I came 86 miles today from Richland to Bleed (just north of Yakima), and it felt like every bit of that distance. The end is drawing nigh now. And as with every ending, as it gets close, it starts to take up all the focus, making you to think not of the now, but soon to be. I'm trying to enjoy these last days as any other days, but now everything is in context to how close I am to the finish, and I feel a little like I'm racing there, pushing myself to get to the end.
I was fed a nice breakfast this morning, with one of the best omelettes I've ever had, before setting out on my very long day. In terms of miles, though definitely not in climb, this was my longest day left. ...It really is odd thinking that way, about time left on this trip, with a sense of finality, rather than just going through any other day with a seeming unlimited number to follow. It's a mixture of both motivation and distraction. It's important not to be distracted biking on these shoulders in Washington. They're generally well paved, but the amount of broken glass, metal, and boards that litter them is astounding. ...There's also apparently some thorny plants. Somehow, while biking on the highway toward the interstate, first thing this morning, I noticed a thorn in my tire. I pulled it out, expecting the dreadful sound of rushing air. But somehow, I managed to luck out. As much as I kept expecting my tire to deflate as I biked on, apparently the thorn didn't go quite far enough through the tread to puncture the inner tube. My hats off to my host from Baker City, Will, and the tire he gave me.
I passed through some gorgeous scenery today and had a couple impressive wildlife sightings. My ride took me along the Yakima River, lined by a lush canyon, quiet towns, and endless vineyards. And I was graced by a falcon only ten feet over my head before perching on a nearby fencepost and a heron catching its meal before my eyes in a marsh. I was certainly pleased with my view today. Even if I couldn't afford to stop to take as many pictures as I wanted.
Navigating the freeway here in Washington on bike, with all its various prohibited regions, is a little tricky. I'm fairly sure I crossed over some bridges today that I was not supposed to. Because they had no shoulder, and I was briefly on the interstate itself, racing to get off the bridge and back to safety. It was more than a little distressing. And being on the freeway where it goes through Yakima during 5:00 traffic was almost as unnerving as well, such that I was ultimately begging for my exit to the highway, and then got off the highway onto a side road as soon as I could.
It was a big relief to pull into here, home for the night, at the end of the day. I luckily arrived right as my host pulled in, and right before she left again, to head over to a family party just across the way (her whole family live together in this region, in what they call "the compound"). But she kindly set me up with her friend, another cyclist, to make dinner for me tonight. And when I got out of the shower I was surprised to find her at the kitchen table waiting for me. She took me back to her place and I got to eat a nice spaghetti with her and her freshly graduated (from high school) son.
Odd to think that's the last time a stranger will be making me dinner for awhile (I'm camping, one last time, tomorrow night). ...Perhaps it's odder to think how the idea of strangers cooking me food out of the kindness of their hearts and in exchange for stories of the road has become my notion of normalcy. You adapt to whatever you're doing after awhile. It's only when there's change that anything ever seems strange. But then change is itself the one universal constant. ...So is life always strange, and always normal, all at once?
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