DAY 34: NORTH CASCADES

Winthrop, Wa - Concrete, Wa

116 miles - Total: 3201 miles

Without a doubt Highway 20 in the North Cascades is one of the great mountain rides in America.

A physically exhausting day but I dodged the expected storm. And the mountains exceeded expectations. Haughty in their beauty, solemn in their appearance, intimidating in their shape. I loved the climb and loved the long descent even more. No more climbing to do now. I am on my way to the coast.

The North Cascades are the real deal. Glaciers was higher but ended quickly and its appearance too charming, postcard-like. The North Cascades are real mountains, wild, untamed, with constant snow along its slopes and on the highest peakes. These are angry-looking peaks, smooth vertical walls of dark rock hit by winds that would move mountains. I am now looking at the Skagit hills, past those, twenty miles west lies the Pacific.

I have a terrible night, even for the standards of this bike ride. I keep waking up every hour. At 3, at 4, at 5. I decide to end my misery and I finally get up at 7 and I shake off the stupor I am in. It looks still very dark outside. I dare not look at the sky because I know...the unsavoury weather forecast gets it right again. It's raining and in the direction of the mountains the sky is so dark that it is almost blue. I go back to bed but there is no point in tossing and turning and the blanket over my head won't make the rain go away. I know what I want. I want to get out of here and climb the mountains. I don't care about the rain. I want to go West. I eat three muffins with a warm apple cider and I am on the road.

The rain has stopped in the valley but who knows what's going on up there. The fresh air hits my face like a thousand knives, I am wearing everything I have. Four layers, apparently it is not enough. I wish I had more layers. It is very cold this morning and I need more hot beverages in me. After 15 miles I stop in Mezana where I have a hot chocolate which does me good. This is the last stop before the climb. I ride for 20 miles before I reach Washington Pass. This pass is different from the others, it is windy, it is cold, snowy and unwelcoming like a real mountain should. This is quintessential Rocky Mountains. The road exposed and winding. It's amazing how the climate changes as soon as I hit the top. On the other side the climate is even worse: it's windy, cold and damp. I put on the rain jacket on the way down, it is the coldest I have felt since the beginning of the trip. I shiver on the way down and I long for another climb to feel warm again. The stunning scenery makes up for the cold temperature though. This road affords some of the most breathtaking views I have seen in the States and I urge anyone to visit this place. The jagged line of the mountains is streaked by snow. I don't run into a single cyclist today, I am the only one doing the Cascades.

The descent is long. I only stop for a few seconds to take pictures. The view is perfect from any angle it seems so I snap away and after reviewing my work it was hard to select a few for the journal. I keep going pushing on the pedals with my head down most of the time. I am mindful ofthe storm and if it did come there would be no place to hide from it. The road goes a bit up then down, then up and then down again. The wind is insane on this side blowing from all directions. The strong winds are the worst part of the descent, I feel like I could fall any time. I gain speed, I hit 30mph but many times over I am slowed by the gusts of wind. Most of the wind is head-on so it is not going to blow me off the road. Luckily the heavy clouds that hover above don't produce any rain. The road drops abruptly into a valley that keeps shrinking to the point of becoming a gorge and I cannot help but thinking about the first explorers that opened this passage, how the hell did they find it and how did they manage to squeeze through? The road is a two-lane highway, one lane in each direction but there is a generous shoulder so I am not bothered by the traffic. After the Rainy Pass, expect a few short hills, it is all downhill. Most of the downhill grades are around 6 to 8 percent. After an hour or so, I begin to enter the valley leading up to the Ross Lake area. It gets as windy as it can get. I squeeze hard on the brakes as soon as I feel I am losing control of the bike. I stop at a number of overlooks to watch the views. The cold from the climb and the gusty wind begin to take their toll. On the descent my toes go numb and I lose life in some of my fingers for a few hours, my thumb is still numb as I am writing this (8pm).

The road drops even farther until it reaches Lake Ross, its water is a milky, glowing, turquoise, a soft, pearly green that twinkle in the sun. The top of the water is agitated and hit fiercely by the gales which create waves that ripple ferociously. It looks just like those lakes in airbrushed postcards or TV programs. It looks so awesome that doesn't seem real but it is. I stop, I gaze and I marvel at the beauty of all of this. I let the wind hit my drenched clothes as I stand beside my bicycle, I breathe in and out and when I focus on my body I feel the heaviness creeping in on my muscles. I smile. It really begins to sink in how far I have traveled. I look at the bike and it looks worn out, dirty, beaten up. Maybe we look alike. We have taken a lot on the roads of America. Cold, rain, heat, sunshine, wind, even a couple of falls.

