Few things make packing up in the morning go smoother and faster than the promise of a delicious breakfast. After a day of positively uninspiring cuisine in the park lodge, we looked forward to what we could find as we descended from the mountains.
Delightfully, the first spot we stopped at in the nearby town of Ashford was a definite hit. In a Ukrainian restaurant attached to a small hotel, we made new friends and indulged in savoury and sweet crepes. With a slice of honey cake to go, we rode into the cloudy day with our sights set on one of the continent’s most famous volcanos – Mount St Helen’s.
The twisty roads flowed by, we made it as far as we could, which was ultimately not on as far as we wanted to. We did get to see the famed mountain, but the closer viewpoints and historical sites were closed due to mud slides. Still, we were pleased to see that at the furthest open viewpoint there was a vendor selling fresh coffee, which was a perfect complement to our cake. The place felt remote and rugged, and the valley of the North Fork Toutle River – vast and unforgiving. It was enlarged by the outflow of debris following the volcano’s deadly 1980 eruption. Sometimes it takes water and wind thousands of years to shape a landscape – and sometimes just a couple of days. The sleeping giant looked calm and composed for us, but forty years ago it got furious enough to blow its top off.
The parts we ordered for the suspension service arrived at the shop near Portland. The timing was right for Paul, the suspension specialist, to get this done for us in the next 2 days. A plan materialized and everything worked out accordingly. We spent a bit of time with Paul learning about suspensions, which left us with more knowledge, and the understanding that there is even more to learn.
There was a glider school close to where we stayed, and we could not resist the temptation to try something new on a sunny Saturday afternoon. Soaring high above the green fields, we circled in the thermals, while gazing at the horizon dotted with snow capped mountains. Unlike the continuous range of the Sierras, here the peaks were distinct and separated from one another – Mt. Rainier, Mt. St Helens, Mt. Hood. What a unique and peaceful experience of the near silent flight.
After a few days in an airbnb where we had the luxury to cook our own meals, it was time to hit the road again. It was early June, and we wondered if our short delay allowed more backroads to open for the season…
We tried, we hit road closures, we had discussions, we encountered snow, we turned around. With no practical alternatives, we had to do the unthinkable and ride north on the interstate. Riding our small displacement bikes on the interstate always feels like a lost bet, like giving up. It’s not something we would describe as fun, and it felt so wrong to be doing it. We counteracted the despair with some amazing Mexican food in Tacoma and headed for the coast, starting with a wooded campsite on the Kitsap Peninsula.
