Passing Through Anacortes

Last summer I passed through Anacortes coming and going on several trips between Ferndale and Friday Harbor, but usually I just had time enough for lunch and a walk up and down the main drag in town, before hopping back on my bike to ride three short miles to the ferry terminal. A year ago the city was paving and adding bike lanes to Commercial Avenue, making the ride smoother and safer for bike tourists this year. This summer the timing to catch the ferry to Sidney BC was a little different, allowing me to spend a little more time walking and biking around town. Usually I come in to town by way of Fidalgo Bay Road and R Avenue, which runs through a working waterfront area. The street bends to become Q Avenue, which continues along side a more scenic recreational marina area with views of the rocky bluff of Cap Sante Park.

Cap Sante from Seafarers Memorial Park in Anacortes, with an oil refinery in the distance

There are foot and bike trails up to the top of the bluff, but I only rode out to the tip of the point, where I watched hummingbirds buzzing up and down above the manzanitas on the steep slope. I stopped to chat with an older couple of retirees who seemed concerned that I might be a transient planning to set up camp in the park, but I was able to convince them that I was only a harmless flake. I generally try to keep my gear nice and dress up-scale enough to look like an Adventure Tourist, not a bum, but sometimes these class distinctions are hard to maintain.

Sculptures and poems printed on plaques are on exhibit beside the landscaped walkways by the water, including a poem titled "What the Fisherman Knows" by Samuel Green, a former poet laureate of Washington state. I found it moving and mysterious, my main requirement for poetry.

Causland Park

After a hearty sandwich and coffee at one of the many lunch spots on Commercial Ave., I biked around at random on neighborhood streets, until I happened on Causland Park, a one square block garden spot at the intersection of 8th Street and M Avenue. The walls, paths and stairways, the bandstand and memorials in the park are mosaics made of various colors and textures of local stone. The stone works were designed and built in about 1920, by a former French-Canadian named Jean Baptiste LePage, apparently a mostly self-taught artist and architect, who was influenced by the Spanish architect Antonio Gaudi. The park was later re-named for Harry Causland, as a memorial to soldiers from World War I. The place is a curious and fascinating retreat in an out-of-the way little town, worth looking for if you have time to kill while waiting for the Anacortes ferry.

Bandstand at Causland Park

Some second thoughts . . .

Rethinking my previous posts from the summer past: of course, the world is full of men who were traumatized by childhood outdoor experiences, when they were terrified by noises in the night or creepy, slimy creatures, or were ridiculed and made to feel incompetent by a Dad, uncle or Scout troop leader, or were led astray and endangered by an incompetent Dad, uncle or Scout troop leader. But girls/women mostly don't encounter those bad experiences until we begin to push our limits as adults, after spending our younger years avoiding outdoor hardships, risks and creepy slimy things.

That's OK, it makes us feel young and fresh to challenge ourselves and discover new things.

I finished off my summer by returning to Vancouver Island to ride the Galloping Goose again. This time I brought a better camera, packed a lunch for the trail, and rode almost to the Sooke Potholes, but not quite as far as I had hoped to go. I am writing a supplemental post with lots of photos, but keep running out of high-speed wifi. Soon I will finish.

It's the rainy season now, but for anyone thinking of a holiday trip to the San Juan Islands or Vancouver Island, at least three of Washington State Ferries' boats have been out of service and under repair, and ferry runs have been severely cut back. All service between Anacortes and Sidney BC was cancelled in mid-October through mid-November, and last I heard there were only two runs a day from Anacortes to the San Juan Islands. Check the Washington State Ferries website to plan your travel.

Not-So-Wild

Silver Lake Park

Like most girls, I grew up fearing the Big Bad Wolf in the woods. Rationally I know solo travel and camping (with caution and common sense) is almost always safe, but it still has been hard to take the first steps. I thought joining a group overnight would ease my way, but after missing a meet-up in June, last week I reserved a mid-week camping spot at Silver Lake Park, a Whatcom County park in the Mount Baker Forest foothills beyond the town of Everson.

