June 13, 1981
The Mount Saint Helens loop, 1981
Background
The idea for this tour began on Soup Sunday, a monthly institution in our neighborhood that was initiated by Malissa, my second wife and I believe her ex-husband. It was a neighborhood potluck open to all - Malissa put up a soup, and guests contributed everything else. It’s where I first met Malissa and it’s where I first met Tom Arnold, the man who traveled with me for most of this tour.
One Sunday evening that Spring Tom and I compared notes and realized we both had bike tours across the North Cascades Highway in mind. He was planning to ride it east to Spokane where he would visit and stay indefinitely with a friend and then take the Amtrak back to Salem, and I planned on a loop that returned to Seattle over Snoqualmie Pass and then took the Amtrak home from there.
And as context, here’s a snapshot of myself at the time. Newly remarried, I was the primary parent for Shawn during the school year and newly a stepparent to Malissa’s daughter Eden, about a year younger than Shawn.
I was more or less self-employed, working primarily as a housepainter but filling in with latchkey (before and after school) work at a child care center, seasonal cannery work, and so on. My favorite story from this era was painting the eaves of my former house, standing on the roof barefoot for better traction on the steepish roof while I leaned over its edge to brush paint the fascia board (and how is it that so many foolish young men survive to old age unbroken?). I left my converse tennis shoes at the base of the ladder, but found only one there when I climbed back down. I puzzled over this a bit until a passer-by told me he’d seen a yellow lab walking south down the street with a shoe in his mouth. I finally found it three blocks away, in his doghouse.
I was still a runner then, and most mornings began with me running a four or five mile loop up through the campus of the state mental hospital (the famous one that was the setting for One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest). I’d continue running more or less like this, as well as playing center field on the office’s softball team, for another 20 years - when I apparently half-ruptured the quad tendon in my left knee (I’d compete the job on a ski trip in the Italian Dolomites a few months later) and overnight permanently ended my running days.
And I was still a dog owner, but a poor one. Franny, one of my favorite dogs, would accompany me on my morning runs, off leash. On of the saddest and most shameful days of my life, she ran in front of a car when leaving the hospital grounds. She died in my arms as I carried her the rest of the way home, bawling the entire way. Christmas Morning, 1980, a day that will haunt me until the end.
I was a competition chess and go player, and many evenings would end up with me on the porch of my neighbor’s house playing chess with Werner Brandt, the man Carol and I sold our home to when we split up. Werner is one of the men I credit with saving me from a haphazard life with few resources. A computer instructor at the community college, one evening after he’d tipped over his king in defeat again he observed that I should go with my talents and interests and enroll in a programming course at Chemeketa and get paid for it. That really did change everything.
On other nights, Shawn and I would bike across the river to West Salem and climb halfway up the ridge to Fred and Marlynn’s home for an evening of Go. We’d play a couple of games with Keith Jarret albums playing in the background while Shawn fell asleep on the couch. Later on, a groggy Shawn and I would drop down the ridge and bike back across the river, him cradled between my arms and sitting on a towel.
And I was something of a musician then. I played the alto recorder, and many evenings would find me lying in the hammock on the porch of Malissa’s 1890’s Victorian house, either playing the recorder or reading bedtime stories to Shawn or Eden while they lay in my lap.
And somewhere in here I decided to teach myself to play the piano. I found a used spinet on a grocery flyer, and was surprised after I’d bought it to find that it lived only three blocks up the street. It got delivered by four teenagers who wheeled it up Breyman and then lifted it up the stairs to our living room. And since this is during my Stupid Decade, I didn’t believe in cameras and don’t have a photo of them wheeling it to its new home.
And Malissa and I were co-owners with two other couples of a community pickup truck, a real beaut with at least three different colors to its scheme: baby blue, red, and rust. We picked it up for about $200, intending to use it for such odd jobs as trips to the dump, compost loads for the raised bed garden I built in our front yard, loads of firewood for the cast iron wood stove that heated the house, and so on. I think the decision to buy the truck was another brainstorming outcome on a Soup Sunday.