At Newhalem the descend ends and when the valley widens and the road flattens I realize that I can now begin to dream about the Pacific, it is not too far, maybe a day or two. I feel energized and encouraged by the change of scenery and by the assuring fact that the wind has decided not to follow me. It stays behind to batter the steep rocky sides of the mountains. I am done with climbing. The valley awaits. On the west side of the Cascades it is not as arid as on the other side of the Pass but much more fertile and lush. I ride past berries and apples fields and vineyards. I am in full flight. I average 19mph and I am getting hungry. I ride another 35 miles without taking a break. I have a town in sight and I ride efficiently for two hours. I reach Concrete at around 6pm with more than 9 hours on the road that as sure as hell have left their mark. Concrete is a totally depressing town where the only motel that seems just about okay, run by a jovial Korean man, will be my home tonight. The room smells like bleach and I am the only guest in the whole place. The internet connection is slow so I won't write too much. At least I have a chance to dream about Vancouver. I am almost there. And I feel fine. Tired but fine

8:30 am the sky looks heavy with rain when I leave the motel in Winthrop 

 

 

The North Cascades in the distance 

Taken in Mazana, before I start the climb 

Here we go 

 This is where I came from

Nice switchback

 

 

 

 

 

Very accurate 

Lake Ross 

 Blueberries

Concrete, Main st, total desolation. Where the hell am I? I ask

DAY 33: THE MOUNTAINS AHEAD, FOR THE LAST TIME

Okanogan, Wa - Winthrop, Wa

51 miles - Total: 3085 miles

A few hours of sleep did the trick.

The energy is back and with it the eagerness to get this over with. I don't have the beautiful Sacagawea to lead me to the Pacific like Lewis and Clark did but the charting of my own Northwest passage is almost complete. Just one major hump before I report back for duty. I climb the Loup Loup Summit and on the way down the scenery opens up, I look afar and through the haze I see a wall surging behind the hills, peaks as jagged as a jeans zip and covered in snow like Alpine peaks. The North Cascades mountains appear. I do not recoil, I do not grumble, I do not look for a way out. I want to climb those peaks and then motor down all the way to the coast.

Today I decide to play safe. I ride as far as I can go before the climb into the North Cascades. I reach Winthrop at 2pm and a nice clean motel on the south edge of town will do just nicely. Tomorrow I will set out early to tackle the two passes and the rest of the ride into the North Cascades National Park. It should be awesome. The only uncertainty will be the weather. There's a storm coming tomorrow, nobody is certain as to when and how long it will be.

I sleep well and I take my time as I know that I only have a short day. I leave town at 9am and the steep road climbs up like I have only seen in the Appalachians. The climb to the pass is 21 miles long, the first third of the ride is tough and steep, definitely the steepest climb of the journey. Fortunately the road surface is pleasant and traffic very light. As I leave Okanogan behind I am surrounded by tiny plateaus where cherries, golden apples, peaches and the likes are grown. And vineyards. Apart from these gardens of delicious fruits of the earth the place is rocky, sun burnt and desolate. It is hot and despite the dry heat I sweat copiously. The reason is that there is no shelter in a land of arid, sun-whitened soil that reflects every ray of heat. The road veers up on the edge of a ridge and it is unrelenting. There is a degree of shelter later on with the tall pine trees but all in all it is the toughest climb so far. In the later stages of the climb, the route enters the Okanogan National Forest so the road is shaded by the tall pines on both sides. Traffic is extremely light but you get the odd truck carrying logs that spits all sort of debris the moment it passes me and the strident, ubiquitous mindless and noisy motorbikes. Once or twice when there are no vehicles within earshot in either direction I stop to listen to the bird songs from the trees or the wind hitting the tree tops which makes a suave sound. From time to time I hear a suspicious rattle from the forest but I don't see anything. I just take in the silence, I let the sweat soak up my clothes and I realise how lucky I am to be here in this blissful solitude among the mountains. And I am thinking about the people that will never know what they are missing. Maybe those birds are creeper or woodpecker.

The road from Loup-Loup drops down to Twisp, the descent goes fast but it is not as steep as the Logan Pass so I don't have to hit the brakes for the entire duration of the 8 mile stretch. The road takes me into town, which is named after the Indian name for 'wasp'. The centre is tiny, just a main road with little wooden buildings but surprisingly pleasant. A lovely bakery is my first and only stop for the day and I indulge in Asiago cheese croissant and a pesto roll. This is proper bicycle touring: no hurry to go places, no long distances to cover so local food can be sampled at every opportunity. I almost go to the riverside for a dip in the water but I resist the urge. I ride 6 miles north and the wind today decides to blow from the south which means that I get the unique privilege of having a tailwind. It carries me down the hills and on the mounds of the bluff river area. It is incredible, I only now realize how influential the wind factor is. It sets the line between the happiness and the miserable moods. The ecstasy does not last long though as Winthrop, the next town along the Methow river valley, is only a few miles farther up and it will be my final destination for the day. I feel in good shape when I reach the town and I am slightly sad to stop after only 50 miles, it feels like a wasted day but it will be a long one tomorrow.