I have bicycled to this park in the past, but this time I was on my 28 pound hybrid bike, carrying 25 pounds of luggage, including tent, sleeping bag and pad, rain gear and some snacks and water. It's about seventeen mostly flat miles from my place in Ferndale to Everson, where I stopped for coffee and pastry, and bought a SubWay sandwich for dinner. I had remembered it being about eight miles from there to the county park, but it's actually more like eighteen. Everson's Main Street becomes South Pass Road at city limits, then about a half-mile past Oat Coles Road, South Pass Road curves to the left and starts climbing for a mile or so. I hadn't ridden my bike at all for several days before leaving that morning, and my legs weren't ready for hill-climbing with a loaded bike. I had to push the bike up the last bit of that hill, and also a couple of short-but-steep bits farther on. The weather was overcast and muggy, and I arrived at the park tired and sweaty after riding 37 miles in about 3.5 hours.

Base camp

I stopped at the park office, but since I had made online reservations no further paperwork was needed and I went straight on to my campsite. I probably could have saved the $13 reservation fee and paid only $24 for a drop-in site, but I hadn't wanted to take a chance on the camp being full. Most of the spaces were taken by RV campers, but there were also some car-campers sleeping in tents.

The camping area is shaded by Douglas firs, maple and cedar trees, with a pretty understory of fern, bracken, salal, huckleberry bushes and all the usual native plants. There are gravelled foot paths, and some bare dirt paths where little kids were riding junior mountain bikes. I locked my bike up to a tree and put up my tent right away, because I'd felt a few sprinkles of rain. I had set up the tent in my living room before, but this was the first time I'd used it outdoors, and actually staked it into the ground. It went up quickly, easily and stood firm all night, though I did have a lot of leftover stakes and tie-downs. Luckily there was no wind that night, or rain either.

It still wasn't even five o'clock yet, and I wasn't quite hungry for dinner, so I tucked away my things and went walking around the park, admiring the lake views and woodsy walks. There is a small swimming beach, with canoes, kayaks, paddle boards and pedal boats available for rent, and a little kids tot-lot with climbing forts and swings. A bath house near the beach is open 8am to dusk, with four minute showers for 75 cents.

Logging equipment at Gerdrum House

Across the road from the park is the historic Gerdrum Family farmhouse, where I walked around and peeked in the windows, and an exhibit of old logging and lumber milling equipment, now overgrown with saplings and bushes.

Back at my campsite I decided to start a fire. A previous camper had left some half-burned logs, and I'd brought a half-dozen old charcoal briquettes, a utility candle and a book of matches. With these and some sticks and twigs I was able to get a little fire going, to create a cozy atmosphere while I ate my SubWay sandwich. But I turned my back on the fire too long, until it began to produce a lot of atmosphere, in the form of smoke, and nearby campers started coughing theatrically. I tried to build the fire back up, which mostly produced more smoke, so finally I broke the coals up and went to bed around 9pm. The campground was very quiet, with no eerie noises in the night, except for someone who unloaded two or three cases of empty beer bottles in the recycling bins sometime after 10pm. I am comfortable sleeping on hard, flat surfaces, but I had some kinks in my back, and my left leg had some sore, out-of-joint spots in the hip, knee and ankle, and after a while my legs began to feel hot. I unzipped my sleeping bag to cool down, and finally fell peacefully asleep, with no nightmares or anxiety attacks.

Morning dew on the grass

At about four in the morning I heard the first bird-call. Pulling my sleeping bag tight around my ears, I went back to sleep until six-thirty when the full chorus began, and I lay awake to listen for a while. The muscles in my back had loosened up, and all the sore spots in my leg were gone. Finally I got up for breakfast - a quad-shot of cold espresso and two Clif bars. After another little morning walk to the bath-house for a blissful four-minute shower, I packed up my camp to head home.

South Pass Road curves northward from Everson, running almost within sight of the Canadian border at one point. I never can spot the place where it comes closest to Canada, which is shortly before the road turns southward toward Silver Lake Park. Leaving the park that morning I looked to my left, and saw a tempting downhill stretch heading south. I had never ridden that section of the road before, but according to my map, South Pass Road loops around to intersect with Mount Baker Highway (Hwy. 542), where I could turn right to get to a section of the in-progress Bay-to-Baker bike route that would put me back on South Pass Road, heading in to Everson, by-passing some of the rolling hills I'd ridden the day before.

Mount Baker from South Pass Road

I made the left turn and tried the unknown road, which turned out to be a much easier downhill run than the rolling hills going up to the park the day before. I saw two dark, shaggy young alpacas munching grass by a fence, and caught a distant view of Mount Baker. I flew down the last hill on South Pass Road before the level stretch heading in to Everson, where I stopped to rest a bit at Riverside Park, before the familiar fifteen-mile home-stretch to Ferndale.

