Get Up and Go

I don't want to go.

I don't want... to go.

I don't want to go.

This was me early this morning. Staring at a half-empty cup of coffee, waiting for the caffeine to take root in my veins. The bowl of oatmeal now vacated of its substance and trying to counter the effects of a night of whiskey.

It would be easy to convince myself to go back to bed. I could sleep in and spend the day with the family. That's bound to be more valuable in the end, right?

But I had made a plan. And the plan had a purpose. And that's how, 40 minutes later, I'm astride the Tiger and riding down I-5 south of Seattle. The day is turning out to be pleasant; cool in the mid-40s but the sun is peeking through scattered clouds. Mt Rainer appears off to the southeast. It too looks to be clearing the fog from its head this morning as clouds pass around it and above.

Suddenly, on this fairly empty stretch of highway, a white BMW rolls up fast behind me. What's that joke about the difference between BMWs and porcupines? Unpredictable movement is bad news on a bike so I stay in the far-left lane--it's HOV anyway and tends to attract slower drivers. The BMW hangs behind me for a couple miles then aggressively passes around on the right. It must be going 100 because I'm above 70 and the distance lengthens quickly.

Through Tacoma and on toward Olympia and I catch the flash of police lights up ahead. Funny thing, karma, but it only took 21 miles for the BMW driver to collect his speeding tax.

By the way, a porcupine's pricks are on the outside.

At mile 72 I start to feel chilled. The temperature is about the same as before but I'm starting to collect beads of mist all over. Mist turns to droplets and droplets turn to rivulets, which brings the chills.

At mile 124, I'm stopping in the little timber town of Raymond. Not the prettiest of locales but I find gas, coffee, and a package of chocolate donettes. One of the locals decides I'm a good conversation companion so we spend the next 20 minutes talking about whatever's on his mind; the 8,000 miles he's driven in the past few months, he's not sure if he's headed today to Aberdeen or Centralia, he used to ride motorcycles and built one when he was 16, he lives on 7.5 acres along a creek and hasn't had any slides yet, and his buddy won't sell his wood splitter. The end of the conversation fades into noise as my new friend gets in his car and closes the door--still talking--and I saddle up and head for the coast.

A view of the Pacific from Cape Disappointment State Park

 At mile whatever--I lose count--I skip the Astoria Bridge and head over to Cape Disappointment State Park. The view of the ocean is worth the extra 15 miles. But then it's back to the bridge over the mouth of the Columbia River.

The Astoria-Megler Bridge and western docks

 I was drawn to Astoria based on the recommendation of my friend David Carson, and also the recent story in the Seattle Times about the sea lions who have made the East Moorings of Astoria their springtime home. Apparently the salmon is too good to pass up and doesn't take a lot of effort on their part.

They have gathered at the moorings int he hundreds, if not thousands.

They're cute until you see the price of salmon at the grocery store.

Astoria is a charming little town, and I plan to return with the family. Lots to see there. I just couldn't go to the Goonies house without the family, though, wouldn't have been right.