Circling the U.S. Chapter 37: Northern Washington Passes Part 2

Giving up isn't so bad if you make it on the second try. The only problem was we left our gear behind, so it was back down the way we came to Mazama.

Saturday, Sept. 7 - Tuesday, Sept. 10, 2019

The scenery was pretty enough, but I was ready for the Cascade Mountains I'd heard so much about. Would we ever get to them?

We easily conquered Loup Loup Pass on Saturday, September 7, a climb of 3000 feet over 22 miles. Traffic on the pass wasn't too bad; we were passed by antique cars on their way to a vintage car festival in Winthrop. It was fun watching them go by.

After descending the western side of the pass we finally saw beautiful views of the Cascades in the distance. We took a brief detour off the main highway into the old downtown of Twisp. We sat outside a bakery and shared a "cinnamon twisp." Next door was a natural foods market where folks were sitting at outdoor tables eating rice and noodle bowls that looked inviting. But we'd already eaten our lunch and still had some miles to put in. Next time we're in the neighborhood we'll definitely allow some time to explore Twisp and its many art galleries.

Then it was on to Winthrop where the vintage car show was breaking up. The town has adopted an old western look with wooden sidewalks and a building code that requires all businesses look like they are from the Old West. Aside from watching the vintage cars drive by, we stopped for our daily ice cream fix.

Continuing west through the Methow Valley, we arrived in Mazama.

Downtown Mazama is pretty much defined by the Mazama Store, a hangout for outdoor enthusiasts.

As the next few days unfolded we realized how incredibly lucky we were that Jason, a Warm Showers host in Mazama, agreed to let us stay with him on Saturday night. He and his wife, Valerie, have a beautiful home with a small guest studio above their garage.  Valerie was visiting family in Alaska, so Jason was on his own cooking us a delicious dinner of grilled salmon, potatoes, beets, and corn. Dessert was fresh local peaches and ice cream. We ate on their screened porch while a storm broke and rain poured down. Jason said it reduced the fire danger from very high to zero.

Good news for locals was not such good news for us. The forecast for the next few days was looking like the rain was not just a passing storm. Would we have a repeat of Logan Pass, riding through spectacular scenery without being able to see it? We discussed the possibility of us hanging out and waiting a day. Or two.

Thinking the rain would continue into the morning, I couldn't get myself out of bed until after seven o'clock on Sunday, September 8. But it wasn't raining, only overcast. Rob and I went over to talk to Jason and get his opinion on what to do. We looked at the current radar picture. We looked at several weather forecasts. Nothing looked good, not now, not in several days. We decided to pack up and go. But we had options. Jason said, "If you get up to the summit and it's terrible up there, come back down and I'll drive you back up tomorrow." Or, he'd be going to Seattle on Tuesday and could drive us then.

We left Mazama under an overcast sky.

I stopped to wait for Rob at five miles. He said, "At least you can see the mountains."

I said, "Yeah, but you don't know what you're missing." The cloud cover was pretty low. I kept trying to find a positive attitude This was the part of our journey I'd been looking forward to, thinking we'd be riding through beautiful mountains for a week, not realizing that we'd have to cross three passes before even getting a glimpse of them in the distance. Then, only a day, two at the most, to cycle through them. And if it's raining, we'll see nothing.

Traffic was bad, everybody heading home to Seattle or somewhere else after a weekend camping, dragging their RVs and campers over the pass, not giving us an extra inch. The shoulder was limited and so was the visibility.

At ten miles I stopped to wait for Rob. When he caught up, I said, "I'm thinking maybe we just keep riding down from the summit. There's no point in trying to hike and it's going to be raining tomorrow." Rob agreed. We'd probably be camping in the rain.

With only four miles to go to the summit, it started raining. Then it started raining hard. I thought, "Damn, this is Logan Pass all over again. The two best passes of the trip and we get stuck with shitty weather." I thought about Jason's suggestion that we ride back down if the weather got bad. It was bad but it was the traffic that had me concerned as it got wetter and darker.

I stopped at a pullout to wait for Rob. There was a car parked but nobody inside who could give me shelter from the wet. I tried the car door. I was that desperate, but it was locked. I put on my rain jacket and waited. When I saw an older gentleman walking along the road, picking things up, I walked toward him. He had an armful of rocks. I said, "I was hoping your car would be unlocked, but it wasn't. I would have snuck inside to stay dry."

He said, "Nobody with any sense keeps their car unlocked."

The rain had stopped so we stood outside and talked a bit. An amateur geologist, he had come for the weekend to look for rocks. He told me about rocks that change color under different lights and started rummaging through his car to show me some, just as Rob came cycling up.

