nerd’s eye view

On Your Left!

My dear friend Bike Nerd was not always a bike obsessed fiend. When I met him, he had a borrowed bike and couldn’t change a tire. I was the one with the crazy odometer count and the mad roadside skillz. Bike Nerd called me Bike Girl! as though I was some kind of superhero in spandex with tire irons on my belt and heartbreaking calves. Today he has thousands of road miles on his treads on more than one continent while I can’t make it up the steep end of the street to my house.

I’ve lost my cred. I parked the bikes in the storage locker where they got musty and gummy from disuse. I took the bus, carpooled, but didn’t ride much. Everything was too close or too far. The supermarket was a block away, my employer 30 miles away by bike trail. The movies, a twenty minute walk downhill, meaning uphill the whole way back, my best pal, a twenty minute drive. The bike just didn’t seem practical - it was either an epic day trip or not worth the bother of hauling it out of the basement for a five minute spin. I’ve always ridden because it made sense as transportation and living where I was, the bike rarely made sense.

All that’s changed with my move to the Western edge. It’s a fifteen minute ride to my best pal, the supermarket, the library, the farmer’s market… another ten minutes and I’m at the beach. It’s an hour to the place I’m working right now, or half an hour on the bike and another fifteen minutes with my bike on the bus rack. It’s summer and the streets of my neighborhood are wide and dry with great visibility, and in many cases, views.

Gradually, I’m increasing my range. The first days back on the bike I’d ride to the Junction or visiting, maybe two miles. Thus reminded that I hadn’t forgotten how - there’s a reason they say it’s like riding a bicycle - I started riding down to the beach - about four miles, one way. I also started taking the bike/bus combo to downtown, riding to the stop underneath the bridge where a person can catch more than one bus and then, riding all the way out of downtown to the last stop before the buses get on the West Seattle Bridge.

Last week I added the lower bridge to my ride and was rewarded with views of the industrial mess and wonder that’s the Duwamish Slough. Dozens of yellow backhoes are lined up with military precision next to a rusting drawbridge that’s forever up. The slough is green and full of barges. If you look to the south, there’s a Lego stack of shipping containers and behind them, Mount Rainier. This morning, a single file line of geese swam the waters in front of a luxury cruiser boat and this afternoon, a bunch of guys hosed off the decks of a barge moored at the fishing dock. I have to share the road with a lot of heavy traffic - Harbor Island is a major shipping center and big trucks come in and out all day - but I’ve yet to encounter a truck driver who won’t give right of way to a girl on a bicycle if only she’ll take the time to make eye contact so he knows she’s there.

Riding with cars is maddening; I’ve not forgotten that, so I’m a defensive rider of the highest order. I make sure I’m seen, I use hand signals, I have an orange safety vest I can wear if I’m not wearing bright colors, and I observe the traffic laws. It’s potentially fatal to jump lights and make sudden moves. There is no way a girl on a bike can win against several tons of steel - it’s best to make sure she’s seen and doesn’t do anything unpredictable. I will take the sidewalk if it makes sense, but I will also ride well out in the lane if that’s the safest place for me to be. I always let cars pass as soon as I can and hey, I get to be there, it’s the rules of the road. I wear gloves because I’ve landed on my hands before and the gloves saved me a lot of additional gravel in the palms. And I always wear a helmet because I need my brain for thinking and, you know, writing stuff down.

With my weak legs and weak lungs, I’m taking it slow as I get back on the road. I add a little distance and a little climbing every day. I’m gradually tuning up little bits on the bike, unpacking the gear I have and using it, getting faster and riding easier. I’m hoping to drop the saddlebags my non-bike life gave me and I’m hoping to be able to master the long climb from Spokane Street up to High Point. I’d like to find that my retired superhero still has some life left in her. Mostly, by the time summer ends, I want to be able to say this: “Yo, BIke Nerd! On your left!”

