In August 2010, I biked 450 miles to protest the BP Oil Spill.
Day 1: Portland to Longview
Ceiling of the hotel room.
A man and a woman are sitting side-by-side on the beach. He’s got his arm around her. Her knees are bent. The date is 1958. Skulls smile menacingly. They’re everywhere. A cartoon man sits in a large easy chair, waiting for his dinner.
I’m at a motel in Kelso, Washington laying on the bed looking up at the ceiling. Or I was. Now I’m showing you this:
Thanks for nothing Mr. Tuffy!
My tire went flat one block away from the motel—thank goodness. Frustrating though since I just purchased and installed Mr. Tuffy tire liners.
Addendum, August 16, 2010: The puncture was on the hub side of the wheel. Mr. Tuffy is doing his job.
Accomplished thus far.
Day 1: It was about just getting it done. 50 miles down, 175 more to go. At 6 PM the temperature was 92 degrees. Tomorrow is supposed to be hot and then it should cool down towards the end of the week (75 degrees). Today’s heat had me thinking like someone on a sinking ship: what could I toss overboard? I’m traveling pretty light, but could still drop some weight. I’m certainly keeping the spare inner tubes!
In Mt. Rainier I passed a young man riding a BMX bicycle down the bike lane. He was wearing a hoodie or a big over shirt of some sort, a hat with ear flaps and a huge bellowing backpack that looked to be completely loaded with books. How he could stand the heat in those long, baggy pants and with the clothes he had on is beyond me. I passed him and we gave each other a wave because that’s what bicyclists do. I waved to about ten other riders this afternoon.
My bike computer was saying that I’d only traveled 25 miles yet there was a sign for Longview and a huge bridge to my right. I pulled over and tried to get Samantha (the voice inside my GPS) to tell me where to go. The young man passed by and so I rode up asked if it was the bridge to Longview. He made a face and raised up a palm. Then he asked if I had food, at least that’s what I think he said. He had quite a stutter. Three bananas accompanied me on the trip and only one was left. It was sitting on top of my bag behind me. I pointed it out. He suggested we ride together. I was curious about his story so I rode with him slowly, but just for a bit.
I asked where he was headed. He didn’t know, he was just riding. I asked where he came from. He said he left from Tigard, OR. I asked if he had water. He said he did and reached back to touch his backpack, which from the side looked even bigger and heavier than from behind. We rode a short distance in silence and then I wished him well.
There are a lot of roadside memorials. “I’ll love you forever” written in black on white crosses. Plastic flowers surrounding a teddy bear nailed to a pole. Nobody posts such things outside of hospitals. Perhaps it’s just to mark where people’s lives got cut short unexpectedly.
I saw grazing cattle, bikers on classic choppers, power stations and police cars. Mostly I saw the sun. What a difference some shade makes.
Some kid yelled “Go home!” from the passenger window of a red Jeep Cherokee as he passed closely on the Lewis and Clark Bridge. It really startled me.
At the hotel I reached for my last banana, but it was gone.
Video: Traveling up 30 passed the St. John’s Bridge.
Comments · Day 1: Portland to Longview
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