Oregon

Some pics of Oregon!

Fourth day

"It's f*ING 6:45 in the morning and you're gabbing in front of my room!" This was our first interaction of the morning, while inflating tires at the hotel in Belfair.  Belfair is in one of the Washington State counties that advertises their embracement of recreational marijuana, as noted by their roadside stands. We moved our bike tuning operations down to the cafe down the 3 while we waited for them to open at 7am. Once our bikes  were set for the day, we sat down,  greeted by the mother of the waitress we had for dinner the night prior.  In the booth next to us,  tow truck drivers were swapping gruesome stories,  turned to us and said,  "enjoy your breakfast!" And then the one guy in his florescent vest blushed a little when he apologized for swearing in front of me.

Our journey today at was long,  93 miles/150k for 8 hours actual moving time on the bikes. 11.6mph ave. But, compared to yesterday, the terrain was mild. We were suffering yesterday.  No walking today. Walking the bike up the hill is much harder than actually riding. Most of this was due to missing a turn,  so we continued on the highway 106 along the Hood Canal and then transitioned to the 101 to get to Elma.

We had an enjoyable stop at one of the many, many roadside espresso stands- a dirty Chai for me (but this had indoor seating!), a great sandwich for a late lunch,  and wine,  chips and guacamole for dinner.  Constant snacking on high calorie foods have been the best way to fuel- we've found peanut m&ms and gas station pastries have been delicious.

Our motel has a full breakfast buffet for us to scour in the morning, and tomorrow... we still don't know where tomorrow's night will be, closer to lunch we'll view and assess the conditions.

By the numbers:
Fatalities: 0
Roadkill count: possum, cayote, lots of birds, flat snakes, squirrel, bunny, and several past unidentifiable
Roadside $: 0.12, including  a 1892 Indian-head penny
Bottles of wine: 2
Christmas tree farms: lost count

Second day

Highlight of today:
The food is getting better as we continue south.

Spotted a bald eagle in a tree over the Deception Pass.

Downhill.

A warm cozy bed and hot shower.

Dissapointments:
When the next hill is just a little too far away that you lose all rolling momentum.

Uncomfortably full after lunch, and then seeing the ice cream shop.

Cycling is such a norm here people don't wave at you. 

Karma points:
Mike gave a guy his spare folding tire; his was thrashed.

Helped another cyclist find a hiker- biker campsite with our map.

Point to ponder: why are motorcyclists referred to as bikers while bicyclists are cyclists? The "bi" prefix is only in the latter.

The first day, arriving in Bellingham

Composing this post last night,  selecting the photo of us leaving,  that moment felt like it was days before,  not merely hours. It's an understatement to say it was a long day for all of us. 

Riding through major cities are always tough- the start and stop at traffic lights and making sure you didn't miss a turn add time.  Our actual time moving was just over 7 hours, but it was 12 hours from there to here. Part of that was coffee, the border crossing,  lunch, and an iced drink top off, but long.

Observations:
The Knight st bridge smells like sawdust.  Fresh, pulpy almost. Actually, most of Vancouver smelled of sawdust, but in a way that you'd turn a corner and catch a whiff, not unlike a jasmine bush in somebody's front yard.

The next bridge had a sweet manure scent, the kind you'd associate with organic gardening and tasty things to eat,  not an offensive smell.

The Frasier bridge stunk of poop and sulfur. At least that massive suspension bridge required a bit more concentration,  so the odor was less noticeable as I climbed to the top.

Surry was full of curry and spices in the air, then crossed some farmlands growing cilantro.

After we crossed into the United States, I was struck by a familiar smell of home. It was the salt marsh, not unlike my own coastal nature center and the marina. I was only in Canada for less than 24 hours, but the smell of the salt air and the I-5 freeway sign were reminders I'm going home. I've just started, but I'm going home.

The first morning, leaving Vancouver

One year later

May 6, 2014, Mike and I were leaving Sanderson, west Texas on a meager Indian breakfast, passing through desolate lands of entire towns for sale. 

