Port Townsend Tour: Day 3 Kitsap Memorial State Park to Oak Bay County Park

It's a misty morning along the Hood Canal and after breakfast and breaking camp we set out with our bike lights lit and at least one extra layer packed on our bodies instead of in the panniers.

Today's bridge is a big one, the mile and half long Hood Canal Floating Bridge. It's a monster, but Christine slays it with style, riding the bulk of the bridge but wisely walking the slick metal drawspan sections.

As we cross the bridge, I see, but am unable to photograph, a sea lion swimming just north of the bridge.

At the end of the bridge we take my friend Mark Canizaro's advice and turn left to follow Shine Road for a few miles. This small road has almost no traffic and is a very pleasant alternative to the busier SR-104.

Just across from where Shine Road rejoins SR-104 there is Teal Lake Road heading pretty much straight north. I've ridden many of the roads around here in the past, but never Teal Lake Road. Since one of the ideas of this trip is to visit both familiar and new places, I've optimistically added this road to our route.

A good rule of bike touring would note that "the shortest distance between two points is often hilly as hell" or as Mark will later comment when I retell the tale of this day "You took Teal Lake Road? You didn't look at a topo map, did you?"

Christine takes this development in stride, so to speak. "I'm walking," she wisely declares as the road becomes a wall. "Smart woman," I agree as I dismount my bike. When your riding speed is less than your walking speed, only a stubborn idiot insists on turning the pedals. I quote Jan Heine: "It is good, sometimes, to stretch the legs."

When the grade relents for a bit we remount our faithful steeds and creep towards the summit. We roll along the top of the rolling ridge and then coast down a hill that would be a real leg stretcher if we were headed southbound and join up with Paradise Bay Road.

For years Christine has heard me report enthusiastically on the wonders of minimart food. Tales of fine beverages dispensed by coffee robots in tiny towns in the wee small hours of cold mornings, the existential excellence of a hotdog that, like you, has been rolling for hours under less than ideal conditions, cold ice tea consumed in the shade next to a very hot road, these are things whose delightful nature is only truly understood by the ravenous rider.

At the minimart in Port Ludlow, Christine understands. As we feast on chicken strips and chips and ice tea she declares, between tasty mouthfuls, that "Now I feel like a real bike tourist."

We leave the "Village in the Woods by the Bay" rolling north on the Oak Bay Road. It's early afternoon now and the sun has warmed away almost all of the morning mist. And we are at our destination for the day, the Oak Bay County Park.

I've ridden by the sign for the Oak Bay Park a few dozen times over the years, but this is the first time I've turned in to see the park. Confusingly, the signs for camping point both north and south when you leave the main road, so we check both options. The southern area is an exposed spit jutting out into the bay, optimal, I suppose, for those arriving by water or having intentions involving watercraft. The northern area is wooded and overlooks the bay. We opt for camping in the woods.

But first, there is important lounging to be done. Stories are read. Snacks are consumed. Thoughts are thought. Basking happens.

As the day moves towards evening we pitch the tent and make the food. As the air grows cooler, we bundle up.

Before dark all the food goes in the bag that we sling high in the tree. We are cautious of bears but honestly more concerned with raccoons, crows, seagulls and squirrels.

The sun sets on another wonderful day. The birds call across the bay and we settle into sleep under warm layers of down.

Port Townsend Tour: Day 2 Fay Bainbridge Park to Kitsap Memorial State Park

Christine is still nestled in her warm sleeping bag, what she calls her cocoon, but this morning I'm awake early, watching the sky shift slowly from black with icy stars to something more purple. Sure as the earth turns, what was dark and cold brightens and warms with color. As dawn unfolds, the stars and the lights of Seattle are outshone by our home star, its light and warmth burning through the morning haze.

On a tour like this one, where home is few pounds of well-engineered nylon and when the road rises up to greet you the proper response is "Oh Lord, another hill!" and a timely downshift, one of the great luxuries we have is time. Time to take all this in, time to contemplate the workings of stars, of men, of spiders.

This spider spun a web below the light outside the camp bathroom. There's a sign here, warning of a toxic algae bloom, steering humans away from eating the shellfish. There is no such warning here readable by bugs, and they swarm in the night, attracted by the light. In the morning the web is filled with dozens of tiny desiccated carcasses and one very plump, satisfied spider.

The sun rises to warm the day. I fire up the kettle for cocoa and coffee.

