Still a Bit Wet Out

New shoes

Today I got out for a twelve mile ride, my first for 2022, and first since October. I was tired and a little sore by the end, but no lasting pain. Very foggy this morning, and the pavement was wet and gritty, but not too cold and no rain. Some puddles remaining over the roads, however. This is on Church Road near Barnstar Farm.

Also got to test-ride some new shoes. These are Shimano brand, meant for touring and/or mountain biking, with no cleat-plates, just a flat, stickyish sole. They kind of remind me of the saddle shoes my parents forced me to wear when I was a kid, which I hated. These look pretty sharp, though, in classic black & white and coral-colored laces (they come with a spare set of black laces for a more conservative look). The sole isn't quite as stiff as I'd like, but I've been looking for something like this for a long time and I'm pretty pleased.

2022

Already two weeks in to the new year. And one year since I bought a car, after fifteen years of bicycle commuting and travel.

The editorial slant in many of the magazines I've been reading over the past year is that climate apocalypse is happening, the end is nigh, and there is nothing we can do to slow or stop it. I do believe in climate change, and that it has been influenced by human activity. I also believe the Earth is resilient, and has survived through many periods of drastic change, and life goes on. We don't know the time-line of the changes to come, and we can't be sure of what events will occur, where and when. Life goes on. It's still worth trying to repair the damage, and adapt.

Last year (or the year before?) the Washington state legislature passed a law that would have banned the sale of new gasoline powered automobiles by 2030, or maybe it was 2050, but soon anyway, either one would have been a pretty short deadline. Our staunch environmentalist governor Jay Inslee vetoed the bill, wisely I think. I agree that it would be best to phase out gas-burning cars, but this law would have started an insurrection worse than January 6, worse than anything that happened in Portland, worse than if he'd tried to outlaw guns.

Goodbye 2021

A holiday visit to the van Koi family in Lynden

I expect to finish the year having driven less than 6000 miles on my Subie, less than 500 miles a month. I fill the tank twice a month, spending around $100/month for gas. I'm also riding my bike a lot less, and have much less tolerance for cold, wet weather now that I don't have to gear up and get out in it every day. I haven't ridden since I test-rode my new bike back in October, and I miss it.

Water under the bridge, and over Main Street

On the other hand, our normally wet autumn months have been extraordinarily wet this year, starting with drenching "Pineapple Express" storms in November. The Nooksack River has flooded twice, mostly farther inland toward the foothills in the east. But the water went over the banks in Ferndale, flooding Hovander Park and Vanderyacht Park, and flowing under the railroad crossing by the car wash until it began to spill over Main Street toward the lower-lying section of downtown. Several local roads were flooded, washed out or had sections collapse. I was stuck in town, unable to make it to Bellingham for a day or two, and wasn't sure what route I could take to get to work. For the Christmas holiday weekend, we are having frigid temperatures and snow. And the furnace in my apartment isn't working.

I keep thinking of a short story by T.C. Boyle, which I read sometime back in the 1980's, called "Bloodfall." It's about a house full of layabout stoners (trigger warning: it's pretty revolting). One day it begins to rain blood. The story goes on in some gory detail, as it rains blood for several days while these slackers are stuck inside the house with each other. At last the blood rain stops and they venture outside, where blood is still clotted on the trees and lawn and running in the gutters. Just when they think it's all over and the world is going back to normal . . . plop, plop, plop . . . feces begin to splat on the sidewalk around them.

That's kind of how 2021 has seemed sometimes. As I may have said before: Things can only get better. Or, worse things have happened.

Shopping Tips (I Forgot)

I had been in the market (again) for a touring bike for at least a year before I finally settled on the previously mentioned consignment Tricross. The pandemic cut off supply lines for bicycles and associated gear but even before then, it was always hard to find smaller size road/touring bikes. (As I may have mentioned before.) When I walked in to bike shops I was usually steered to beach cruisers or "comfort" bikes, or in the past year or so, to electrics. I started printing out pictures and specs for a few models that interested me so I could show salespeople what I wanted, but one time when I walked in to a local shop that caters to high-end, high-maintenance customers, the shop-chick seemed to mistake the papers in my hand for a creased, wrinkled resume, and me for a needy job-hunter. I showed her the pictures but she didn't seem convinced and brushed me off pretty quickly.