June 6, 2014, I was flying home, greeted by my 3 year old daughter's shouts of " mommy!" in the airport,  wildly waving the sunflowers she brought me. 

May 6, 2015: I'm writing this blog entry for the second time after my daughter inadvertently deleted the first draft, warmed up leftovers for dinner, chose wine over yoga, and still have to leave lesson plans for my classes tomorrow. 

June 6, 2015: I will be on a plane to Vancouver, British Colombia with Mike, my bike Alma, and a set of maps directing us south towards home, taking us along the Pacific coast. 

There's so much to be done in the next month. But it's still not about the bike ride- the deadlines and stress will come anyway. Grades will have to be turned in the same day regardless. The childrens' demands are going to be the same anyway. You're never truly ready for something you have no idea of what to expect, so why expect anything? 

Alma has been out a few times on the road, but not nearly as much as I thought she'd be by this point.  The days are long but the years are short with babes. I anticipate it may be more difficult for the family this time around. There's a balancing act of staying in the present moment with them, considering the upcoming task of what's going on in my work day (or, more realistically, what I've fallen behind with), and fantasizing about quiet mornings, eating without a child on my lap, the hum of the tires on asphalt and my thoughts in my head... ideally, transferring to this electronic medium for the reader's enjoyment. 

Welcome back, Alma. 

A belated mother's day reflection

Note: this is a really belated post, started last year, and now I'm finally getting around to publishing it, with some current perspective added below.

June 2014: It's the day after Father's Day and I've got some of that quiet reflection time I was hoping for here at home. Watching my baby boy sleep, he's transitioning from two naps a day to the long afternoon nap, and I think of how he's growing up. But I'm not thinking of it in a sad way. People ask how my children changed while I was away for seven weeks. If they look different, did they noticeably age in my absence? Sure, Bryan's hair got longer, Eryn got a haircut, Bryan got his first two teeth in, Eryn got new shoes. Bryan grew out of most of his outfits, but he didn't look bigger or feel heavier.

Mother's Day is not a simple holiday. Countless emotions are going through the heads of people. Some are easy to read. Some people keep their emotions to themselves.  Some pride themselves on remembering the holiday. Others block it out, or just don't find it that important. This Mother's Day evening was spent in Hunt, Texas at a lodge on the Guadalupe River. It was too late in the day to swim, but we put our feet in and watched the sun set. The closest restaurant was at least 3 miles down the road, so we skipped dinner, but planned on a good breakfast. We drank wine from coffee mugs in a cabin built in 1923; Mike taught me how to play Scopa, an Italian card game. During the night, I was woken by rain on the roof, and a peacock's yell. I'm pretty sure I never checked my facebook that day, but I did call my mother.

While I was away from my children, I never stopped noticing others' children. The little girl with her McDonald's happy meal toy, anxiously awaiting her mom to open the bag for her. The baby sleeping in the car seat next to the table. A boy in his front yard, waving at us riding by. A toddler crying because she got 6 M&Ms instead of 5. 

Being springtime, I noticed the ewes, the cows, the mares, the hens, the does. They had that sense of heightened awareness in our presence. The animals that I presumed were not parents curiously came closer to the fence. The maternal ones looked for their offspring, making sure all was safe. 

Reflecting on this now, more of the strangers' comments make sense to me. They're parents too, and they had some sort of unspeakable connection with me that made them think of their own children. A man in the airport mentioned his teenage daughter, and wondered out loud if he'd let her go on a trip like I did. Somebody in a hotel lobby, talking about their son who had completed the MS 150 mile bike ride on the east coast. Something stirred in the psyche- the village is still there. People watch out for each other. 

This mothers day, I experienced all those typical mom things- an audience in the bathroom, a toddler stepping in dog poop in his bare feet, nobody could find matching socks. I'm not exactly sure what took up most of our day, but it was busy. I did manage to get a good nap in the morning, with my favorite cuddle babies. They're so cute when they're sleeping, mostly because they're quiet and not in an "up to no good" sort of way.