We breakfast slowly, letting the sunlight dry most of the dew from the tent before packing up and then rolling down and up the various hills of Bainbridge Island.

Not far down the road we have to stop and photograph and contemplate Frog Rock. This colorful landmark has a lovely history and it's just the kind of roadside wonder that reminds me that there are a lot of fun people in this world. Some of them paint rocks.

While Frog Rock is green and friendly, Christine has to face down another green monster, the especially "bitey" Agate Pass bridge. It's narrow, often quite windy, and the trucks boom by awfully close. But it has a tiny sidewalk and she walks across, eyes straight ahead, not looking down.

We ride a few miles on SR-305 and then turn left to follow the somewhat quieter Lemolo Shore Drive into Poulsbo.

Poulsbo is a gem of a town, settled by Scandinavian immigrants who found its geography quite similar to the fjord-lands of the old country. The harbor is beautiful, and the downtown has bookstores, cafes and coffee shops and what just might be the best bakery on the planet.

Christine and I spend several hours wandering around town, buying little although Christine does discover a very cool bead shop where she buys some small charm beads including a tiny spider and a heron. Bike tourists by necessity travel light and beads make excellent, tiny souvenirs. We also load up on food at the bakery, enough butterhorns and trollhouse cookies to fuel us for the next few days.

We take the Bond Road out of town and then follow the pastoral Big Valley Road north. At the end of Big Valley Road we take a very brief left onto SR-3 followed almost immediately by a right into Kistap Memorial State Park.

Kitsap Park is right on the banks of the Hood Canal and the hiker/biker sites are so secluded we had to ask the campground host where the sites were. Campground rates have gone up in the past few years, with government at all levels having to cope with budget shortfalls. Here, the regular campsites are $21 per night, while the hiker/biker sites are $12.

One of the more striking things about this trip is the quality of the light. There is something about the low angles of the autumn sun and smoke from various wildfires burning elsewhere in the state that gives a glow to the mornings and evenings.

We make camp, make dinner and watch the sun set over the Olympic Mountains. If you measure your day in miles, a sixteen mile day may seem short. But if you measure time by spiders and sunrises, by bridges and butterhorns, by the smell of trees and the sound of waves lapping on the shore, it's been a day filled with all the best adventures.

Port Townsend Tour: Day 1 Issaquah to Fay Bainbridge Park

"We invented civilization," my son Eric explains, "so we don't have to go camping. Besides," he added, "I have a job I have to go to. You and mom go off and have fun, I'll stay here and take care of the cat." And so, with Inkling left to spend quality time bonding with Eric, Christine and I venture forth into the September sunshine.

Each year we work our schedules so we can take some time off in autumn and this year we decided to take ten days to more thoroughly explore some of the beautiful parks, back roads, forests, islands and towns in western Washington. Port Townsend, on the northern tip of the Quimper Peninsula is one of our favorite towns and would serve as our nominal destination but our intention was to work our way from park to park at a pace that would involve a lot time for exploration, contemplation and good old fashioned fun.

While I've bicycled between Issaquah and Seattle literally thousands of times (it used to be my daily commute), this is Christine's first time riding many of these roads. On previous trips to and from the city, she's popped her bike on the bus rack, but today, despite her nervousness with city traffic and bridges, she's riding the full distance.

"I see how you got so mighty, riding these hills every day," she notes as we work our way up Newport Avenue, a long, slow climb that skirts the northern flank of Cougar Mountain. While Christine commutes daily to her job, her commute is less than 2 miles each way and those miles are all on the flat floor of the Issaquah valley. "I can go for months without shifting," she explains.

She's shifting a lot today and zooms down the hill in Factoria next to a lot more traffic than she's used to dealing with in Issaquah. "It's all bike trail from here to Seattle," I assure her at the bottom of the hill. "Good!" she replies.

We stop on the little bridge over the Bellevue Slough to watch a heron and then wind our way on the trail over the bridge to Mercer Island.

Christine does fine going across the big floating bridge that connects Mercer Island to Seattle although she assures me that she does not like bridges and that they are "bitey". She likes the bike tunnel which is one of Seattle's cooler bits of bike infrastructure and we cope with the busier bits of downtown Seattle (Dearborn Avenue and stuff like that) by walking along the sidewalk.

At the Seattle waterfront we catch the ferry to Bainbridge Island. Riding on Bainbridge is lovely and while the day is hilly, it's not chilly.

