Riding the Interurban

One night last week when I left work a bit after eight in the evening, it was getting dark by the time I got to Ferndale. Dozens of Canadian geese were flying south in V-formation over town and the air was brisk and damp. Already I'm feeling my usual autumn skittishness.

All through August I have been working two jobs (more about the new one later), six days a week, and on my one day off I'm still dragging my dirty laundry on the bus to Bellingham to the coin-op laundromat.

With the extra paychecks, I hope to afford a vacation soon, as soon as I have time, but I think I might want some time off from my bike. In the meantime, here are some photos from a ride on the Interurban Trail last October.

The Interurban railway used to run between Bellingham and Mount Vernon. Now parts of the rail route have been converted to bicycle and hiking trails in the south part of town, and on the hillside above Chuckanut Drive as far south as Larrabee State Park.

The bike trail through Fairhaven Park, next to Old Fairhaven Parkway, connects to a section of the Interurban that runs straight and flat as far as Arroyo Park on Lake Samish Road. When I lived near the University this was one of my favorite summer evening walks, to the remains of the rail bridge over Samish Road. There is a pretty walking trail across the road along Chuckanut Creek, but I don't like to bike there because it's narrow, muddy, rooty, rocky and shared with walkers, runners, horses and even alpacas.

It's a little tricky to pick up the Interurban Trail from this point. You have to turn right downhill on Samish Road, ride to the stop sign at Chuckanut Drive, where you turn left, then ride on the roadside for a short distance to 21st Street. Here you make a risky left turn across Chuckanut Drive, to a short but very steep hill-climb up to the gravel trail turn-off on the right. Last time I rode this way, the trail had just been thickly re-covered with gravel, making the ride a bit of work, but at least riding slowly is courteous to pedestrians, and allows plenty of opportunity to enjoy the scenery and take lots of photos.

Looking down on Chuckanut Drive

The uphill side of the trail -
rock and mud slides are common in winter

Driveways cross the trail in several places, connecting to Chuckanut Drive if you'd rather ride on the road. And there is a turn-off to Teddy Bear Cove, a small, secluded (and at one time clothing-optional) beach on Chuckanut Bay. The beach is named for the pale, pudgy, herbally inspired college students who visited the cove in the happy hippie days of the '70's.

The trail is mostly flat, but it crosses some creek gullies, so there are short, steep dips and rises in a couple of places.

The trail side is lovely, woodsy and ferny with interesting rock bluffs and peek-a-boo views of the bay through the trees.

From Bellingham it's a twelve-to-fifteen mile round-trip to Larrabee Park, where the rail trail ends. From there you can continue riding on Chuckanut Drive, connecting to Highway 11 in to Mount Vernon. Bay views from roadside turn-outs are stunning, deer graze on the hillsides and eagles glide level with the road. There are oyster farms in the shallows of the bay, and two or three restaurants along the way (some may be closed because of low traffic and slow business).

4000 Miles More

Today on my way home from work, just as I crossed the bridge over the Nooksack River, the odometer on my one-year-old Surly Cross-Check turned 4000 miles.

The sixteen mile round-trip commute burns about 400 calories, according to my not-too-precise bike computer, which works out to 100,000 calories per year. No idea how many tall mochas that equals.

Beach Reads

Summer weather arrived on schedule on July 4th, but between my work schedule and the bureaucratic hassles required to stay on good terms with the Employment Security Department, which pays a bit of unemployment comp. sometimes, and DSHS, which reloads my EBT card, I still haven't had a chance to do anything very fun so far this summer. I'm working on plans, though.

In the meantime, here are some good summer reads by two bicycle-riding women named Heather - which I actually read over the winter, but any time is good.

Take Good Care of the Garden and the Dogs, by Heather Lende, gets the prize for literary merit and redeeming social value. The author lives in a small town in Alaska and writes obituaries for the local newspaper. While out for a first-of-spring bike ride, she was run over by a truck driven by a local boy running a stop sign. She was almost killed, but was airlifted to Seattle for a long period of rehab. Then she receives word that her mother is dying of leukemia. She writes about the deaths of other close friends in her small town, and touches on the unevenness, or possibly injustice, in our health care and social service systems, raising the question of whether this is sometimes a matter of choice. There is one very dark passage about a bear hunt, but mostly the book is surprisingly cheerful and uplifting.

I Never Intended to Be Brave is written by Heather Andersen, a former Peace Corps worker. During her two years in Lesotho she was told not to travel alone or go out at night, and continually warned about areas that weren't safe and towns or neighborhoods she should avoid. But when her time with the Peace Corps was over she wanted to see more of Africa. After trying to organize a group bicycle tour, she ended up travelling with only one man. When personality conflicts arose, they split up and she continued alone, discovering that most of the fears for safety instilled by the Peace Corps were exaggerated. The book provides a good description of her route and the camps and hostel accommodations she found along the way, but it's a little sketchy in other ways. Sometimes she just lists animals she sees along the way, or describes people without really making them vivid characters, and I didn't really understand the conflict with her riding partner. Late in the book she makes mention of finally understanding something from his perspective, but doesn't reflect on it much. But otherwise it is a good account of a challenging adventure, one I wouldn't be brave enough to attempt.

One Nerve Left

When I was younger I was a lot more anxious and irritable, but I might be mellowing with age, and I think bicycling has helped to smooth out my nerves, or else deaden them.

I never liked dogs much and naturally find them much more fearsome when I'm on my bike. Barking back seems to confuse and discourage them, but it frightened my riding companions when I tried it on a group ride. Dog-lovers tell me the beasts only want to play and will stop chasing if I stop moving, but I've never wanted to experiment, until this afternoon when I had an encounter with a yappy little dog in Cornwall Park.

