En Route to Starting Point

Down the last minute packing tasks and colorful adventures begin the transformation from daily life to adventurers. The Delta flight from Atlanta to Seattle is uneventful. I have been consistently thinking and tweaking the upcoming journey’s itinerary. The map that will undoubtedly be re-routed from time-to-time despite best intentions.

We arrive at 1:00am and depart by shuttle to the car rental location to retrieve our minivan. Angst crested by concern for a “rare” minivan available with roof rack side rails is quickly dissipated by the abundance of vehicles available with such an intact system. We select a Toyota Sienna and head to the nearby Comfort Inn on International Boulevard and immediately crash into our beds. Spotty and I share a room. Father and son. We have had a most fortunate close relationship. He falls to sleep quickly in his bed. I smile recalling his early childhood joi de vive and holding him in my arms. Now 18yo, a bright young man with an even greater shining soul. Mature, aware. An ember of adventure that needs stoking. How I look forward to sharing this journey with him, my young Jedi.

Morning light at 05:00am. I am already awake anyway by text messages from the east coast. The three hour time change urging my being-and-becoming energy source towards full early morning awareness.

Lobby breakfast. A busy place with Memorial holiday weekend travelers.  I am sitting in the hotel lobby drinking my OJ and I glance to the side table along the wall and open a Holy Bible. Perhaps a little start-the-day meaningful reading is just what my multitasking mind, tired body and hopeful soul needs just now.

The Norsemen assemble and head to the minivan. I-5 brings us south and last the to a

Three hour time change means the mind and body and spirit return to an an alive and refreshed state of being before 5am. Light already outside the Comfort Inn room window. Spotty and I, father and son-bunkmates.

Breakfast in the hotel lobby of eggs, bread, yogurt and orange juice. Not very hungry just yet. Sedentary travel curbing the appetites that we will surely witness in the days ahead as the cycling miles compound.

Relaxing in the hotel lobby I open a Holy Bible on the table stand and flip through randomly. Proverbs appears. Written long ago by King Solomon of Israel, son of the Psalmist King David. I make a note of a few salient passages that will do for tomorrow morning’s brief prayer blessings for us Norsemen before our ride ‘s commencement.

We depart in the Toyota Minivan and head south on I-5 through Tacoma,

crossing the Nasqually River bridge and arriving in Olympia, WA, the state Capitol, an hour later.

First chore-REI store to collect our ordered Thule Bike roof rack system that will hold our four bikes safely for any necessary transits.

My good friend from South Africa, Peter Loeb, our first segment’s support driver from WA to Wyoming, has studied these racks in great detail and leads the cumbersome installation of cross bars attached to minivan side rails followed by bike rack arm wrestling mechanisms. Bolts and screws and proper alignment. Adjustments until, nearly two hours later, the job is done. The task of deciphering the various parts and physics of mechanical engineering initially appeared daunting but, in time, we succeed at harnessing all bikes to the roof with optimistic security. On to Target across the street for a short list - a storage cooler, snacks bars while biking, sandwich bread with peanut butter and honey, etc...

Now racks without attached bikes is like a herd of adolescent male elk without antlers. Lost in the world until their purpose for being becomes clear.

We drive urgently to downtown Olympia and past the state Capitol dome beside a lake. Our two-wheeled friends are awaiting us. We stop at Old Town Bicycle on Capitol Way South. The bike shop has rebuilt our shipments from Atlanta and all is in order. Pick up some chain line and CO2 cartridges (used to inflate an inner tube in case of a flat tire). They are not allowed on board a flight - in check-in or carry-on luggage.

We mount the four bikes on the roof rack. Learning the proper technique for best fit and balance. All seems snug. We make a brief stop for lunch sandwiches at a Panera restaurant.

The van ride from Olympia to our starting point for the Norseman’s Passage is about 200mi venturing westward and then north along the Pacific Coast Scenic Byway. The meandering road brings us inland, the hugs the Pacific shoreline. Massive vertical sheets of Sitka Spruce and Douglas Fir trees greet the the rocky Northwest shoreline. A painter’s green palette of endearing chlorophyll pigments. Ferns and yellow-bud flowers align the roadway for miles.

