wheat country, where the autumn and spring rains drive the crop’s growth, and where air was hazy from all the combines used for the harvest kicking up the dust and powdering the air with a fine grit. A last-minute change of plans had me head south to the Snake River, where I climbed and descended stark, barren mountains, climbs that never seemed to stop, and where, in the seemingly middle of nowhere, I would see a sign for school bus stop. Off in the distance I could spot a remote farm. And then I screamed down those same mountains to the Snake River, where I expected to see some riparian greenery but instead was greeted by the same uniform brownness of the slopes. A fellow camper (and cyclist) that night referred to this area as the “scablands.”
Chafe
At the end of the other day’s ride, the dominating sensation was the burning discomfort caused by chafe. And that’s all I have to say about that.
Challenges of the Road
When I am moving down the road on bicycle, I find that I unconsciously personalize the impediments. Meaning, when encountering a steep climb, a relentless headwind, or an unstable gravel path, it is natural to view these external factors solely as how they make circumstances difficult…for me. I moan and complain (to myself, of course, because the wind doesn’t have ears) but I realize that I am just making matters worse for myself. Yesterday, I had a shift in consciousness and when the road rose steeply I just accepted it and pedaled more slowly. This change in mindset shouldn’t be hard, but I find that I need to make the effort to just accept things “as is.” For mine is not the power to level the roads and make the winds change direction. I took on this challenge and the world does not owe me anything. Which reminds me of a relevant and succinct Stephen Crane poem:
A man said to the universe:
“Sir, I exist!”
“However replied the universe,
“The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation.”
Maple Syrup Analogy
A cross country trip is like making maple syrup. When riding, all of life is boiled down to the sweet experience of a single moment: breathing, exerting, sensing the wind’s direction, alert to oncoming traffic, and staying upright.
Heat
I grew up in Puerto Rico and lived in Israel for 17 years, so I am no stranger to heat. And as I prepared for and set out on this Adventure, I was more concerned with how my muscles and joints would respond to the effort than I was with the heat. But with record-setting temperatures in the Northwest, I find the heat to be one of those under-appreciated challenges. I try to hit the road early in the morning and get 35-40 miles of riding done before the temperatures climb. And I thought that, after taking a long afternoon break, I could get another 25-30 miles under my belt later in the afternoon. However, the temperatures are still over 90 degrees at 6 pm! Climbing Alpowa Summit (elevation 2785) yesterday in Western Washington in the 94 degree heat took a tremendous toll on my body. It’s like that scene in the Jim Henson movie, The Dark Crystal, where the evil Skeksis suck the vital essences from the gentle Gelfling: after 3 hours of riding under the sun, I feel that my life’s energy had been sucked dry by the heat. I arrived at camp half the person I was when I started out in the cool of the morning.
Deterrent in a Bottle
The other day when riding on a remote road, I was chased by a Rottweiler. It was past its prime but gave me a good chase, barking menacingly as it approached. I took out my water bottle, aimed, and hit that mean pup square in the face. The dog slowed momentarily, and then, undeterred, continued its acceleration. I continued mine and outran the beast. That night at the campground, I was admiring the cannister of “dog spray” clipped to a fellow cyclist’s handlebars. “Oh, cool,” I said, “you’ve got a spray for dogs.” He nodded and replied, “Works good on humans, too.”
Remote Landscape Demographics
On the empty roads approaching Ellensburg, WA, I saw more kine than kin.
On the empty roads between Othello, WA and the Snake River, I saw more hawks than humans.