Another day, another mountain. Today I climbed Sherman Pass, which, at 5575 feet, is my highest point of the trip so far. (I thought that was Washington Pass, but it may simply have been more feet of climbing—I started today around 2000 feet, so it was “only” about 3600 feet to the pass.) I know now I can climb mountains, but turns out I’d still prefer not to, at least not five in four days. Not that the road cares one whit for my preferences, one of the lessons of bike tour.

It was an unceremonious greeting at the top: before I even crested I was warned about the downhill grade.

There was a group of Harley Davidson guys at the top taking a break and snapping photos; as I rolled up they were all looking at me, and I said “well shit, I made it,” and they busted out laughing. I offered to take a group photo, and they took mine, and we chatted a bit. I got the usual “do you carry a gun?” question, but when they heard I was from Chicago (mumbles of “oh, gangsters”), they stopped worrying because that means “she can handle anything.”

Then they left, and I suited up for the downhill. Going up and down mountains means changing your clothes a lot, I’ve learned. I layered and de-layered multiple times in the course of the day, from sweating in a tee and bike shorts to shivering in my hat, gloves, and two sets of toe warmers.

I’ve been hearing myriad birds and trying my best to record and ID them; it’s my goal to start matching up the Merlin IDs with sightings so I actually know what birds I’m seeing. Below are a few I’ve heard (and some I’ve seen).

Aside from many lovely views today, one of the coolest things I saw was this heritage site about Roosevelt’s Civilian Conservation Corps, which had a boys’ camp in Colville National Forest from 1934-43. I hung out there for a while to warm up after the descent down Sherman Pass.

I stayed a few miles past Colville (a few hideously-graded, hilly miles that made me SO MAD) at a bikers-only spot, Bacon’s Bike Hostel. It was free and convenient, and the shower and bed were much appreciated, but the place smelled sour and I woke to the sound of critters in the wall. I did learn from the guest book that there are at least two sets of Northern Tier riders a day ahead of me, and I am apparently VERY lucky weather-wise: they have had consistent rain, as well as snow at 38 degrees on Sherman Pass.

Onward to the (temporarily, briefly) less mountainous lands, once I finish climbing out of the Colville area tomorrow.

I’m going to lead with the fact that 27 of today’s 40 miles were climbing, and the first four hours featured steady rain. Not heavy rain, but rain in all its wetness. It was hard.

Now a little more about yesterday. The ride through the reservation was beautiful, but also depressing. While discarded roadside cans and bottles are a constant, enraging feature of the American landscape, the road through the Colville Reservation was even more densely littered than usual. Sometimes you see cans people tossed out the window as they rode by, but other times it’s clear someone(s) just sat in a car by the side of the road and drank. The latter was the case here. The remnants of sixes of Coors Light, the cardboard caddy still in the bag on the ground, were strewn for miles in clusters often only feet apart. The occasional mini Fireball bottle made appearances as well. (Elsewhere on the road earlier in the day, Twisted Tea was a popular choice, and mini Fireballs never go out of style.) There was a correspondingly-large number of handmade roadside shrines: painted rocks with the name of the deceased, fake flowers, crosses. It was hideously sad. I also got chased by two dogs who made it out of their yards. One was a ridiculous moppet of a thing that I admonished not to be in the road, but the second was a large dog that slipped a lousy fence and ran next to me barking until I sped up enough to tire him.

The roads were generally very lightly trafficked; often I was the only show in town for miles, and the red-winged blackbirds would get irritated at my presence. Speaking of which! I’ve been using Seek for plants and Merlin for birds, and it’s been real fun. The main flowering ditch weeds I’ve seen are lupine, wild columbine, valerian, Indian paintbrush, and something called Davidson’s penstemon. I’ve heard pine siskins and tufted titmice and red-breasted nuthatches. And oh my lord today I rousted an eagle roadside, and as it took off I got as close as I ever will come to one, I suspect. It was massive and intimidating. It flew into a tree above me, a terrible photo of which I share here.