The ride home was 38 miles in three hours, for a 75 mile round-trip. The whole over-night trip was probably more than 24 hours, but that would be because I took a long lunch-hour in Everson, and took my time in the morning, listening to birds and dawdling with packing up my camp.

Mount Baker (zoomed in)

Postscript: Once I left Everson and headed into the hills I got no signal on my AT&T cell phone - zero bars and the AT&T logo didn't even appear in the top left corner of the screen. Kind of strange because there used to be a lot of complaints that people were being charged for international calls when their signal jumped to an AT&T tower in Canada.

Updates & Caution

Trailside composition

A word of warning for anyone who might have been inspired to take a bike trip to the San Juan Islands via the Anacortes ferry this summer: a construction project is getting underway on Hwy. 20, at the three-way intersection turn-off to Deception Pass. The state highway department will be building a traffic roundabout at this major intersection between the towns of Mount Vernon and Anacortes. Bicycling may be the best way to get through this choke-point during construction - car traffic is sure to be backed up, but cyclists should be able to squeak by in the bike lane, or detour toward March's Point on the Coast to Cascades Route or Tommy Thompson Trail (I have never tried these routes, but they are marked on my Skagit County Bike Map).

Since early April I've been working at a new sports gear and clothing retailer in Bellingham. It took me a few weeks to adjust to working again. I caught a cold my first week, and was very absent-minded and scatter-brained at first - lost my keys, lost a lens from my glasses, then broke my back-up pair, then left my back-up keys in my locker at work and had to turn right around and go back to get them. I was commuting by bike at first, but the wardrobe change facilities weren't very convenient, and once the store opened my work hours matched up with the bus schedule pretty well. Most days now I ride the bus, but on weekends I get out for 25-35 mile rides, and I'm still planning some little overnight trips, after my failure at joining the Adventure Cycling group.

Car Nation

Somewhere around Snohomish, Monroe or Duvall

This year my birthday weekend coincided with National Bike Travel Weekend. More or less on impulse, I signed up for an Adventure Cycling Association weekend trip in the Snoqualmie Valley. It was to be a two-day ride of 25-35 miles a day, intended to be family and kid-friendly, which I thought might be a good learning experience for me. The most appealing part of the plan was that the group would camp outside Saturday night. Last spring, a year ago, I bought a light, one-person tent from REI, which has still never been used outside. I have set it up in my living room, but I haven't been camping since summer camp in 4th grade, and I'm nervous about sleeping out alone. I thought this trip would be a good chance to try things out in a supportive, beginner-friendly atmosphere. I also expected that getting to and from the meeting spot in Carnation would be the most challenging part of the ride, and it was.

I left home early Friday morning, meaning to catch the 80X bus to Mount Vernon at 7:40am, but when I arrived the bike rack on the bus was already full and I had to wait two hours for the 9:40. At Skagit Station I transferred to the 90X to the Everett Transit Center, from whence I would ride about 32 miles on my old K2 hybrid, carrying tent, sleeping bag and pad, plus clothes and provisions in panniers, making about thirty pounds of luggage on my rear rack. This part of the trip went well. I found my way out of the city easily, and enjoyed cruising along fairly flat rural highways with decent bike lanes most of the way. I passed by the cafes and boutiques of the town of Snohomish, through the scenic dairy farms of the Carnation Valley.

A bit of my heritage

Somewhere south of Monroe, I realized that the Google maps I had printed out would lead to Carnation Farms, where the group was to meet on Saturday morning, while I intended to say overnight at a motel in Redmond, about eleven miles away. It would have been smarter to go directly to the motel, but it was too late to change my route so I pushed on and found the ramshackle big red barn at the meet spot.

Then I got out my Redmond-to-Carnation Farms Google map to attempt to follow the cue sheet backwards for the eleven mile ride to the motel. This did not go so well. The route over Union Hill is (surprise!) hilly and road signs didn't match up with the Google directions. At last I met a couple of club riders who were scouting out the roads for a weekend ride (Flying Wheels, or maybe the Seven Hills of Kirkland ride?). They told me to just stay on Union Hill Road and I'd get to Redmond. I did, but on the last hills I had to walk, pushing my bike/baggage cart up the steep parts, fighting sharp cramps in my inner thighs. Fortunately, the Redmond Inn caters to cyclists, and they gave me a lovely, quiet, clean, comfortable ground floor room with a coffee maker, and breakfast included the next morning. For dinner I went to Chipotle, and found provisions for Saturday's ride at a nearby Whole Foods Grocery.

