Day 1
Yesterday evening we made camp at Hobucks beach on Makah tribal land, just South of Waatch. Pleasantly surprised to find the place poppin with elaborate vans piled high with surfboards. The beach itself was a broad crescent with evergreen points disappearing into the grey cloud-sea. The sand was braided with light browns on dark grey between kelp whips and other seaweed clumps, like a sand mandala draining towards the ocean.
It was a grand welcome to the ocean to say the least. Camp was loud until late... surfers enjoying themselves. I can't completely blame them for keeping me up late-- there were other things on my mind. My first ride I somehow remember feeling more confident. Perhaps going alone I didn't allow doubts to enter so easily. With this whole caravan, I have think 'what have I set in motion?'
Nevertheless, good company to have. In the morning mist we had granola in the shelter of the trailer.
Spirits were high as we made our way to Cape Flattery. A confirming sign met us at the end of the road.
That was it. The real upper-left. The tippity-tip. A short jaunt down the forest put us on the cliffs edge above the ocean. Pulsing waves sloshed through eroding sandstone bluffs like the prows of ancient rotting ships. The seamless white horizon made it feel like the end of the world, not merely the continent. The lighthouse on the island just off shore looked like it might float away into the abyss.
A pose was necessary for the impending adventure. South!
Back up to the road and to the bikes. Any more ceremony seemed superfluous. "Too much build up," I said. "Let's leave."
So we did. A gentle climb up a damp road beneath sagging green trees and then down a long careening grade. It was like a gentle nudge to start us off. The cloud gods were gracious too; just a light drizzle here and there.
In not too long we pulled into Neah Bay. Liam made the comment that it looked a lot like what early Seattle might have: smoky cabins bunched together beside long piers lying below a patchwork of logged hills, fog hanging low above it all.
A strong fish odor hung about the place. In the harbor lingered the skeleton of a sunken ship.
The 112 road out of Neah bay towards Clallam Bay was a real roller coaster. Up and down, in and out, by the straights the whole way with a good amount of cars. The traffic made it all seem like a race, and we cruised at a good clip. Stopped to refuel along the way.
NOT! We run on peanut butter power!
After Clallam Bay we turned south and settled into our touring pace and rode up Burnt mountain, amidst heavily logged hillsides. We played a fools game with the rain, throwing on and off rain gear with each passing cloud.
By evening we made it nearly to Forks and turned towards La Push. At the Mora road we turned off again for our destination: Cycle Camp. I had found it online before leaving: a campground devoted to two-wheeled travellers run by an old guy named Bob shown straddling a tie-die chopper on the website? Of course we'll stay there.
The place was cute, and Bob pleasantly showed us around the place soon after we rolled in-- but only after some desperately needed stretching.
It was a grand welcome to the ocean to say the least. Camp was loud until late... surfers enjoying themselves. I can't completely blame them for keeping me up late-- there were other things on my mind. My first ride I somehow remember feeling more confident. Perhaps going alone I didn't allow doubts to enter so easily. With this whole caravan, I have think 'what have I set in motion?'
Nevertheless, good company to have. In the morning mist we had granola in the shelter of the trailer.
Spirits were high as we made our way to Cape Flattery. A confirming sign met us at the end of the road.
That was it. The real upper-left. The tippity-tip. A short jaunt down the forest put us on the cliffs edge above the ocean. Pulsing waves sloshed through eroding sandstone bluffs like the prows of ancient rotting ships. The seamless white horizon made it feel like the end of the world, not merely the continent. The lighthouse on the island just off shore looked like it might float away into the abyss.
A pose was necessary for the impending adventure. South!
Back up to the road and to the bikes. Any more ceremony seemed superfluous. "Too much build up," I said. "Let's leave."
So we did. A gentle climb up a damp road beneath sagging green trees and then down a long careening grade. It was like a gentle nudge to start us off. The cloud gods were gracious too; just a light drizzle here and there.
In not too long we pulled into Neah Bay. Liam made the comment that it looked a lot like what early Seattle might have: smoky cabins bunched together beside long piers lying below a patchwork of logged hills, fog hanging low above it all.
A strong fish odor hung about the place. In the harbor lingered the skeleton of a sunken ship.
The 112 road out of Neah bay towards Clallam Bay was a real roller coaster. Up and down, in and out, by the straights the whole way with a good amount of cars. The traffic made it all seem like a race, and we cruised at a good clip. Stopped to refuel along the way.
NOT! We run on peanut butter power!
After Clallam Bay we turned south and settled into our touring pace and rode up Burnt mountain, amidst heavily logged hillsides. We played a fools game with the rain, throwing on and off rain gear with each passing cloud.
By evening we made it nearly to Forks and turned towards La Push. At the Mora road we turned off again for our destination: Cycle Camp. I had found it online before leaving: a campground devoted to two-wheeled travellers run by an old guy named Bob shown straddling a tie-die chopper on the website? Of course we'll stay there.
The place was cute, and Bob pleasantly showed us around the place soon after we rolled in-- but only after some desperately needed stretching.
Some treasures of Cycle Camp:
For dinner, (you may have been wondering when the mariscos were going to come into the picture): Albacore tuna bought from the Makah fishermen in Neah Bay, marinated in Teriyaki on the barbeque, as they recommended. They even fileted it for us on the spot. Not bad.
The air is quiet and heavy with dampness tonight. Even a few stars. I won't lie 60 miles on day one without a whole lot of training, even not being fully loaded did a number on my. In need of a deep sleep. Tomorrow, another day.
Comments
Post a Comment