Dear Friends,

I have been a participant on 43things.com for about eight years. That site is going belly-up, and I have been casting about, looking for a place to post my thoughts and reflections. Further, Facebook is just too public for me right now, and I've gone as far as to discontinue my Facebook page for now.

I started this simple blog a few years back, and posted things here when I had no other appropriate place. I plan to revive this blog to fill some of the purposes for which I used 43things, and also get some more personal things off of Facebook, and put them here.

So, the content you'll find here will be some new, and some old. If it's old, I'll put a date of original publication, just so we both know how far back that writing went.

Thank you for reading my posts.

Federation Forest to White River Campground, and back

Wednesday was the only day that it was supposed to be nice at Mt. Rainier this week, so Wednesday was the day I was going to do the ride.

I woke up early, and left the house early. It’s a good ninety minutes to drive to Federation Forest. Clouds hung low, dark and grey, and I wondered if I should have checked the forecast one last time. While it wasn’t raining, rainwater from the previous wet days fell off the trees in both light sprinkles and in heavy blops on my windshield.

I had been doing a lot of thinking while driving, and I didn’t feel much like cycling at all. I thought about driving all the way to Yakima, just to drive some place. I didn’t. Instead, I pulled into the Federation Forest parking lot and got out of the car.

It was cold. I put on my thermafleece tights, and my fleece jacket, and yanked the bike out of the back of the car. I didn’t feel like riding, but here I was.

The highway mostly parallels the White River. The river’s milky-green hue comes from its source, the glaciers melting on Mt. Rainier. I was riding along through a tunnel of large, old-growth trees, and then I would come out the river, and then back into the old-growth trees. The forest is mossy and damp.

It’s uphill, but I only notice that it’s uphill because I’m not going that fast. I have it in the middle ring in the front, and the middle of the cassette in the back. Motor vehicle traffic is very light.

Pedal and breathe. Pedal and breathe. My brain begins to let go.

After about ten miles and an hour of riding, I pulled off the road to look at a waterfall on the other side of the river. (Photo) Clouds and mist roiled on and over the hillsides.

Back on the bike. Pedal and breathe.

Another five miles, and I arrived at a construction zone. It’s summer, the road is open, so they’ve doing repairs all along the way, but this one is serious. After I rode to the front to chat with the flagger, I learned that I would not be allowed to ride the mile through this section, but would need to be carried by the pilot car. I ate some stale choc-blocks, and drank water. While riding in the pilot car, I noticed some patches of blue.

After being deposited by the pilot car on the other side of the construction, more clouds moved away, more blue was revealed. More uphill. Pedal and breathe. My brain moves to a broader perspective. Pedal and breathe.

It was now very sunny, dappling through the boughs of the trees. (Photo) I stopped off at a ranger station, got a map, asked if the road to Sunrise was opened for cyclists. I was told yes, and one ranger enthusiastically described a recent ride.

I got back on the bike, and the road steepened. I shed my jacket. I put the chain in the little cog. It took a long time to pass each mile post.

I was both surprised and relieved to see the sign that said the road to Sunrise was in a half mile.

I made the turn, and it was down, down, down. I was glad to be coasting, because the climb up had put my stomach tank on empty. It now smelled of the high mountains – silver fir, yellow cedar, and mountain hemlock, warmed in the sun. At the gate, I chatted with the ranger. He said that I could ride the five miles to the White River Campground, but the road to Sunrise was closed to cyclists that day due to the heavy equipment that was still clearing snow. If I wanted to go up to Sunrise, I’d have to wait until very late in the afternoon, after the crew was done. I decided that I would not do that, but just go to the campground.

I knew at this point I needed to eat lunch, but I thought I’d ride until I got to either the campground, or a view. I crossed a couple of rivers, and thought about sitting on their banks, but decided to push on. At one point, I dismounted to look at the White River, to see if there was a way down so I could eat lunch. When I couldn’t find one, I couldn’t bring myself to get back on the bike, and walked it slowly up the hill, and said to myself, “You’re bonking. You need to stop and eat.” At the very next clearing, I set my bike down, took off my helmet and gloves, and pulled lunch out of the trunk. I climbed down the side of the road to the river.

I could see a glacier, but not the whole mountain from my lunch spot. (Photo) It didn’t matter. I ate my pasta salad. I ate my cherries. I drank most of my bottle of electrolyte. I settled on the river rocks, padded with my fleece jacket, and listened to the river. Wisps of clouds floated by in the brilliant blue sky.

It was time to go. I clambered back up the hillside to the bike, and started off. Food helped. I felt much better. I continued climbing. The glaciated peak of Mount Rainier came into view. Soon I was at the campground. Officially, it was closed, but it’s scheduled to open this weekend, and the vault toilet was open and I could refill my water bottle at the tap.

I didn’t realize how steep the climb had been. I zipped down through the forest, over one river, then the next, and the next. In a blink, I was back at the Park gate, and then climbing back up to the main highway.

Then it was a simple coast down, unable to pedal because I was moving so fast.

I was the first in line at the construction zone, so I knew it would be a while. I asked the flagger if I could lean the bike against his car. He was fine with that. I took off my tights. I sat on the asphalt, and finished the electrolyte, then ate a mojo bar and drank another bottle of water. The pilot car came, and dropped me and the bike again on the other side of the zone.

I saw the first cyclists for the day, then. Two tourists, fully loaded, cheerfully pedaling along up the road as I was coming down, probably going to one of the campgrounds along the way.

As I got closer to the car, I reflected on the ride. I planned to go, but I had been reluctant. I almost didn’t stop driving. My head had been swirling small and jittery thoughts. I was so cold when I got the bike out of the car, and the weather was so gloomy.

But as I rode, I warmed up. The clouds dissipated and the sun came out. Now, while I was tired, I was calmed. My thoughts had come from a higher perspective. The ride had worked its magic. Once again, the bike had come to heal and connect. My lovely bike – such a resource. What would I do without it?

I threw the bike back into the back of the car. I stopped at the Black Diamond Bakery on the way home and got a fresh cookie and a tea to go. I took the backroads home – never quite sure if that’s faster than the freeway, but it’s certainly less stressful. I was home by 4:30.

Map of the route: http://www.gmap-pedometer.com/?r=6342517