After yesterday's miserable ride, I felt surprisingly well this morning and with the wind blowing my way, the beautiful mountains within sight and the energy back in my body I could have gone for a much longer stage. If everything goes to plan I can still be in Vancouver on the 35th day of my journey. Just like I planned.

Winthrop has been rebuilt to look like an early 1900s frontier town. The result is of course a sort of Theme park town but the vibe is good and the Main st is pleasant. I find out that the whole town reinvented itself with the completion of the North Cascades highway in 1972 to take advantage of the tourist trade; there is an excellent ice-cream place in the main street. I have a large steak dinner with mash potatoes and vegetables and two more ice-creams after dinner. This is fuel for tomorrow's climb. I am ready.

Today on the steep climb of the Loup Loup pass I rediscovered the pleasure of riding the bicycle. Most importantly, I relate it to my recent (or present?) situation of paralyzing fear of the unknown. The bicycle is so empowering. By now it is a third limb, a part of me. And when I am on that road the bicycle becomes my legs and my feet, I make them move, I make it happen, I control it, I give it life and it gives life back to me in oh so many different ways. And the hours spent on the road besides cursing at the wind and eating junk food, give me ample opportunities to reflect and soak in the magic of the outdoor. Its smells, its colors, its perfect lines, its shapes. I cannot even begin to find words to describe the beauty of a world that I have soaked in and absorbed through the medium of the bicycle.

I am getting messages of love from people I don't know that are ill and, like me, are looking for answers. I am so grateful for your messages of support and for sharing your personal struggle with me.

The North Cascades mountains or Vancouver will not be the finishing line. How's that saying? Every beginning is a new beginning's end. So, with three days left, the end is nigh and so it is a new beginning. Bring on the mountains.

A storm? So what.

The town watch in Okanogan, it reads: "live better electrically"

 

 

This is where my beloved cherries are grown 

The arid and dry land gives way to a lushier vegetation as I make my way up 

The climb is the steepest of the journey 

And it goes on for 20 miles 

On the Pass 

The descent is pleasant and not too steep, unlike the ascent 

And at one point the view clears and I see the North Cascades mountains in the distance 

As good a view as any I have seen on the journey. The snow-capped rocky peaks of the Cascades. I will be there tomorrow.  

The descent is always windy but this time the cool air won't make me shiver like on the Logan Pass, just use the rain jacket. Why didn't I think of that coming down the Glaciers??

The charming town of Twisp, just one main street

And the delicious bakery on main street

 Methow river with its green banks. The river creates a small but lush valley which feeds several villages

Methow river from the west bank in Twisp 

Post Office in Winthrop 

The river in Winthrop 

Winthrop city centre

DAY 32: A DAY IN THE LIFE

Kettle Falls, Wa - Okanogan, Wa

115 miles - Total: 3034 miles

If I had thought that Vancouver was just around the corner and I was going to stroll into it like a war hero then I'd better think again. I am a big time fool, that's what I am.

Today has been the toughest day of the trip and it is mainly my fault. I could have made it shorter but my stubborn brain, my hubris and the fear of sitting around somewhere sulking about how tough this day had been motivated me to go all the way to Okanogan. I wanted to quit. I want to quit. I am worn out now. I am spent. I do not want to get back on that bike ever again. Well, at least for another 12 hours.

My attempt at humor does conceal a deeply-ingrained feeling of frustration and exhaustion, mental and physical. Today anything you can think of, except rain, winning the lottery or running into Marion Cotillard, happened. Two difficult climbs, a gruelling ascent of 24 miles, a flat tire which I fixed by the side of the road, cold and hot weather, mountains, desert, traffic and for the whole 115 miles the relentless, unforgiving, devastating, motherf%$ing piece of shit that is the wind. Oh don't worry. During the  ride I managed to conujure up classier cuss words for the wind than this.

It was unbelievable. It was beyond frustrating. It was a joke. South, West, North, whichever direction the road went the wind was invariably a headwind. I could not take it anymore, I lost my cool, I yelled, I cursed at the wind, I cursed at everything, even at the day I started this stupid bike ride. Just when I thought it was all going to be downhill (not just literally) things are getting a bit complicated. Of course I could slow down. I could do 40-mile stages and in a month I would be in Vancouver as fresh as a rose. But where's the challenge in that?

