You couldn't ask for a better day than today. I continued on Hwy 20 east from Tonasket, up out of the barren valley into the higher prairie/woodsy/hilly area. Occasionally I saw cattle, horses, llamas, and goats. I would really like a pet goat.
Hwy 20 is wide and little traveled. Most of the day was spent climbing, and my legs feel like they've been hit with shock paddles. But other than that, no issues physically. The bike is running well but there is an odd click in the pedal stroke that transfers to my feet. It's the sort of thing that you get to think about for hours on end as you pedal. I suppose I could take the cranks off and put them back on, but it hasn't come to that.
There are a lot of motorcycle tourists. I like them because they are generally courteous drivers. Perhaps they know what it feels like to be vulnerable. Many wave or give me the thumbs up. Yesterday a guy slowed down and shouted some words of encouragement, although I couldn't hear him over his Harley pipes. I get a kick out of giving the Harley guys their special down-low arm wave. You know, the one that only bikers use and looks cool and lackadaisical. I do it and they return it and then I chuckle about it for awhile. Here I am in my neon flashing contraption and yet I am accepted into the brotherhood of these folks who dress like Mad Max.
Oh, I also got to try my ultrasonic dog zapper for real. This farm dog was making a run for me and I gave him a blast at about 20 feet. He put on the brakes and ran the other way! Fantastic. I hope it works on meth-heads' pitbulls too.
A few days ago I ordered a spare tire for the front wheel. Not only is it comforting to have a spare, but the lighter weight Kojak tire is noticeably faster than the heavy duty Marathon Plus which could be standard equipment on a John Deere tractor. So I'll keep the Marathons as spares. I need a Presta/Schrader adapter to properly check my tire pressure but haven't passed any bike shops recently.
To get the spare tire, I estimated where I would be in the future and had it shipped to the post office general delivery. "There" happened to be Wauconda, WA, which is a ghost town in the middle of nowhere that still has a store/post office. I pulled in on my bicycle in the afternoon hoping the package had arrived. It had not, and the lady seemed mistrustful of my intentions. I bought a root beer and sat down to wait for the UPS truck. Fortuitously, the brown truck showed up 35 minutes later, and the UPS guy gave me my tire. He had all sorts of questions and route advice. He said I could avoid the upcoming grueling Sherman Pass climb by detouring 20 miles north to a lesser pass. I smiled and thanked him, but going 20 miles north means coming back 20 miles south, and that's a good part of the day, so I'm going to gut it out. A lot of people offer advice, good and bad.
Later in the afternoon, after a thrilling blast down the east side of Wauconda Pass, I pulled into Republic. It seems like a quintessential small American town with a wide main street and some sporting-oriented shops. I browsed the supermarket awhile, which was somehow soothing after staring at the road so long. I bought some Q-tips. I also bought some Deep Woods Off, which should keep me from getting West Nile. I got a loaf of bread, some salami, and some cherries from Chelan. What I don't eat tonight gets stuffed in my bag for tomorrow.
After hanging around town for awhile, I pedaled over to the RV park at sunset. It's really, really nice. The owners asked me all sorts of questions and said they get bike tourists from all over the world. They set me up in a well-manicured campsite with a power outlet and wifi. I took a nice shower and quickly washed my clothes in the sink before anyone walked in. One interesting thing is that there were no trees spaced close enough that I could hang my hammock. So I managed to hang it from the limbs of one big tree. It's five or six feet off the ground and I hope nothing breaks.
To be fair, I think the owners were very upset about it. And I don't think the gentleman knew that I was hanging over his head.
Hwy 20 is wide and little traveled. Most of the day was spent climbing, and my legs feel like they've been hit with shock paddles. But other than that, no issues physically. The bike is running well but there is an odd click in the pedal stroke that transfers to my feet. It's the sort of thing that you get to think about for hours on end as you pedal. I suppose I could take the cranks off and put them back on, but it hasn't come to that.
There are a lot of motorcycle tourists. I like them because they are generally courteous drivers. Perhaps they know what it feels like to be vulnerable. Many wave or give me the thumbs up. Yesterday a guy slowed down and shouted some words of encouragement, although I couldn't hear him over his Harley pipes. I get a kick out of giving the Harley guys their special down-low arm wave. You know, the one that only bikers use and looks cool and lackadaisical. I do it and they return it and then I chuckle about it for awhile. Here I am in my neon flashing contraption and yet I am accepted into the brotherhood of these folks who dress like Mad Max.
Oh, I also got to try my ultrasonic dog zapper for real. This farm dog was making a run for me and I gave him a blast at about 20 feet. He put on the brakes and ran the other way! Fantastic. I hope it works on meth-heads' pitbulls too.
A few days ago I ordered a spare tire for the front wheel. Not only is it comforting to have a spare, but the lighter weight Kojak tire is noticeably faster than the heavy duty Marathon Plus which could be standard equipment on a John Deere tractor. So I'll keep the Marathons as spares. I need a Presta/Schrader adapter to properly check my tire pressure but haven't passed any bike shops recently.
To get the spare tire, I estimated where I would be in the future and had it shipped to the post office general delivery. "There" happened to be Wauconda, WA, which is a ghost town in the middle of nowhere that still has a store/post office. I pulled in on my bicycle in the afternoon hoping the package had arrived. It had not, and the lady seemed mistrustful of my intentions. I bought a root beer and sat down to wait for the UPS truck. Fortuitously, the brown truck showed up 35 minutes later, and the UPS guy gave me my tire. He had all sorts of questions and route advice. He said I could avoid the upcoming grueling Sherman Pass climb by detouring 20 miles north to a lesser pass. I smiled and thanked him, but going 20 miles north means coming back 20 miles south, and that's a good part of the day, so I'm going to gut it out. A lot of people offer advice, good and bad.
Later in the afternoon, after a thrilling blast down the east side of Wauconda Pass, I pulled into Republic. It seems like a quintessential small American town with a wide main street and some sporting-oriented shops. I browsed the supermarket awhile, which was somehow soothing after staring at the road so long. I bought some Q-tips. I also bought some Deep Woods Off, which should keep me from getting West Nile. I got a loaf of bread, some salami, and some cherries from Chelan. What I don't eat tonight gets stuffed in my bag for tomorrow.
After hanging around town for awhile, I pedaled over to the RV park at sunset. It's really, really nice. The owners asked me all sorts of questions and said they get bike tourists from all over the world. They set me up in a well-manicured campsite with a power outlet and wifi. I took a nice shower and quickly washed my clothes in the sink before anyone walked in. One interesting thing is that there were no trees spaced close enough that I could hang my hammock. So I managed to hang it from the limbs of one big tree. It's five or six feet off the ground and I hope nothing breaks.
Edit -- just after I completed typing this, a flashlight shone on my hammock and there was a voice that said "Sheriff's Department! Identify yourself!" I said, "umm, hello?" Then I unzipped the bottom and looked out, and there was some fellow sitting under my hammock. Apparently the cops were looking for him and he took refuge directly underneath my ass. The whole RV park crowd came out to join the show. One of the cops said "you don't know that guy?" I said no, I don't. The cop said "that's fuckin' weird, man."
To be fair, I think the owners were very upset about it. And I don't think the gentleman knew that I was hanging over his head.
Let the sweating begin
Pastoral Eastern Washington
Miles from anywhere, I received a bike tire from UPS
Blasting down into Republic
Downtown Republic
The only hammock solution. A long drop if something goes wrong.
Camp all fixed up.
