On the last sunny Friday in September, my husband and I took off on a three-day bike ride on the Palouse to Cascades trail in Washington state with three other couples. Though we had taken several bike trips with this group and other folks, we had never ridden this trail (nor on a crushed gravel and sand surface.) The adventure was not supported by a guide or outfitter, though we rented mountain bikes from a local company who picked us up for the start and agreed to meet us at the finish. Though I had planned the logistics carefully, we were on our own. We were a fit and resilient group. I joked that we all had health insurance, cell phones, and credit cards – what could go wrong?
The first day’s plan was to bike from Rattlesnake Lake in North Bend to the top of Snoqualmie Pass, about twenty miles. My main concern when organizing the ride was that twenty miles would not be far enough. I assured everyone that we could fill in the afternoon with a hike or do a little mountain biking at the top of the Pass. It turned out that I need not have worried.
We set off in the late morning, having spent over an hour at the launch spot swapping out punishingly rigid bike seats for more comfortable equipment, helping our outfitter change pedals, and switching in and out of various layers of clothing as the day warmed. After assembling for a pre-ride photo, we roll out – and spend the next twenty minutes biking around aimlessly, looking for the trail. Not an auspicious start.
Once orientated in the right direction, we settle in to rhythmic pedaling, stopping often and congratulating ourselves for our vigor. Ebike travelers cruise past us effortlessly. It soon becomes clear why we have, in the past, paid guides to haul our gear around for us: the weight of our backpacks, which seemed piddling while walking around, quickly becomes burdensome. The composition of the trail created much more friction than pavement, a fact that an eight-year-old roller-skater could have told us. In addition, though the upward grade was barely noticeable, we were, of course, biking to the top of a mountain pass.
We labored on, our carefree and enthusiastic chatter transitioning to earnest jokes about what a good workout we were getting and then to sullen silence as we churned our way up the mountain, tired and dehydrated. We had ditched excess water bottles in the naïve belief that we would be biking, at most, for three hours. Silly us. Fortunately, Warrior Ted biked ahead to the nearest water supply and returned with refreshed water bottles and cheerful conversation as we plodded forward. We biked through a 2.3-mile tunnel in the pitch black, with temperatures in the 40’s, and out onto the top of the mountain pass.
After reaching our destination, we checked into our hotel. Actually, we threw our names at the receptionist and staggered into the restaurant. Cold drinks and bar food never tasted better. After toasting Day 1 of Old Slow Folks Biking Up a Mountain, we limped back to our hotel rooms. The mattresses were substandard, and in one case, sheets were missing entirely. We did not care.
We were a jovial group assembling for breakfast in the morning, but only after spending an inordinate amount of private time applying butt butter. I grabbed Paul’s vegetarian omelet from the waiter by mistake, but Paul got my pancakes, so I figured he owed me the apology. I am still waiting. By brandishing $20 bills, we convinced the hotel clerk to store our backpacks for a couple of days, so we could travel lighter. We distilled our gear to bottles of water, wallets, sunscreen, and cell phones.
Though Day 2’s ride was more than thirty miles, it was mostly flat or slightly downhill. Those of us without padded, cushioned bike seats tried to conceal our hostility from those who had them. The start of the ride coincided with an out and back running race of various lengths: ten kilometers, fifty kilometers, and fifty miles. The runners looked as exhausted and brain dead as we felt the day before, and we felt vigorous in comparison. Our ride took us past pine forests, colorful deciduous maple groves, over trestle bridges, and alongside Keechelus Lake and the Yakima River. We gratefully arrived at the South Cle Elum trailhead by mid-afternoon and ordered lunch at the local BBQ restaurant.
After lunch, we lollygagged a bit before placing our sore bottoms back on our bikes to ride the remaining 5.5 miles to our cabin, where we planned to spend the night. Though the roads were paved, it turns out that, contrary to my recollection, they were all uphill. I ground my way through the last few miles by reminding myself of other painful exercises; grueling half marathons and the pain of childbirth seemed more tolerable in comparison. We evaluated the theory that misery loves company but suffered in quiet isolation. Our joy at arriving at the cabin was just shy of euphoric.
We regaled ourselves with stories of our athletic prowess while preparing dinner. Our group feasted on Jeanne’s caprese-salad appetizers with homegrown tomatoes. Jeff checked out the nearby putting green and critiqued the available golf clubs in lieu of disparaging his chip shots. Don disappeared for a bit; I finally found him taking a power nap on a dog bed in a walk-in closet. I cajoled him with Advil and diet Pepsi to fire up the barbeque grill to cook dinner. We retired for the evening but not before devouring Jean’s homemade cheesecake with fresh strawberries while sitting around the outdoor firepit.
Since Day 3 was all downhill for the first five miles, we assured each other that the day’s biking would be leisurely. But after getting back to the trail, we found that it was easy. We briefly flirted with the idea of biking on a paved road parallel to the trail, but like horses headed back to the barn, we gravitated to the lure of the gravel path. Our moods were lifted by the beauty of our surroundings, as the landscape changed magically but subtly from forest to pasture. The ride was lovely and uneventful, although one of Dina’s tires lost traction while she circumvented a gate, and her bike slid out from under her. But no one wipes out with less of a whimper than she does. Ted inadvertently pitched a biking glove into an aromatic pit toilet, but considering that it could have been his wallet, it was not a bad outcome. We arrived in Ellensburg after a 30-mile morning ride within a minute or two of our pick-up van pulling up to greet us, which took us back to the cabin in Cle Elum.
I look back with gratitude at the magnificent, fun adventure: friendship, comradery, exercise, and the bounty of the outdoors – it does not get any better than that. Well, unless you add the best cheesecake in the world.