And Hello Washington

Republic, Washington

The past few days have been nothing if not exciting, we hit the 1,000 mile mark, crossed into our fourth state, and today began our onslaught of the Cascade Mountains with a crossing of Sherman Pass, a 4,000 foot climb which was not at all fun in any way on the way up, but pretty nice on the way down.

We began our foray into Washington State a few days ago when we left Sandpoint, ID, for what was to be a relatively easy spin along the Pend Orielle (pronounced Pond-Eray, as I found out, I'll let you imagine how badly I butchered the name) River. Things changed drastically, however, as we crossed the border and turned onto a small backroad named Leclerc. A dreaded orange construction sign noted that in five short miles, our nice relaxing ride would take a turn for the worse as the road would detour. As we neared the construction area, my hopes that this would be one of those detours which would require cars to change course, yet allow cyclists to slink on through were dashed, as a giant "road closed" sign barred any forward progress, and an inky black arrow pointed up a cliff at what some people would call a road, and I would call a nightmare.

In a sweat-drenched profanity fest, I struggled up the 14% grade (Natkin, on the other hand, slid up the hill in the same easy manner by which he moves through life, further adding to my anger) only to find that the pavement gave way to washboard dirt, making our passage even more difficult.

After a a few miles, we returned to the main road, thankful to have made it through the detour without being obliterated by one of the many contruction vehicles whizzing by. As we continued along the river, I looked around and took in the beauty of my surroundings. The sun, soften by the haze of a distant forest fire cast its light delicately around us. A barn, broken by the weight of time and surrounded by golden fields of freshly reaped grain, became instantly familiar, representing a personally long held image of americana, almost like stepping into a real life representation of Aaron Copeland's Appalachian Spring. It was a deeply moving experience, and I wonder if I would have seen it the same way if I had not had to work so hard over the previous five miles.

-Erik