Back around 1990-1992, when I worked in the Bellevue-Redmond-Kirkland area as a delivery driver for a printing company, the first lesson I learned was to always use complete addresses. You must distinguish streets, avenues, places, ways, roads, etc. Most streets (etc.) are NE in the Bel-Red-Kirk area, but there's miles of difference between NE 120th Place and 120th Place NE. The area is dense and congested, cut up by highways and interchanges for 520 and 405. The street and road system seems to be two or three different systems overlaid, road names change mid-stream, road signs often don't match up with maps, and Google Maps does not function well on Microsoft turf. It's an unholy collaboration.

In short, the return ride to Carnation Farms on Saturday morning was worse than the ride over Union Hill on Friday. I fought my way out of Redmond, but ended up riding back and forth on Redmond Ridge Way, which is unknown to Google or paper maps. At last I found Union Hill Road, and remembered the cyclists' advice from Friday. The road looked familiar, I thought I was retracing my route, but somehow after a big, swooping downhill, I ended up on Avondale Way, riding back in to town. Union Hill Road had taken me in a big circle, and it was already too late to meet my group.

Saturday was my birthday, and I made up my mind not to have a bad day. I left a message for the group guide, then stopped at Fred Meyer's to buy a new map, a deli sandwich, and a lemonade. I spent the day rambling around Redmond and Kirkland, visited Juanita Beach, and finally checked in to a Motel 6 in Kirkland. That night I dreamed about cars, right-turn lanes, signal lights and street signs. Sunday morning was grey, threatening rain, so I decided to head home after breakfast. I found the Sammammish River Trail, which I had ridden in the Red-Bell 100 back in 2015, but after several miles it was blocked off. I detoured to another trail near the San Michel Winery and rode several more miles next to a river near I405, until the drizzle turned to real rain and I decided to head to the Lynnwood Transit Center. I had to push my bike up a few more serious hills on the way, but my timing was lucky and I made good connections between the Route 512, the 90X and the 80X to Bellingham, then a ten-mile ride back home to Ferndale.

I rode 62 miles on Friday, 48 miles on Saturday, and 31 miles Sunday. Today, Monday, I am resting and rehydrating. I have some mildly sore leg muscles, and my wrists and shoulder joints are aching, I guess from arthritis and pushing a loaded bike uphill. NEXT TIME I will invest in real maps (I already have a compass, which did help a few times), and not depend on computers and cell phones for directions. I regret not meeting up with the guides and other riders; it would be nice to have companions. Then again, on hard days I sometimes think it's better to be alone, and not have to deal with other people's potential meltdowns or emotional issues, or worry about how they will deal with mine.

I did very much enjoy Friday's ride through Snohomish and the farm country. I must remember to stay away from places where people spend so much time driving cars from one parking lot to another.

Waking Up

Facebook has reminded me that at about this time last year I was meeting with the owners of Island Bicycles, and travelling to Friday Harbor to check out job prospects. I've been having deja vu flashes, even dreaming at night about the morning fog and sunlight on certain stretches of road on the island where I bicycled on my way to work all summer. But there's no going back: sadly, the owners closed down the shop and sold the building over the winter. No going back to work there, anyway, but I will certainly visit again.

I sold my Surly CrossCheck a few weeks ago, after reducing my asking price to $300. The buyer was a young man who works in the produce section of an organic foods store. I hope they ride many happy miles together. Now I have my Cannondale Synapse for the road, and my old K2 Tradewinds hybrid for rougher rides. Sometimes I think about my N+1 bike - one with disc brakes and some type of front-end shock-absorber, maybe straight bars because I sometimes have trouble with the brake levers with my arthritic thumbs . . . But really, two bicycles in the living room is enough.

I have a couple of job prospects opening up in the next few weeks, but not in bike shops. I still want to work in some bicycle-related capacity, but not as a mechanic. I'm still too much of a beginner, and have those arthritic thumbs, and besides I'm developing cataracts in my right eye and have to squint a lot to see straight. I will try to work out the job arrangements to allow for a lot of summer riding, though, because my "places to go" list is long and I want to finish off some rides before I get to retirement age.

Blundering Home

Thursday morning I was awakened gently but early by the distant sounds of moving cars and trucks, and loud-speaker announcements at the ferry terminal. After a breakfast of coffee, fruit and pastry at the B&B I packed up my panniers and rode back across the overpass, above the boarding lanes to the ferry. By this time my cell phone was only useful as a pocket watch (so no more photos).