I sure wish I had a photo of that truck, too! In its place though I do have two terrific truck stories to share, both of which really are clearly burned into my memory. The first is of the night we bought the truck, and all six of us rode up to the top of the ridge in West Salem to admire the sun setting over the Coast Range. One couple sat up in the cabin, and the other four of us sat in back on the bed. What a lark! The last two blocks to the top were up a super-steep, rocky unpaved lane - bounce, bounce, bounce all the way. After a glorious sunset we bounced our way back down and back across the river and home again. It wasn’t until the next day that we discovered that the bed wasn’t actually bolted on, and could easily have bounced us all off on the descent.
The other was on July 4th, probably 1980. Malissa and I used to have whole milk delivered to us once or twice a week by Helen, a hunched over elderly woman with a raspy voice and long white hair kept back in a pony tail who kept cows on her property 25 miles to the west in Dallas. On July. 4th Shawn and I drove over to Helen’s place and loaded it up with the really good stuff, a steaming pile destined for the raised garden beds. And we were in luck, because when a nail punctured one of our balding tires we were just entering Dallas and the Les Schwab there was open on this holiday afternoon. I’ve always felt kindly toward Schwab since then, for letting our truck befoul their service area for the next hour or two.
Oh, OK - one more truck story. Early one morning Helen climbed up the porch to drop off the milk and let us know that now her truck had broken down mid-route, and she had a problem. She’s got the truck to deal with, but first she needs help completing her route. Problem solved! I’ve got a truck, she’s got milk, so I got to play milkman one morning. Type 1 Fun!
But enough about me, my former life, and the glorious community truck. Let’s get on with the tour.
The Mount Saint Helens Eruption
Mount Saint Helens erupted on May 18th, 1980 - just over a year from the beginning of this tour. The Wikipedia article reminds us that this eruption is considered the most significant volcanic eruption in US history, and the earthquake that caused the entire weakened north face to slide away resulted in a sector collapse which was the largest subaerial landslide in all recorded history worldwide. An eruption column rose 80,000 feet (24 km; 15 mi) into the atmosphere and deposited ash across 11 U.S. states and five Canadian provinces.
I imagine anyone living in the Pacific Northwest at that time can tell you what they were doing when the blast occurred. Here’s what I was doing, as I remember it now. I was in the front yard of our home, possibly working the raised garden bed but I think splitting oak - a load of firewood hauled with the community truck - with a maul, barefoot (see previous comment concerning young men).
I remember hearing a loud whump that sounded to me like a sonic boom. Nothing was visible, but everyone heard it and minutes later the streets were filled with people looking north - either they’d heard the sound themselves and came out to look for the source, or by then some must have heard or seen the news reports. And then, slowly, the fifteen mile high eruption column began clearing the northern horizon.
Thursday, 6/12: Seattle, 10 miles
I don’t really remember anything about this day, other than it began with Tom and I biking together to the Salem Amtrak station where we boxed the bikes and rode it north to Seattle. From there we biked north through town and up the Magnolia Viaduct to my parents’ home where we spent the night, admiring the gorgeous view from their deck across Puget Sound to the Olympic Mountains and south to Mount Rainier - their dream home (anyone’s dream home really) that they lived in for decades until the time came to move into assisted living downtown at the end.
This photo is from a few years earlier when Carol and I were still together, but it gives a good sense of the look in those days.
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Friday, 6/13: Darrington (Squire Creek Campground), 77 miles, 3,100’
And here the written journal begins.
Tom Arnold and I, after spending the night at Stewart & Lynn’s new home at the south end of Lake Union, awoke early and biked up the western side of the lake to Gasworks Park, where we picked up the newly paved Burke-Gilman Trail and met up with Dennis who escorted us to his and Linda’s home near the University of Washington for breakfast. A can’t recall now whether pancakes served in amusing shapes were served, but it’s a possibility. Alan, Dennis and I were close friends for years.
Dennis rode the first day with us, planning to camp with us the first night and return home tomorrow. he had a back road planned for us from Seattle to Arlington, and it was wonderful having him along. We hardly encountered a hill in eighty miles. And saw very few cars. The route stayed on lovely river valleys - to Bothell via the Burke-Gilman Trail, then to Snohomish, Granite Falls, Arlington, and then nearly to Darrington for a campsite.
