Day 2

Dodged the rain bullet today, so I’m feeling particularly grateful that I didn’t have to endure traffic splashes and spray. That’s right. The last two miles were on U.S. 101, my lover for the next couple of weeks anyway. To be perfectly honest, I’m not thrilled with the prospect of being a rabbit for cars and trucks to chase. The first two days the route followed county roads and blue highways. Sometimes I felt like I was on the widest bike path ever! Waiting at the intersection to make the left-hand turn onto U.S. 101¹, I realized I just reached a new level of Super Mario Kart. I even saw a banana peel along the shoulder. I plan to implement slipstreaming, drifting, and include some mini-turbos here and there. You won’t find me off the road looking for mushrooms, however. 

I wanted to mention something about the landscapes I cris-crossed the last two days in Mason and Grays Harbor Counties. I saw incredible, captivating landscapes and beautiful streams and rivers which were contrasted by an equal number of acres—maybe more—as unattractive as the managed forests they were. Living in Washington state is a Faustian deal: we love our wilderness and “green” lifestyle while at the same time, we forget how that lifestyle gets supported. The total number of clearcut acres and managed forest I rode though brought back memories of how I felt when I saw my first open pit mines. At least the mines were contained. These managed forests go on and on seemingly forever. 

The glaring result of our forest product industry is the way they have impoverished the communities that live next door. Forest productivity is an oxymoron. A healthy forest ecosystem hosts interdependent populations of abundant plants and animals and manages itself. Managed forests are home to monocultures of Douglas fir, crows and robins. The Native American communities whose lives were turned upside down from the moment treaties were signed, have watched their land become devoid of life. As a symbol of resistance, many Native American homes use trash, old vehicles (I even saw one old Metro bus), broken internal combustion motorcycles, lawnmowers, and snow machines to “decorate” their land. Viewed as art, one can truly appreciate the level of disaffection and discrimination absorbed by tribal nations. I don’t want to turn my head. I only want to acknowledge that my bicycle privilege comes at a cost. 

And don’t get me started on the camper trailers covered with blue tarps protecting the inhabitants from the elements that I saw parked everywhere in the woods! 

And speaking of marginal living, I’m tenting at the Artic RV Park and Campground. I’ve already heard plenty of interesting conversations in the bar and am looking forward to a hot shower after I eat. The rain has started to fall, but it is supposed to stop by sunrise. Tomorrow night I’m tenting at Bush Pioneer Park in Bay Center where I anticipate oysters will be a significant part of the evening meal. 

For anyone interested in the actual metrics of the trip, I plan to port my trip to the Strava app. Hopefully I’ll get that taken care of tomorrow evening. I’m not getting too caught up in the miles thing yet. I just know what I have to travel each day. Tomorrow is short, just 37 miles. Since I brought my binoculars, I hope I can do some bird watching along Willapa Bay. 

¹Given my route, I promise I will never ever use “the” when writing about 101, Highway 1, or any other highway that is not in California.