At Swartz Bay there are several car lanes serving two ferry slips for the big BC Superferries, and the terminal facilities look like modern airport buildings. Partly because it was early in the morning and I wasn't feeling too alert, I got confused finding the right bicycle route to the ticket office. Tickets are sold in the waiting room and food concessions building. Fare for me and my bicycle was $18.70 Canadian; I only purchased a one-way ticket because I planned to ride my bike 40-45 miles home to Ferndale.

Compared to BC Ferries, Washington State ferries are utilitarian but sociable, with worn vinyl-covered benches, booths and cafeteria tables, linoleum flooring and sheet metal walls. On the Washington ferries, people stroll around the passenger seating areas, indoors and out, enjoying the views and chatting with strangers, neighbors and friends from other islands. The BC Superferries have cushy airplane-style seats, only with more leg-room, and a business lounge with carrels for recharging or working via free wifi, but people keep to themselves more. The common trait is the food: overpriced and awful; the vending machines for snacks and beverages work more like playing slot machines. But I expected that, so I had a decent breakfast, brought along a couple of granola bars, and bought a second cup of coffee (not bad) while I waited to board.

The trip across the Strait of Georgia to Tsawwassen took a little less than two hours, and since I was travelling within Canada I could just roll off the boat without any border screening. Inside the ferry terminal I looked for a bicycle route map, but as usual only found sketchy tourist brochures. However, the ferry landing is located at the end of a long spit and there's only one road, with a clearly marked bike lane next to the car lanes. I followed Route 17 to Ladner Trunk Road, I think, but I was looking for a bicycle trail, to avoid riding on the shoulder of Hwy. 99 or the King George Hwy., and I'm not sure exactly where I went.

I was on busy city arterial streets for a while, until I saw a large group of bicyclists in colorful matching jerseys. Thinking this must be the RSVP crowd (Ride Seattle to Vancouver and Party), I decided that to get to the border, I should head in the direction they came from. This plan seemed to work for some distance, until I approached Hwy. 99 again. Then I found a side road next to the highway and followed that for a ways until it t-boned an overpass approach. As I was trying to decide which way to go next, an older couple passed by, wearing bright jerseys and riding touring bikes, so I followed them. They led me to a dirt bicycle and pedestrian path which passed through some wetlands, and some small farms, and near a highway, surrounded by high blackberry thickets.

Eventually, despite all my efforts, I got stuck on the King George Highway. Deciding to accept that this was the only approach to the Peace Arch Border Crossing, I just kept going, looking out for a place to take a rest break. In front of a complex of large, low buildings I spotted some black banners, which I thought said HOT SUBS - not my favorite food on a hot, dry bike ride, but I was hungry, thirsty and needed to pee. The business turned out to be a farm & garden and variety store, and the banners actually said HOT TUBS - not what I was looking for, either. But there was a public restroom, and a small selection of expensive snacks and drinks, so I was able to get some Powerade, a bag of mixed nuts and couple of Payday bars, which I sat out front to eat.

Back on the road I just put my head down and pushed on to the border. The ride was hot and gritty, with fast car traffic next to the bike lane. I had to wait in line more than a half hour at the border (maybe partly because I was hot, tired and confused, and didn't see the turn-off for bicycles, which wasn't well marked). After a quick look at my passport, the agents let me through and I rolled along beside the cars, to the familiar streets of Blaine, and then on to my own doorstep in Ferndale.

*Note: On Monday, September 25, my first day on Vancouver Island, I rode 25 miles from Sidney to the Ocean Island Hostel in Victoria. The next day, I rode about 53 miles on the Galloping Goose Trail, but only as far as Gillespie Road and back. Wednesday I rode 29 miles from Victoria to Sidney and Swartz Bay; and on Thursday it was 45 miles from Tsawwassen to Ferndale.

Also, I probably misspelled Tsawwassen in my previous posts. Ooooops.

Lochside - to Swartz Bay

The Temple of Literature - Munro's Books

My room was quieter and cooler that night, and I slept well after riding the Galloping Goose. In the morning, after coffee and another large helping of Nutella and jam on toast, I checked out early and set out to explore the city of Victoria a little more. After Craigdarroch Castle, the place I wanted to see was Munro's Books, founded more than fifty years ago by Alice Munro and her husband James. Alice Munro is an Ontario native, and is said to have hated living on Vancouver Island. After divorcing her husband she returned to Ontario, and went on to become a Nobel Prize-winning novelist and short-story writer. Munro's Books (the store) has been called "the most magnificent bookstore in Canada." Built in a former Royal Bank of Canada building, it has white marble columns and blue and gold trim outside, and marble walls, dark wood beams, shelves and choir loft inside. It also has a tempting collection of books, but I didn't want to buy heavy things I'd have to carry in my panniers. I was looking for maps, but it seems the store doesn't cater to bicycle tourists.