Bike Girl sez: I’ve never seen worse service in a bike shop then at Alki Bike and Boards at the Admiral Junction. The place is full of twenty somethings hanging out on their summer vacations - which is fine - but they won’t stop talking about how much they hate the music on PA long enough to help you find what you’re looking for. When you finally get help, they don’t seem to know the inventory or care. Boo. The folks at Aaron’s can be a little brusque, but they won’t ignore you and they know their stuff.

biking, cycling, West Seattle, bicycle commuting

Posted in Playing Outside, Seattle | 6 Comments »

Postcards from Hood River

Disclaimer: I met Mark Zoller at the Seattle Travel Show. When I told him I write for Snowshoe Magazine, he invited me up to spend some time in the area, to go rafting, snowshoeing with a local guide, and to stay at a regional B&B. I’ll have a story going out in the next issue of Snowshoe Magazine - here are a few things that won’t make the cut.

Chatting with the guides at Zoller’s

Zoller’s runs rafting trips year round. There’s a steep catwalk from the parking lot that goes right down to the river. Mark Zoller or one of his experienced and trustworthy guides will suit you up, give you a short orientation, and take you for the ride of your life on the river. It takes as long as it takes, depending on what the water is doing on the day you’re on it. Families with small children are welcome, as are boats full of “the ladies.”

Joetta, one of Zoller’s guides, is telling me about the river. There are a bunch of numbers – cubic feet per something or other, some one through five rating, the number of people in the boat, the number of people per year, the number of years their oldest customer had (90?)…

When you’re looking for a river guide, you want experience of course, first and foremost. After that, things get fuzzier. Do they have changing rooms or are you going to peel down in the parking lot? How new is the gear and how often does it get updated? What’s the transportation like? How long have they been in business and how long have they had their guides?

There are three guides unloading from the trip of the day. They’re red cheeked and excited, hopped up on a swell ride. The guests are shivering in their rented gear but they look excited too and smile big when I ask them if they had a good time. There’s a cute couple from Seattle (maybe a guy taking his girl for an adventure) and a local woman. They’re all a little damp around the edges but they look exhilarated, if a little tired.

Joetta tells me a story of a crying guest. It’s orientation, when Zoller’s tells the guests what to expect and there’s a woman at the back, not quite hysterical but certainly weepy. She thinks she can’t do it. She’s afraid. She doesn’t know how to paddle, doesn’t think she can handle it. Her husband isn’t exactly encouraging her. Joetta steps in. “Don’t worry,” she tells the overwrought guest. “Can you work a camera? You’ll sit at the back with me and take the pictures. It’s important work and someone has to do it.”

You can guess how this story ends, right? Though you may not take it quite this far. The guest was transformed. She loved the river, she participated, she paddled and cheered and had a fantastic time and got out of the water cheering “Again! Again!” And her fearfulness? Gone. Apparently next up for this guest? Skydiving.

Husum Highlands Morning

The early morning sky is blowing east and every now and then a piece of it gets stuck on Mount Hood, making it disappear for a while. The clouds are pink and yellow and purple, a cartoon dinosaur migration toward the sunrise. A bird that sounds like a squeaky gate hinge breaks the silence. Two horses, one red rust, the other the color of a slice of toast just burning around the edges, graze in the meadow.

Yesterday evening the toast colored one ran all the way across the field, moving fast and making me realize I’ve never seen an unsaddled horse run before save for in the movies. I was disappointed when she didn’t circle back but maybe she was too when she came up against the electric wire that marked her boundary. This morning, the horses move slowly, taking steps towards each other from opposite sides of the paddock.

The sky lifts, the horizon turning pale yellow and fading into the blue of a palace ceiling. Downstairs, I can hear the coffee grinder and then, oddly, opera. It sounds like morning. The sun breaks over the mountains and everything is lit with long golden light.

Crossroads

I’m at a junction called BZ Corner on the state highway. There’s a battered diner sign – it must have been an “EAT” once – on a tall post as though you could miss it. There’s a mercantile/mini mart across the street. Two big dogs sprawl in the gravelly parking lot. On the opposite corner there’s a log building with a chainsaw carved bear standing guard on the porch. A couple of Harleys are parked out front, and two big pick up trucks. I’m scribbling a note on a bit of scrap paper and the big black dog wanders across the street to put her head in my lap. This interferes with my note writing so I stand up and lean against the side of the car, using my road atlas for backing. A beat up van rolls in the lot where I’m parked. It’s one of those eight seater Dodges with the blue paneling on the side. The driver leans across to the passenger window and shouts to me, “Hey, do you want to sell your car?” I look behind me at the Tercel and start laughing. “I’ve been looking for one of those cars,” he says. “How much do you want for it?”