I shopped online a lot, too, and for a while thought I might try ordering a new bike direct from Fuji or Liv. But brands won't deliver to home addresses, only to bike shops, and probably not just a single bicycle, either, unless it's a very pricey one. I looked at REI Co-op and Bikesdirect.com, but their inventory and selection was very limited. I even looked at Amazon, which looked a lot like Walmart Online.

One new shopping option is The Pro's Closet (www.theproscloset.com) which lists lightly-used competitive bikes from professional riders, including mountain, road, triathlon, super-aero time-trial bikes, and more, at bargain prices, if you think $4000-$10,000 for a bicycle is a bargain. I was hoping to find something for more like $1200-$1500, limiting my choices everywhere.

I was terribly tempted by one bike, a beautiful metallic-gold color Salsa Casseroll, priced at less than $1000. (This one: https://www.theproscloset.com/products/2012-salsa-casseroll-m) It's a single-speed, but after some online research I concluded it might be possible to add gears, a derailleur and shifters to the rear wheel at least. The bike is called a Small, and the size shown is 49cm, with a suggested rider height of about 765mm, and a standover height of 765mm too. This converts to about 30" which would make sense for the standover, but for an awfully short rider. But it is sooooo pretty . . . .

Finally I messaged a sales rep at Pro's Closet who very patiently and clearly explained that Salsa uses different size measurements than most (any?) brands. He also said it would be possible to rebuild the rear wheel to add more gears, but maybe expensive and difficult to find compatible parts. When I looked at all the frame dimensions and compared them to my Synapse, I concluded that the bike would probably be too large for me. I've already had enough painful experience with riding an over-size bicycle so I decided to be sensible and move on.

But it is sooooo pretty . . . 

My Cannondale Synapse, which fits well, is a 51cm, size Small. The Specialized Tricross I bought is a 51cm frame, called an XXS. When I test-rode it at the store, the shop guy didn't raise the seat quite high enough, but it felt so comfortable otherwise that I told him it was exactly what I'd been looking for, and bought it right away (no returns on consignment bikes). At home, I raised the seat by an inch or two, then went for a 10-mile test ride. This felt better on my knees, but with my rear-end lifted higher I leaned harder on the handlebars and my hands went numb quickly. For a little while I thought I'd made a serious mistake, but then I spent a morning switching to a better saddle, tilting the handlebars up a bit, and adding a few accessories. After another 14-mile test ride, the fit feels better, though I still might want to raise up the handlebars a bit more.

For less than $500, I'm happy with my choice. Still day-dreaming about that beautiful gold Salsa, though.

Celebrate the Autumnal Equinox!

Summer of 2021 was not a lot of fun, as you may have guessed, seeing that I haven't posted since June 21st. The Pandemic kept me mostly close to home, along with the threat of forest fires, although the smoke level didn't seem as bad as it has been some summers. We had record-high temperatures (100F+), but only for a few days. There were only a few nights when it was difficult to sleep because of the heat, and one day I spent outdoors in a park, hoping to keep my apartment cool during the day (didn't work). Then there were spells of unusually cool, rainy weather which must be what dampened the smoke and fire threat. Rain is good!

I've made up my mind that next summer will be my year for travelling, when I will finally get going on some of the tours I've wanted to take since I began riding more than fifteen years ago. I plan to start with some Washington State trips on new railtrails being completed west of the Cascades, and along the Columbia River and in the Badlands east of the mountains.

To set me on my way, today I bought a new-to-me touring bike - actually a used consignment bike from Earl's Bike Shop in Bellingham, a 2018 Specialized TriCross. My Cannondale Synapse is still fine for road rides, but the hub on the rear wheel has been knocked loose after I rode it with panniers on the gravel Galloping Goose Trail. The TriCross is meant to carry racks with baggage, and it has mechanical disc brakes, with shifters and brake levers that fit my small hands and arthritic thumbs.

I took it for a ten mile test ride on the gravel pathways in Hovander Park, wearing the silicone footballers sleeves that have given me some reassurance on bad pavement and loose gravel since my crash on the Slater Road roundabout in June of 2020. After the first quarter-mile I was plowing through deep loose gravel with more confidence than I've felt in more than a year.

So long ago! I need to get moving before I get too old and decrepit to be able to ride.