By 4:00 PM we're settled into Fay Bainbridge Park, a former state park now under the local control of the island. Our campsite is right down by the beach looking east across Puget Sound to Seattle.

Christine pitches the tent and gathers twigs for the Kelly Kettle. On these trips I'm in charge of water heating, with the first batch of boiling water going into rehydrating the evening meal and the next two batches going into the thermoses for tea, coffee or cocoa.

Tonight we feast on mac and cheese and smoked trout.

There is so much beauty right close at hand. Tonight, camped in this park we're 26 biking miles from Issaquah. The lights of Seattle shine across the water, the waves lap on the beach and the sounds of gulls and crows carry on the wind. I'm here with my best friend and the stars shine down upon us. The most beautiful thing in the world is Christine's smile as we settle into sleep.

Solar Power On Tour

Our recent tour of western Washington was a good field test of solar gadget charging. We had wonderful, sunny weather and each day I had a Goal Zero Nomad 7 Solar Charger strapped to the top of the tent roll on my bike's rear rack. While in motion, I had the solar charger hooked to a small USB AA battery charger. In camp, if it was sunny, I could hook the solar panel directly to my Kindle to charge it or I could transfer the charged cells to another little USB unit to charge the Kindle. The AA cells also work in my bike headlight and camera. Yeah, it's a lot of gadgetry, but I'm a gadget geek.

So, how did things work? In general, pretty good but there are a lot of trees in western Washington so a lot of times I wasn't getting much sun at the campsites. And we really had ideal weather for this tour. In rainy conditions, I know solar wouldn't give me enough juice to keep everything going. As wise travelers Russ and Laura have pointed out, an extension cord to tap AC power is often your best investment.

My Kindle doesn't draw a lot of power, but Christine and I both read a lot on our Kindles on this trip and I also used the 3G connection and Kindle web browser to check the weather forecasts, send email and update Twitter. The Kindle is an awesome device for touring, it's like having hundreds of books with you (with access to tens of thousands) in something that weighs less than one single book.

The Goal Zero Nomad 7 Solar Charger is light and tough and worth its weight. My kit keeps evolving, but I'm a fan of rechargeable batteries. The folks at Burro have a nice looking, inexpensive charger and batteries that I'll be checking out soon. I just started reading Bright Lights, No City and I'm impressed with what they're doing.

How do you keep your gadgets juiced up on tour? Let me know in the comments.

Keep 'em rolling,

Kent "Mountain Turtle" Peterson
Issaquah WA USA

Chekov's Bike Pump

Chekov (the writer, not the guy who sat next to Sulu on the Enterprise) famously noted that "If in the first act you have hung a pistol on the wall, then in the following one it should be fired. Otherwise don't put it there." In the following true story Chekov's Gun is not the bike pump. It is, instead, a statement about the bike pump made by my lovely wife on the eve of our bike tour. While packing up Christine noted "You have a good bike pump, I don't need to bring mine." I, of course, nodded. Because I am an idiot. Fans of Chekov can see where this is going.

Christine and I both own Trek Allants. The Allants are wonderful, robust machines that have been our vehicles and companions on many fine journeys. This past July Christine and I both wrote small tributes to these bicycles on the anniversary of their first year with us. At that time I said little about the tires, hoping to preserve my membership in the No-Flat Club. And the first rule of No-Flat Club is that you don't talk about No-Flat Club. There are various explanations of why this is the way of the club, something my semi-fictional friend Perry may or may not have explained to me on a damp night a while ago, but last week in Poulsbo my No-Flat membership lapsed.

Riding into town the back of my bike felt a bit bouncier than it should. A blackberry thorn had worked its way through the tread and into the tube of the rear tire but of course I was prepared. I had a patch kit, a spare tube, tire levers and a pump that had sat idle on my bike for over a year. I guess I wasn't prepared quite enough.

An impressive layer of dusty, rusty corrosion revealed itself as I pulled back on the handle of my ancient, up until now trustworthy, Zefal pump. The pump made a wheezing sound like an asthmatic aardvark as I pushed the handle forward and bits of brown powder polluted the tiny bit of air that groaned out of the pump end. After that one test compression, the pump seized up, resisting any tendencies towards inflation with a tenacity that would make Alan Greenspan proud. I said something terse and colorful and then informed Christine that I would be stimulating the local economy of Poulsbo by purchasing a pump.

There may be a bike shop in Poulsbo, but on the particular Tuesday in question I found the Coast Hardware Store first. They had a pump, a big Bell Windstorm Floor Pump that gets lousy reviews on Amazon but gets a great review from me here because it was there in my hour of need and it worked just fine.