I said to Rob, "I'm thinking maybe we should ride back down and see if Jason can give us a ride back up here Tuesday. If it's nice we can get him to drop us off at the summit. If it's not, we'll take a ride further."

Rob said, "I agree."

We stayed and talked to Tom, the geologist. He had a small box of rock samples from around the world. He took out different flashlights that shone UV light, fluoresent light, incandescent light - I'm not sure which because I can never get them straight. But what he was able to do was show us how the rocks changed color under different kinds of light. One went from blue to green. Another from orange to white. He had fun sharing his rock knowledge with us; we had fun learning about the wonders of minerals.

We put on warm clothing for the ride down, said good-bye to Tom. He told us that we could check the box saying we'd ridden the pass.

We had a cold wet ride down, the rain starting again. Jason wasn't home, but the door to our little apartment was unlocked. A hot shower, lunch, and a two-hour nap were the perfect antithesis to our morning adventure.

We stayed in the studio apartment above the garage. The main house is on the left, blending into the woods.

I'd texted Jason to let him know that he couldn't get rid of us too easily. He didn't seem to mind. While he was preparing fish tacoes for dinner, I looked outside and saw blue sky. One option was for Jason to drive us to the summit in the morning. But the forecast called for more rain. We'd get up early and then make a plan.

Jason was wonderful, taking it in stride when we kept coming back.

Monday morning, September 9, after evaluating the weather - more rain - we decided to stay another day with our kind and generous Warm Showers host Jason.

Rob suggested we bike back down the valley 13 miles to Winthrop just to have something to do before the rain started in earnest. I thought that was a good idea but when I stepped outside around nine o'clock and saw blue sky, I said, "Let's ride up the pass until we can't see the mountains anymore." I figured at some point they'd be socked in with rain like yesterday, but maybe we'd get some views ahead of that. So we took off up the pass - on unloaded bikes - and kept going.

The clouds stayed high and blue patches of sky stuck around even as the sky darkened down below in the valley. Traffic was light. When we reached the place where we turned around I knew we would get to the summit. My happiness was unbounded.

If you look carefully down the canyon you can see the road below, where we came from.

There's a little dot down there on the road below. It's Rob, coming up the pass to join me.

You can still see the road below.

There is nothing like taking that last switchback up to the top of a pass, looking down to where you just came from and thinking, "Whoa, I did that?" The views were incredible. We were surrounded  by steep rocky cliffs. I didn't mind waiting for Rob as I just soaked up the immense glory of the mountains.

Giving up isn't so bad if you make it on the second try. The only problem was we left our gear behind, so it was back down the way we came to Mazama.

It wasn't raining at the summit but a couple motorcyclists coming from the other direction said there was rain on the other side of the pass. So we were happy to go back to Mazama, to a comfortable, dry place to spend the night.

The beauty of road biking over mountain biking and hiking is the downhill. You can just let it rip. Even 20 mph feels fast and we clocked over 30 at times, down, into the rain. Back to Jason's with plenty of time for an afternoon nap and a walk to the Mazama Store, a mecca for outdoors enthusiasts, including PCT hikers. Then Rob cooked dinner - mac and cheese, tossed salad and a bottle of pinot grigio.

Rob has been cooking dinner whenever he can. I'm looking forward to his retirement when he's been threatening to take some cooking classes.

Jason had a nine o'clock meeting in Seattle on Tuesday, September 10, and offered to drop us off wherever we wanted along Route 20, going over Washington Pass and heading to the coast. We left his house before 5 a.m. When we arrived at the summit of Washington Pass it wasn't raining, but there was significant low cloud cover, and still dark. We decided to continue on to the bottom of the pass rather than risk getting caught in more rain with no views on the way down. Jason dropped us off outside the visitor center in Newhalem just as the sun was coming up.

We rode west through the Skagit River Valley with clouds carpeting the mountains on both sides, sun and clouds overhead. We had minimal traffic as we often followed country roads that ran parallel to the highway. By now we were out of the mountains on mostly flat terrain.

The sign on the building says, "Cascadian Farm Organic."

Then we crossed a cement bridge and came to the town of Concrete. Yes, its history is tied to cement plants.

Concrete is a one-street town. I'm sure it's generally pretty quiet around lunch time on a Tuesday in September. But we happened to arrive in Concrete during a convening of a national group of horseless buggy owners.

