Note: skip between sub-heds if you're looking for specific information.
I woke up June 7 at Bear Creek and crawled out of my tent and rejoiced to see blue skies. Where the sun peaked through the Doug Firs steam rose from the undergrowth. I was starting to feel how remote this section of road was. Everything was damp. No one was around.
I was in a good mood. Ahead of me was an epic ride that would become both my longest ride ever and land at least near the top of the list, if not crowning it, of my favorite days ever on two wheels: an 18-mile or so stretch on 101 to the Olympic Discovery Trail, a paved path through forests and meadows completely separate from the highway, around magnificent Lake Crescent and into Port Angeles. This was about 50 or 55 miles and perhaps half of it was on the ODT. At a laundromat in PA I washed and dried all of my clothing, my camp towel, my shoes.
Camping around there was sparse, and I still had pent-up energy. So at about 7:30 p.m. I filled up water and bought two packs of Oreo's and rode another 20 or 25 miles to Sequim Bay State Park, arriving after dark at 10:22 p.m. I camped next to Chris, who occupied a hiker-biker site just feet from me.
All told it was about 75 miles that day. I winged most of it, especially the stretch to Sequim. Navigation is really easy here.
The next day my right knee was tender and I was tired in the morning. I learned that Chris is homeless and he's been on the road for about 45 years. He carts his stuff around on a $25 mountain bike with a home-made back rack made of wood. We shared coffee in the morning and he told me several incredible stories, most of which appear to be at least partially untrue. These include being struck by lightning while walking across the desert in Arizona, which I believe. I did not believe his tale of personally killing a rhinoceros, which he said had escaped from a nearby wildlife sanctuary, in the woods near Forks. He said he had jumped a cliff to escape it, climbed a tree -- which the rino toppled over -- and finally he speared it with a young pine tree. Hell of a guy.
I rode about 17 miles to Fat Smitty's, a burger joint at the intersection of 101 and Highway 20. This section was more crowded and I could feel I was reentering civilization, despite it being a Tuesday. I was hungry and stopped immediately at the burger joint, which is heralded by an enormous wood carving, from a single tree, of a hamburger that is painstakingly painted and detailed. I could tell I was entering the outer ring of the Seattle tourism region because a lot of people wearing Patagonia shells and tight masks stood with their arms folded in the burger joint, altogether looking uncomfortable standing next to signs that read TRUMP 2020 and "Only YOU can stop socialism." I ate my burger outside and wrote a bit. The food wasn't very good and I was disappointed.
As I was saddling up I talked to some folks from around there. Right before I was set to leave an old man produced a tape measurer and began scrutinizing aspects of the leviathan hamburger carving. I asked him if he'd carved it. He had.
What followed was the beginning of a blossoming bromace with Terry, who is perhaps in his 60s, square and short and sporting a long white beard that hangs like a dwarf's. He said his carving union calls him the "Ghost Carver" because he never promotes his work, but he has a lot of it and spends weeks at a time carving on-site across the the U.S. He is exceedingly friendly and, when he asked me where I was going, he learned that I planned to pedal 20 or 30 miles out of the way to Port Townsend because the ACA doesn't consider the direct route safe on Highway 20. He drove me the entire way, my bike laid across his "indestructible" canoe, in the bed of his truck.
He gave me great advice along the way. He said he'd hitch-hiked across the U.S. nine times, including a fated trip to Haight-Ashbury in 1967 after which he became disaffected with violent protest movements. He said that he'd relied on the kindness of strangers so much during those trips that he resolved to continually "pay it forward."
"The past is gone," he said. "There's no paying it backward. All there is is tomorrow. You've got to get out and experience it and see what it has to offer."
After he'd helped me unload my bike and gear he gave me his phone number. I texted him to thank him again.
"Your welcome," he replied the next day. "Great to have met you. !!!" And attached to the message is a photo of him smiling next to two woodcarvings of painted, human-sized gnomes.
I'm at the public library in Port Townsend. It's exceedingly beautiful here. I decided yesterday to take a rest day and camp another night at Fort Worden State Park. It's full of surprises. More on this later.
Portland people: get an AirBnB in PT. It's absolutely gorgeous.
Cycling
I broke with ACA’s routes for most of this day. Originally I planned to take highways 113 and 112 on Olympic’s stunning north coast, but a roadside advisory informed me as I stood in the rain that the road had washed out in December 2020 and is still being repaired (as of early June 2021). So I took the ODT to the Spruce Railroad trail around Lake Crescent. You can’t miss it, it’s perfectly paved and easily navigable all the way around Lake Crescent. From the end of that trail there I took 101 to a country road junction on the Elwa River that’s probably about 10 miles away from Port Angeles. It was a tortuous and stunning ride into town, past idyllic farmland and timberlands. I took this because it looked like a nice road from the junction and had a “bicyclists” road sign there. From PA to, probably about 10 miles from Sequim, I took the ODT. Then I hopped on the Olympic Highway, which is flat with big shoulders through, again, idyllic farmlands of some pungent greens I couldn’t place and lavender. From Sequim I took the ODT again to Sequim Bay State Park.
This stretch between Sappho to Port Angeles is legendary. If you're not into bike touring, you should ride it for a day or two on the ODT and drop cars. At Lake Crescent the ODT becomes the Spruce Railroad Trail. In the summer this would make for some of the best swimming in the world. The water is literally turquoise from a distance and crystal clear beneath you.
From Blyn to Fat Smitty's the traffic increased and at times the shoulder was small. There are semis and some logging trucks on this road but mostly a lot of commuter vehicles. From there I hitched, so I can't attest to the ride to Port Townsend.
Encounters
Aside from the above, I met two baristas in Port Townsend. They laughed and said that only old people live in Port Townsend, which I've found to be true. It's chalk-full of retirees and Gig Harbor types, wealthy grey-hairs walking their tiny dogs or just wandering around appearing totally confused. The baristas said I'd find a girlfriend in moments because young guys are so rare here. They encouraged me to find a job at the local newspaper. I believe it's called the Leader. I've been reading the Peninsula Daily Press, which is solid. Rent is not cheap here though. One of the baristas told me she's reliably paying near $1,300.
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