I have not been listening to anything so far, other than the theme song to “Cheers” involuntarily inside my head. You may wonder how I pass the time. I offer, in explanation, a study on guardrails. I have learned through observation that there is a hierarchy of guardrails. At the top of the guardrail food chain is an iteration of the basic design you’re familiar with: a corrugated galvanized steel rail bolted to posts. The best version has galvanized steel posts and a hard rubber block between the rail and the post; the rail is bolted through the block and into the post, one bolt dead center alternating with five bolts in an X. Second to that is the same design, but with wood posts and blocks. Still good! And the most common one I’ve seen. It’s a rapid downhill slide after that, double meaning intended. There’s the version with the wooden posts and only the one bolt in every post. It’s more a nod in the direction of a guardrail than anything else. Then there’s my least favorite: just a concrete lip the height of a city curb that I suppose tells you you’re about to go over the side of the road but that’s also a terror to a cyclist. And lastly there’s the no-barrier version, just some flimsy brown plastic markers with reflective tape on the top. Many are broken. Guardrails, folks.

I’ve been fortunate in the snack department; a photo of this morning’s haul shows a typical mix of salty and sweet, fatty and simple sugar, crunchy and chewy. Fun surprise find: watermelon-chili rings. I also eat yogurt, apples, bananas, jerky, and hard-boiled eggs, mom!

Okay, to today. I climbed a lot in the chilly rain and did not love it. And I have another mountain tomorrow. But I’ve learned to love my granny gear (loud shout-out to Steve, who fielded a repair call on my second morning to get my granny gear back in shifting order before the climbing started for real—I would be dead in the water otherwise!), which did not used to be the case. I prefer to beast my way through hills, straining in my middle gear to get to the top and get it over with as quickly as possible. Joyce has always been better at slow and steady. But these are mountains, and I can’t beast them; slow and steady in my lowest gear is how I live now. Maybe I’ll learn some patience.

Anyway, I arrived in Republic, got a motel room (again: no good camping options!), went to dinner, and wandered the town in the suddenly sunny and gorgeous evening, and the difficulty of today was over.

I‘m feeling good and hitting my stride; the nerves have receded, thanks in large part to making Washington Pass yesterday. Today featured another pass in the morning, Loup Loup Pass, at 4020 feet. The Methow Valley was beautiful, but the thing about a valley is eventually you gotta climb out it. And I did! It was different from yesterday, which had a lot of tough, steeper sections. This was just 10 miles of solid, constant climbing at about a 4-6% grade. (Joyce, it was a little like the Elroy-Sparta trail, but more.) Totally manageable, but wearing.

Then it was seven miles downhill at a 6% grade (chilly even with a jacket, gloves, and hat), ending at the bottom of an enormous half-mile hill, followed by some normal-ass riding, and then four more miles down at 5%. And now you know all about my hills.

Then I was in the Colville Reservation, down in the valley. Flatter, warmer, less recreational traffic, more farmland. There were ups and downs, but gentler, and the landscape was brown and grey-green and purple and soft.

I wasn’t done riding when I got to my intended destination for the evening, Riverside, so I rode on to Tonasket, a town that appears mostly to host highway repair crews working in the area. There’s decent-sized Mexican population, enough that my dinner from Pablo’s taco truck was delicious and muy autentico. I couldn’t confirm the existence of a campground, so I am shacked up for the evening at a motel conveniently attached to a 24-hour convenience store. Expect snack news.

I climbed a damn mountain! Today is the day I’ve most feared since I started planning this trip: two passes, one of them at nearly 5500 feet, just four days into the ride. And it was indeed hard. And slow. Today’s 65 miles took me 10.5 hours (including stops); in contrast, 75 miles to the Indiana Dunes recently took me eight hours, albeit with a stiff tailwind. Which I also had today! It was a lovely gift, and, along with the cooler weather, eased the pain of the climbing.

And I climbed. Thirty-plus miles of climbing, starting with a brutal two-mile hill right out of the campground. It did boost my confidence when, on a tent-drying break, I met two guys in spandex who told me they were averaging just under 13 mph. I was at, like, 5. But fully loaded!

There were dozens of lovely personal-sized (and several industrial-sized) waterfalls along the way. It is damp and lush and green, and I am here for it.