The Dodge smells of gasoline and the captain’s chair driver’s seat is shredded on one side. The guy behind the wheel has the same blue and battered attire as his transportation, but he looks friendly enough. We talk Tercel for a little bit. I toy with the idea of asking for 1000 cash, taking the Grayhound to Portland, and then, jumping on the train back to Seattle. My imagination does not get the better of me. Another guy wanders up to the van. “Hey,” he says to the driver, “I’m about to pay to get rid of some Dodge seats. Do you want first crack at them?”

Rainbow

When the first thing you see in the morning is a rainbow, it is hard not to expect a perfect day. The amazing thing is that I was not disappointed. The fact that I took the wrong road down, got stuck in a hole, and left the lights on so I could not start my car did not detract in any way.

About halfway in to our day, my host put his hand on my head. “Listen,” he said, “it would be a shame to deprive the future of all THIS.” He tucked a cedar cone in to the pocket of my jacket. “I’m planting a seed. You give that to your husband. You know, you can adopt. Have you considered adopting?” Typically, I’m cranky with people who get at me about not having kids. But in this case, I was genuinely touched. Bill had already declared me family and now he’d decided that the planet needed more me. “All this wonderful stuff!” he said. “There should be more of that in the world!”

Later, we’re done snowshoeing and we’re on the way back to the car. Bill has opened up the throttle on the snowmobile and we are flying. He shouts to me – “Fast enough for ya?! Yee haw!” I’m laughing out loud. I close my eyes to the wind and I am filled with the smell of snow.

Now

It’s been a few days since I’ve had a really good cup of coffee. I’m in Ground in the center of Hood River. They have free wifi and Ray Charles.

Posted in Playing Outside | 1 Comment »

Altaussee, Melted

Last winter, J and I tossed the snowshoes in the car and drove to Altaussee. We walked for two kilometers across the frozen lake and then strapped on our snowshoes to walk another two or three kilometers up to a “hutte” or shed. We turned back at the point where the trail started to go steeply uphill, seeing as how I was tired and we were running out of daytime hours.

It was a pleasure to be able to see the same place in summer, the lake thawed, trout swimming about, the trail accessible to all kinds of walkers, not just sturdy snowshoeing types. The restaurant at the top of the lake trail was open and full of lazy hikers having sausage and beer in the Alpine sunshine. The set-up for a wedding sat on the edge of the lake; locals sat around gossiping and it was a regular fashion show of traditional Austrian attire. Yes, people really do dress like that around here.

We ate lunch in a gasthaus in town before heading up the trail. It took us no time to navigate the same territory we’d covered in several hours earlier this year. Instead of a string of footprints punched in the snow, boats powered by nearly silent electric motors criss crossed the surface of the lake. A flat area where I remember running over deep snow turned out to be swampy and full of big leafy plants. The boulders revealed their feet and wildflowers were everywhere. Tamer flowers, no less splendid for their domestication, burst out of windowboxes all through town.

I am a sucker for the romance of winter, for the quiet sound of footsteps in snow and the bright blue sky over blankets of white. But Austria at summer is equally breathtaking, though I am forced to share her with many more people than I’m used to seeing around.

There are a few pictures of Altaussee - summer and winter - here.

hiking, Austria, Altaussee, Steiermark

Posted in Austria, Playing Outside | 2 Comments »

Hiking Talapus Lake

I had no idea there were crayfish in the Alpine Lakes. Neither did my friend Knox so both of us were amazed to see three of them, right below us in the water. Two of them engaged in battle while a third stayed out of the way under a fallen tree snag. Knox tried to catch one but they’re quick little buggers. It’s just as well he wasn’t successful. What would we have done with one little four inch crayfish?

The hike to Talapus Lake is as easy as pie, perfect for the late start, those with challenged hamstrings, or those who think that hiking to the pretty stuff is beyond them. There are a few switchbacks at the start, but nothing too steep. The trail meets the river at various places giving you the excuse to stand around admiring the view while you’re really having a little rest. Towards the top - and it’s just over two miles to the lake so it’s short - the trail flattens a bit and opens into a lovely Japanese garden with bridges and raised walkways and the sound of water and dappled light and lush green foliage and haiku inspiration everywhere.

