Winthrop, Wash. - or rather, this is the town that is choosing to selectively ignore the twentieth century. They've basically left the whole place in Old West finery, including saloons and emperia up and down the wood-fronted main street, complete with wooden bordwalks. Very silly. The first genuine tourist trap I've run across, but its so disarmingly charming I can overlook it.
I'm nearing the end of my third day of biking, and I'm already running out of adjectives. Scenic, awe-inspiring, pastoral, folksy, rural, hellish, ugly, spectacular, exhausted, fresh, miserable and euphoric; every word fits the journey so far.
I began on Sunday in Anacortes, on Washington's coast north of Seattle; I arrived there via a plane from Fairbanks and a bus ride past the spectacle of downtown Seattle and the unfortunate mega-sprawl surrounding it. Anacortes itself is a beautiful seacoast town ringed by misty mountains and a popular set of island retreats. It also got points for not dropping rain on me.
I made it 78 miles on the first day, moving with remarkable swiftness from the busy and treacherous roads of the coast to the sort of rural farmland and small-town main streets I would have termed Middle America if they weren't 30 miles from the Pacific. I spent the first night in a state park stuck in the middle of a stand of virgin timber - fortunate, as the gigantic trees helped shelter my tent from the rain that kicked in right after I arrived.
Yesterday was a day of more rain and fairly brief biking, punctuate with frequent stops to admire a series of giant dams that are supplying power to millions of Seattleites 100 miles away. Today was where things got really fun, as I scaled two subalpine passes in the Cascades, the higher one clocking in at 5,477 feet. I felt like I was back in Alaska; snow bordered the road on both sides and I was lashed by rain around the top (as one of the peaks was named Rainy Pass, perhaps that was to be expected.) That was three hours ago, after which I spent 45 minutes of white-knuckle terror going straight back down the other side of the range.
Three days in, this trip has already proven relevatory. The mountain scenery rivals anything Alaska can throw at you, even in Southeast. I seemed to pass a towering waterfall every half-mile, whether I was cruising through sea-level rainforest along a rushing river or struggling up into the high altitudes. The lakes created by the dams are a vibrant emerald green. I feel like I've seen a whole trip's worth of America, and I'm only just getting started.
Sorry I can't accentuate the description with photos, but I'm experiencing technical difficulties with my digicam. Hopefully they'll work out okay at the next stop.
I'm nearing the end of my third day of biking, and I'm already running out of adjectives. Scenic, awe-inspiring, pastoral, folksy, rural, hellish, ugly, spectacular, exhausted, fresh, miserable and euphoric; every word fits the journey so far.
I began on Sunday in Anacortes, on Washington's coast north of Seattle; I arrived there via a plane from Fairbanks and a bus ride past the spectacle of downtown Seattle and the unfortunate mega-sprawl surrounding it. Anacortes itself is a beautiful seacoast town ringed by misty mountains and a popular set of island retreats. It also got points for not dropping rain on me.
I made it 78 miles on the first day, moving with remarkable swiftness from the busy and treacherous roads of the coast to the sort of rural farmland and small-town main streets I would have termed Middle America if they weren't 30 miles from the Pacific. I spent the first night in a state park stuck in the middle of a stand of virgin timber - fortunate, as the gigantic trees helped shelter my tent from the rain that kicked in right after I arrived.
Yesterday was a day of more rain and fairly brief biking, punctuate with frequent stops to admire a series of giant dams that are supplying power to millions of Seattleites 100 miles away. Today was where things got really fun, as I scaled two subalpine passes in the Cascades, the higher one clocking in at 5,477 feet. I felt like I was back in Alaska; snow bordered the road on both sides and I was lashed by rain around the top (as one of the peaks was named Rainy Pass, perhaps that was to be expected.) That was three hours ago, after which I spent 45 minutes of white-knuckle terror going straight back down the other side of the range.
Three days in, this trip has already proven relevatory. The mountain scenery rivals anything Alaska can throw at you, even in Southeast. I seemed to pass a towering waterfall every half-mile, whether I was cruising through sea-level rainforest along a rushing river or struggling up into the high altitudes. The lakes created by the dams are a vibrant emerald green. I feel like I've seen a whole trip's worth of America, and I'm only just getting started.
Sorry I can't accentuate the description with photos, but I'm experiencing technical difficulties with my digicam. Hopefully they'll work out okay at the next stop.
1 Responses to “The Town That Time Forgot”
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About me
I'm Tom Moran, a bicyclist from Fairbanks, Alaska. I'm spending the summer of 2006 riding from Anacortes, Wash., to Bar Harbor, Maine.
Your digital camera? Anyway, sounds like your trip is off to a great start. Too bad this is the prettiest part of the route. Let's see if you can muster the same enthusiasm in, say, Ohio.