I also wanted to see the University of Victoria campus, and wandered around looking for it, but apparently there are two Cedar Hills turn-offs and I took the wrong one. I did see a family of three deer grazing on the front lawn of a city house. Finally I came to the Seaside Bike Route, which connects to the Lochside Route, and decided to head out of the city, north to Swartz Bay, where I planned to stay overnight. In the morning I would board a BC Ferry to Tswassen on the mainland, and from there I could ride my bicycle to the US border crossing to Blaine, and then home to Ferndale.

The weather had been grey and drizzly when I rode from Sidney to Victoria, but for the return trip it was sunny, not too warm, not too cool. It was a little confusing covering the same territory again. Things looked a bit different coming the other direction, and I kept expecting to see landmarks I'd passed before. Just about the time I began to think I must be thinking of some place on another ride on some other route, a familiar scene would appear. I stopped for coffee and curly fries at a Farm-to-Table cafe at elevenish and arrived in Sidney a couple of hours later. Swartz Bay is about three miles north-ish and I had a few hours to spare before check-in time at the B&B, so I locked up my bike and walked around town a bit.

References

Sidney has a sort of British seaside retirement/tourist town atmosphere - not that I've ever visited that kind of town, just read about them in novels - and I felt a little awkward strolling around in sweaty Lycra shorts and cycling jersey. After a while I found Tanner's Book Shop on Beacon Ave., where I still felt under-dressed but at least it was my kind of place. The shop doesn't have the elegance and ambiance of Munro's Books, but it does have a nice map section in a cubicle in a back corner. There are road maps and atlases of Canada, navigational maps for boaters, topographical maps for climbers, and at last a bicycle route map for me. It was only for Vancouver Island, so it wouldn't help in finding tomorrow's bike route on the mainland from Tswassen home to Ferndale. But at least I could figure out where I had just been, and use it when I come back.

I also found Mod'n Lavender: Salt Spring Island in the '60's, a personal history of growing up on the island, by John Grain. Salt Spring Island is a largish Gulf island just north of the peninsula containing Swartz Bay and Sidney. When I was growing up, a neighbor boy often talked about his Uncle John's property on Salt Spring, though he never said much about what they did during the summers he spent there. So it was interesting to find this third-party account of what life was like on the island in the psychedelic sixties and seventies.

Even with the map I had trouble finding the way from Sidney to Swartz Bay, and I was getting a little hangry in the last mile or so before I found the B&B. I rode across a highway overpass to a dirt driveway in a weedy, half-landscaped yard. At the end of the drive was a slightly shabby clapboard house, next to a trailer-park General Store, with a bearded storekeeper in overalls, leaning back in a wooden chair on the front porch. Not a promising first impression, but the B&B turned out to be comfortable and welcoming. The proprietor was helpful and friendly, then left me alone to rest and freshen up. My room was plain and simple, with a Shaker-style dresser and bed covered with a pristine white knobbly cotton bedspread. The bathroom was huge and had a kind of sexy stall shower with a curved-glass surround.

When I'd cleaned up I walked back across the overpass, looking for the restaurant nearby. I took a fork in the road on the left and ended up at a truck turn-out where semis waiting to board the ferry parked overnight. A police car followed me down the road so I figured I was going the wrong way and turned back. It was getting to be dusk when I walked down the right fork. The first place I saw was a marina and a little burger place, which was closed. Then, off to the side, under tall, dark fir trees, there was a Tudor cottage with lights glowing in the windows. I walked up the stone steps to a dark but welcoming English pub. They had large tables for families, or groups of sports fans in front of the big screen TV. Not wanting to take up a table all by myself at dinner time, I took a place at the bar.

All summer I had been meaning to try fish tacos, and here they were, on the menu with all the usual pub food. This seemed the perfect occasion. Fish tacos are my new favorite, if I ever find a place that makes them just like these: three white corn tortillas, not too crispy, tough or grainy, filled with just the right combination of fish, slaw, a sprinkle of cheese, a little green salsa.

I am a frugal traveler with simple tastes; for me this evening was a luxurious finish to the summer.