If you have a passion for anything you can find a niche for it. These were members of the Horseless Carriage Club, owning cars from the earliest days of the automobile. They came from all around the country, transporting their horseless buggies in trailers. They were staying in a nearby town, taking day excursions of around 50 miles, driving only on country roads. Local townspeople gathered around the cars talking to their owners, who were happy to share their knowledge and passion.

Most of the drivers even dress the part.

Rob and I were both intrigued by the rippled style of the trunk of this tree. I took this picture while we stopped at a town park along our way, hoping someone could identify it. Nobody did, so if you know what kind of tree this is, please post a comment or send me an email.

After 67 miles Rob and I arrived in Mt. Vernon, the westward part of our journey pretty much completed.

Circling the U.S. Chapter 36: Northern Washington Passes - Part 1

This is the elevation profile from our Adventure Cycling map. We were riding west, so read it from right to left. Washington served up a few passes.

Monday, September 2 - Friday, September 6, 2019
When I think about northern Washington, it's the passes I remember most: Sherman, Wauconda, Loup Loup, Washington. Just past Washington we had one left, Rainy, almost an afterthought. We had to skip it.

All summer I'd been looking forward to riding through the Cascades. I'd heard about how beautiful they are, as spectacular as the Rockies. Neither Rob nor I had ever been there; we were ready to be impressed. I figured it would take us several days to pass through them and we'd take some extra time to do some hiking. It didn't happen that way at all.

We had some climbing to do. Once we summited Logan Pass in Glacier we thought, we're good. We can tackle anything now. Then we got to Sherman. 

On Monday, September 2, we started our day with 20 mostly flat miles along the Pend Oreille River.

We crossed over the Pend Oreille River on our way to the tiny town of Ione where we looked forward to getting a second breakfast. 

The bridge was built in 1934.

According to our Adventure Cycling map, we could look forward to a restaurant in Ione, population 447. But all we found, besides a few deserted buildings, was a convenience store. Inside three older women sat at a large round table drinking coffee.

"Is there anyplace to get breakfast?" I asked.

"The closest place is about 14 miles, uphill, at the Beaver Lodge."

Rob and I decided we'd better fuel up with a donut and cup of tea.

The hill was a tough one; I had to put everything I had into it. Rob continues to impress me, the way he just keeps plugging along. He doesn't believe me, but I think that several years ago, when I changed the gearing on his bike, I gave him some climbing gears that surpassed mine. I'm glad I did. I don't think he'd make it without them.

Because of Rob's lung disease, I always lose him on the hills. But I was happy to stop after two and four miles to wait for him. I caught my breath, drank some water, wiped the sweat off my face, and learned a new tune on my whistle, Pays de Haut.

The Beaver Lodge and Resort at the top of the climb was nothing fancy, a rustic log building housing a bare bones cafe and general store along with cabins to rent on a small lake. We didn't get our second breakfast; it was time for lunch. We ordered burgers and fries, well-deserved junk food after a thousand-foot climb.

After 56 miles we arrived at a free bike hostel outside Colville. Because we were late in the season, the hostel had already been rented for the winter months to an older couple. But they were required to keep a room free for bicyclists.

The next day, Tuesday, September 3, we met our match. After a second breakfast in Kettle Falls we started climbing. Logan's Pass was a dream climb compared to this. After eight miles we came to road construction and had to stop for about 20 minutes. Then they moved the work zone uphill so we had to stop again when we got to that one. The only advantage was that, once we were above it the traffic only came in waves. I stopped to wait for Rob regularly, usually when I was so wiped out I had to catch my breath and give my legs a rest, let my heart rate settle down. I'd try to find a shady spot. There weren't many. Sadly, this was not a beautiful pass. There were no scenic overlooks, no tourist rest stops with picnic tables and restrooms. Just guard rails and slow-traffic pullouts. And it was hot. Once I waited for Rob for so long, I began to worry. I envisioned heat stroke. Or a heart attack. It was almost 20 minutes since I'd stopped and I had only left him about four miles ago. And I wasn't just worried about Rob. I was running low on water. I flagged down the next car that came downhill. A woman about my age stopped. "Do you have any water?" I asked. "I'm sorry, no." "Would you do me a favor and keep an eye out for another cyclist coming up? Just please make sure he's okay." She assured me she would. Just after she left, Rob came along. Less than 7 miles from the summit I started counting how many quarter miles I had to go. 27, then 26; I watched the odometer inch its way up to the next quarter mile. Rob and I agreed to meet again in 4 miles, but I had to stop and catch my breath after two and a half. Then another mile and I got off my bike and walked a half mile to another pullout. Three miles to the summit. I was just about out of water. We'd thought to fill an extra collapsible water bottle but that was long gone. We should have filled two. I tried flagging down a car coming from the summit. The second one, a little white hatchback, stopped, two young women inside. "Do you have any extra water?" I asked. They thought for a minute. "Just this one that's been opened," and they handed me a partly filled small bottle. "That's great. Thank you." "Wait a minute. We may have more." They both looked in the back seat but came up empty. "We have a cooler of ice," the driver said. "We're just getting back from a shower." I said, "That would be perfect," and filled both water bottles with as much ice as they would hold. Eventually Rob caught up to me, walking his bike. "I ran out of water and started getting dizzy," he said. "I have a gift for you," and I handed him one of my water bottles full of ice and water. "Let's stop at the campground for sure. It should be in about two miles." Our map had a US Forest Service campground .7 miles from the summit. "Give me your empty bottle and the spare one. I'll get the water and meet you at the entrance." Another mile and I saw a sign for Sherman Overlook Recreational Area. That was the name of the campground, but there was no camping symbol. A car was waiting to pull out, the window open, an older man, his gray hair pulled into a ponytail, inside. "Do you have any water?" I called out.   "Sure do!" he said, and turned off his engine, walked around to the back passenger side, and pulled out a gallon of water. I filled all our bottles and we talked while I waited for Rob. He was a free spirit, ski racer, hang glider, lived in Hawaii and now in the Cascades. He said the campground was closed but the summit was in half a mile. I didn't dare believe him, only hoped he was right. He was. We made it.