For a Change

Roots & rocks

My last real vacation was in September of 2018, when I rode the Galloping Goose Trail. Since then I've done some daytrips, and of course had three months off work during the Covid shut-down, but couldn't really go anywhere. Near the end of May I got into a spat with a co-worker who was rude to me, and I was even getting snappish with difficult customers. Definitely time for a sanity break.

At first I meant to take off somewhere for a whole week, but then I decided to try some places closer to home that I've wanted to visit for years. Now that I have a car I can drive to starting points for hikes or bike rides; before if I'd had to bicycle to the start I'd be too tired out to do the hike/ride and still ride home.

So for my first adventure, today I hiked the trail from Chuckanut Drive to the Samish Overlook. The trail is about 4-5 miles round-trip, and it's pretty steep and rocky in places, enough to make me sweat and get my heart-rate up. I carried a new backpack filled with items from my 10 Essentials/Zombie Apocalypse Survival Kit, including one and half liters of water. I didn't really need that much stuff, but wanted to try out the weight (about 10 lbs) and pack fit, which went fine. Luckily my legs, heart and lungs are still strong from bicycling, though my knees started to hurt a bit on the way down.

Along the way there are peek-a-boo views of the bay through second-growth Douglas fir forest, with a lush understory of hemlock, huckleberry, ferns and various other native plants. The area seemed pretty well cleared of English ivy and Himalayan blackberries, invasive non-natives that often take over. At the top of the climb there is a parking area and bathroom, and some launching areas for parasailers who jump off the bluff and glide over the Skagit Valley farm lands and Samish Bay. Today the wind was light and no sails appeared. Horses are allowed on some trails and there is also a shaded area to tie them for a rest. The trail continues up to Oyster Dome via some other loops and "short cuts" that would make about an 8-9 mile round-trip but I decided not to push that far. Next time.

About half-way down the trail on the return trip I heard a high-pitched squealing above me on the hill. Thinking it was a bald eagle I stopped, trying to spot a nest. As I stared up at the treetops, the squeal changed to a sort of chirpy chittering, which I've heard is cougar-talk - they don't meow, howl or roar as you'd expect from a cat. We left each other alone.

Big pictures:

The jumping-off point

Skagit Valley view

Low tide at Samish Bay

Strange Men

Spring travel has me recalling some encounters I've had with creepy men while travelling alone, a worry that often prevents women from venturing out on their own. Generally I feel pretty safe on my own, but then I'm naturally solitary and instinctively cautious with strangers. From girlhood on I was always warned not to get in cars with strange men, and on a few occasions in my car-less years when I was invited out for a dinner date by some man I'd met recently and didn't know well (it can happen a couple of times in a decade), I felt uncomfortable having him pick me up at my apartment, then depending on him for a ride back home. Better to meet by day for a short coffee date so I could escape by bike in case things got awkward or boring.

One exception was a man I fell into conversation with outside a bike shop. He seemed intelligent, interesting and well-spoken, and it turned out we had worked at the same place at different times. We exchanged emails and later agreed to meet for a Sunday ride, I was thinking for two or three hours, 25-30 miles. When we met he kept talking about a Samish route. There is a Samish Way, Old Samish Way, and North, West and East Samish Way, and also a nice loop around Lake Samish, so I led him up a steep and longish hill-climb heading that way. At the top of the climb he informed me that he meant the Samish Bay tide flats, and insisted we ride down a very steep connector to Fairhaven Pkwy., then on to Chuckanut Drive. He was a bit annoyed with me for dragging him up that hill-climb but I think he forgave me after I showed him how to get on to the Interurban Trail instead of riding the road. However, the ride ended up being about twice as long as I had planned, and then he wanted to have dinner in town afterward. I declined and turned off toward home, telling him I had to get my laundry done before work on Monday. He never did forgive me for that, even though I emailed a time or two suggesting another ride, and I regret that.