So that's how Christine and I finished our tour with me carrying a big floor pump for the last couple of days. And later that same day, I ran over a tack and flatted my front tire! The Puncture Fairy was working overtime to make sure I learned my lesson.

Keep 'em rolling,

Kent "Mountain Turtle" Peterson
Issaquah WA USA

Pictures from our 2012 Fall Tour

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Christine and I just got back from a ten day bike tour of various parks here in western Washington. Our goal was to travel at a relaxed, wandering, wondering pace, to see various places, eat good food, enjoy the land and each other's company. The trip was a rousing success. We'll both be writing more about the trip in the days to come, but for now, here are some of the zillion pictures I shot. 

More to come.

Kent "Mountain Turtle" Peterson
Issaquah WA USA

This is not about the iPhone

Yesterday Apple announced the iPhone 5. I'm not an iPhone guy, heck I'm not really a phone guy, but I know this because my Twitter stream filled with comments like this:

"Why am I holding this pile of crap? Oh yeah, it rang. Until an hour ago, it was great."

and

"Back in 2012, our economy was so bad people skipped work to wait in line for a $500 phone." "Sounds like bullshit, Dad." "It was, son."

There were also numerous "My God it's X% lighter and Y% faster!" and "It has a new connector!" comments delivered in the calm, measured tones that some teen girls employ while discussing Justin Bieber. As I said, I'm not an iPhone guy, but the shear volume and tone of excitement delivered by the discovery of the existence of this tiny glass and aluminum monolith made me feel that I must be some pre-conscious primate roaming the savanna. I sensed that if I actually beheld the device, I'd be overcome.

"My God! It's full of stars!"

I am not, despite a certain affinity for that philosophy, a Luddite. I spend a lot of time staring at screens, tapping at keyboards, gee-whizzing at gadgets. I like gadgets and I believe in progress via human ingenuity. We get better at making things through iterative design and experimentation.

Bringing this around to bicycles, as I tend to do and I should, because I believe that people come here to read about bicycles, every year the people at Trek and Specialized and Cannondale and all the rest bring out something newer, lighter, faster or better in some way. Even the retro folks, the Rivendells and the Velo Oranges of the world, will have some new old thing, a curlier lug, a cushier tire or a brassier bell that will be more desirable than whatever was the last thing their loyal customers bought.

And I'm not decrying this state of affairs, I do believe in commerce and progress and I make my living selling and fixing and preaching about bicycles. I think it is useful to keep this business in business. But I have a tip, a suggestion, an observation to offer those who tend to frugality but still like novelty.

The most frugal course, of course, is to stick with what you have if it is working fine for you. If your old phone or bicycle or whosit was fine before the new one came out, it's probably still fine now. But if we stick only with what we know, we would never travel beyond our own boundaries and there are new wonders in the world.

If the wonder of the new is overwhelming, let it overwhelm you and go for it. Grab your gadget with gusto and meet the future at its bleeding edge. Godspeed, Gageteer, Godspeed. You keep the whole system in motion.

Or do what I often do: move forward as a somewhat reluctant time traveler. This is my favorite way of meeting change. I tend to meet the future a year or so back. Buy the 2012 bike that you wanted last fall, this fall and you'll find it's still a good bike. If it was a great bike back then, it's still a great bike now. And it's a hell of a deal because the 2013 bikes are here now.

If you want to get really great deals on last year's cutting edge, find someone who has just bought this year's cutting edge. Ask them what they're going to do with their old phone, or bike. It may be junk to them and a bargain for you.

Keep 'em rolling,

Kent "Mountain Turtle" Peterson
Issaquah WA USA

So I Went Automobile Shopping...

So I went automobile shopping the other day... I know, I know, you're probably thinking “Why would you do such a silly thing as that, a man of your age..” but hear me out. Automobiles are becoming quite popular, I'm sure you've seen them around. I understand in places like Portland they're actually more popular than bicycles. There are all those public service advertisements about sharing the road and it got me to thinking that maybe I should get one of those automobile things that all the hipsters are “driving” these days.