The climb up Sherman Pass offered no dramatic scenic views so I didn't get my camera out until the summit. Here comes Rob.

It took us six hours, from 10:30 until 4:30, to ride 25 miles to the summit. But even then we weren't done.

A view from the descent.

After a glorious descent we stopped for ice cream sodas. We knew we weren't done climbing and ice cream is the perfect fuel to charge us up for the final miles at the end of a long day. To get to the town of Republic where we had a Warm Showers home to stay in, we had to start the climb for the next pass, Waucunda.

Around 7:00 we arrived at the drugstore where Patty, our host worked. It was closed, but Patty came outside to give us directions to her house. We still had a 3/4 mile climb. Patty said later, "I try to have cyclists meet at the drugstore because I don't want them to know about that last bit of climbing until they've gotten here." We had to dig deep to find the energy for that last hill.

Patty and her husband Rob live on the outskirts of town in the house where they raised three sons, all grown. Many Warm Showers hosts are empty nesters, offering their children's bedrooms to bicycle tourists. As Rob and I settled in, we discussed our plan for the next day. We both knew we needed a rest day before tackling the next pass. I said, "I'll talk to Patty and ask if we can stay another night. If we can't we'll get a motel room."

After showering I joined Patty in the kitchen. She asked what our plans were for the next day. I hesitated, then said, "We were wondering if we might be able to stay another night."

She immediately said, "Of course. Most cyclists want to take a rest day. Either direction. Coming from the west coast, they've come from sea level and climbed three passes usually in three days. From the east, they've just done Sherman."

Patty's husband Rob was in Alaska, returning the next day. Even though she'd had a long day filling prescriptions, she cooked us a delicious dinner of fettucine alfredo with zucchini and dungeness crab.

Wednesday, September 4, we spent the morning sitting in Patty and Rob's living room, reading and writing, and enjoying the view of the mountains out their window. That morning we also compared our gears. In Rob's lowest gear on one pedal rotation he didn't go as far as my bike went in its lowest gear. He said he can ride around 3.5 miles an hour in that gear. The slowest I can go is about 4.5 mph. That's about a 5 minute difference for every mile. So if I stop and wait after just 3 miles, that's 15 minutes of waiting time. Plenty of time to worry. But at least now I knew why I had to wait so long. We checked our odometers, It took me 6 hours, 55 minutes to ride 63 miles yesterday. It took Rob 8 hours 35 minutes to go the same distance. I spent an hour and 40 minutes waiting for him over the course of the day. Rob said, "You don't have to stop and wait so often." I said, "Can you imagine if I only waited at the top of the pass and had to wait an hour and 40 minutes for you? I'd go nuts with worry." And boredom. Besides, Rob has admitted he likes hearing my whistle. Usually it means he's almost at the top of a climb. We walked down the hill to downtown Republic, which has one main street. After lunch and some grocery shopping we ran into people we knew, Dave and Rose Ellen, who we'd camped next to for three nights in Waterton Village a couple weeks ago. We got to talking and, since we were right next to the local microbrew, we popped in for a beer. We had fun comparing notes on where we'd been. And, who knows? They're from Fort Collins, Colorado, so maybe our paths will cross again. Rob and Patty Slagle own the local drug store in Republic, opened in 1904 by Rob's grandfather.  That's Patty Slagle, who gave us a perfect ending to one of our toughest days. Wednesday night we turned the tables and prepared dinner for Patty and her husband, Rob, who had arrived home from Alaska earlier in the day. Over dinner we enjoyed hearing about their lives, raising three sons who attended the public K-12 school with 300 other kids. Rob worked in the local gold mine before going to college. (It closed last year.) They shared pictures and stories about the fire that burned in the area in 2015, when a lot of the town evacuated and smoke was so thick you could hardly see 10 feet in front of you. We wondered about the different types of trees in thie area, so Rob took us outside in the dark to show us a tamarack tree. Thursday, September 5, we rode 14 miles up Wauconda Pass, then the rest mostly downhill. It's a good thing, too, because it was hot and a headwind kicked in, making even flat terrain hard work. The last 5 miles into town, with a 5% downhill grade, had some lovely rock formations. We only rode 41 miles, so we wouldn't have to ride three passes in three days.

