September 14, 2023
Beep!
Up and down, up and down, off the road and back on, off the road and back on. Shadows and sunlight all mixed up across the pavement. There’s one road for the entire east side of Orcas and that’s what I’m on.
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I care more about keeping myself alive now than I used to. Before Juniper was born I was just nice to have around — now I'm a central part of keeping our home running. That’s why I added a flashing light that doubles as a radar to the back of my bike. If a car gets within a few hundred feet, a tiny screen mounted at the end of my bars gives out a beep and uses a series of white dots to show how far or close the thing is behind me.
I don't like most modern bike tech. I’m riding a 1987 mountain bike with friction shifters and an eight-speed cassette and U-brakes, after all. But I like not being left for dead at the side of the road quite a lot.
The radar sets itself off all the time today.
Just under 2,000 feet of climbing in 20 miles brings me to Moran State Park and the shores of Cascade Lake. Old-growth trees and CCC-era shelters share space with the dragonflies that zig and zag wherever, darting and floating in place, doing their good work.
I set up the tent on a site high above the lake, tucked back among the trees, near a creek that tumbles slow and quiet in the way such things do toward the end of summer.
No screaming kids and no seared meats tonight. The light hiss of the creek and a single hooting owl send me off to sleep.
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