The riding was easy - three is a good number, and there was only on mishap when I broke a spoke on my rear wheel. It took an hour. To repair because I had to remove the freewheel to replace the spoke, and then the valve on the tube broke when I replaced it. Fortunately I had all the necessary tools along.
It has been a real treat to spend some time with Dennis and get back in touch again. It has been too long.
Another contextual aside, on the Burke-Gilman Trail.
The Burke-Gilman Trail
Another contextual aside, on the Burke-Gilman Trail.
While not the oldest (that is recognized as Wisconsin’s Elroy-Sparta State Trail , opened in 1967), the Burke-Gilman Trail is one of the oldest, with the first paved 12 mile section between Gasworks Park and An excerpt from the City of Seattle Website:
Burke-Gilman History
The Burke-Gilman Trail is one of the most heavily used pedestrian and bicycling facilities in Seattle. It runs east from Golden Gardens Park in Ballard and connects to the Sammamish River Trail in Bothell. It is a 27-mile (43 km) multi-use recreational trail and is part of the King County Regional Trail System.
Born as a Railroad
In 1885 Judge Thomas Burke, Daniel Gilman and ten other investors set out to establish a Seattle-based railroad so that the young city might win a place among major transportation centers and reap the economic benefits of trade. Their plan was to start along today's Burke-Gilman Trail route and go north to Sumas and connect with the Canadian Transcontinental line. Their Seattle, Lake Shore and Eastern Railroad, though it never got past Arlington, Washington, was a major regional line serving Puget Sound logging areas. The line was acquired by Northern Pacific in 1913 and continued in fairly heavy use until 1963. The Great Northern, Northern Pacific, and Burlington lines were merged in 1970 to become Burlington Northern Railroad. In 1971 Burlington Northern applied to abandon the line.
A Multiple Use Trail
Citizens quickly recognized the non-motorized transportation and recreational potential in the railroad line and launched a movement to acquire the right-of-way for a public biking and walking trail. Objections from residents living near the proposed trail were overcome and the City of Seattle, the University of Washington and King County cooperated in developing the route. The original 12.1 miles of the trail connecting Seattle's Gas Works Park and King County's Tracy Owen Station in Kenmore were dedicated on August 19, 1978.
At the time of this ride it extended as far north as roughly the north end of Lake Washington.
Saturday, 6/14: Diablo Dam (Colonial Campground), 55 miles, 2,700’
We got off to an early start today, had breakfast in Darrington, and then we rode together to Rockport where Dennis headed back to LaConner and a ride home while Tom and I continued eastward up the Skagit River .
These first 25 miles of the day were remarkably easy with virtually no changes in elevation as we skirted the Sauk River and toward the North Cascades. There was little elevation gain until we came to the first of the dams, but we have been climbing steadily ever since. We are stopped for the night at the Colonial Campground on Diablo Lake. We didn’t get too far - 57 miles - but the weather has gotten a bit foul. Maybe tomorrow we’ll be able to see the mountains but they’re hidden today. Today we’ll have to be content with the cliffs and waterfalls.
I fell today, but it wasn’t too serious. I tore my Pendleton and my right knee, and my gloves were badly scraped but the hands are fine. The fall occurred when the front wheel slipped off an unseen lip on the pavement. (This is one of those lessons you learn along the way. The lip was in the middle of the paint stripe, and ever since I’ve avoided riding the stripe.)
Tom is starting to labor from a sore Achilles tendon. I hope that it is better tomorrow. It could be complicating.
Sunday, 6/15: Winthrop (Pearrygin State Park), 78 miles, 6,500’
Over the pass today! Tom’s ankle is better, but his knee is bothering him now. It was a long but not too steep climb to Rainy Pass, and it kept looking as if we were about to hit the floor of the cloud ceiling but never did. We were fortunate and enjoyed a dry traverse. Right at the pass the sky cleared, and we could see the mountains for the first time - just spectacular! Every quarter of a mile a new peak appeared.
