Seattle was a haze of couches, traffic and forays into bright green canopy. Immediately on arrival, accompanied by an elusive spell of sunny, late-summer skies, I made my way to the firm of Fierstad and Lawson. They're known for hammering through cases, but only 
of the liquid kind. Lance and Jeff are two transplants from Montana, tryin' to make it with the city folk. Their apartment in downtown Seattle was HQ for R&R and Outdoor Adventures.
Feeling culture shocked with the pace of Seattle, the boys tried to break me in with some pint shoveling at a local Irish pub, followed by a stint in Polly Esthers, a super-cheesy 70's/80's disco joint. Just flow with the fever on the dance floor.
The dancing around town may be sweaty but, unfortunately, finding any large pieces of outdoor real estate for biking or hiking requires a drive of at least 30-45 minutes out of the city. The good news is that with a little extra travel, one can reach dozens of pristine locales that are virtually unrivaled.
On my second day
in town, I bolted out of the city's crush and wove along a black surface of human influence into Snoqualmie National Forest. If I hear that Smashmouth tune one more time I might drive the Rig off of a fucking cliff. Hey now, you're an all-star....
Though it was miles to the south, I reeled in the enveloping presence of Mt. Rainier. Its massive flanks squat in ponderance of what was and what is to be.
On one side of me, the White River roiled by, earth jutting up and along its sides, with trees as a bristling hide. On the other side, darker incarnations of foliage.
On instinct, errrr...website recommendation, I drove across an ordinary bridge into Skookum Flats. The "Flats" is dramatic playground in the forest. It's got a cruising logging-road ascent with a monstrous singletrak return. Subtle shifts in weight and a dipping front-wheel-folly carried me down a dream-ride only soiled by a 300 yard-long clear-cut section of hillside. Shannon and Mark, two local riders on the trail that day, urged me onto the finish; but it was the beauty that truly pulled my indefatigable muscles onward.
Upon completion, I skulked back to the homestead. The following two days were spent trying to rival the first at other local venues. Check out a nice photo from a day trip I took into Issaquah, only 17 miles east of Seattle. Just tah let U know...eazy duz it.
What's biking got to do with it, though? Really, overland travel should be paced off on foot, the traditional method. A man's home is on his back, eh, not cooped up between four walls like a cell. A cell in the heart, charged with
voltage incalculable, breaks the cell of the mind.
Leaving the Seattle apartment on a Friday, my track sped westward across the Puget Sound on a ferry, next to roads of shoreline and into the depths of wonder. I entered the eastern-most edge of Olympic National Park, where the cedar grows free. The heart grows fiercely here, too, and mine was expanded by a two mile hike with a pounding 3,500 foot ascent to Lake Constance. It was easily the steepest sustained ascent I've ever made.
In the afternoon, I got a late start onto the trail and in the rapidly cloaking darkness, with a honed LNT bedtime procedure, I made a forced camp on a 2' x 6' patch of mossy earth . It was a fitful night of sleep on the steep hillside among the dripping giants of ancient Washington.
On the this side of Olympic, you will not see the epiphytes which grow to the rainy west, but the land is still bursting with greenery and moisture. I pushed onto the trail again early in the morning and walked
awestruck across the intermittent snow patches which surrounded the northeast side of the lake.
Above the lake, the greenery suddenly ended and rocky spires topped off my solo treasure. I ditched the pack at camp next to the water, hoisted my food into a tree, and struggled up the last 1,000 feet of shale to an accessible peak. A vista, especially one worked so hard for, never fails to bring perspective to struggle and
of the liquid kind. Lance and Jeff are two transplants from Montana, tryin' to make it with the city folk. Their apartment in downtown Seattle was HQ for R&R and Outdoor Adventures.Feeling culture shocked with the pace of Seattle, the boys tried to break me in with some pint shoveling at a local Irish pub, followed by a stint in Polly Esthers, a super-cheesy 70's/80's disco joint. Just flow with the fever on the dance floor.
The dancing around town may be sweaty but, unfortunately, finding any large pieces of outdoor real estate for biking or hiking requires a drive of at least 30-45 minutes out of the city. The good news is that with a little extra travel, one can reach dozens of pristine locales that are virtually unrivaled.
On my second day
in town, I bolted out of the city's crush and wove along a black surface of human influence into Snoqualmie National Forest. If I hear that Smashmouth tune one more time I might drive the Rig off of a fucking cliff. Hey now, you're an all-star....Though it was miles to the south, I reeled in the enveloping presence of Mt. Rainier. Its massive flanks squat in ponderance of what was and what is to be.
On one side of me, the White River roiled by, earth jutting up and along its sides, with trees as a bristling hide. On the other side, darker incarnations of foliage.
On instinct, errrr...website recommendation, I drove across an ordinary bridge into Skookum Flats. The "Flats" is dramatic playground in the forest. It's got a cruising logging-road ascent with a monstrous singletrak return. Subtle shifts in weight and a dipping front-wheel-folly carried me down a dream-ride only soiled by a 300 yard-long clear-cut section of hillside. Shannon and Mark, two local riders on the trail that day, urged me onto the finish; but it was the beauty that truly pulled my indefatigable muscles onward.
Upon completion, I skulked back to the homestead. The following two days were spent trying to rival the first at other local venues. Check out a nice photo from a day trip I took into Issaquah, only 17 miles east of Seattle. Just tah let U know...eazy duz it.
What's biking got to do with it, though? Really, overland travel should be paced off on foot, the traditional method. A man's home is on his back, eh, not cooped up between four walls like a cell. A cell in the heart, charged with
voltage incalculable, breaks the cell of the mind.Leaving the Seattle apartment on a Friday, my track sped westward across the Puget Sound on a ferry, next to roads of shoreline and into the depths of wonder. I entered the eastern-most edge of Olympic National Park, where the cedar grows free. The heart grows fiercely here, too, and mine was expanded by a two mile hike with a pounding 3,500 foot ascent to Lake Constance. It was easily the steepest sustained ascent I've ever made.
In the afternoon, I got a late start onto the trail and in the rapidly cloaking darkness, with a honed LNT bedtime procedure, I made a forced camp on a 2' x 6' patch of mossy earth . It was a fitful night of sleep on the steep hillside among the dripping giants of ancient Washington.
On the this side of Olympic, you will not see the epiphytes which grow to the rainy west, but the land is still bursting with greenery and moisture. I pushed onto the trail again early in the morning and walked
awestruck across the intermittent snow patches which surrounded the northeast side of the lake.Above the lake, the greenery suddenly ended and rocky spires topped off my solo treasure. I ditched the pack at camp next to the water, hoisted my food into a tree, and struggled up the last 1,000 feet of shale to an accessible peak. A vista, especially one worked so hard for, never fails to bring perspective to struggle and
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