The Galloping Goose

Galloping Goose trailside scene

By this time in the summer my cell phone battery was pretty well cooked. The charge level kept jumping between 30%, 66% and 12% and my phone was operating too slowly to be any use for internet access or as a camera. I did have an old city map and some tourist maps of the route, so I turned my phone off and did without, except in a few places where I found pretty scenes, like this one which reminded me of old Chinese prints.

I found the trail-start by back-tracking to the route intersection with the Great Trail sign-boards. Inside the city the trail passes between the backyards of some big, old farm-style houses, which might have been kind of seedy when the trains still ran. But now the tracks have been torn up to make a pleasant bike route shaded by huge big-leaf maples, and the houses are probably valued much higher. A few miles on, the trail runs next to the Trans-Canada Highway (Hwy. 1), not the most scenic stretch, but it is a smooth-paved, flat bicycle express-way out of the city.

After Burnside Road the trail crosses Hwy. 1 toward Island Highway, then enters some more modern suburban neighborhoods, with strip malls or shopping centers near major street crossings. I thought it might be a good idea to stop to buy some Powerade and snacks - I was only carrying two water bottles and a granola bar. But I was fired up to ride and didn't want to stop to deal with mini-marts or grocery store crowds, so I just kept going.

Many of the crossings are located at intersections that were under construction, in the process of improvement, but that sometimes made it difficult to pick up the trail again on the other side of a four-plus-lane street. At one point I followed a bike lane into what soon became a neighborhood of 70's era split-levels. Guessing that I was off-route, I stopped to ask a passer-by, a tall, ruddy-skinned man with wild salt-and-pepper gray hair, who spoke with a slight French-Canadian accent. He pointed the way back to the rail-trail, warning me to be careful. "There are people who shouldn't be out," he said, "They are beasts." I thanked him, reassuring him that I could escape on my bicycle.

This was around Colwood Corners, where the surroundings become more woodsy. By late September, although much of the understory plants had thinned and died back, the maples and alders overhead were still in full, green summer leaf. Somewhere along the way Island Hwy. becomes Sooke Road, which the winding trail intersects in about three places, but it was still easy to follow the wide gravelled pathway. After the last crossing at Happy Valley Road, the route turns south into undeveloped rural and forest areas. A trail marker gives some historical background: the Galloping Goose was the name of a coal-powered steam train that ran with a wild, lurching gait. The rail line was built during World War I, to bring Sitka spruce lumber back to Victoria BC, to be used to build fighter airplanes for the new Air Forces of the Allied armies.

At another crossing I was stopped by a woman who told me she had just heard the sounds of a horrible dog fight near the trail, then seen a man coming out of the brush, carrying something in a sack. She warned me that sometimes at this time of year bears came out of the woods to eat windfall apples from trees that grew along the way. Again, I reassured her that I could get away fast on my bicycle, and she sought the safety of her car.

The trail crosses Rocky Point Road, bends to the right/west and then crosses Rocky Point Road again, heading into one of the prettiest stretches, through Matheson Lake Regional Park, along a steep hillside above Matheson Lake. There are rest stops with beautiful views of the lake, and interesting rocky outcrops. A hiking trail runs around the lake, and I believe camping is allowed (I might be wrong).

There were very few people on the trail on a weekday and I began to watch my bike computer, trying to push my average speed up above 15mph (or at least, not let it fall). It was fun skimming along for miles under the greenery and sunshine until my legs began to feel numb from the steady, higher-than-usual cadence on a gravel surface. But after a while I realized I was day-dreaming about Nutella and jam. Soon I began to remember that margherita pizza - fresh basil and tomatoes, sprinkled with just the right amount of mozzarella, on a thin, crispy, buttery crust. When I stopped at the Gillespie Road rest point to check my map, I realized that with maybe twelve miles to go before the end of the trail, I would bonk if I tried to ride the whole way. It would be miserable, I would be crawling home to the hostel.

I decided to turn back, rationalizing that now I had reason to come back next summer, with more provisions for the road. I stopped at a Taco Time and had a lovely taco salad. When I got to the hostel I was too late for cocktails, and by the time I had cleaned up and rested I had missed dinner, too, so I had to go out again, even though I wasn't very hungry after my late lunch.