I was riding kind of fast, up to 10 mph, on a park bike trail, when some sort of little rat terrier or chihuahua-type thing came tearing out of the bushes after me. It was smaller than my cat and would have had to make a wild leap to reach my knee, but looked like it could leave some nasty puncture wounds in my ankle with its ratty little teeth. I thought I could get away easily, but it ran along side me, then dropped behind, came around my right side, and got ahead of my front wheel so I had to brake suddenly. A rather large women who had been sitting in the grass near the path followed, calling uselessly after the little monster, which was running circles around me as I slowed down.

"He's gonna get hit!" I warned her in alarm. Figuring the dog wouldn't stop until I did, but not wanting to risk my ankles, I rode a loop around some rhododendrons and doubled back toward the woman with the dog following. She looked a little apprehensive, expecting maybe to face a rant from a self-righteous cyclist in addition to having to chase down her dog. I meant to lead it back to her but the perverse little thing took off into the bushes instead, so I just laughed and said, "I thought I could out-run him, but he's fast!"

No. 27 Ferndale via Northwest

 When I do my day-off errand running I usually find it's more efficient to take my bike in to Bellingham if I need to make several stops in different neighborhoods, rather than walking or riding the bus here and there around town. But if I only need to make one or two stops I often leave the bike at home and just ride the #27 bus, giving my bones a chance to settle back in to a more typical upright bi-pedal posture.

On a sunny day last week the bus filled up with bikes going both directions - three on the front rack, one inside in a wheel chair space up front, and then the driver had to turn away a fifth passenger because there was no room for another bike. Lucky I decided to be a pedestrian that day. I would have felt guilty crowding someone else out.




Whatcom Transit has installed these very well-thought-out lights at two stops along Northwest Drive. They are powered by a solar battery on top, and have push-button switches for an over-head light and a light to signal the driver to stop.

I have been meaning to join a Tuesday morning social group-ride that starts from the Ferndale Library and goes about 20-30 miles, I'm not sure where. I had it fixed on my calendar for today, but it was pouring rain all morning. Instead I went out for a random ramble after dinner, and ended meeting up with a Tuesday evening group that rides a 35-mile loop from the Whidbey Island Bank at Bakerview & Northwest. Both rides are co-ordinated by the Mount Baker Bicycle Club. It was nice to see familiar people in bright-colored spandex after spending so much of the day alone with my computer.

With all this rain, and warm temperatures in the mountains, the river is running high and fast. I'm developing a fascination with this log-pile. Every time I walk across the bridge I stop to look for changes. Today several big, bare tree trunks with broken roots attached came down the river.

a final thought

Buckets of Rain

Tonight I had to work late because of a flight delay. A 757-load of passengers bound for Las Vegas had to wait almost five hours, and they were getting restless and edgy, like bored third-graders, by the time they boarded at 9pm. They express their annoyance in passive-aggressive ways, littering and spilling drinks and leaving a lot of messes to be cleaned up. I didn't finish work until ten, making it a ten-hour day. My feet and back were aching the way they usually do at the end of a work-week, and this is only my second day. But then I had a lovely bike ride home to make up for it, the kind that blows all the day's aggravation and frustration right out of my mind.

I've been caught in the rain at least a few times in the past month, so on Wednesday I gave my bike a thorough cleaning and put new batteries in my head- and tail-lights - lucky timing because I haven't had to ride in the dark for a few months. Most nights I ride home between the dinner hour and my usual 10pm curfew, when there are small brown rabbits nibbling grass at the edge of the road and crickets singing in the ditches. Tonight was cool but comfortable, with a light rain that freshened the air without making it clammy or humid. I left off my rain jacket but only felt the rain as light drops on my face and spots on my glasses. It was very quiet - I guess crickets are only vocal at dusk.

Midnight now, and it's raining hard. Maybe summer will come in time for the Fourth of July.

A Safety Tip

I must be suffering from post-event let-down after having to work through Ski to Sea weekend. I missed the Highland Games for the same reason, so no strawberries and cream this year. Now that Bike Month is over, though, I have a belated bicycle-safety anecdote.

Several years ago when I worked in a print shop with a couple of guys who were hearing-impaired I learned a little bit of sign-language. I've forgotten pretty much all of it now, except one sign that had to do with telephoning - the guys used a TTY and didn't have enough hearing or speech to use a regular phone but they had some interesting expressions related to telephone use. To signify talking on the phone you fold your two middle fingers toward your thumb, hold your hand up to your face with the index finger toward your ear and little finger toward your mouth. Raising or lowering your hand would mean "answer the phone" or "hang up the phone" or "get off the phone."

Sometimes when our supervisor was mysteriously absent from the shop for extended periods, we'd start to wonder where he was, and they'd sign "he's on the phone," meaning "he's in the bathroom." Or possibly something more like "he's constipated" or "he's full of $#it." So the "get off the phone" sign could also mean "get off the can."

This was way back in the days before cell phones, and before I took up bicycling, but I recalled this sign when phone use in cars began to be a hazard, and thought it might be a clever, friendly way to remind drivers to hang up and drive.

The one time I tried it, though, I discovered it works about as well as any attempt at a good-humored assertion of the rights of a bicyclist versus a car driver. I was riding on an arterial freeway underpass at rush hour, on the sidewalk because of fast, heavy traffic and dangerous conditions, when a guy in a 4x4 truck pulled out of a parking lot in front of me, talking on a cell phone. I saw him coming and stopped before the driveway, then smiled and tried the "hang up the phone" sign. I don't know if he understood all the nuances of the gesture, but he smiled back at me, rolled forward slowly until he was completely blocking my way, and continued with his conversation. All I could do was wait by his door, smiling blandly, until he finished talking and pulled out of the driveway.