The lake has plenty of fallen timber along the shore, perfect picnic benches. Chipmunks skittered about though they never came close enough to steal some lunch. Big blue dragonflies circled back and forth across the water. In the distance, trout threw themselves all the way out of the water and back in again.

We dawdled by the lake for half an hour or so, then wandered back down the trail to the car before driving to North Bend for milkshakes at the Dairy Freeze. While I was sitting outside enjoying my espresso milkshake and a discussion of how we’d find out about Alpine crayfish, I realized that it was the third time in barely over a month that I’d been in the big outdoors and then, at the Dairy Freeze for sustenence.

Ah, what a life!

The Great Outdoors is
The perfect prelude to an
Espresso milkshake.

A few more pictures here.

Talapus Lake, hiking, milkshakes

Posted in Playing Outside | 3 Comments »

Biking the John Wayne Iron Horse Trail

Sometimes, when you head for the great outdoors, nothing goes right. Your body is a bit sluggish, maybe from not enough breakfast or not enough sleep. You never quite warm up. You don’t have the right clothes and you end up always feeling a little chilled around the edges. Your sandwich gets squished at the bottom of your pack and ends up an unattractive mass of food that would be better eaten with a spoon, if you’d remembered to pack one. You get a flat and you actually have to repair it because you haven’t packed a spare. When you finally get back to the car, you go straight to the nearest coffee stand, where you promptly spill your drink on your shorts. You have forgotten to toss a change of clothes in your car. You go home, take a shower, and climb in to bed thinking, wow, I could have Just Stayed Home.

Yesterday was not that day. Yesterday, Sarah, Mike and I rode the John Wayne Iron Horse Trail. And it was perfect.

We met at Rattlesnake Lake to park the first car. Sarah and Mike were just pulling in to the parking lot as I arrived. “Whaddaya say we eat lunch?” Sarah said, so we picnicked on the grass next to the lake. We watched the boats slide across the water while little girls splashed around at the beach. Fueled up for the ride, we tossed my bike and gear in to Mike’s pickup and headed up to the Hyak trailhead.

The tunnel, which is one of the big draws for this ride, is just past the Hyak trailhead. We strapped on our lights and plunged into the darkness. Water was falling from the ceiling. There was a pinpoint of light in the far distance, the crunch of gravel under the tires, and a weird echo when I rang my bell. Mike disappeared ahead, but we’d see him every now and then when my light hit something reflective. The lamps picked up wires on the walls and six feet of trail, beyond that, there was only blackness and the tiny light at the other side of the tunnel.

The tunnel is just over two miles long and it’s cold in there. We rolled out blinking on the other side, instantly rewarmed by the sunshine.

The rest of the trail is hard packed gravel, easy riding on fat tires. It’s bumpy and today my hands are a bit sore from the rattling, but my legs aren’t complaining at all. The trail is about 21 miles, we did it in 3.5 hours. You could ride it a lot faster, but we kept stopping to look at things on the way – the view from the trestles, an immaculate and oh so pretty backcountry campsite, a stream gauge, the highway, some rock climbers who’d wandered up from a trailhead below… There’s no water on the trail, but there are plenty of lovely spots to stop for a snack and there’s the luxury of outhouses at various places on the way. You ride past boulder fields, clearcuts that have turned in to meadows, through maple and birch forest. The trail smells of water, of clean earth, of pine and spruce.

This is a remarkable ride. The 2.2 percent downhill grade makes it very easy to go the distance. You can’t coast the entire way – though you can do it as a leisurely spin. If you want you can gear down and hammer on the pedals until you get going quite fast – there’s no traffic, no stoplights, and, when we were there, not many other people. The reverse direction, from Rattlesnake Lake to Hyak, must be quite a slow burn as you’re always going uphill. We took the easy route, though ambitious cyclists could absolutely do it as a round trip from Rattlesnake Lake.

If you’re going to do the one way, like we did, you need two cars. One of them needs to carry all the bikes. You need lights for the tunnel – don’t screw around with this, you can’t see a damn thing in there. You want gloves because the gravel trail is hard on your hands and if you fall, it’s going to be rough. It’s good to have a jacket for the tunnel, it’s really cold in there. Take plenty of water and some snackage. Fat tires are good because the trail is rough – think dirt road. Pack a spare, a repair kit, and your tools, this is no place to blow out a tire – five miles on a hiking trail dragging your bike can’t be much fun.