I was sort of hoping the first pass, Rainy Pass, would sneak up on me, like, whoops, you did it! But my device let me know it was coming, I guess because it was a major landmark.

Then I kept climbing, and surprise: Washington Pass, at 5477 feet, *did* sneak up on me. What! No warning (I mean, aside from all the dang climbing) and suddenly I was there, the highest pass of the trip. [Editor note: This actually turned out not to be true. Sherman Pass was higher, but entailed less climbing because I started out higher.]

I have no idea how accurate the elevation and max speed are—I’ve read elevation can be off, and I often experience the speed as inaccurate, but, dear reader, those roughly 4000 feet of descent were terrifying. I rode my brakes the whole way down, sometimes alternating hands to give one a rest.

And then, after a brief but intense squall that soaked me completely, it was 30 miles to Winthrop, where I got the whole adorable North Cascades Mountain Hostel to myself and did laundry and had a BLT and beer in a saloon in this Western-themed tourist town.

We are in the mountains (thus the lack of cell service and the post-facto post). Today featured the first real climbing of the trip, though nothing compared to tomorrow, when I hit two major passes; the second, Washington Pass, is now the highest of the trip, since Logan Pass in Glacier is closed through at least the beginning of July due to snow. I discovered today that when I am climbing on a consistent but manageable grade I repeat to myself ”slow and steady slow and steady slow and steady.” When the grade grows severe I am reduced to mumbling ”okay okay okay okay.” Less instructive, more coping.

North Cascades National Park is gorgeous. It is the most beautiful place I have ridden, hands down. I had a life-affirming tailwind, and the weather was ideal, and really it was an excellent day of riding.

I went through a tunnel! It was a little scary, but you press a button before entering that tells cars there’s a bike in there. And it is presumably better than going over the thing they tunneled through.

Every road-side stop was eye-popping, with rushing green river against snow-capped peaks. I luxuriated, knowing I had only 38 miles to cover, and even with my lazy 10 a.m. departure I got to the campground by 3:30.

Colonial Creek Campground, which was fully booked when I tried to reserve a site a few weeks ago, does indeed have a hiker/biker site, though they had trouble remembering which site it was, since I am—the ranger told me—their first cyclist of the season! And it was free! After stashing everything in the bear safe, I went for a hike on Thunder Creek Trail. Because why not follow up riding with hiking?

Fell asleep while reading around 8:30 (not the fault of my book, Courtroom 302, which is a so-far-fascinating examination of the Cook County criminal justice system.

Today was much drier and, in related news, much better. The rain stopped around 2 a.m., and I was able to pack up under a picnic shelter this morning. After having dried all my clothing under the bathroom hand dryer (a godsend!) last night, I dried each piece of the tent this morning. Such a relief not to have to pack and carry a wet tent. And then it didn’t really even rain! There were occasional showers, but it was sunny and in the high 60s much of the day—perfect riding weather. Everything but my socks and shoes got dry. After weighing the options, I went with bare feet in wet shoes—seemed like the best shot for the scant sun to dry them. Such are the choices on bike tour.

The riding was beautiful. Some real climbs and descents (my device says I hit 40 mph!) and a lot of riding along rivers, first the North Fork Stillaguamish then the Sauk. Tonight’s campground, Howard Miller Steelhead Park, is on the Skagit.

The campground! When I arrived, the camp host told me the tent sites are flooding, and they’d best put me in “the Adirondacks,” which turns out to be a three-sided shelter with bunk beds, a covered picnic table, ample electric, and water. And there’s WiFi! This is a posher setup than I could have dreamed of, and I am feeling pretty good. Off for a shower, and then a relaxed evening in the bunkhouse with my Kindle .

First day! It rained literally all day (and continues to rain and will continue to rain), so I don’t have much in the way of pictures. But I spent most of the second half of the day on an excellent trail, and that was cool. I also enjoyed dodging slugs (is it a slug or a branch!?) on the road, a fun rainy-times riding game. They are fat and plenty out here. Now I’m damply ensconced in my tent following a lively session of bathroom hand dryer clothes drying. Gonna nod off to the sound of rain on the tent and try not to focus on wet morning logistics.