We weren’t done though. On the way up Washington Pass an incredulous tourist passed us each a beer out of his passenger-side window. They were very welcomely received.
After summiting Washington Pass we were rewarded with an exhilarating coast down toward Mazama, found not much there, so we trucked on in to Winthrop by a back road. After enjoying some rubbernecking there we biked another three miles north to Pearrygin State Park.
Tom’s Svea stove has been an entertaining dimipension for this trip. Tom is intensely dependent upon hot beverages at the end of the day, and on both Friday and Saturday evenings it looked like the stove would fail. On Saturday Tom lost the heat spreader and he looked like he wanted to cry at dinner tonight. I saved his evening though by fabricating a new one, crude but functional, from a tin can using my Swiss Army knife. He is permanently in my debt.
Monday, 6/16: Tonasket (Chief Tonasket Park), 60,miles, 5,400’
I awoke at about 4:30 this morning and went out for a bird hunt by the marshy end of the lake. It had been a treat listening to each of the different bird species starting their song as the morning brightened, reminding me of Leopoldo’s writing (from A Sand County Alamnac, one of my favorites from the past).
At about six, Tom and I left for breakfast in Twisp (an Indian word for wasp). I love getting to eat these huge trucker’s breakfasts! We then headed for Imak and Okanogan on an uphill climb followed by a long descent, a pattern we were to become familiar with in the next few days. At Okanagon I got a flat tire whike pulling into the grocery store - not a bad place to fix a flat.
And the written journal ends here. After biking 385 miles in six days and with over 24,000’ of elevation gain (for an average day of 65 miles with 4,000’), I probably just got behind. It’s easy to imagine me dropping off almost in mid-sentence exhausted in the shadows of the Grand Coulee Dam and never picking it up again.
The remainder of the journal is written from memory and best guesses.
Tuesday, 6/17: Republic (Republic Park), 43 miles, 4,000’
I really don’t recall much about this day at all, or at least not very accurately. I’m surprised to see that it included a third pass, Wauconda, because my memory is of it feeling like I was rising and falling constantly throughout the day. No doubt I was laboring under the influence of the previous four days and in need of a day off myself. I didn’t have one to spare though. I had a train to catch in Seattle, and for all I know some type of commitment back in Salem.
Wednesday, 6/18: Grand Coulee Dam (North Dam Park), 72 miles, 3,700’
At Republic I turned south and left Route 20. If Tom hadn’t stopped for a day off,this is the point at which we originally planned to separate and go our own ways. It’s a pretty long day at 73 miles, but from the profile it doesn’t look bad at all. There’s just the one climb of consequence, crossing Keller Butte Ridge on the Colville Reservation.
Surprisingly then, this is the day I remember as the hardest of the tour by far - none of the others comes even close. At 73 miles it’s one of the longer stages, but there’s really only the one climb of consequence crossing Keller Butte Ridge. There were times I questioned if I could make it across that ridge or even across the Colville Reservation at all, and there were several times where I stopped at a patch of shade to lie down and recover enough so I could continue. And by the time I reached Grand Coulee Dam and collapsed for the evening I was in quite bad shape, without appetite and completely exhausted and defeated.
In retrospect, I think two things were going on. First, this was the first fully sunny day of the tour, with much of it biking in the open through the eastern Washington desert. I’m sure that I was overheated, dehydrated, possibly stricken with sunstroke, and in need of electrolytes. And, I think I was experiencing the first of the arrhythmia episodes that would become a part of my life for the next 40 years. The second occurred just the next year in similar circumstances, climbing the Mitchell Grade in central Oregon on my ride from Detroit to Baker City.
Thursday, 6/19: Ephrata (Ephrata City Park), 58 miles, 1,700’
Another long day with no specific memory attached with it. It’s country I know well though, as here I’m essentially retracing the route I took 20 years older as a 14 year old, biking from Seattle to Sun River.