So I cycled over to one of my local “car” dealerships to see about purchasing an automobile and what I found was quite enlightening. When I first entered the shop a young fellow there was vigorously engaged in conversation with a customer about the merits of one particular transmission brand over another, something about how the latest electronic syncromesh whosits made last year's syncromesh hopelessly obsolete and how he couldn't believe anyone would still considering driving such junk. This discussion went on for quite a few minutes so I kept myself busy by examining the various automobiles displayed in the shop. They were shiny and looked expensive and frankly I had no idea exactly made one better than the other or why I might want to select the red one over the blue one. Eventually the car fellow noticed me and asked if I had any questions. “Oh yes,” I assured him I had plenty of questions. “I'm looking to buy a car,” I began.

“NASCAR or Formula One?” the fellow queried.

“Excuse me?”

“What kind of racing are you going to do?” the man asked.

“Uhm, I wasn't thinking of racing, more like maybe driving to the store. I understand people do that?”

The man sighed. “Well,” he explained, sadly, “you could do that. I mean, some people do, but once you get a car, you'll want to race. You're really better off getting something race-worthy to start with.”

I could tell I was fortunate to have come into a shop staffed by a man so willing to educate me. “I'm afraid I'm rather new to this whole 'driving' thing.”

“Oh, it's quite simple,” the man assured me. “Thousands of people drive, you'll pick it right up. Here," he said, "why don't you try this one.” The man opened the door of something very red, sleek and low to the ground. I settled into the seat.

“Um, the seat isn't very comfortable,” I noted.

“Well,” the man explained, “you're not wearing driving pants. Of course, you'll want driving pants.”

“Really?” I asked. “I was thinking I'd probably just drive around in my normal clothes.”

“Oh no,” the man laughed, “you'll want driving clothes. We have a nice selection in a variety of bright colors with a variety of logos on them.”

“I see,” I said, although I wasn't quite sure that I did see.

Looking at the floor of the car I was surprised to see there was no gas pedal. “Isn't there supposed to be something I push with my foot to make it go?”

“Oh,” the man explained, “the nicer cars don't come with gas pedals. That way you can select your own. We can install a test ride gas pedal for you...” He then went on to explain the virtues of the various gas pedal systems, how they would hold my foot in the optimal driving position and that all serious drivers had such gas pedals. I could get a simple pedal if I wanted to but...

I opted for the gas pedal that the car man assured me that he himself used.

Of course, I'd want a helmet. I mean for gosh sakes, who would drive without a helmet? Didn't I value my brain?

And so I got the helmet. It was red, like the car, and made from some material developed by NASA.

It turns out the stock tires were “junk” and I'd need to upgrade those right away. When I insisted that I might park at some time the car man sighed a very heavy sigh and told me he could install a parking system in my car but it would just be an extra thing to lug around and how often was I going to park anyway? He also vigorously worked to dissuaded me from any thought of fenders or carrying luggage but I convinced him I was willing to pay extra to get these features. He looked very sad as he added these items to my bill.

In the end it was my credit card that saved me. The car man actually looked rather relieved when it was declined. “Maybe driving's not your thing,” he consoled, “it's not for everyone.”

And so I'm back on my bicycle. It has a kickstand and fenders and lights. It has a rack on the back that holds bags that carry my groceries. It's got big plain pedals that work fine with my normal shoes. It's just a bicycle and I guess it's how I'll continue getting around.

I imagine if buying a bicycle was as complicated as buying a car they wouldn't be as popular as they are now...

A Good Old Bike

I'm not exactly sure how old it is. My best estimate, helped by info I found here, is that it was new in 1978 or 1979. When it came to me it was dusty and needed some tires and cables and attention its owner was unwilling to give it. Did I know someone who could use it? Not offhand, but I knew I'd find somebody. I did know I was the guy who'd take it in and dust it off and get it rolling.

Years ago the bike had drop handlebars and those idiotic extension or "safety" levers that were anything but safe, but somewhere in the years between the bike's manufacture and its finding me, the levers and the drop bars had gone away, replaced by more back-friendly upright bars. The conversion hadn't been complete, however, and the old drop levers were barely stopping the brakes. My pile of things I keep just in case had flat bar levers of the proper vintage and cable pull and now the old Nishiki stops with certainty.

The derailleurs shift fine with the old levers and new cables and I replaced the rotting tires with fine little knobby treads. These old Japanese bikes came to the U.S. shores in droves, much like the Corollas and Civics of their day and they were and are reliable bicycles, intelligently designed and made to last.

This good old bike is still rolling strong. Now I just need to find somebody who needs a good old bike.

Keep 'em rolling,

Kent "Mountain Turtle" Peterson
Issaquah WA USA