Post 2- Diablo Dam to Priest River

The following day Ian and I went swimming and diving in the lake which is a greenish-blue color. Apparently, this happens because the streams created by the melting ice wash ground down particles from rock and minerals into the lake; the so-called “glacial flour” is suspended in the water with the resulting color. who knew? Later, we raided the leftover lasagna, beets, pancakes and pie at the Evironmental Learning Center, then I did some juggling, hammock napping and an improv music session with Ian and his rommie, Nick. I enjoyed all of the people at B-12; they have hearts of gold. The next morning I went on a tour of the Diablo Power Station with Ian and all the kids. My name was Wendy on the tour because one of the ELC workers couldn’t make it.

Leaving took me much longer than I expected; when I finally had all my things together the clock was at 1 pm and the sun was angry. After hitching a ride back to Ross Lake and replacing two brake pads, I was on the road again. Words can’t do justice to the feeling you get when you get to the top of Rainy Pass, and then back down a hill 500 feet only to start up again to climb Washington Pass at its 5400 feet. The salvation is waiting at the top, where the North Cascade peaks are still snow capped and the air is refreshing. I should also mention the fifteen or more miles of downhill waiting on the East Side in to the "old west" town of Mazama.

I was supposed to stay at an outdoor community house in Mazama with a guy from Coucusurfing.com but he was out of town and the director thought that I would be a liability to the organization if I stayed on the property. Luckily, there was a rock climbing area called Fun Rocks about a half mile away where I was able to set my tent up. I gave some rock climbers a couple of beers and slept in relative comfort that night directly beneath one of the problems.

I left early that morning but the sun was already baking my face and legs, so when I got to Winthrop I had to stop for a rest. There was a farmers market setting up in the town park, so I had to check it out. I set my bike against a tree and tried to buy carrots from one of the vendors and unfortunately they have rules prohibiting selling anything before the official opening. Lucky for me, Amber (the girl working the booth) offered a place to sleep at the farm when I told her I was staying somewhere near Okanogen that night.

The ride over Loup Loup Pass from Winthrop was long, hot and horrible; I couldn’t wait to get into Okanogen town. When I finally came down the other side, I pulled into the first store and there were a couple of bikers wearing Canadian flags all over them. The Canadians! Bill and Linda were headed north that day, they shared their fresh cherries with me and we took a photo-op and off I was again.

The directions I followed to Filaree Farm sent me up a steep hill pass the courthouse in the middle of town. The owners' name is Watershine, she's a nice lady who figured out how to sell more varieties of garlic in the US than any other farm. A group of barefoot interns live in the midst of apple and pears trees in trailers, shacks and there is a spare tree house. Nobody wore shoes, I even took mine off after about ten minutes, It felt very natural to walk around the property that way. The farm makes most of its income selling seed garlic to other farmers, and most of the meals there consist of food from row crops grown organically on site. I had a great time talking with JC, Alex, Amber and Adrian; they showed me how they do things around the farm and I helped out with the irrigation pipes that night. I actually got to sleep in the tree house that night, it was a good thing because I watched thunderstorms rolling in over the countryside all night.

After pounding a couple cups of coffee and I was off to Tonasket where JC had made arrangements for me to stay with his Dutch friend Ton (pronounced Tone) at his Leaping Sheep Farm. I pulled weeds for about three hours in exchange for a wonderful home cooked meal that his wonderfully nice wife, Leah prepared (they just butchered the chicken the day before). When Ton and I were talking about city life versus farm life, he said something that I will always remember; he said, “people have forgotten to live by the rhythms of nature”. I have only now been living this way on my bike for about ten days but I know what he means.

Ton also had an intern, Miriam, who happened to be from Boston. We talked about traveling and life, and later that night I set my tent up in the middle of his row crops. I just so happened to set my tent up in taller grass, and all night long I could hear insects trying to chew their way into my tent from every angle.I was really tired though, so I decided that I wouldn’t let them drive me insane, and just went to sleep. I had another wonderful breakfast with farm fresh eggs, potatoes and coffee and I was on the road again.

