Anacortes - Day 5

Ok. Holy shit.

I pulled into Anacortes and ate some Udon. That was fine. Then I went looking for a campsite.

I cruised the neighborhood checking out front yards. None of the houses looked quite right. Then I found a great empty house, but decided that could probably lead to a troubling phone call from a watchful neighbor. So I cruised some more...

I ended up down by the marina, and then it started to pour. And pour. And pour. I slipped under the awning to the Maritime Union Mess Hall, and rolled out my bag. It was cold and oh so wet.

I woke up to the sound of a fuzzy radio, and opened my eyes to see a bald fella with an Anacortes Police Dept. uniform standing in front of me. My first thought? Jail is gonna be warm and dry! But he just gave me directions to a local ritzy hotel and told me I had to get off the property. He was really nice though, we even talked a bit about Park Slope. He went to high school in Sheepshead Bay. I was tempted to ask him how the hell he ended up in the middle of Washington working for the local police, but I figured that the one-hand-on-gun-one-on-radio pose he was giving me probably meant that I should limit the conversation.

It was about 2AM and it had stopped raining. I swung by one of the THOUSANDS of 24 espresso stands throughout Northern Washington hoping for a little sympathy. The friendly lady inside told me that the MacDonald's across the street was 24-hours and run by teenagers.

One chicken sandwich and disgusting coffee later I was passed out on a sticky Mickey D's tabletop. The only other customer was a GIANT fat guy that kept getting up and running over to the soda machine with his water cup whenever the kid behind the counter went to the drive thru window. Yay America. It was actually pretty hilarious. He started yelling at the pimply "manager" when the kid started singing along to some hip-hop that came on the radio....take that progressive Northwest. You still got your rednecks.

At about 5AM, the pimply kid brought me a coffee (I nearly vomited in mouth at the idea of drinking another cup of that shit) and said he was getting off work. Apparently this meant I had to go because he didn't want to get in trouble with the next shift. I guess that made sense. I headed out (really groggy and strung out on shitty coffee) to the laundromat across the street. I figured I'd wash my socks and catch a couple more z's before the sun came up.

I put my clothes in the washer, sat down, and closed my eyes.

"You on a bike tour?"

Oh shit....not now. The one time I don't wanna talk about this ride.

"Yeah, I'm riding down the coast." I answered without even opening my eyes.

I didn't hear a response, so I looked up. It was a middle aged dude with a big white beard in full outdoorsmans gear and fatigues. Next to him was a tightly packed dry bag from which he pulled out a carefully stacked pile of folded shirts. When the folded shirts went into the wash, I knew he meant business. He was standing there nodding approvingly. I looked out the window and saw his enormous 4x4 cargo van with stainless steel storage boxes strapped to the back like on those safari vehicles. On top of the vehicle was a 20' kayak. This dude was intense.

We started chatting a bit, and it turned out he was just passing through town like myself on the way to the big annual kayak convention in Port Townsend. He was really jonesed about the 'rolling' seminars this year. My interest was piqued.

His name was Dan Hunter. He was from Boulder, CO. He had spent most of his working years as a C.O. at a juvenile detention facility. He was in Washington building his own Greenland style kayak, a traditional form pressed from steamed birch slats and lashed with artificial sinew (fake seal tendons) twine. He pulled out a couple books on kayak building and we read through them. It was downright fascinating even in my state of caffiene fueled sleep deprivation. Mid-sentence, he went to his van and pulled out a big fist full of maps for me. He even suggested a few spots for me to check out.

Our mutual buzzers went off and he swiftly folded his shirts into those awesome little department store rectangles, piled them up, and plopped them back into the dry sack.

"Sounds like you have quite an adventure ahead of you." He smiled and stuck out his rough mit. I shook it as firmly as I possibly could. I almost felt like saying "Yes sir."

"If you're at all interested in kayaks, meet me over in Port Townsend some time this weekend. It's gonna be a blast." He jumped into his van and headed towards the highway.

Still reeling from my first awesome run-in with a friendly stranger, I stopped in a little diner across the street and had a big plateful of eggs. As I was eating, a cute little middle-aged guy walked in the door and stared at me from across the restaurant. With a floppy hat and some blue paint he would have made a great Smurf. He kept shooting me sheepish grins between his glances at his newspaper and his sips of coffee. He looked so excited I thought he was going to pee himself. After about 5 minutes he picked up his paper and sat right next to me.

"Big bike trip huh?" he said loudly, with a big smile.

This time I was a bit more conversational, and the eggs had woken me up a bit. I turned towards him with a big smile and explained my situation. His mouth made a big O and his eyes lit up.