Friday, 6/20: Seattle, 30 miles, 700’
And thirty miles later the tour ends, or possibly even sooner when I might have stuck out my thumb somewhere beside the road for a lift. I don’t think so though. I think I made it all the way to a gas station in George, where I talked my way into a ride to Ellensburg and the Greyhound station where I could take the bus the rest of the way to Seattle.
And why did the ride end here? Because after I left Ephrata and rode those arrow straight miles across the open sagebrush to George, with every passing mile the air got thicker with a billowing white cloud of dust that rose with each passing car and eventually merged into one long, continuous thirty mile long white cloud. Over a year after the eruption, there was still so much ash on the highway in central Oregon to make biking feel all but impossible.
I have one other memory from this day, of the hitchhiking itself. It’s not that long of a ride from George to Ellensburg, but the farther we got the less I trusted the driver. It was a relief to get to the other end and get out of his car safely.
Other than that, I don’t remember anything about the bus ride. I surely meant to break it into two ninety mile days, but it’s just speculation to assume I broke it somewhere just beyond Snoqualmie Pass.
Monday, 6/23: Salem, 10 miles
The trip ended as it began: with a ride up to Magnolia Bluff for another night at my parents’ home, and a ride south to the King street Station to catch the Amtrak home.
There’s a little more to say about the story though. First, there’s the fact that probably twenty years later we would still see a plume rising from Mount Saint Helens when we dropped from Terwilliger Boulevard into the city. If I can find one of those photos in an old journal sometime, I’ll drop it in here.
The photos I regret not being able to include though are ones I really do seem to have destroyed by accident, of the time somewhere around 2010 when Rachael and I climbed to the rim of the caldera with one of her team members, Tom Strauch. We drove up to the base of the mountain the night before and slept in the back of his camper, and at dawn started trudging up the steep, sandy southern slope of what remains of rhe mountain. Maybe they’ll still show up, but there were shots of Rachael and Tom trudging up the slope ahead of me, of Tom and I standing on the precipice staring down into a still shouldering pit, and stunning views all around of Ranier, Adams, and Mount Hood.
And, there’s this one final contribution from the journal: the bird list.
- Robin
- Western kingbird
- Eastern kingbird
- Northwestern crow
- Stellars jay
- Oregon junco
- Raven
- Varied thrush
- Common Bushtit
- American goldfinch
- Barn swallow
- Violet-green swallow
- Cliff swallow
- Bank swallow
- Rufous hummingbird
- Commom nighthawk
- Yellow-bellied sapsucker
- Pileated woodpecker
- Red-tailed hawk
- Olive-sided flycatcher
- Gray Jay
- Red-winged blackbird
- Yellow-headed blackbird
- Western meadowlark
- Brewer’s blackbird
- Shoveler
- Catbird* (indicates a lifetime first)
- Western kingbird
- Brown-headed cowbird
- Trail’s flycatcher
- Black-billed magpie
- Red-shafted flicker
- English sparrow
- European starling
- Mourning dove
- Killdeer
- Common crow
- Evening grosbeak
- American coot
- Blue-winged teal
- Williamson’s sapsucker*
- Mountain bluebird
- Chipping sparrow
- Clark’s nutcracker
- Cedar waxwing
- Bullock’s oriole
- Rough-winged swallow
- Mallard
- Canada goose
- Yellow warbler
- Ring-billed gull
- Yellow-breasted chat* (FDR Lake)
- American kestrel
- Black-headed grosbeak
- Lazuli bunting
- Black-chinned hummingbird
- Grasshopper sparrow*
- Horned lark
- California gull
- California quail
- Cassin’s finch*
- Hairy woodpecker
- Swainson’s hawk
- Black-capped chickadee
- Song sparrow
- Great blue heron
- Scrub Jay
- Rufous-sided towhee
- Belted kingfisher
- Chukar* (Banks Lake)
- White-throated swift*
- Western grebe
- Herring gull
- Rock dove
- brewer’s sparrow
- Common loon
- Pied-billed grebe
- Cinnamon teal
- Ruddy duck
- Lesser scaup
- Canvasback
Today's ride: 515 miles (829 km)
Total: 1,121 miles (1,804 km)
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