Roads I remember - Part 1

Chuckanut Drive - Outside of Fairhaven, Bellingham, Washington

http://www.panoramio.com/photo/37136090 Courtesy of reuthermonkey

In the summer of 2003 I set out for my first endurance bike ride from Vancouver to Seattle. The route I took was about 250km, and took me down Puget Sound, along the coast, through mountain passes, and into the tulip fields of Skagit County. It was beautiful and immensely satisfying - with a climb up a big hill that lasted over 3 hours (and on the other side was a steep and exhilarating decent that lasted well over an hour). But what I remember most was a stretch of Chuckanut Drive, just outside the peaceful suburb of Fairhaven, a part of Bellingham.

I approached this trip with very little preparation. At the time, I knew nothing about touring on a bicycle. All I had was a helmet and two backpacks - I didn’t bring a sleeping bag or any kind of rain gear - which was truly stupid in the Pacific Northwest. My knowledge of the road was nil, and I had no tools, no spare parts, and no lights. I thought I was going for a ride in the park.

My expectations were quickly shattered when both my tires blew just across the border. I spent hours wandering around a strip mall near the border, wondering if I should just call the whole thing off. I quickly learned very expensive lessons in amateur bike repair - I bought inner tubes at random from the convenience store, hoping it would fit. It was one of those extremely dumb, but very educational moments in my life: I learned how tires were sized in the parking lot, cursing and kicking myself for being so stupid. I eventually hitched a ride with the store clerk who took all my money that afternoon (because I failed to change my inner tubes properly, even after all that trial and error). He took me to a bike shop in Bellingham, where I got the parts I needed.

By the time everything was fixed, it was nightfall - and I had no place to stay and my schedule was shot. I figured that I should take it easy, and got myself a bite at a local bar and discovered what would become my favourite beer: Stille nacht from De Dolle Brouwers (Silent Night from the Crazy Brewers in Esen, Belgium). I’ve been looking for beers from their label ever since but I’ve had no luck. It remains the best beer experience of my life.

Drunk and homeless, I slept on a park bench and woke up in the middle of the night. My journey into the darkness began. With no lights, I relied solely on dim streetlights and whatever windows were still illuminated. Excitement built as I pedaled into the black abyss of the winding path that lay ahead, leading out of the city and into the forest. Within minutes, houses bled away and I was truly alone.

There were forests to my left and right. It was so dark I couldn’t see the cliff right at the edge of the road I pulled along - slightly uphill. I suddenly realised the gravity of the situation - I couldn't see where I was going, and I was cold and desperate for a safe place to stop. A well lit fire station appeared around a bend and it was my haven. It was uninhabited, but well equipped. Through the windows I could see firefighting equipment and some tables, chairs. I took out my only towel, and spread it out under the watchful eye of a security camera in the middle of the small tarmac lot in front of the station. I stayed there, fading in and out of sleep for several hours, until the first light of the morning.

Newly energised, I biked with the sun as it rose. And I was enveloped in beauty. Without knowing it, I stumbled onto a path cutting through the forest along the cliff of the shoreline. To my right was the sound: radiant blue water dotted with islands shimmering in the early light. To my left was dense forest that rose high up into the mountains. I biked through the fragrance of cedar, fir and pine, only to turn another corner and found the view even better than before.

Technically, I had a lot of problems on this road. My inner tubes burst eight times and each time, I had to stop and put my new-found talents of tire and tube repair to the test. This was my proving ground. I removed my front and back wheels, pried my tires off the rims, patched the holes, replaced the tires back onto the rim, reattached the wheels, and reinflated the tires. I had become an expert at replacing tubes and tires - I can do the whole thing in one or two minutes now.

The segment ended quickly, leading me to flat green and yellow farmland that stretched for hours on end until I reached the next town. But this section of Chuckanut Drive will forever live in my mind - as the place where I found peace in riding a bike, where I learned the art of bicycle maintenance, and where I fell in love with riding in the night.