My favorite memories on a bike tour – the ones I think about all the time — start out as mishaps. I think my favorite memory of all was when I crashed on loose gravel somewhere in rural Idaho, and looked down to see my left pinkie finger sticking out at a 90 degree angle. I looked around, realized I was alone, and would have to deal with it. So, before I could even think, “Hey, this would be a great picture!” (it would have!), I just grabbed it and tugged it back into place. Over the next few days, I learned I have little use for my pinkie on a bicycle and could totally function without it. Six years later, it’s still a little crooked, and it didn’t completely stop hurting for a year. But every time I think about it, I smile.
Well, today started off inauspiciously. First, my alarm was set for 5:30 AM for Susan and I to drive to the Peace Arch in Blaine, Washington, for a photo and a reasonably early start. But I slept really badly, and my eyes finally opened for the last time at 4:11 AM. I realized it was useless to try to get more sleep, so I groggily ate breakfast and did a last couple things (e.g. changing batteries so Susan wouldn’t have to deal with that), and we left promptly at 7:00 AM.
I set Google Maps to the Peace Arch Park and we chatted (OK, I babbled) for the next couple hours. Suddenly we there. But where was “there?” We were in line to CROSS THE BORDER! There was no place to turn around, so, sheepishly, I made my way to the Canadian Border Patrol officer (or whatever they call them there). He was surly and humorless, with a big wad of chewing tobacco bulging in his lip, and brown spit pooling in his mouth, but he let us through, even though Susan didn’t have a passport, or even and enhanced driver’s license. We turned around and got in line for the US border entry. He was also grumpy. He yelled at Susan, twice, because he couldn’t hear the answers to his questions because he was inside his little room and she was 12 feet away in the passenger seat. But he let us through and gave us confusing instructions on how to get to the Peace Arch.
As we made our way there, again using Google Maps, this time CAREFULLY setting it to the park on the US side of the border, I was focused intently on the screen. Susan tried to point out the brown sign with an arrow pointing to the park, but I shushed her, “I am trying to focus!!!” Seconds later, we were again stuck in the Canadian border crossing in lines. I saw what looked like an exit, but it turned out to be for AUTHORIZED VEHICLES ONLY, so, certain people were watching me, I had to back out of that exit and back into the border crossing. I was furious. I was cursing and I actually hit the steering wheel. Susan NEVER gets angry, and my anger makes her nervous, so things were at a boiling point.
But the Canadian border agent was much nicer this time. She smiled, waved us through, and radio’ed ahead for someone to open a gate so we could turn around and get in the US border crossing line again. When it was our turn, I explained what happened, and he laughed. He said, “I am going to give you directions. No. I am going to give your wife directions. In fact, I am going to draw you a map!”
As he finished, I said, “I am going to put this on my blog.” He said, “Then I am going to sign it!”
A few minutes later, we were at the actual parking lot for the Peace Arch.
I was in a hurry to get started after the delays (all of which were my fault!), so I hugged Susan and said “Goodbye! I love you!” and rode off, which turned out to be a little abrupt.
But, fortuitously, Susan decided to stop in Birch Bay and I rode RIGHT PAST HER, so we got another chance for a less hurried goodbye!
Along the way, I met and chatted with a few people:
I met Jack in Bellingham, and we talked about web development (he’s a web designer!).
I met a just-graduated WWU student who majored in Environmental Studies and is on her way to Chile! She doesn’t speak Spanish – yet! I almost ran over her trying to navigate my way up an absurdly steep, and ultimately unrideable, hill to the Interurban Trail that bypasses part of the famous (and famously sketchy, for bicyclists) Chuckanut Drive. I ended up having to push my overloaded bike, six inches at a time, up that gravel hill. Stubbornly, I turned down two offers of help. I finally made it, and it was mostly fine after that. When I caught up to the jogger, I apologized for almost running over her. She asked if she could run with me for a few minutes, and we had a nice conversation. I wish I’d taken her picture and gotten her contact information. I hope she has a great adventure in Chile!
Later, when I stopped on Chuckanut Drive for a photo, a bike tourist – the only one I saw today – showed up. Her name is Krista. She is a Dutch woman who injured herself hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, when she was already near Florence, OR, and decided to finish on a bicycle. She will reach Blaine tomorrow. I loved her spirit!
For me, bike touring is all about satisfying these three questions every day: Where will I obtain food? Where will I refill my water? Where will I sleep? I didn’t think too much about these before I was in Bellingham. I was planning to stay at a campground after Chuckanut Drive, but I realized they probably wouldn’t have food, so I got out Google maps to see where the next convenience store or takeout restaurant was. To my surprise, none showed up. So I decided to head to Anacortes and, knowing I’d be pulling in later than I like, to get a motel room.
Resolutions: Take a picture of every person I talk to!
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