This time I had to go over Wauconda pass after riding seven miles back into town. I don’t like the passes in this part of Washington, they seem to go on forever and ever. I was extremely parched when I arrived at the general store in Wauconda which doubled as the post office and café. The refills of coke were free! happy day! That was the only good thing about the ride that day.

I got into a mining town called Republic where they still mine for gold, and all the men in town look like they just came down from the mountain from months of prospecting (just joking). I stayed at the Fairgrounds under a horse barn that was still under construction. The old, bushy-haired camp host was drinking beer with his buddies when I pulled in and he said, " You can do whatever you want here, you could sleep under the covered bridge if you want". So I wondered around the grounds, made my ramen and tuna packets for dinner and played Led Zeppelin on my laptop. Just as soon as I had all my things in order the sky ripped open again and started pouring buckets. The thunder rolled across the hills in waves and lighting flashed every thirty seconds. I couldn’t be happier under my generous shelter; this was one of those moments that you realize that things just work out the way they were supposed to.

Just up the road, there was a café that had huge portions of eggs and potatoes and that seemed to fuel me all the way up Sherman Pass. This ride was supposed to be longest and hardest but all I did the whole time was focus on flexing my core like yoga instructors tell you. I was at the top quicker than all of the other passes and the ride down was very exhilarating. My next stop was in Colville, and as I rolled into town there was a sheriff that must have driven by at least three times (that’s just what they do in small towns).

I had made plans to stay with a hay farmer, Angie Barton; she picked me up in her Toyota at the farmers market. We went to the local micro brewery and had a couple of cold ones, I think that she must have known every person in the warehouse-turned-brewery. When we arrived at the farm, I couldn’t believe the amount of animals that surrounded the house and barns. It was like Charlotte’s Web, minus the talking animals. Angie and her husband Dennis have four children, including eighteen year old twins (Ellie and Claire) and two peacocks, and a tarantula. They have close to five hundred acres, part of which is on a hillside that has a lake hidden behind a rocky butte.

After I took millions of pictures of the animals, I milked a cow and goat; then they took me for a ride up to the butte to catch the sunset. Angie then caught two rattlesnakes with her bare hands, but the horses her girls were riding got spooked. This was the kind of crazy fun that doesn't exist in the city. I also thought that this part of Washington was all desert, and it was until Wauconda, but I was impressed with all the green hills and trees. I was also impressed with the way the Angie raises her children, they were all so happy, respectful and polite. Life slows down when you live on a farm. I was served lamb sausages, potatoes, and pancakes with huckleberries and apricot sauce for breakfast. I have not eaten this well since I was a young.

I was off to Ione around 9 am, and through the hills I went past Crystal Falls and through the nonexistent town of Tiger. When I chocked my wheels in Ione, the river by the city park beckoned me to dive on in. I ate BBQ burritos and a peach for lunch and proceeded to leave town, only in the wrong direction. I didn’t realize this for three miles, and I had to backtrack to get on track. The Pend Oreille River is wide, slow flowing and very flat the whole way South, except for the insane headwind the whole time. At about mile 60 for the day, I stopped at a campsite to dip my head in the river. I met a man named Mike who was with his family and they were all riding their bikes around camp. He gave me a ginger ale and I told him about my trip. He informed me that the road ahead was torn up, nasty and muddy for 6 miles, so I had no idea how I was going to make it through. The incredibly generous man gave me a ride in his truck down the road through the muck and let me off across the river from Usk. He and his family were the only people around for miles, and if I hadn’t talked to him then I would have been S.O.L.

I rode another 30 miles to a town called Priest River, bought a small bottle of scotch and slept at the campsite called “Mud Hole”. They had a bicycle site that only cost me three dollars and I built a fire, drank scotch, and ate couscous. Life on the road has its redeeming moments...

p.s. I have tons of pictures but I am having trouble uploading them, I will reformat them soon.