Bags and cases is a problem to me. Are problems. Problem. Problems. Is. Are. Shipping them around empty is also still quite a pain and not very environmental and wasteful in general. Yet. Right now right now, like even here wherever I am, right now, I’m returning hospitality that Lori and Wayne — the fine folks down in Florida who two years earlier showed me hospitality — by stowing the cases and bags to a three piece carbon fiber touring tandem bike in my garage whilst their tour the Erie Canal Trail. Plus two other cyclists hard cases and what not. It’s a lotta goddamn luggage all for a long bike ride.

Chad, who’s joining toward the end of day one of this ride, boxed his up at a shop and brought it on his flight. He’s landed and all seems well. I’m encouraged. I got lucky. I got family in Astoria and we’re all kinda from Whitefish Montana. Thanks to the rail roads and my grandfather and his brothers. There won’t be daily updates because there won’t be cell service.

I digress.

So yes, my bike comes on the plane with me. Delta flight to Atlanta then another to Portland. It’s a little banged up though quite rideable. So I do have that going for me. Something rough in the rear wheel though.

I get 12 miles of a warmup day while staying in Astoria Oregon with cousins Sharon and Dennis. The Caferros have railroad history out west, one might even consider us railroad royalty. But without the wealth and fame. So not really. Check the railroad museum in Whitefish Montana to really smell what I’m stepping in. Astoria though. Funky historic place, the first established city west of the Mississippi River, I’ve been told. If. One doesn’t count the Mexicans or any native populations whatever. So really not really though. But as least Lewis and Clark killed a bunch people to make it all the way out here. That’s American AF. A luscious patriotism wants in my belly. Really it’s the blueberry honey brown sugar oatmeal out on my cousins’ deck right now, now. Breakfast. Yum. Nom. What’s really hardcore is how L and C went solo for their second albums, thus offing twice as many humans on the way back home. It’s the most ballingest thing you can do for the flag.

Miles pile up. Heat climbs. I climb. And ride. Breakfast was hours ago, why you bringing up old shit?! 1800 feet on the day at just 22 miles and it after a 3 mile long 1000 feet at once climb comes a ferry party. And after the ferry party comes Puget Island. And Washington.

I like Washington not because of George; more of a fat kid liking cake kind like. And really because of the no turn away policy their state camp grounds adhere to. It. Just. Makes. Sense. Small tent equals a small need for legal land to camp on. Especially when you consider the restrooms and the showers, I’ll gladly pay and are happier to when the parks consider what it’s like out chea! Google no turn away policies, I believe Arkansas and Virginia have them amongst other states. Not in New York tho. So google it, learn more and support it with any emcee in any 52 states.

Fade from black 55 miles into the day. The Longview Washington Starbucks is the setting. In an alternate universe version of Trees Lounge, I’m Steve Buscemi acting and directing. That’s were the similarities end though. And that’s where Chad and I connect. I’m sipping a nitro cold brew, he’s rode north from Portland where’s he problem been doing weird shit for the last three days. English teachers on summer break are the wildest bunch when left by themselves. I seen it. In the Trees Lounge redux, Chad’s probably dressed in drag as the Chloe Sevigny character or in black face as the Sam Jackson character – partly because I’d want him to be both offensive and yet also a famous and talented movie star. I can’t call it but I’m happy to see him.

Ah. Push it. Ah. Push it, real good… to the shadow of Mount Saint Helen. Sea Quest State Park to be exact. Pop up the palace like it ain’t no thang.

Not much sleep is to be had. Sandman rarely cometh, that boring old fart. Lots of peeing all night. Yay hydration. Chilly morning means I later it up; Chad forgot pants. Amongst many other items. What a god damn nube I brought along.

Hitting the road and we’re skirting alongside Mount Rainier, catching glimpses not feelings. Actually, I kinda have all the feels right now, and all the climbs to Centralia. Mad climbing. Those dumb 10% grades. Then I get the double whammy of a 15% grade climb and my long standing, never having had to walk my bike streak comes to an end. Like all good things. Centralia has a solid coffee shop. Cold brew and panini. Chad goes to buy pants. Oat milk latte and protein balls. I’m fueled the fuck up, all hopped up on (not) Mountain Dew: imma be on you like a spider monkey old man.

The miles and elevation pile up like dirty laundry in an ill raised 19 year old’s college dorm room. Once in Tenino, we are blessed with 15 miles of rail trail and proceed to pass up several solid camp sites because it’s too damn fun even at mile 70. At the terminus is Yelm, “gateway to Mount Rainier” and the return of the remote sleep. Otherwise known as ghost camping or stealth camping or illegal homelessness. Thank a lot Supreme Court. Dumb fucks. Anyhoo. We need to burn the last hour and d a half of daylight so we hit The Local. It’s the best bar and grill Friday night in Yelm had to offer. “Girls girls girls” blares over there in house system. Motley. Not beastie. Fail. I suppose. The food is good. Service is meh. They forget the salad dressing. And after offering to keep our waters full, lack in the required follow thru. We meander off in the darkness to set up in a small secluded town park. I don’t even need a light to pop up the palace and I dive right into it.