Rattlesnake Lake is a terrific spot to leave one friend with the bikes while two others make the shuttle run back to Hyak to get the other car. But here’s an idea. Pack a cooler and all the stuff in the Rattlesnake Lake car. Set up your friend in the park with all the fixin’s for your dinner. By the time you get back with both cars, your friend has got the coals going and is grilling your gardenburger just the way you like it. Or, hey, you can do what we did and head in to North Bend for fried carbs and sugar burgers and shakes at the Dairy Freeze. There’s nothing like fried carbs and sugar after a good ride.

Riding the John Wayne Iron Horse trail might be my new favorite thing to do outside the city. Get your bike out of the basement, round up your gear, and head on up to Hyak. The ride is easy enough that you can do it even if you haven’t been on your bike in ages. You’ll be tired when it’s over, but there’s no reason to think you can’t do it. And give me a call. You need two cars, after all, and I can hardly wait to do it again.

The rest of the pics from the ride are here. If those aren’t enough for you, Sarah’s pics are here. That’s me in the call box.

rail trails, John Wayne Iron Horse Trail, biking, outdoors

Posted in Playing Outside | 1 Comment »

The Hiker’s Guide to the Universe

When I was a younger lass, fresh to Seattle and hopped up on long summer days and citrus thinner, it was not unheard of for me to jump in the car at dawn, go for a 16 mile day hike, and make it back in time to eat BBQ in the garden. If that sounds crazy, let me assure you, it absolutely was. That same summer, I would ride my bike 35 miles Marymoor Park, go bouldering for an hour or two, and then, get this, ride back again. Sometime in August or early September, my stepfather was in town and I’d just shorn off all my hair. “What happened to your hair?” he asked. “No, wait, check that, what happened to all your body fat?!?!?” It’s okay. I had just got divorced, I was new in town, I was oh, maybe just a little bit screwy. I’m back to a much more manageable and less scary self these days, body fat and all, but I still like a stomp in the woods. Which is why it was good to finally get out for the day with South Pole Sarah.

We walked 9 miles, round trip, to Melakwa Lake. I’m sore and more than a little tired. But it was a beautiful day, one on which I would never have guessed we’d have the trail to ourselves. Yet we did - we saw no one in the three hours between the time the large group of teenage girls came down at the trailhead and when we asked that couple “How much further?” near the top. We saw a few more people on the way down, but nothing like I’d expected for this popular, close to Seattle trail. And we stopped at the diner in North Bend for burgers, fries, and milkshakes on the way home. A near perfect day.

In case you haven’t yet been out this season - what is wrong with you - here’s just a little advice to make your trip go as well as ours did. This isn’t your standard safety guide, which you should totally check out on your own, maybe you have one at the front of your trail guide. Oh no, this is the stuff you’re going to forget, or, the stuff that - if you remember it - makes you stand out from the mere amatuers you’re sharing the trails with.

1. Wear sunscreen and, if you can stand it, a long sleeved shirt. A baseball cap is good too. I’m just looking after your youthful skin.
2. Do you have a ziploc bag of toilet paper in your pack? Hello?
3. It’s not a bad idea to pack your lunch the night before. If I remember, I like to put my water bottles in the freezer, then they defrost throughout the day and my drinks are always cold. I’m also big on Tupperware containers for packing my lunch, it gives you way more possiblities and your food won’t get smooshed. Dude, you’re just day hiking, don’t be so uptight about the weight.
4. Bring another pair of shoes and a shirt to leave in the car. If you want, hey, take a whole change of clothes. Yeah, you’re smelly, whatever. Changing in the parking lot beats driving all the way home in damp hiking clothes.
5. Stow some extra snackage and water in the car. You’re not always a 15 minute drive from the diner. It can be hard to make it home if you’re starving and parched. And actually, it’s not that safe for you to drive if you’re totally bonking, man.

I ain’t saying if I remembered all these things this time out, but that’s no reason you can’t take advantage of my mistakes knowledge. Now, go on, get out there.

hiking, safety, Cascades, outdoors, manic behavior

Posted in Playing Outside | 9 Comments »