Early on in my bicycling life I had a very odd encounter on Chuckanut Drive. I was riding a 28 lb. pink Schwinn in those days, and I loaded it on an early bus for a day-trip to Mount Vernon. I spent a few hours tootling around, window shopping, had a nice brunch, visited the sadly long-gone Scott's Bookstore, and after that there wasn't much left to do except maybe go to the mall. Back at the transit center I found there was almost two hours until the next bus to Bellingham. I wasn't tired and figured I could ride home in less time, so I headed up Hwy.11 toward Chuckanut. As I was chugging up a woodsy climb on a stretch of the road where there was very little shoulder, no houses, parking or pull-out spaces and no cars in sight, I noticed a youngish man walking toward me on the opposite side of the road. He appeared to be holding a small animal, a squirrel or rabbit, that was struggling to get out of his hands. He angled across the road toward me and as he got closer I saw that the waistband of his sweatpants was pushed down and he was masturbating wildly with both hands. Nearing the top of the slope, I stood up on the pedals and pushed hard over the top, while he turned away and disappeared in the bushes across the road. I was never really afraid that he would attack me - he could barely walk normally - but it was very strange that he was out there on an isolated stretch of road.

A few years later I attended a potluck gathering of a bicyclists' group at a community center. Several people were already seated at a picnic table where I found an open place and sat down across from a man of about seventy - I was in my mid-forties then. When I introduced myself, he said "well, my wife left me today." Everyone else at the table turned away and left him to me. He was extremely unattractive, with long, snaggly yellow teeth and Bozo-the-Clown hair. He reminded me of some news stories I'd been reading about a pig-farmer in Canada who had been convicted of the gruesome murders of several women - he looked like the court-room sketches of the accused. But he was sad and seemed to need to talk, and I felt sorry for him. Besides, the pig-farmer was in prison in Canada. We exchanged emails and later agreed to meet for a ten-mile (each way) ride to Hovander Park, where we stopped for a snack break. I had the feeling he hadn't believed I really rode the distances I had told him, and he thought I might have trouble making the ride back. But of course I was fine with a break for a granola bar and fruit juice, and didn't even need a bathroom stop. He had brought a little tub of peanut butter and an apple, which he sliced and spread with p.b. When he was finished eating he licked the jack-knife blade, examined it a moment, then put the whole blade into his mouth while looking full into my eyes.

The night before I had watched a movie called Pan's Labyrinth which features probably the most evil step-father ever invented, a fascist commander who tortures and murders villagers. In one scene when he was interrogating a bound village woman, she manages to cut the ropes binding her hands and attack him with a small kitchen knife, slashing and stabbing his back and finally pushing the knife blade between his teeth into his mouth, then slashing his cheek open from the inside.

Licking peanut butter off the jack-knife was disgusting enough, but when he held the blade in his mouth it recalled this movie scene unnervingly. And besides there was the serial-killing pig-farmer association. But he seemed perfectly calm, and he took the knife out of his mouth and put it away and we rode home. Where I did a Google-search background search. He seemed to be normal enough but I didn't want to see him again anyway.

That wasn't the last time, though. Several weeks later while running errands, I met him with a woman about my age, all three of us on bicycles. He greeted me saying "Well, you see, my wife came back. What did you say your name was?" I replied "That's great, have a nice life. Bye." Toward the end of the summer I got an email from him saying he was planning to make a weekend ride up in the mountains with his wife, and another man, and another man's wife, and did I want to come along too? I replied that I had other plans, and changed my email address not long after.

On the ferry returning from Vancouver Island one summer, I had just settled in to a booth when a silver-haired man sat across from me and asked if I minded having company. I don't mind watching the islands passing by and studying rock formations for a two-hour ride, but I've been trying to be more sociable and open to others, and I couldn't really say no anyway. Back in the 1980's he would have been called a "sensitive new-age guy" - SNAG for short - wearing faded Levi's and Birkenstocks, interested in yoga, transcendental meditation, talking about relationships and feelings, although he seemed to think of them in an analytical way, rather than emotional. He talked non-stop for two hours. I even told him I was comfortable just sitting in silence with someone for twenty minutes at a time, but he didn't last much more than twenty seconds. After a while he suggested walking around a bit, and going to the outside deck to see the views up front. Since passengers can't leave unattended baggage on the ferry I carried a 10 lb. pannier in each hand. As we stood at the rail outside at the front of the boat, I set my bags on the ground between my feet. There was a moment when he glanced down at them and I thought he might impulsively grab my panniers and throw them overboard. He just seemed like he might be one of those possessionless charismatic free-spirit types who would say "now you're free, follow me." But he didn't, and anyway my panniers held nothing but dirty clothes, souvenirs and old tourist brochures, because I am one of those paranoid types who carries her wallet, passport, cellphone and keys in her jersey pockets at all times.