July: We followed a glacier dripping into the sea and pedaled eastward through the north countries of Washington, Idaho, and Montana

From Mt. Vernon, Washington to Glacier National Park, Montana and to Missoula, MT, nearly 1000 miles, July, 2007
Average daily mileage: 65

This summer we had originally planned to go to Alaska. We thought we'd ferry up and bike to Denali, climb and hike and stay a long time. But ferry tickets, we realized were are not cheap. We had bicycled south along the Oregon and California coasts to San Francisco, south along the spine of the Sierras in California and Nevada to Yosemite National Park, and north and east in a loop last year that nearly spanned Washington State and took us back through the Columbia River Gorge, among our bike trips to that point. I wanted to do something befitting this, my first summer as a college graduate and also as the fourth summer of adventure bicycle and climbing tours. If not Alaska, it would have to be somewhere special. We had also been on a one-week ride in June to North Cascades National Park, northern Washington's little-visited wilderness of spires, gorges, and glaciated peaks. This vast land of granite slabs, grizzlies, and a few scattered small towns sparked our imaginations and made us eager to return to its heights. If not Alaska, if not British Columbia this year, then there was certainly a ride that presented itself to us immediately: to Montana. Glaciers and Rocky Mountains. Wilderness. After some thought, my partner Michael and I, as well as a longtime time friend of ours, Thomas, decided that north and east, to the late sunsets, blue lakes, and dusty hillsides from the Pacific to the Rockies would be the next leg of our explorations of the Northwest by bicycle.

Getting off the Cascade line train up from Portland in Mt. Vernon, Washington at sunset, we quickly unhooked out touring bicycles from the back car, stepped off and watched our ride disappear along the shoreline. Wasting no time, we started off toward pink skies past Burlington and to Sedro Wooley, WA about 15 miles away. We flipped on our lights on some dangerous roads and worried that we had taken a wrong turn, but made it into town in the dark and set up camp at a city park on the outskirts. Unable to sleep well that night, adrenaline and anxiety coursed through me: this was it, the trip that had been weeks, months, even years in the making. It was really happening. Would I be able to stand up to the task? Or would my legs fail me while struggling to keep up with the two athletic men that were my riding partners? But I couldn't know yet, so I attempted to quiet my ming and get the rest I was sure I'd need.

The next day, after an early breakfast at a local cafe and one flat tire already for Michael, we set off on highway 20, the North Cascades Highway, which would take us over five Washington passes and toward Idaho. That day we got our start by pacing ourselves, but ended our ride triumphantly at Colonial Creek Campground, past the last general store that we would see until Mazama, WA, after we had crested and descended Rainy and Washington passes, in three days. Because both Thomas and I were recovering from colds acquired at home, we chose to spend the next day doing light hiking and smimming in bone-chilling Diablo Lake, a glacial-fed blue-colored lake at the foot of North Cascades peaks. We rested and drank tea and dreamt of adventures-to-be.

On day four, we rode hard uphill to Rainy and Washington (5,477) Passes from after breakfast until dusk. It was difficult, but we stopped to see amazing glaciers dripping into lakes and forming rivers before, and were revived. I constatly stared at the road before me and the mountains around me, wondering both in awe of them and also when the next bit on flat road would come, the next short downhill stretch of rest, and finally the top of the pass. It did come, in twilight, and we were happy to stop and find a place to rest for the night. When we did stop, though, the musquitos began. The hoards that lingered near the swampy lands created by the metling summer glaciers were ravenous and ready to bite any swath of exposed skin in an instant. We used strong, fowl smelling repelents and ran around in circles, yet still the returned for more of our salty sweat and blood. We ate dinner in the restrooms and lept into out tents afterward. Luckily, it was nice and cool and relatively insect-free there until the morning.


I was woken up early (around 6am) as Michael and Thomas were heading off to climb South Early Winters Spire, a route which I would have liked to have climbed very much in different circumstances, but the mosquito infestation which seemed to have gotten worse overnight, along with my anxiety over my fatigue and not wanting to leave all of our bikes and gear alone led me to resolve to wait a few hours more and sleep during the ascent they estimated would take until near 11. Unfortunately, though I was unable to return to sleep and kept a constant vigil in our tiny tent against the mosquitoes, and by noon I was roasting in 95 degree heat. At 2pm the temperature rose above 100 degrees F and I finally could no longer take the heat in the tent and started off the hiking trail in order to keep moving and fend them off. I believe I probably suffered a mild case of heat stroke, as I had severe headaches and was dehydrated for the next day and a half. I met up with Michael and Thomas on their descent, and they said they had had an amazing time, excluding being bitten by hoards of mosquitoes. Despite all my efforts to avoid them, a bite I got on my arm that morning developed an infection which I feared would threaten the trip for me. Luckily, though, constant antibacterial ointment applications and some antibiotics I had in my medicine pack cleared it up eventually.