Summer's End

My job at the bike shop was understood to be seasonal, from about April through September. Even though the weather was pleasant and shoulder-season travelers still passed through, business in the shop slowed down drastically after Labor Day. After the shouting incident with my co-worker, I didn't feel inclined to linger much longer. I was even beginning to feel a little homesick for Ferndale. I worked through the last weekend of September, then on Monday I boarded the 9am ferry to Sidney BC, with mixed feelings about leaving the island. I was on my way to ride the Galloping Goose Trail, which had been on my places-to-go list for several years.

I had no luck finding good maps in Friday Harbor, so before I left I used the public library computers to print out some sketchy but functional Google maps and directions from the Sidney ferry terminal to the hostel in Victoria BC. Washington State ferries to Canada depart from Anacortes and Friday Harbor, and don't stop at the other islands on the way, making the trip to Sidney BC in about two hours. One-way fare was about $17 for me and my bicycle. Cars probably need reservations, but I just bought my ticket, showed my passport, and walked on with my bike.

Trail-side art work

There were two other cyclists on the ferry and we got first priority riding off the boat and through the customs lanes in Canada. I rode a few blocks around downtown Sidney, then back to the bike lanes from the ferry terminal, which are clearly marked and easy to follow. From there I hit the Lochside Trail headed south to Victoria BC. I had been confused by some of the tourist maps I picked up, which showed the distance as about 20-25 miles, or 40 kilometers, but estimated the ride time as four or five hours. I ride at a pretty easy sight-seeing pace, but usually finish a 25 mile ride in two or three hours, with time to stop for photos and a snack on the way. So I was worried that there might be awful hill-climbs on the route, but the riding was easy on the paved trail, running partly next to the freeway, mostly through suburban neighborhoods, past some small farms, for a bit more than 22 miles.

Lochside Trail rest-stop near Victoria BC city-limits

Once inside the city it was a little tricky to get on route from the Lochside/Seaside Trail but I found my way along the paved, woodsy commuter route, with only a few somewhat confusing crossings at major streets and highways. The bike route runs through a scenic wetland area by the Selkirk Waterway, with new low trestle bridges and a bike and pedestrian trail between the waterway and new apartment/condo developments. There is a sort of trail interchange where the Lochside, Seaside and Galloping Goose routes connect, with a marker describing Le Grand Sentier - Canada's Great Trail route across the country. According to an article in the August/September issue of Adventure Cycling, the Great Trail is still a work in progress, but includes urban trails, wild footpaths, roadways and waterways, and of course it makes a big jump to Vancouver Island, where it includes the developed trails in the Saanich Peninsula area, and also some wilder trails farther north in the Cowichan Valley.

Entering Chinatown

I arrived with time to spare before the 3pm check-in time at the Ocean Island Hostel, which is located on Pandora Avenue, the edge of the Downtown and Chinatown areas of Victoria. The neighborhood is partly upscale hipster artsy-trendy and partly run-down and poor. The streets smelled of urine in many places, and homeless people sheltered in plazas by City Hall and theater buildings. Ocean Island Hostel is cheap, funky but nice - room rent includes breakfast, an evening cocktail and dinner. The guests were a mix of free-spirited youngsters, and some retiree-couples closer to my age. There is secure bicycle storage, but you have to carry your bike down steep stairs from the lobby to the basement laundry room. I had a small single room, with a bathroom shared with a cluster of three other rooms.

After checking in I had a snack in my room, cleaned up and changed clothes, then went out for a walk to explore the neighborhood. One item on my places-to-visit list was Craigdarroch Castle, which I have wanted to see since childhood visits to Victoria, when we somehow always missed it. I had imagined the castle was a large country estate, built by a wealthy mining or lumber baron, miles and miles outside the city. It turned out to be only a ten or fifteen minute walk from the hostel, in a neighborhood of big, old-money houses. Unfortunately, they were keeping off-season hours and the house was closed when I arrived at 4:30pm, but I did get to walk around and admire the imposing stone house from outside. I wandered around the city until dusk, missing cocktail and dinner hour at the hostel, but stopped in to a nice, sporty sort of restaurant and had a good-sized margherita pizza.

Craigdarroch Castle

My room was a bit hot, stuffy and noisy that night - I kept the window open to cool down - but I slept well after a long day of ferry-riding, bicycling and walking. In the morning I joined the line for a continental breakfast in the lobby - free coffee, fruit, boiled eggs and serve-yourself toasted muffins or bread with jam and spreads. I had double helpings of coffee, bananas, eggs and whole-wheat toast with greedy portions of jam and Nutella. Then I lugged my bike up from the basement and went looking for the Galloping Goose.