NORTHPORT, WASHINGTON: Tough Guy Proves to Be Not-So-Tough Afterall

July 30, 2019

I was mentally anxious to continue my journey today, but physically I just wasn't feeling it. Probably the reason was my difficulty in getting to sleep. I don't know why, but I only slept a total of four hours last night. Perhaps I didn't climb enough mountains or ride at a sufficient speed to DESERVE a decent night's sleep.

I drank multiple cups of coffee and finally dragged my ass out of the room at about 9:30 a.m. From the very first turn of the pedals I felt like a new man. I rode fast and hard and I was proving myself to be a certified Tough Guy. Before I knew it, I was in the town of Fruitvale where I stopped to reward myself with some tough guy water and some tough guy almonds. Here are some pictures from that first leg of my ride:

This is probably the biggest roadside information board I've ever seen.

I don't know the real name of this flower, but I called it a "purple daisy." As such, I felt justified in conducting another scientific experiment. SHE LOVES ME!

There is no bike riding demon like a Tough Guy fully re-energized. Man, I could not believe the time I was making. I could see an easy 80-mile day coming up. Then it only got better.

I approached a long 7% descent into the Columbia River Valley. I stopped to let all of the traffic behind me pass, and then I moved out into the lane and sailed down the road at bobsled speed. Jet speed. Unheard-of-speed. Mach-12 speed. Speed so fast that that even the toughest of tough guys might feel a little frightened at the thought of "what if I hit a pothole or a stray rock?"

My first view of the Columbia River--just before I released the brakes and let 'er rip.

"What the hell were you thinking?" scolded my cartoon alter-ego after we reached this relatively safe spot.

I rode the next few miles with a guy named Vic who caught up to me while riding an e-bike. No, it wasn't irritating at all. He was a real nice guy who used to do a lot of bike touring before a heart condition forced him to stop. He recently bought the e-bike and said it makes bike riding fun for him again. We exchanged touring stories, side by side, for about five miles without a single car passing us. He turned around just before the bridge you will see in the next picture.

This bridge is about a half-mile from the U.S. border. It was another bridge with a see-through grate. I was not afraid.

After the bridge came a short but steep climb to the border station. I don't mind saying that I was a little out of breath when I got there, and I was glad to have the opportunity to give my lungs a break before facing the border agents. There was a stop light there, and the stop light was red. Beside the stop light was a sign that said something like "wait here until the light turns green."

So I sat there, straddling my bike, waiting for the light to turn green. There were no vehicles ahead of me--no vehicles in sight anywhere--yet the light never changed. I knew it was a pretty remote border crossing, but this was getting ridiculous. Still, I waited a little longer. No change. What could be taking so long?

Finally, I figured it out. My bike didn't weigh enough to activate the green light. Yeah, that's it.

I proceeded forward to the enclosed inspection station expecting an apology for the delay. What I got was a border patrol guy rushing out of a different building yelling, "WHY DIDN'T YOU WAIT FOR THE LIGHT TO CHANGE?"

"I'm sorry," I replied, "I waited several minutes but I thought maybe there was a problem with my bike not being visible."

"YOU HAVE TO WAIT!" he repeated loudly.

"OK, should I go back?"

"NO, JUST STAY RIGHT THERE," he said, sternly. He went to get the officer who should have been manning the booth. As he did so, I was preparing for a strip search.

When the other border guy returned to the booth, I got the apology I was looking for. "Sorry, I was talking to that guy on the motorcycle," he said. I did see a motorcycle around the corner, but I got the impression that the border guy was just talking to him about motorcycling in general and not searching his gas tank for drugs.

The usual border questions ensued, he asked a few questions about my trip, and I was quickly sent on my way--on my way up another short, but steep, hill. No big deal. The road leveled off for a while and I pedaled through a nice stretch of quiet secondary highway through the shade of a million view-blockers.

But then came the biggest, toughest hill of my trip so far. It was Tough Guy vs. Tough Hill, and I came out the winner. I didn't FEEL like a winner though, because my entire body took a beating on that climb.

The Reckless Mr. Bing Bong at the top of one of the hardest climbs we've ever done together.

That climb was followed by a quarter-mile of flatness and then, looking ahead, I could see another climb of similar difficulty. It felt demoralizing and motivating at the same time. I believed I could do this again.

Less than 1/3 of the way up I felt the intense sun draining me as much as the steepness. I was on the verge of a lung explosion so I tried switchbacking back and forth to slowly gain elevation. It didn't work. I finally had to stop to rest and drink a ton of water. I had to do that two more times before I got to the top. Tough guy, indeed.

Eventually I did make it to the top, and then I had a huge descent down to the town of Northport. While taking the descent at full speed, a pickup truck was riding my ass, so I squeezed my brakes and veered onto a dusty pull-out to allow it to pass, barely maintaining control of the bike. The driver gave me a "thank you" wave so I resisted flipping him off.

I can't remember where this picture was taken or in what context. Here it is anyway because I like animal sightings.

In review, I started out my day feeling a little down, then I felt like Superman, then like a slightly lesser superhero, then like a complete loser. Usually I'm on a more even emotional plain. I can't explain what happened.

I limped into Northport, sweat dripping down my face, feeling a little defeated, when I saw this sign.

Okay, it's time to wrap up this whine fest. I called the number on the sign, told the guy I was interested in one of his cottages, the guy showed up five minutes later to check me in, and I moved into my own little $79 cabin. I was happy once again.

This dude writes in a notebook. Typing it into a computer is easy after that.

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Today's ride: 39 miles (63 km)
Total: 139 miles (224 km)

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