It was mid to late afternoon when we set off down Washington Pass and into the hot valleys of central Washington State. The first town that we had come across in three days was a "one horse town" called Mazama. Beautiful and not quite arid, nothing was opened but a gas station sized general store, at which we promptly overdid it on refrigerated beverages, each person buying gatorades, iced coffees, and a beer to make up for the past few days. The ice cream tasted delicious. Stocked up on snacks, we then headed in the late afternoon for the town of Winthrop. Perhaps because these were our first days in a new hot, arid climate, they seemed harder to endure than others on which the temperatures were the same or rose even higher. I couldn't seem to produce enough sweat to keep cool, even with the blow-dryer-like breeze constantly on me. Stopping was worse than riding, though, and we reached Winthrop and immediately ordered a good meal.

Although extremely removed in its climate, and as we saw it from our perspectives as bicyclists, from the wet Pacific Northwest we all call home, Winthrop, WA was an "eco-tourist" town which didn't seem as far socially as it did geographically from the liberal coast. (Perhaps this is due to a modern world in which transportation via car from Seattle amounted to only a few-hour drive in an air-conditioned, luxurious SUV.) But seeing it the way we did made the way that this place and the coastal regions that we call home seem to fit together like new pieces of a puzzle, ones that are actually connected to each other, even if they are different. I felt like I was seeing Winthrop with new eyes, the eyes of someone who chooses to see the land as a whole, and experience its punishments as well as its rewards.

We departed from Perrygin Lake State Park near Winthrop the next morning, reinvigorated from cushy state park showers and a dip in the lake's cool water. From this point on, searing heat and beautiful lakes began to typify our travels. The next town we crossed was a charming little village called Twisp, where we shopped at the local organic co-op grocery and exchanged greetings with an attractive long-haired 20 something guy with his own handmade sandals and a threadbare grocery tote. We relished meeting people who appreciated our trip and wanted to talk, and, as it happened, the further we headed east away from the coast the fewer and farther between these characters would become.

Our next pass was called Loup Loup, up from Twisp, and it was a challenge not so much because it was steep or high (between 4020 ft) but because the heat effected us very much and cool water not contaminated by agricultural waste was scarce. In the heat it was crucial to stay hydrated though, so we filtered from the cleanest-looking streams we could find. By mid-afternoon we easily reached the pass and started heading down toward the Department of Natural Resources free campground where we would rest for the night. Located on a reservoir a few thousand miles down from Loup Loup pass, we braves the mosquitoes to have an excellent time swimming, and Thomas caught a small lake fish (and ate it).

Our next destination was into the Okanogan National Forest and to the Northern Okanogan town of Tanasket, WA. The heat was again oppressive, and by the time we had reached Glacier we found out from other cyclists that fires had closed off for a time some of the route we had taken. We went through part of the Okanogan Indian Reservation and through the towns of Okanogan and Riverside. Staying close to waterways was, I feel, an essential part of the success of our trip in the face of one of the driest and hottest summers on record in the upper interior Northwest. As an avid birdwatcher and environmental science student like Michael, Thomas stopped to remark many beautiful and rare birds along our rides. In this region, in particular I remember seeing many curious quail along the sides of the highway, perched watching us from fence posts, and one beautiful blue heron fishing along the river in Riverside.

That evening we reached Tonasket, a town which we would later decide would not be a stop again if we were ever to journey through the Okanogan. Although the one motel in town advertised a television on the welcome sign, (we were eager to kick back and watch a movie or a nature show in the a.c for a night) the service had been cut off. Venturing down the street to the local pub, we were stalked by a sheriff car that slowed to check us out several times, making us feel like unwelcome outsiders. Once at the pub, our Oregon driver's licenses were scrutinized for a lengthy period before we were served, and Thomas, who only wanted a glass of water, was told he would have to pay 2.50$ for it or vacate the premises. Attempting to appear unperturbed, I tipped generously and smiled graciously when our food arrived half an hour later. The bartender finally gave in to questioning us civilly, and I felt this was a victory. Until we left the town of Tonasket, though, treatment as outside invaders continued, and we were led to wonder what were the reasons for such prejudice. I feel now that the defensiveness of this town was due in no small part to the prevalence of outside influences which have soured locals on any visitors, and made them weary of the unfamiliar likes of people riding bicycles or anyones who may pose a threat in their view to their way of life. This saddens me greatly, as often it is those who are unfamiliar but with good intentions who must pay unfairly for the doings of those who wish to profit at the expense of the uninformed.

