PASCO, WASHINGTON: Thoughts On Mortality

August 9, 2019

Man, I love this campsite for reasons I can't even conjure up right now. Probably the main one is that I didn't see it coming. I guess it's not important enough to be recognized by Rand & McNally. I lingered around drinking coffee much longer than I should have. A few sprinkles of rain were the only thing that jostled me into packing up my tent and loading my bike for another day of riding. The rain cleared up before I left and I did leave, reluctantly, but with a renewed sense of anticipation for what might come next.

I can't thank you enough, Bureau of Reclamation.

I rode under cloudy skies and more intermittent sprinkles of rain. I turned on my flashing tail lights. The truck traffic I mentioned yesterday continued today. I believe there is a truck for every car on Highway 17. The 4' shoulder is a saving grace, but it's still a little unnerving when a big truck with a 50' trailer thunders past and you get a small sense of relief, only to see a second trailer attached to the first one barreling by.

When I stopped for a drink of water and a handful of almonds, I thought to document the truck traffic with a picture. It didn't take long at all (a matter of seconds) for a couple of trucks to accommodate me.

Another animal sighting. These lucky goats have a fine view.

Brown grass, green crops, hills, and way off on the horizon to the right, the Cascade Mountains.

As I approached the city of Pasco, with the heat ratcheting up once again, I took the first motel I could find. It was located in an industrial area with two big truck stops adjacent to it. The smell of diesel fuel was in the air. It was loud. It wasn't the Holiday Inn, but it wasn't the worst place I've ever stayed while on a bike tour.

I was assigned a second floor room and I carried my bike up the stairs. I felt strong. It made me feel like I'm still cut out for this bike touring business. It made me feel like I'm not a washed-up old geezer desperately trying to cling to my bike riding glory days. It made me feel good to know that, after a few hours of cycling, I can still dash up a flight of stairs to a second floor motel room with my bike and all of my gear still attached. In my estimation, as long as I can still do that, I will also be able to climb some hills and ride 40-50 miles in a day. When I can no longer do those things, I think that will be the end of my bike touring days.

There it is. I have a well-defined bike touring exit strategy. When I tumble down those motel stairs with my bike frame wrapped around my neck and my pedals digging into my broken ribs, that will be the time to give it up.

The good news is that I'm only 61-years old, so I figure I still have about 30 more years of touring before I suffer that career-ending fall down the stairs. But it's still good to plan ahead. When my cycle-touring days are over at age 91, I'll be just fine. I'll take up surfing, maybe.

I'm a little worried that, in just an hour or so, I've given more thought to my bike touring mortality than I have ever given to my actual physical mortality.

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Today's ride: 38 miles (61 km)
Total: 464 miles (747 km)

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