Location Shopping Part I

On the brink of burnout at work and in a valley where it feels like we've been making the most of pretty meh weekends for the majority of winter, I take off a big chunk of time at work, more than I ever have. It's scary, it's exciting. I feel privileged and entitled because in addition to the occasional long weekend, I do take off for about a week straight every year, usually to go to weddings in North Carolina. This time though we're going to Washington and doing some location shopping. 

We load the van up with bikes and ski gear, arrange loose dogsitting plans with our friends that live nearby, and hit the road early on Saturday morning. Drive through boring, hazy Idaho and windy, snowy passes in central Oregon, make it up to Hood, above the rain line, back in snow. We wander around Cy's old haunts, the massive hewn logs of Timberline Lodge, stunning in its magnitude, the beauty of the Works Progress Administration writ (very) large. 

After a cold night that frosted the windows of the van, we prepped early with cold hands for the ski, but not early enough, we later learned. We made very quick work of the first 4k of vert - Cy has long legs and I've been skinning a lot in hopes of getting faster. It's steep and boring, although the view of the massif in front of us is gorgeous. But we hit a line of people, both skiers and hikers, walking past the Devil's Kitchen fumarole, moving agonizingly slowly with heavy, inappropriate gear, and we can see in front of us the only way to the summit, a 500-foot headwall clogged with humanity, the bootpackers' progress frozen under the hangfire of rime ice, rocks poised to fall, and fresh snow turning into slabs as the sun ratcheted up the temps.

The crush of humanity on the headwall

Not the day for it, another skier said to his companions as he ripped off his skins. His quick hand pit broke a slab clean with an audible pop. It was exactly the inducement we needed to decide to head downhill instead of summiting. The ski over to the picturesque Illumination Rock was touchy and grabby. We snacked then skied very flat groomers back to the parking lot. 

Inoffensive skiing but not great

The base area was shrouded in a heavy, moist cloud and it was only 11, so we figured we might as well go for a ride in the valley. Sandy Ridge was deliciously not sandy - damp, mossy, rooty, it was a gentle introduction back into mountain biking for refugees of the snowy Intermountain West. We sprawled on the warm pavement in the parking lot afterward, so happy to be back in the land of trees and dark, clingy dirt. 

Multi-sport day

We have a friend across the river gorge in Washington and I had a newspaper to put out, so we slept on his couch in the small, imminently charming burg of White Salmon and worked a full day Monday. After sending the paper we pedaled around a scrappy little bike park a quarter mile from town, then walked across the street for good beer and bar food. 

I am constantly wondering what I really want in a community. High on the list is trails that are within walking distance. When Brendan got home we talked for a long time, about life, about being disappointed in places that seem like a good fit. 

We moseyed west on Tuesday, stopping at Dog Mountain for a short steep run above the Columbia to appease my incessant need for motion. 

Appeasement

Our next stop was Olympia. We wandered aimlessly around the state capital, admiring its mini-Portland feel. After grabbing some cans from Three Magnets Brewing that were adorned with Cy's illustrations, we found a good home base for the next couple of days in Capitol Forest, which we agreed was not close enough to town. The stub road we parked in had the remnants of a hard weekend - trash everywhere, a syringe on the ground, a charred pile of debris next to a fire pit - but it was quiet and only feet away from Mr Bones, the trail that would be featured in the next day's Free For All, a weeknight downhill race whose promotor is one of Cy's favorite clients. We couldn't resist doing a lap on the course that night and I was convinced to register. 

Van camping is pretty glamorous

On Wednesday we managed to do a ride that was plenty big, incapable of saving the legs for the race. The trails were delightful and not too challenging, although I took a weird line on a steep rooty switchback and went ass over teakettle, miraculously my only real crash of the trip. The scene at the race was cool, albeit bro-heavy. Riders could attempt as many laps as they wanted in the two-hour window, but everyone was shuttling, which doomed my plan of pedaling for laps on the steep, curvy logging road. I put in one clean run and returned my timing chip - no need to mess with fate. Turns out I still hate time trials in all flavors, especially DH. Cy went back for more and we were both handed very mediocre mid-pack results. Whatever, it was fun to get a taste of the grassroots Olympia bike culture. 

I liked the race course

On Thursday we headed up and around the peninsula to Port Angeles, admiring the beautiful coastline and bemoaning the inescapable rain. We strolled around the quirky, scenic town, which felt on the cusp of being "discovered," surprising in such a bikes-breweries-and-Sprinter-vans region. To Cy's delight we came across an aquarium and touched sea urchins and watched prehistoric-looking rockfish being fed chunks of mackerel while marine biologist nerds told us everything we could hope to know about the ecosystem.  

Aquatic life, meet terrestrial life

Driving around the outskirts of town trying to plan for the next day's ride, however, changed the feel. There were plenty of properties plastered with No Trespassing signs of varying ferocity, huge Trump flags everywhere, and yards full of decrepit cars, rotting cardboard, sagging lean-tos - no. Not a place I would feel comfortable if I was out for a back roads ride. This exploration culminated in the Rat Hole, which a bike shop employee had warned us about - gated land that according to most sources was probably a militia stronghold or libertarian commune. We parked on logging land and went for a muddy evening walk through a clear cut. 

Friday's ride was pretty dang cool, quasi-unsanctioned trails off the Olympic Discovery pathway that were a very open secret, fun and not too hard (except for one, which was ridiculously hard) and plenty of miles. I did long for the clouds to clear so I could see the glaciated peaks that were just above us, but we were generally satisfied with the experience, so we headed to Seattle.