Location Shopping Part II

 After leaving the Olympic Peninsula we stopped for the night in south Seattle near the airport for a reset - showers and a hotel bed. In the morning we came out and noticed a large pool of gas on the rain-washed tarmac that upon inspection appeared to be coming from the van. Joy. Someone had repeatedly punctured the van's fuel tank (to steal gas in a clumsy and ineffective fashion, I guess?) although miraculously they hadn't taken the catalytic converter, usually the first thing that gets stolen these days. A friendly contractor who was staying at the hotel paused at the vehicle while we were looking at it and told us all the parking lots in the area saw routine vandalism and theft.

Seriously?

I told the hotel clerk, who gave a cursory sympathetic murmur and slid the Xeroxed incident report form across the desk but made no offer of redress for the utter failure of the night security shift. Cy, being the very competent and capable person he is, started walking the two miles to the auto parts store to get some epoxy and radiator patches while I filed the police report and insurance claim. The contractor saw Cy jogging through the concrete hellscape of traffic sprawl and gave him a ride back to the hotel. Cy laid out a rug on the ground and started patching the holes while I talked to the wildly helpful insurance adjustor, who immediately sent me payment for the temporary fix plus labor plus lost fuel, and started drafting the estimate for replacement. A diametrically opposite customer service experience than the hotel clerk interaction. 

This guy is the best

We went for a walk along the Interurban path while waiting for the epoxy to cure, and talked about the sad fucked-up-ness of humanity in all its myriad ways. Every battle being fought is overwhelming and insufficient. I don't know how we could ever begin to fix all the things that are wrong with everything, with the cities and the sprawl and the pumping arteries of cars, and the scary shacks in the hollers and the pervasiveness of drugs and the grinding poverty and the sweeping entitlement and crushing lack of empathy, where people living in vehicular wastelands need a car to get around and need to steal half a tank of gas, and hotel clerks are so burned out dealing with the constant miniscule demands of guests that they treat actual crimes on premises with the same beleaguered attention as an empty coffee carafe. It just feels like people are sad and broken and isolated and hamstrung, and I don't know if there's any way this ship can right itself. 

And yet...there is still beauty

Sobered by that experience, but with a functioning vehicle, we went to Bellingham, checking frequently that the tank wasn't leaking gas. Cy's internet friend turned real friend Sarah was happy to go for a muddy evening ride with us and all was well with the world. After we cleaned up we headed to a brewery dance party celebrating Sarah's new can art and it was so fun to be among a bunch of likeminded people dancing to music targeted with laser precision at the 28-35 demographic. Sometimes being in a bubble is refreshing. 

You can't tell but this is the biggest gap I've ever hit

We spent most of Sunday meandering all over Galbraith, including an interlude at the Transition Outpost where Cy always gets love thanks to his large paintings hanging on the walls of the shop. I had some minor biking breakthroughs and was feeling pretty good about myself, partly because I was riding on flats and I can now proudly claim pedal ambidexterity. 

Pushing my comfort zone on slabs

After Vietnamese food we had a beer down at Trackside on an evening that was pure propaganda, crisp rays of sunlight illuminating the deserted paper mill structures as people enjoyed the first hint of summer on the bay and hordes of children pedaled, strider-ed, or stumbled around on the big pump track next to the beer garden. What is this world.

Too good to be true

As if that wasn't appealing enough, Cy learned that the local LGBTQ bar had a weekly Sunday drag show so we stayed up past midnight for the third night in a row - unheard of. At the bar I picked up a newspaper for idle perusal and was impressed by its thoughtful government coverage. Later research revealed that it's a new print offering with a super exciting mission and staff. Sigh. Stop it, Bellingham. 

Who doesn't love a Sunday night community drag show?

On Monday after a delicious gut bomb of a breakfast, we met up with another Instagram friend to ride. We quickly polished off the big mellow climb interspersed with mean hike-a-bike, and then hit the steep rutted descent that, because of the wet conditions, was at the absolute edge of my abilities and bravery. I was stoked to end the trip feeling depleted and accomplished. After eating poke bowls in town we enjoyed one final hang with random internet people, crashing a wheel-building session at someone's garage. Bullshitting and drinking beers with bike bros - always a fan. Cy got to see in real life an art collaboration he had done with a tie-dye apparel brand. It's kind of wild how many clients and fans he has in Bellingham and surrounding areas.

Finished off my trip with a good hard ride in the mist

And then I flew home. He continued on his merry way doing more things that exactly fit his emotional needs - volunteer trail work days, art store visits, weekday race hang outs, jumps, and scary trail rides. I settled back in at home, gave the neurotic dog as much attention as possible, and started plotting in earnest how we could move there.