The Loneliness of the Long Distance Cyclist
an excerpt

Chapter One - Hap

Jack pines serrated the mountainsides in scraggly fashion, a ragtag bunch of non-descript evergreens, as Hap laboured to the summit of Washington Pass. He had been climbing and descending since leaving the campsite above Diablo at 7am. His sun-bronzed legs sweated in the afternoon sun as he drove the bicycle onwards, ever upwards. Salt stung his eyes. He wiped his brow with the back of his cycling gloves, themselves damp and reeking from three days of riding with only a soapless rinse each night.

What enabled him to keep up his progress on this seemingly endless ascent was the knowledge of the 25 mile descent on the other side – just a few more miles and he could relax in the motion-generated breeze, letting it cool his over-heated body by drying the perspiration on his skin. His lycra jersey was unzipped but his speed was too slow to cool him now. He could only drink and pour a little water over his head. He could stop in the shade of a roadside tree, and he had done so from time to time during the long day, but he wanted to make it to his next campsite before sundown; he had to keep going now. The air at this altitude – more than five thousand feet above sea level – was cool in the shade, but the July sun was hot on his back and neck and head, nonetheless he could not stop lest he be out on the highway after dark and there was the threat of a late afternoon thunderstorm to consider.

The bike was heavy, nearly seventy pounds, loaded as it was with tent, sleeping bag, foam pads, spare clothes – including a rain jacket as yet unused, tools and spare tubes, a knife, maps, but no GPS, not even a cell phone (Hap didn’t know if it would work this high up in the Cascades of Washington State – anyway, they always ran out of battery power when you most need them, so what was the point?) The bike weighed 25 pounds when stripped down and with racing wheels mounted but for this trip he had opted for steel rims and heavy duty tires and tubes, thick enough hopefully to spare him the inconvenience of having to fix a flat tire, especially if it happened in a rain storm or in a dangerous spot. Nonetheless he had brought patches and glue as insurance. The wheels and thicker tires increased the bike weight to 30 pounds. Add a pump, carrier racks, pannier bags, and a rear light - he carried a flashlight that could be strapped on the front and act as a headlamp in a pinch. With the camping gear and spare clothes, he was dismayed but not surprised to see the bike weigh out at 70 lbs. He himself weighed two hundred and thirty pounds, so when he was moving down the highway he and the bike massed three hundred pounds. He hoped he wouldn’t hit a deer, as much for the deer’s sake as his own. Now he thought about every avoirdupois as he laboured up the final climb of the day.

This morning he had climbed the steep road from Ross Lake near the Washington Power Utility company town of Diablo to the lookout where he could see the whole expanse of water above the Ross dam which provided electricity to much of the North-West of the state. It had taken forty-five minutes and he was well warmed up by then. He paused at the lookout to enjoy his breakfast of a dry bagel and a banana and to savour the warmth of the morning sun on his back. The view was impressive. He took pictures to show when he got home. The camera was fairly light, anyway how could you make a six-day trek by bike through the North Cascades and up into Canada without taking pictures?

Hap had studied the map and had planned where he would camp, weather and road conditions permitting. Today was the longest stretch of his journey because there were no towns or even gas stations between the store at New Halem, below Diablo where he had bought food last night and his intended rest stop tonight in Winthrop. He relied on mountain streams for refreshment along the way. He knew the risk of untreated water in the wilderness but reckoned it wasn’t as bad as people said, even at this time of the year when the streams were at their driest. In any case he did not want to haul any more weight up Washington Pass than he had to, than he already had loaded on his straining bike. He stopped often on the 5 hour long climb of Washington Pass to drink and refresh himself by washing in icy streams. The water tasted good all the more so because of his exertions.

Last night at the state campsite on the lake he had talked with a man and woman, Sam and Jessie? He had already forgotten their names – newly married – who were riding across the United States on their honeymoon – all the way to Boston. They were nice people, solid churchgoers but without being fanatic about their beliefs. At least they hadn’t tried to convert Hap during their brief acquaintance. By now they were probably five to ten miles ahead of him, likely he would never see them again.