The Unique, the Unexpected, and the Magical
A cross-country bike trek invariably requires enduring hours of uneventful slogging. Sometimes long stretches of unchanging scenery is the only item on the menu for the entire day. To point, I spent two days riding through northeastern Nebraska that were visually monotonous – moving slowly through small towns over flat roads with cornfields that spanned to the horizon. On those heartland plains, there was no breathtaking scenery or curious landmarks to break the tedium. My only recourse was to keep on turning the cranks and get on down the road.
But the trek also afforded sights and events that were unique, unexpected, and sometimes downright magical. Here are three such episodes:
On Day 2, I was riding on a quiet back road on the Olympic Peninsula in dry air under clear blue skies. When I looked up I could see conifer forests covering steep mountains slopes and in the distance, snow glinted on the broad peak of Mount Olympus. Up ahead on a ruler-straight section of road, I spotted pickup trucks parked alongside the asphalt and then heard the telltale mechanical clattering of some large operation coming from behind the trees bordering the road. Suddenly, I observed what looked like a thick swarm of bees shooting out from the line of tree trunks. But then I recognized the whine of a buzzsaw and instantly those bees transformed to sawdust. I moved to the left so as not to get sprayed. As I passed the site, I saw a small, local logging operation clearing a section of roadside forest. A monstrous machine had pulled a tree right out of the ground, as easily as extracting a candle from a moist cake. The monster’s jaws released the tree, and to my amazement, it dropped parallel to me, as if in slow motion. It made an eerily muted sound as it hit the earth. As I pedaled, the activity receded. The quiet backcountry road, for a screaming minute, had been transformed into a scene of destruction. And then, after another minute of riding, all was silent again.
The second episode took place on the morning of Day 7 some miles after I had started my descent from Snoqualmie Pass in the Cascades. I rolled swiftly and sweetly down the gentle eastern slope of the mountain on the Palouse to Cascades State Park Trail, slicing through the forest with ease, like a knife through soft butter. In the distance, I spotted a lone picnic table placed strategically at the side of the trail and decided it was time for a break. I sat down and took my rest, alone amongst the gently whispering pines. A split second later, I noticed an irregularly shaped piece of flat, black granite lying on the weathered wood. The smooth polished side revealed the most exquisitely carved figure of what looked like a young, Black prince, his eyes coolly gazing off into the distance while holding a fabric or shroud, from which emerged a leafy stem topped by a rose in full bloom. A jeweled amulet hung from an unseen headband and, like a third eye, rested on the ridge of his lower forehead right above his nose.
Who had left it there? And why?
For just an instant, I thought of taking it with me as a keepsake but thought better of it; possessing what appeared to be intentionally left behind would be tantamount to theft. Surrounded by trees and listening to the sonorous timbre of a nearby brook, I contemplated the carving and at once I felt as if I had fallen gently into a fairyland spell. Holding the cool stone in my hands, it would not have seemed out of place if the young prince suddenly began talking to me, promising great riches if I freed him from the stone in which he was trapped. The passage of time vanished as I gazed at the granite. Though I could hear the wind lightly brushing the leaves, water running over rocks, and the steady pounding of my heart, visually, the scene collapsed until there was nothing else but me and the African boy prince. I stared at the artwork, entranced.
When I finally looked up, the dense forest and the empty trail appeared as they had been, the sounds of the brook splashing gently nearby. I placed the granite as I had found it, donned my helmet, clipped into my pedals, and resumed my descent in the magical land of the here and now I was passing through.
The third experience took place on Day 20 in the midst of a taxing struggle with a headwind in Idaho’s Snake River Valley. The temperature was close to triple-digits, and I was riding on a steady incline through the rough straw-colored terrain with no trees or human structure to break the relentless wind. I desperately looked for a shaded spot to take a break, but shade in the desert is as rare as a lobbyist without an agenda. I eventually reached a T-intersection and could only find a stingy sliver of shade cast by a road sign, under which I squatted and took in food and drink. I felt dejected, hammered by sun and wind, knowing that I still had another 45 miles of enduring heat and headwinds before I reached my destination. Suddenly, a car sped by and came to an abrupt halt. There were two bicycles attached to a rack on the trunk. The car had missed its turn and so its driver quickly turned around. As they passed me, a young woman in the passenger seat leaned out and asked, “Are you OK?”
“I’m doing great,” I responded, not sure why I lied, as I was literally being roasted alive.
With equal parts warmth and encouragement, she replied, “You’re doing awesome!” As they sped away down the flat stretch I had just ridden, her partner in the driver’s seat let out a series of whoops and pumped his left fist in the air several times.
Energized (and roasted no more), I continued on my way through the high desert.