Blog Post 27, Monday 8 August, on rest day at Colville, Washington

"You're hauling ass, man!", called out the day cyclist as he passed me.

I hoped he was referring to the weight of my panniers. But he might have meant the size of my derriere..... (Though I have lost about 14 lbs, 5 kgs, in body weight since this trip began.)

Whichever 'ass' he meant, I have hauled it for some big mileages since my last Post, including two 95 mile days. 

Tranquil reflections on Lake Savage

Bull Lake

I have referred earlier in this Blog to the many beautiful lakes in northern Montana. A noteworthy one I cycled along (for 50 miles!) after leaving Eureka was Lake Koocanusa, formed by the Libby Dam, built across a very long but narrow valley, for hydroelectric power in about 1970.

Lake Koocanusa

Some views along it were uplifting, but generally I found it depressing, because there was no human habitation on its shores, and very little human activity, just the odd fishing boat. The Lake and its surroundings all seemed curiously artificial and lifeless, so I was glad to leave it.....

Libby Dam, at the end of Lake Koocanusa

But later that same day I rode alongside the Kootenai River and past pretty lakes and wild mountains like the 'Cabinet Mountains',

The Cabinet Mountains

on my way into Idaho, State no 9 of my trip. 

This photo of me at the State Line was taken by a touring cyclist, Rick, I had earlier met at lunch that day.

Lake Pend Oreille

I spent only one night in Idaho, at Sandpoint, which sits on a huge lake called Pend Oreille (called after yet another the name the French gave to an Indian tribe). I cycled along its shore for at least 20 miles in the late afternoon, and the calm blue water harmonised wonderfully with the blue mountains around.

Sandpoint is a resort town. By and large I find the atmosphere in such towns less interesting than in the many 'ordinary' smaller towns I have passed through. (Resort town prices are far higher too, and my motel bill in them can be 3 or 4 times higher than I typically pay. Ouch!)

Big skies continue in Idaho

There is a festival on just now in Sandpoint. One event which I encountered as I left the town was a mass swim across part of the lake - 1.7 miles. I admire people who can swim that kind of distance, which is well beyond my capabilities. (And I noticed one participant who was doing it butterfly - wow!)

Swimmers crossing Lake Pend Oreille

I was asked a flattering question in a cafe two days ago. One of my two cycling tops dates from 2007, when Julia, Sara, Rhys and I cycled the first stage of the Tour de France (from London to Canterbury);  the tops we all wore had the TdeF logo. Anyway, in the cafe, a guy came up to me and asked, "Excuse me. I notice your top; have you been a participant in the Tour de France?"  Would that I were that good! - it would be easier to 'haul ass'!

I am now in Washington, my tenth and final State. Annoyingly there was no sign to indicate the State Line, which runs through the middle of Newport, in fact through the Safeway store. (Not worth a special photo, I felt.)

The Pend Oreille River

The Pend Oreille River was my companion for a good few hours on Saturday and yesterday. Unlike the fast flowing rivers I accompanied in Montana, this is wide and tranquil, seeming more like a lake.



The calm Pend Oreille River

In past years it was used for floating rafts of logs down river, and at a small place called Usk there were in the River lots of timber piers; I had to ask what they were for - it was to tether the logs for sorting on their journey downstream.

Piers originally for tethering logs going downriver

Talking of photos, I suspect there has been a surfeit of views (yet more mountains, valleys, lakes, rivers, you may have complained!). That's in part because the views are constantly breathtaking, as I have so often said.



Reflections of clouds

But one of the joys of this trip has been the little things there are to observe on the road. They might be an old (1950s?) car advertising I know not what; 

 or some interesting flowerpots;

or an intriguing set of sculptures (perhaps - I am guessing - symbolising the cooperation inherent in the American Indian 'pow-wow');

or a mass of daisies in a meadow.....

I have also twice cycled (literally) under nests constructed on platforms on the tops of telegraph poles;  I think they are nests of bald eagles.

The chicks were plain to see, and making a lot of anxious noise at my presence. And yesterday I noticed a Union Jack - yesss! -  flying beside a house, the first I've seen!

One event I haven't photographed (as Julia, my Art Editor, wasn't there to prompt me) was my first puncture. Or indeed my second.... (I blame a defect in the tyre, because the tyre 'bead' came through the rubber and pierced the inner tube. I have never before heard of this happening. Anyway, the first time it happened I bent the bead away from the tube, which worked for a day. But yesterday it happened again. Happily my stock of spares included a new tyre......)

I have noted several times in this Blog the reflections I have on the fate of the American Indians as the white man took over their land. Two days ago, in one of those chance encounters that are so rewarding, I fell into conversation with a motorcyclist, Bill, who is himself half-Indian and a pastor. He was touring through a number of Indian Reservations, praying - as he put it - for drug abuse and alcoholism. I remarked that in the two Reservations I have cycled through I saw no signs of effort to maintain or restore Indian customs and heritage. I am pleased to say that he contradicted me;  it varies from tribe to tribe, he said, but in some there is a real and successful attempt to keep the old traditions and attitudes.

But I suspect it is a very uphill battle. I had dinner two evenings ago with another cyclist, Sung. He lives in Chicago but is Korean by birth. He told me he is sometimes mistaken for 'Native American', and he often gets verbal abuse: "Get back to your Reservation!". He says there is still, by some, real hatred (his word) for the Indians.

As you can tell from my preoccupation with it, this aspect of American history is the one dark area I have encountered. (I should add that I have had very little contact indeed with black Americans; my route has taken me through overwhelmingly white areas. Had I been, say, through the Deep South, my preoccupations would doubtless be different.)

Some of the conversations I get into, in which people ask me about this adventure of mine, lead into a revelation of their dreams too. At breakfast in my Sandpoint motel, the waitress told me that when she retires in five years time, she and her husband are going to go sailing round the South Pacific, and she can't wait. May her dream be fulfilled as happily as mine is being!

My own dream, of course, is coming towards its end. Five more days of cycling, after 66 riding days so far, and less than 350 miles left. I can't really believe it....

Mountain silhouettes before sunrise

The challenge ain't over yet, though. The first four of those five days involve going over four mountain passes here in N Washington, in all involving 13,000 feet of climbing!  That's more intense climbing than either the Appalachians or the Rockies - oh dear....

I hope therefore I'm not too exhausted to give Janet that huge hug when we meet, with Sue Frank, beside the ocean at Anacortes on Saturday! (Janet flies on Wednesday to Washington DC for one night with Gary and Jamie Usrey, then on to Seattle on Thursday.)

I shall Post once more before Anacortes. And until then, thank you (I know I keep saying this, but it is very true) for supporting and encouraging me thus far.

All best wishes, Ken