I live in a magical world.

In a magical world.

In a magical world.

Why do you wanna wake me from such, a beautiful dream?

Campground bathrooms really need elevator music. I’m in a two stall shitter and the guy next to me is way too expressive about his movements. Vocal about his dumping. Also. Why is it called “taking a shit” when one really leaves it?! Hmmmm. My neph calls it making waste. That fits spot on.

I down a liter of water.

Ellensburg. 40 miles in on the day. We take a break. Feeling good. Better than yesterday. Shop for food for the next two days. Fill up on water. Water in, water out. The temperature’s rising and it’s not surprising.

For life is so exciting on the island in my room
And as I sing and dance along the shadows of the moon.

It’s downright scorching by the time after noon comes around. Which it now has. Now now. We’ve got little coverage from the sun, I typically prefer going straight native on these long rides, now I’m covering more skin than a Muslim gal on prom night. Wait, I don’t think that’s the saying. Covering more skin than a ninja assassin on the job. Meh, that’s not doing it either. Covering more skin than Buffalo Bill — Silence of the Lambs BB, of course. All about that lotion. Nah that don’t really drive the point home the way I want to. So let’s just say I’m really really really covered up.

I down a liter of water.

Further east we have a straight up Sand trail, as we’ve been warned. This shit is a beach basically, and apparently it’s the horses fault. I’m looking at you Wilbur from Green Acres. Never been more grateful for a tailwind though. Three miles per hour surfing down through the desert, with no cover whatsoever from the 100° mid afternoon heatwave. This is some of hardest shit I’ve done. I’m exhausting myself riding both downhill and downwind. Balance. Spinning out. Chat is probably back there walking but I just can’t. It’s up there with biking through the blizzards of Buffalo, staying in some sort of forward motion despite wind and sinking surfaces. I don’t wanna stop but it is getting harder to stay balanced. I’m soaking in my own sun coverings, drops of sweat streaming down my goggles. I bet I do look like some sort of ninja. Or a sandy version of Snake Eyes/Storm Shadow the GI Joe characters — I’m still unclear on who the good guys and bad guys are anymore. Thanks America.

I down another liter of water.

The script is being flipped. It’s flipping, more properly put. Landscapes and surfaces and things start changing. It’s basically the high desert now. Called the Palouse me thinks. No more evergreens and ferns just sage and rock. Yesterday was clearly the bridge and tunnel crew. Right now though it’s the cut-through sections of rail trail creating canyon like passages between tall basalt walls on either side team. I needed a whole lotta hyphens in that last sentence so you probably won’t understand this. It’s ok, I can only concentrate on one thing at a time. Can listen to music, can’t look at scenery, can reflect on writing these very words right now. Gotta stay upright, gotta stay pedaling and moving forward. Lots of littered rockfall strewn around and I slalom around them as afternoon heat exhaustion settles in. 2” to 24” rocks too, crazy colors. . I’m finally going six mph down the steady grade of the former Milwaukee Road Line. That’s twice as fast over rocks than in the sand.

The fragrance of sweet flowers is filling the air
Cool peace of mind is devastating

I down two more liter of water.

Now it’s tunnel detour sections, climbing rocks on bikes. The range for varied experiences keeps piling up. Back to loose gravel then more sand.

I down another 2 liters of water. .

Tumbleweed rolls alongside me at 10 mph; the this glorious tailwind pushes us through all of this. For real, it as essential as nurses on the Panda, and without it we would be camping in the middle of nothing, instead of the this wonderful Washington state park campground.

Now becoming dusk, a deer runs and leaps alongside me and my bike about 50 feet away, she’s still with me for a good half mile before turning off as I reach the entrance to Wanapum Campground. Twilight approaching and wind picking up even more down along the Columbia River. 78 grueling miles later. Liters and liters of water. Showers. Ramen. Tent. These crazy ass 20 mph gusts of wind in the hiker biker site blow my tent around, completing the full gamut of experiences for an intense day in a magical world.

I’m not asking you to understand me
Cause you can’t change my way of giving
Oh I have life I can feel
So I fooled my mind up in a yellow submarine
And gliding down the shadow that was left of last night’s sleep