I am looking at the map. There are about 300 miles between me and Stanley Park, the place where I want to end my fund raising bike ride. There are some mountains in between. The Cascades mountain range, besides being dubbed the Swiss Alps of Washington state, offers several climbs and no services for 106 miles. If I start the climb I'd better get all the way to the other side unless I want to sleep in the open. Which wouldn't be the worst thing. The worst thing is that I have no more tubes and the weather forecast for Tuesday sees thunderstorms. I can't think of anything else at the moment but I am sure there's going to be more. Smile needed here?

I am out of the motel at 7:45am. The cheapest motel of the journey and the fastest Internet connection, go figure. With the cool air and temperature of 60F I climb on the bike and I feel tired, weak and dizzy. For the first time since I left DC energy has deserted me. My strength has drained from my body. It brings me back to three months ago, but three months ago made sense, now I should be relatively fine. What's going on? Not much I can do about it here, I am in the middle of the mountains so I try to shake it off, I try no to think about it and I start the 24-mile climb to the top of Sherman Pass. I am not gonna chew this up. I am gonna wing it, I don't care. Health comes first. take your time. Every turn is a tiny victory, I try to refrain from looking at the odometer every other yard but I can't. I stop several times to sip water, eat some chocolate, take pictures and to focus on the scenery, which is of course not bad. Luckily, I begin to feel slightly better, the longer I get into the ride I stronger I feel. My apprehension goes away and I begin to forget about the initial dizziness. I would never feel 100% today but I manage to ride the bicycle, which is good enough.

I cross Columbia river and I quickly leave the broad sweep of the river valley behind and I say hello to the gentle rushing and subtle rise of Sherman Creek. The climb throws me a few steep sections, but they're the exception and not the rule. I thought it'b be harder. Wait. I talked too soon. About half way the grade picks up and I know it won't stop until the top of the pass, 12 miles later. I try to look at anything but the speedometer or the road in front of me. The sight of a long climb can sap my enthusiam, especially when my confidence is at its lowest. I watch the trees at the sides of the road, only trees so tall that block the view to the valley. The road winds, snakes up large hills and presents steep grades. It becomes apparent that this is the toughest and longest climb of the whole trip. Unlike the mountain pass rides of Montana, there aren't any snow-capped peaks or deep river valleys to distract me from the work. I ride with evergreen trees on both sides, evergreens in the front, and evergreens behind. Along the way I hum a song but I can't remember the words past the second verse so I keep singing the first verse, my thoughts wander off into the long highway of my life and I am amazed at the things that pop up in my mind in moments like this. I spend hours lost in thoughts and have vivid fantasies about eating spoonfuls of nutella out of a jar. The mood at the top of the pass is half excitement and accomplishment, half dread over what's to come. I don't enjoy descents and with a strong wind I am bound to being slapped around and kicked from side to side. Also, I am slightly irritated by the very loud snarling of Harley-Davidson motorbikes ridden only a little faster than I am riding, protracting the misery. Or ridden so hard that they come up like jet engines and set my ears ringing. What is it that's so good about riding like that, hearing nothing above your own racket and knowing you're ruining the peace for everyone else? These guys don't even look at the scenery, they just shoot to the next bar where jugs of beer will be happily thrown into their accommodating bellys.

Republic sits at the bottom of the Sherman pass and it is probably the only pleasant town created by the gold hunters which remains today. Gold was found here at the end of the 19th century and luck has it that it was on Indian land, much of it, but who cared about that right? The government couldn't be bothered to bring in the army to discourage trespassing and plundering and, when the Indians waved their agreements, Congress just changed the agreement. The best land passed to the prospectors and of course the Indians did not see a cent of what was made with the gold and the mining. I ride through the Main st extremely annoyed. Things are going well today. I am tired and hungry but no food I can think of satisfies my hunger. I immediately continue West without stopping for water or snacks. Like a machine I push on with my eyes glued to the road, it is one of those very frequent moments when my body is detached from my brain. I start climbing again and there is another Pass that awaits but this one is not as fierce and long as the Sherman. It still takes me almost two hours to top the Wauconda Pass at 4210 ft. By this time I am tired and thirsty. Both water bottles empty, I still have 25 miles before I reach the next town. Stupid. What was I thinking? Why didn't I check the water bottles before leaving Republic?