After Tonasket, we set out straightaway to tackle our next two passes, Waconda at over 4,310 ft and then Sherman Pass, at 5,575 our highest pass and the highest one in the state of Washington. In between these two, we descended to the elevation of 2,600 ft and to Republic, WA where we ate lots and lots of pizza and drank loads and sodas and got ready for Sherman. Sherman Pass was difficult, with a bumpy torn-up under-construction road near the top for nearly 6 miles, but the view was lovely and we made it to our camp at a National Forest Service pack it in-pack it out campground just before dusk. There we read signs about a "problem bear" (I'd call it problem trash) and decided to eat dinner in the next site over. Once again all went well. And once again, to Michael's displeasure, no grizzly bear sightings.

From Sherman, we headed down, down, down to the fairly level hot plains of eastern Washington and crossed over a landmark quite significant to us as residents of Portland, the Columbia River, at the bottom of our descent. There, at Kettle Falls, we took the chance to take a pleasurable cool dip in the dammed Roosevelt Lake. Only a few moments after I got in, though, I saw Michael jump in head-first and immediately felt a shock of fear: he had forgotten to take off his only pair of glasses. He came to the surface with a forlorn look and then went back down to begin his search. There was a small marina across the boat parking lot from us, so I ran to attempt to procure a pair of goggles while Thomas and Michael dove. Without glasses, Michael would either have to find an eyeglasses retail store and order new ones, delaying our trip by a day or more, or go without clear vision. I returned victorious from the marina with a pair of goggles and a snorkel labeled "ages 3+". Michael tried them with now luck, but after I redirected Thomas according to the area in which I believed the spectacles to have been submerged, he emerged first with Michael's glasses high above his head in his right hand. Success! After that, Michael vowed to always think before he dove.

That night, after passing the county seat at Colville, we reached a beautiful lake where we dreamed off reaching Idaho the next day. In the morning, we headed off down a ridge toward Pend Oreille (or Ponderay) country and the Washington-Idaho border. We traveled all day, swimming and dipping our bandannas in the heat into the Pend Oreille River. We also passed by the Kallispell Indian Reservation, and observed a heard of buffalo grazing in a field. By evening, we had passed by few settlements and much countryside, and were weary of the unending heat. We crossed a bridge into Idaho, went back east 3 miles downs the other side of the river into Washington again, and camped at a National Forest Campground where an inquisitive and welcoming older woman host greeted us and shared stories of her life traveling the Northwest. We had brought liquor with us and woke up groggy in the morning.

After about 75 miles, the next day we reached a major destination point, Sandpoint, Idaho, located on Lake Pend Oreille. This beautiful oasis solidified our transition into the region of many lakes with green hillsides and a thriving outdoor recreation community of 6,000. We spent an extra day here, rock climbing on the Schweitzer (a nearly in-town ski area 7 months out of the year) and swimming in the beautiful crystal clear, huge lake. The bike-only bridgeway which took us to out campground the second night was over 2 miles long! The first night, though we arrived later in the evening and were buying groceries when we began being approached by attractive athletic young people inquiring about our journey. Leaving the store, a couple of friends named Jeff and Lizzy, both on bikes and in bathing suits, congratulated us and invited us to stay at the house at which they were house-sitting for a friend who just happened to be on a bike tour in Glacier NP. They grilled us a delicious dinner of vegetarian tacos, told us about their project as DJ (Jeff) Arts Alliance Sandpoint founder (Lizzy) and we talked into the night. We were also very grateful to be able to was our clothes and takes nice hot showers. While we were in Sandpoint, we saw an advertisement asking 250$ for a small house in the area, and considered staying, or at least returning to Sandpoint. Ready for more adventures and hungry for the road, though, we set out and said goodbye to our newfound friends.

