Columbia River

Camping during Covid-19

We left the Kettle Falls RV Park and rode due south. Camp grounds along the river where closed to tent camping, but the RV parks were open. We ended up getting very creative out of desperation. Wild camping was not really an option since it is mostly dry flat land with no water sources. In most places, getting to the river on your bike can be tricky or even impossible. Luckily, we were able to be stealthy and camp at the closed campground in Hunter without being detected. It was quiet, peaceful and perfect.

From Hunter we rode along the river for a bit then off into farm land on the scenic Miles-Creston route to the town of Wilber. In Creston, a town of about 300 people 9 miles before Wilber, we rode past Darren’s house. The only “out” Democrat in town. He invited us to sit at his picnic table, drink ice-cold water, eat chocolate chip cookies and chat. He said he secretly has 65 supporters in town.

In Wilber we stayed in another RV park before the long hot ride into Grand Coulee. Biking is a great way to social distance. The only time you really need to be around people is when you grocery shop. In the RV parks, everyone is self-contained and there is very little mingling. Apparently, this summer saw a huge increase in RV sales. I definitely felt that vibe.

I got my second second flat tire right in front of the sign for Steamboat Rock State Park. It was about 3pm and a hundred degrees. We decided this was a great place to pull over and stay for the night. Unfortunately, it was completely full. With no where else to go, no new tubes to switch out on my tire and sweltering heat, we did what anyone would do…go swimming. After cooling off, I had the mental bandwidth to fix the tire. By then it was late and now we really had nowhere to go. Thankfully, we found a couple with a small RV who were willing to share their campsite. We were up and out before the sun came up.

After a burning 40 mile ride into Soap Lake, we quickly changed into our suits and enjoyed the rest of the afternoon splashing around in the lake. It appears that I am the last to know about the healing properties of Soap Lake. George, the Ukrainian that comes to the lake every summer from Oregon, told us that the black mud is for our bones and the green mud is for our skin. I wanted both. George somehow adopted us and became our mud mentor. After three hours we decided it was time to pack up. We still had an hour or so to our RV park down the road. Every place we tried at Soap Lake was completely filled due to a motorcycle convention.

Wild fires

We came to yet another juncture. Do we go up to Highway 2, cruise over to catch a bike trail along I-90, or ride down to Hwy 410 behind Mt. Rainier? We consulted with a state patrol officer who warned us about the wild fires burning out of control south of the junction. With a flip of a coin, we decided heading north and crossing Hwy 2 made the most sense.

After a night at the campsite on the Columbia River in Wenatchee, I got up Monday morning to clear skies and everyone loading up and leaving after a long Labor Day weekend. I was happy to have a little extra space and looking forward to only the second rest day on the then 3 week trip. I figured in another week I’d be home and getting back to work. Now was the time to play.

As I was preparing for lunch, I saw a wall of smoke coming closer and closer. It felt like a sci-fi movie from the 70’s. A park ranger was near by and explained that the wind had shifted and now all the smoke from the wildfires were coming our way.

I took everything down and loaded everything up as fast as possible. I still had a slow leek in my front tube that never got patched very well. I pumped some air in and hoped it would last until I got to a hotel. My goal for the day was to find a new tube but that never happened.

I found a Super 8 just down the road. Thankfully, it was after Labor Day so there was a room. Would the wind shift again? How long was this going to last? What were the alternatives for getting out? Soon I was receiving texts from friends worried that I was in the line of fire and they helped me with ideas for evacuating.

In the end, a local man that Ruby meet at Starbucks the day before offered to take us over the pass to Monroe. From there, my brother came with his big truck to pick us up and bring us home. The ride ended abruptly, but I was very thankful for peopling coming together to help us out in a very timely manner.

Take-aways

I am reminded, once again, how beautiful and diverse Washington State is. I was awed every day of the trip. From ocean, sound, lakes and rivers to hills, mountains, forest, desert, plains, and valleys, we have it all. I feel so blessed that I am healthy enough to even do this ride. Grateful to be able to buy decent food to nourish me on the journey and the proper equipment to keep me comfortable.

I am also reminded of how little we need to be healthy, happy and taken care of. It’s the people you meet along the way and the people who have your back at home that really matter. In today’s precarious environment or wildfires, drought, torrential rain, sea rising and other natural disasters maybe less really is more. It certainly is on a bike!

Tires

On a final note…now I’m getting sentimental about my tires. These Swalbe Marathon Mondials rode from La Paz, Bolivia to Ushuaia, Argentina and then turned around and rode back up the Atlantic cost of Argentina to Buenos Aires and Punta Este, Uruguay (around 6,000 miles) with no flat tires!

They then went back down to South America and rode from San Martin de los Andes to Patagonia National Park in Patagonia, Chile, then crossed the Andes and rode back up to Bariloche, Argentina (around 2,500 miles) with no flat tires. Then, these little troopers left my front porch in Seattle and rode straight up through Canada to the Arctic Ocean at Tuktoyatuk and then into Alaska and back down to Seattle (2,600 miles) with only one flat tire (God bless them!). Finally, this summer they started to get tired after rolling out another 800 miles. I had three flat tires on very thin treads. After nearly 12,000 miles, it’s time for these gems to have a rest. My heart is heavy. Gone but not forgotten.