The big ride down from Wauconda sends me down 1,000 feet at least. I risk a lot as I ride fast and cannto be bothered to slow down, check for approaching vehicles and take the usual downhill precautions. I just get the hell down the flank of the mountain unable to think properly. I get to the bottom and the world around me changes dramatically. The landscape turns dry, with many shades of yellows and browns, broken up only by the narrow strip of land that runs along both sides of the Okanogan River, where orchards with orderly rows of trees gently creep up the hillsides next to abandoned farms and a few small homes that are empty and are falling apart under the unforgiving sun. The scenery is alienating. It used to be a town but it is just empty hillside now. Not just a town but a boom town with a thriving mining community but it has been abandoned and has dwindled to less than a ghost town because only a few houses are left intact. All you can see are the tracks on the ground or rusting gates to an open field. The poverty and sad state of the land seem out of place compared to everything that came earlier in the day.

This is the high desert of Tonasket, a land so barren and dry that I did not think it could exist in Washington State. No wonder there is no life here. The scenery reminds me of Arizona or New Mexico. I ride the slowest and toughest 25 milse when my mouth goes numb because there is no saliva. I am spitting air and I would do anything to sip ice-cold water now. I would break the law for it. I ride through the headwind with my head bowed and my teeth clenched so tight I might have chipped them. Every pedal stroke is a curse, every yard is a damnation. I don;t even have the strength to yell or to curse. I am scared of stopping because I would stop for good and I can't. I need to keep going. I fight a gusty headwind all the way while I ride on H20 which drops into a deep rocky gorge and then plunges into the town valley.

After what it feels forever I arrive in Tonasket with a blank stare on my face and my legs so heavy that I can't walk properly, I just drag my body along the pavement like a zombie. Tonasket is probably the poorest town I have seen. Dusty buildings, basic houses, trailer parks and abandoned structures. Then I am reminded that it is located in the Indian reservation and it makes perfect sense. The place, with a dry temperature of 96F, resembles another ghost town weren't for the families of the descendants of pioneers that work hard at preserving their heritage. I should have called it a day right here with 80 miles already in the legs, lots of climbing and a questionable level of fitness. I almost fall to my knees as I dismount off the bike in the gas station but liquid and food come to my rescue. I drink 1 lt of water and 1 lt of gatorade in less than 3 minutes and gulp down a flavorless ice-cream. I cannot eat anything else. I feel too sick. I press on into a headwind that drives me nuts. The next 30 miles go just as slow as the previous 30. I crawl from mile to mile stopping every second or so it seems to curse at the wind and beg it to please have mercy. Needless to say the wind turns a deaf ear and I have no choice but to go ahead hoping to reach a hotel-serviced town as soon as possible. A two-lane road that follows the Okanogan river in slightly narrow valley which is exposed to the wind. I ride by several fruit fields and old-looking houses. The day seems neverending but finally at 6pm I reach Omak which seems like a perfect town to spend the night. I look at the map and if I got this far I might as well ride another 6 miles to Okanogan. The town is empty and depressing. I reach the west side of town where an even more depressing hotel run by an Indian family (from India) will be my shack for the night. I shower for what it seems like an hour trying to wash the grime off my legs. I am too tired to stretch and all I can find for dinner is a trite cheeseburger and fries at the local Bingo and Casino, a place so dark and depressing that creeps me out. I ingest the food without even looking at. The crowd of the place...oh forget it, I can't even find the energy to describe them. I gingerly walk back to my room realizing that my mouth agape with crustry lips and broken skin, my vision is blurred and my toes numb. I sit on the bed and I write about the day's events with a sardonic smile on my face.

Tough day. Vancouver seems as far away as it did when I was in DC. The dinner was crap, I am still thirsty and I am sore in places I can't describe.

It is one of those days, it is a day in the life. I take it, I take all of them.

If I got this far I can go a little farther.

I will pass out in a moment.

Crossing Roosevelt lake

The climb up Sherman Pass begins 

The creek that parallels the road 

The climb gets steep 

A rare widening of the road with a pretty valley

And back to the steep climb 

The view is obstructed by the trees 

After more than 3 hours I get to the top

The view from the top looking West

The dreaded descent 

3000 miles 

The pretty town of Republic 

After two more hours of toiling up hills on top of the Wauconda Pass, I had enough 

Surreal scenery down in the valley, they have all long gone 

 The evergreen state? This looks more like New Mexico or Arizona

 Hot and dry

The town of Tonasket sits in a cool valley among the dry plateaus 

Even this tiny town has seen better days 

Looks like a set to a horror movie  

 Washington sky

Highway 20 to Omak

"On the road" kind of scenery 

The town of Okanogan, as empty as you would expect it