I was surprised at how dry everything was. Expecting to be in the Cascades by now, Patty had told me, "No, you are still in the western foothills of the Rockies." 

In Tonasket we found the visitor center on the main street with free camping in back. The little camping area was quite lovely, with a picnic table and green lawn. We had it to ourselves. A sign let us know to expect the sprinklers to come on at 9 a.m. and directed us to showers at the convenience store a couple blocks away and the library next door. On our way to the library we passed the police station with a sign on the door: "Police station permanently closed." We were happy to see a couple Sheriff cars pull into the visitor center parking lot later in the evening. At least the town wasn't completely lawless.

When we asked at the library and convenience store about recommendations for a restaurant, we consistently got the same three mentioned. The first two were all-American food - burgers and that sort of thing. The last, a Mexican restaurant, was closed. But we found a farmer's market and a well-stocked grocery store so we were able to have fresh corn, sauteed summer squash with onion and tomato, and mac and cheese for dinner. We've discovered that, without butter, salt does not stick to corn-on-the-cob very well, but it is still delicious. For dessert we walked to the grocery store across the street and bought a pint of ice cream to share; we were able to agree on vanilla with caramel swirl.

We camped behind the building on the left. We had to walk down the street for showers but the visitors center had a bathroom that was clean and left open.

Friday, September 6, was a planned easy day before tackling the next two passes. When we pulled into Omak after eleven o'clock, and only 28 miles, we still had another five miles to Okanogen. But Rob saw a Mexican restaurant and that was the end of our riding for the day. He insisted that I order a margarita; he knows how much I enjoy them. When he said he wanted to stay in Omak for the night because it was bigger than Okanogen. I was in no condition to argue. Between the chips and salsa, an enchilada and chili relleno, and the margarita, all I wanted was a nap.

On our way to Omak, not in the Cascades yet.

We found the campground on the outskirts of town, Rob set up the tent, we got out our sleeping pads, and laid down in the shade and slept for an hour.

We camped next to the Stampede Arena. Check out the steep dirt road to the right. That's where they have what they call the Suicide Race. On horses.

After waking up, we walked back into town to find the library. When we got kicked out at five o'clock so they could close, we stopped at a natural food store for a soda. Then we went in search of ice cream. We couldn't find any, but, looking down a side street, we saw the Breadliner Cafe, which looked promising. After our big lunch, we were definitely not looking to go out for another meal, but when we walked inside, got seated and looked at the menu, we knew we were going to have to order something.

This turned out to be the kind of restaurant where, if we lived nearby, we would be regulars. We shared a spinach lasagne that was topped with an alfredo sauce instead of mozzarella cheese. It came with a small serving of perfectly cooked brocolli, summer squash, and carrots, and a side salad with house made lemon mint dressing. Rob ordered a huckleberry shake for dessert. I was just going to have a taste, but it came with the metal container filled about a third with leftovers, a perfect amount for someone who didn't really want dessert. Everyting was delicious and the decor was great fun. Three bicycles hung from the ceiling as well as countless musical instruments. The walls were filled with assorted pictures and shelves full of antique pots. It was a visual delight.

We crossed this river in Omak when we walked from the campground to the downtown.

The town of Omak had a tired and rundown feel to it. Like so many of the towns we ride through, you get the sense that their shining glory is behind them. It's fun to find the sparks of a future - a natural foods store, a quality Mexican restaurant, a top-notch restaurant like the Breadliner Cafe that was clearly doing a booming business.