"Oh my, Chuck would just love that. He and I went and did a bike tour on the canals of Mersailles last year. It was fantastic."

Although I was really wondering who the hell this Chuck character was, I decided it'd probably be best to discuss bikes, not his imaginary friend. He began talking about touring in France, and then he went for round two.

"Oh geez, that's just wonderful. You know Chuck has done those trips in France about five times, I've only done three, but boy were they a blast."

Again, Chuck. I suddenly felt like I may need to get an explanation. Fortunately, he resolved the mystery before I got my chance.

"Oh, this is so exciting. One second. Let me give Chuck a call. He supposed to be meeting me here for breakfast. We've been working on our boats all morning, he just had to finish a few things up. (ringing) Hello, Chuck? Yeah this is George. Yep. I'm here at the restaurant and we've got a cyclist riding from Vancouver to San Diego. Grab a map or an atlas or something and come on over. Yeah. Oh yeah. Ok I'll see you in a few."

At that, I realized I best be waitin' for Chuck.

About two minutes later, the front door opened and in walked a tall, thin man in his mid-sixties. He was in absolutely peak condition, the kinda guy that stands up and waves to the crowd at an NBA game while they show clips of him doing a hook shot in his Keds, short shorts and sideburns. To top it all off, he sported a perfectly quaffed pencil moustache and neatly pressed salmon-colored newsboy cap. I was half-expecting the country station on the radio to screech to a halt as he stepped into the room.

"Howdy. Chuck. I suspect you're the cyclist?"

I stuck out my hand, gulped. "Yes sir."

He then plopped an enormous atlas on the table, flipped it open to some dog eared pages of France and we checked out all the canals on which him and George had had their adventure.

Through the course of our conversation, I learned that both George and Chuck were retired pilots from Alaskan Airlines. Chuck was also into motorcycles and had recently ridden some dirtbikes with a couple of guys up to the northern border of Canada in the Yukon. Yeah, I didn't know that was possible either. Chuck's phone rang several times throughout the meal, all of which seemed to be wives, daughters or folks with whom he was making some kind of deal. He answered each call candidly, resolved each conversation in less than 30 seconds and signed off every call with "Ok yes. Buh Bye now." And, of course, what hip 65 year old man wouldn't have "Shave and a Haircut" as his ring tone?

At that, the meal ended and the three of us stepped out onto the curb. I realized at that point that George hadn't said a word since Chuck walked in. I think he was having as good a time watching the Chuck Show as I was.

At that point, Chuck gave me his card. Not a business card, but a classy personal card with his name, phone number, email address and a picture of his motor boat. Racking my brain for questions that I might throw at these fellas before they vanished, I remembered that I nearly froze to death the night before and could use a little advice.

"Do you guys know of a store here in Anacortes where I might pick up a pair of winter gloves?" I actually didn't need their advice too much, I was just hoping that my question would somehow spawn more tales of conquest. Chuck scratched his head for a moment and responded.

"Actually... hold on one second. Why don't you go down to that bike shop down the street for a few minutes and I'll meet you there. I think I might have something for you."

At that I shook hands with George and sped off down the street. I wandered around in the shop for a few minutes and the door opened. I could almost hear the crowds chanting his name as he walked in. In one of his massive hands he was carrying five pairs of gloves. Two pairs of gardening gloves, some cotton mittens, a pair of fingerless leathers, and one pair of extra large neoprene diving gloves.

"Take any that you like. I suggest those diving gloves. Plenty warm."

So I did. And I thanked him profusely. As he was walking out the door, he scratched the head of a passing dog and shouted back to me.

"Don't forget to send me progess on your trip!"

At that, I was so pumped up that I jumped on my bike and headed for the highway at full speed through the light rain and biting cold. I had a belly full of eggs, a morning full of inspiration and two very warm hands.

Blaine to Anacortes - Day 4

Today I covered about 60 miles from Blaine (right past the border) to Anacortes, WA. I rolled in to Blaine, well actually a little resort community called Birch Bay, at about 6PM and had nice caesar salad at a funny little beach side karaoke bar called the Blue Fish. It was a really beautiful spot right on the water. Being the resourceful chap that I am, I snuck into the pool at a little condo complex filled with tourists and took a nice long soak in the hot tub. I met a nice couple from Spokane and talked about the weather.

I threw up my tent right behind the complex, woke up early the next morning, snuck back into the building and took a nice hot shower. It was heavenly because it got a little cooler than expected at night. Actually, I froze my balls off.

The ride south from Blaine was stupidly beautiful. Like a postcard around every corner. Everything was perfect except that my disc brake had been howling like a wolf all the way from Vancouver. I was so tempted to call the boys back at Bicycle Habitat, but felt like I probably wouldn't hear the end of it, so I decided to take the damn thing apart and reset it myself. And it worked! Ha! Apparently I'm not as feeble with a bike as I thought I was. Actually, I am. No sane person would ride a hundred miles on a squelly brake.