On our way out of town, we stopped by an internet cafe and caught our first glimpse of the e-world in quite some time. I also found out that one of my poems, Condemnation, was selected for this year's Portland Women Writers' compilation, VoiceCatcher. I was elated.
It was good, too, that my spirits were high, because the searing heat of midday at we rolled toward Montana was almost too much to take. In the middle of the day, we did stop for a relieving dip at a local watering hole. We got back on the road around 4 and still had about 20 miles to cover, though, so we made tracks fast. At one cold drink stop, I met some cyclists who lifted my spirits and inspired me to keep on following the road to my dreams: a couple in their sixties or early seventies who were on a trip from South Dakota to Washington and back! And they were already on their way back! We encountered them a few more times before our routes split, and each time they reminded me of how often the limitations that I think are physical are actually mental fears with which I restrict myself. I made a resolution to do my best to live to my full potential, letting my fears of failure and discomfort get to me less.
Just before getting to our campground on the Bull River, MT, we had our first encounter in that state, and it turned out be a disturbing one. In the evening light as we passed by an odd-looking residence with "beware wild animal" signs all over the front yard, we peered closer to see that there were bars on the entranceway to the small garage. We didn't have to get too much closer to see a large, possibly overweight mountain lion peering at us with vacant eyes from behind. Not knowing what else to do, we took down the address and wrote a distraught letter to the lion's captors. Not an experience which we felt welcomed us to Montana, to say the least.

The next day, another hot one (and by this time we'd been hearing of record heat, drought, and fires occurring in Montana), took us to Libby through tall pine forests. Libby seemed to have at one time been a booming lumber town, but now was full of dilapidated homes and run-down casinos. During this part of our trip, we largely looked toward the road ahead to Glacier for enthusiasm in what otherwise seemed like an inhospitable territory By the time we had traversed the steeply rolling terrain past the Libby Dam and along Lake Koocanusa (so samed for its proximity to the Kootenai River, and Canada and the USA borders) we were longing to go ahead and bike the rest of the 6 miles into Canada. We didn't have birth certificates or passports with us though, and so that road was closed. Instead we stayed at Rexford campground, which was designated by the sign as for "RV's Only," but at which we had no trouble securing a site after paying the standard fee.

The next morning, we headed down to Whitefish, MT, nearly at the gates of Glacier! This destination was certainly a treat for us, considering the State Park (unlike most Montana State Park, we later found), had bike and hike reserved sites in a prime location next to the lake and coin showers as well! Feeling refreshed and clean, Michael and said goodbye to Thomas as we parted ways the next day and he rode on to Glacier early to see as much as he could before leaving. We, in much less of a hurry, spent time buying birthday gifts in town and sipping coffee at the local internet-equipped cafe. We then headed through Columbia Falls and into Glacier NP on backroads suggested by our Adventure Cycling map, only to experience our first summer rain (and thunder) storm of the trip on what was also our only gravel road! The smell of the rain was delicious and the air thick and hot, though, and we were glad for the shower. We moved on quickly to the park, paid the 12$ each(!) bicycle entry free (later we found out we should have simply taken the no-fee bikeway) and set up our camp in the rain. We were there!

We spent the next 9 days experiencing Glacier in the most full and enriching ways we could think of. We savored our time there; we felt that we had earned it and were now enjoying the fruit of our (not-so-unfruitful themselves) labors. We hiked up and down Mt. Brown (5,000 ft and 5.5 miles each way) and got our initial hiking-leg-soreness out of the way quickly. We also took a day resting and rowing in a rented canoe to a deserted spot for skinny dipping. Then, we secured a backpacking permit to hike 16 miles roundtrip (with our panier-backpacks--ouch!) to a hidden lake in grizzly country. The wildflowers were amazing! We also took a bus up to Logan's Pass and scrambled up 8,000-ft Mt. Oberlin for a rest day before our last full day and last athletic push in Glacier, an early start--the "Going-to-the-Sun Road" is closed everyday from 11am to 4pm to cyclists!!!-- up to Logan's Pass (the continental divide, 26 miles up by bicycle from our campground), and then hiked the 12-mile highline trail, running the last 3 miles before catching the shuttle back up to our bikes and cycling down to camp. Amazing fun! That day we finally felt that we had reached the top of the world, both emotionally and physically. But, alas, it was time to begin our journey home.

We cycled along the Adventure Cycling Great Parks route most of the way to Missoula, skirting Flathead Lake and Swan Lake and covering almost 200 miles in 3 days to arrive there on a Saturday afternoon. We kissed the roads of Montana goodbye with long stretches of rural roads and a State Park with a great view of Salmon Lake. It was hard reaching the end of the road, but it came and went just like the rest of our trip. And we were on to our next adventure before even really being able to soak it all in, but I suppose living just happens that way, whether you ask it to or are ready for it or not. And you move on, like we did. On to Missoula, on to a greyhound ride zipping us back from whence we came faster than we could comprehend or hardly even stomach. And here we were, working at our jobs and itching for our next adventure, wanting to make living fully a life and not just something we could ever do "on the side" or to "loosen up on the weekends." So we'll keep moving.

And it is by living the unfettered lives of our hearts' desires, by flying and falling and rising up again, that we will attempt to feel we own in kinship this transitioning human skin.