We turn at Upper Hoh Road to venture to the Hoh Rainforest in the Olympic National Park. A simple taste of the massive forests that absorb the Pacific rainwaters each day as clouds gather like blankets between the ridge lines.

From the Hoh parking lot we stretch our legs with a lung-oxygenating brief trail hike. A loop through a majestic rainforest. Sitka spruce, Hemlocks, maples and conifers and curly ferns and wildflowers. Clubmoss clinging to maple boughs like hairy bearded gentile beasts. Fallen massive Spruces serving as nurselogs-their nutrients from decomposition giving rise to a whole ecosystem from its cavities. Life’s passage, rebirth. The grand circle before me and reminding me to live fully. I glance at my young son. He will need some nursing along this journey. My job as his father is not nearly done. And our time together over these next six weeks will be magical.

Rainwaters filter through these forests into small clear pools and streams. Percolating through rich nutrients and Mali Guthrie way to the rivers and onward to the ocean. More circles. Life cycles. The wheels of eternal motion no different then what awaits us tomorrow morning. Human locomotion but just the same as mere billions of drops of rain.

We return to the main road. Dinner time. We stop near the Sappho junction at the Hungry Bear Cafe. A mom and ooo family establishment for limberjack locals and everyone else traveling through. The Norsemen enjoying our company together. Jonah educates us on the theory of interstellar travel through wormholes. A shortcut between universes. Anyone present want to wormhole to Maine? No-that’s not what we signed up for although there may be a wishful “Wormhole Day” or two when energy wanes and the road dies not give you what you need. Mental and physical toughness to withstand the challenges of interstate bicycle travel.

Jonah devours the one-pound Hungry Bear burger in less than five minutes like an engorging python. I know he will need the energy in the days ahead.

On checkout at the restaurant counter Breezer notices the owner, Gary Johnson, preparing a fresh vase of colorful flowers and an unopened large stock bottle of Jack Daniels at the bar.

“You can’t lose with whiskey and flowers for the Mrs. Secret to a happy marriage.”

Our waitress comments to the owner about our upcoming cross country cycling journey. Gary replies, “Then you’re going to need a hell of a lot more than whisky and booze to make it.” Laughter. All good. Don’t think I’ll have much alcohol on this journey but the flowers evoke images of my lovely wife Judy back home. I left her roses on the countertop on departure. She deserves them daily. Judy signed up to join the ride from Jackson Hole, WY to Buffalo, NY. She will meet us in a few weeks time as assist with van support along with a good friend, Sonya.

We continue to Clallam Bay and then west along the coast to Neah Bay. Threatening gray low-lying heavy clouds continue to hover throughout the day.

Sundown races to dusk. Lights from boats along the Strait of Juan de Fuca, briny boundary waters between the USA and British Columbia, Canada.

Winding roads along rock strewn beaches and bays. It is a cyclist’s dream to ride beside the tides. The ebb and flow of a new journey that awaits with great excited anticipation.

I receive a text from Buffalo from home. Buffalo and I cycled cross country in the summer of 2017 from Tybee Island, GA to San Francisco, CA. I’ve been at work these past months writing chapters of my upcoming book about our journey and decided to share them with Buffalo before departing. He’s been enjoying them and is with me, and my fellow Norsemen, on this new journey.

He writes words of encouragement and knowing-ness. “Enjoy, my brother. Spread your wings and enjoy. G-d speed.”

From Neah Bay we take the road to Cape Flattery. Miss the turn to the cabins and run out of road five miles later. I realize this is where our starting point is tomorrow morning. We circle back and locate the turnoff to Hobuck cabins. It is after 10pm when we settle in for the night on comfortable cabins adjacent to tent camping sites. I hear the ocean. An early morning look awaits. An adrenaline-fueled form of dreamstate arrives. The cycling journey is set to begin in mere hours. The countdown has dissipated from months to days to hours now.

We have arrived at the beginning.