I spent the morning roaming around Bellingham, WA which was a really great town. I only wish I had sucked it up and made it down there to camp overnight, because there was a lot to be seen. It had a pretty nice downtown and the people were ridiculously friendly. I went into the library to ask if I could rest my bike inside while I browsed the internet. What did I get? The librarian handed me a brand new Kryptonite U-lock and asked me to leave my panniers as collateral. She even said "panniers"! Gotta love progressive bike culture.....

In Bellingham I went to their amazing food coop and got a big bag of Tings, which I munched for about 20 miles down the coolest road in the world, Chuckanut Drive. About halfway down the drive, a nice guy named Spencer (I only know because it said it on his uniform) pulled over and told me how to get up to the Interurban Trail, which was an awesome bikes-only trail running through the forest down to Edison, WA. Easily the most beautiful 20 miles of road I have ever seen.

It started getting dark as I pulled onto WA-20, a big highway that took me out to Fidalgo Island, better known as Anacortes, WA. As it got dark I stopped to eat some Udon soup... and then the mayhem ensued. But that's a whole nuther entry. Stay tuned.

Vancouver - Day 1,2,3

So I arrived in Vancouver on Sunday night. I was met at the airport by a thin goateed fella in his mid-forties with a friendly Canadian accent. His name was Andy.

I knew immediately that Andy was a pretty genuine guy. He had a real honest and curious manner about him. He was really thrilled about the idea of my trip and was happy to help me out. We talked bikes in the car and joked about Canadian-American relations. Mostly we talked about Vancouver, which I would learn was a pretty amazing little city...

I came upon Andy through Lorraine, his wife. Lorraine met my mom last spring when she was in Encinitas helping out her brother John with his wife Carly, who was recently diagnosed with brain cancer. My mom met John when she got some rehab from him a couple years ago. I know, it's all very complicated, but I thought it's probably best to explain how I ended up with a couple Canadians on the other side of the country.

Andy and Lorraine are both paramedics in downtown Vancouver. As Andy said, "we work in the poorest postal code in Canada." This sounds pretty funny to an American, seeing as we've been raised to believe that everything's just a cut above in Canada, and especially in drug-fueled, fun-loving Vansterdam. After spending two days talking about the crime and drug problem in Vancouver, Andy decided to take me to the belly of the beast.

We drove down to Main & Hastings, a neighborhood in downtown Vancouver that would put any ghetto in New York to shame. Andy made me lock my door as we sped through dark alleyways in his district checking out hundreds of crack dealers, heroin junkies and prostitutes lining the streets. He knew most of them by name. When we got home he even showed me a bunch of totems and masks he bought from one crack dealer named John, an Indian who spends most of his time making traditional carvings. In art galleries, John's carvings can sell for thousands of dollars. Andy caught him in a bad spot and was able to pick up a few for a couple hundred bucks. Andy figures that supporting their passions can only help.

The saddest part about the alleys of Vancouver is that they are lined with needle drop points, methadone clinics and zones where addicts can shoot up without getting arrested. After seeing the area with my own eyes and listening to the Andy's horror stories, it's hard to see downtown Vancouver as anything but liberal idealism gone awry. I'm sure it looks different on paper, but holy shit....what a hell hole.

Vancouver had despair coming from all sides. Lorraine discovered about a week before my arrival that her mother had been diagnosed with cancer as well. I can't even imagine what it's like to have one family member fighting cancer, let alone two. But the fact that both Andy and Lorraine had dealt with so much death and misery in their career made for some really interesting discussions about the nature of health, addiction and demise. They were so forward and realistic. It was almost surreal, and certainly refreshing to discuss such heavy material on such matter-of-fact terms.

Despite this downer posting, Vancouver was far from depressing. Andy and I roamed the town and had a really nice time. It's a beautiful city with lots to offer. We ate ox burgers at Stormin' Norman's (my second trip to Canada and my second time eating exotic meats up there. Is it a Canadian thing?) and drank some really nice beers.

The whole time I was in Vancouver I kept feeling like it was such a relaxed place, and so quiet. I couldn't figure out why such a big city felt so different. Then I realized that it was the only North American city I've ever been to that didn't have an Interstate running through it. Ah...thank god for Canada.

On Tuesday at about 1PM I said goodbye to Andy and Lorraine and headed for the border. My journey has begun!

First Post

Hi, this is the blog for my trip down the west coast. I am leaving for Vancouver, BC on September 10th. Wish me luck!