DAYS 3 & 4 OF THE RIDE, 19 June 2008

Apologies for non-communication the last two days, but we really are in the backwoods of northern Washington state, and there is no network coverage anywhere. So I'm writing this on Friday afternoon, but I'm not sure when it will go from this machine.

Anyway, Day 3 was from the wee town of Twisp up over a pass called Loup Loup. The whole thing was only 49 miles, but the pass was about 4020', and it was a straight climb of 12 miles without reprieve - absolute murder. However, once we made the top there was a great downhill run into the wee town of Okanogan, hitting around 43mph. Stuart Rowell and I were going down together, riding abreast when there was nothing behind, pulling into single file when cars were coming. I saw this white car approaching in my helmet mirror and we went line astern, probably a quarter of a mile before he got to us. But the driver obviously wanted to teach us a lesson, as he swept by us at about 60, and probably no more than a foot away. Had either of us wobbled he would have had us.
When we got down the hill there was a left turn off the State highway onto a minor road, and Paul Bayfield told us the same driver had done an extremely dangerous maneuvre on him too. Paul had looked behind, had seen that he had plenty of time to signal, get into the outer lane and make his left turn before the white Corolla arrived. But the driver hammered on his horn and pulled out across the median and passed Paul, who was already lining up to make his turn, and who could easily have been killed. This was the worst, but several others gave us hand signals which we hoped meant "One way Jesus!"

Anyway, we got into Okanogan safely and stopped at a bike shop for a few things guys needed. I was standing on the pavement when a guy came by and asked us if we were the group from YFC. Turned out he was the local Baptist pastor, Bill King, and he had read about us in the local paper, The Chronicle. We had a good time visiting with him, as they say, right there on the pavement.
He directed us to a local park to eat our lunch, kindly provided by the good folks of the church in Twisp (Balderdash definition: apparently an old Indian word for a Yellowjacket - but not sure what kind of a bug that is). However, the present-day bugs were so vicious that we had to eat sitting on a carpark tarmac well away from the grass.

The Okanogan Valley and river is beautiful, but fairly poverty-stricken. Even the Americans in the party have been amazed at the living standards of many of the people we have met. The little church in Marblemount (pop about 200) runs afoodbank every week where people can come in, register, and take away a big bag of groceries. This week they expected to register about 175 people.

One home some of us stayed in had no fridge, many have utterly-dilapidated gardens/yards with old junk, lots of raggedy dogs and chewed-up fences and grass. Yet the Christians among them humble us by their sacrificial giving, not only of their food but even their beds.
Lack of work is a huge problem. It's either logging, farming or a wee bit of tourism, and if you can't get into one of those, seems like you are on food stamps.

After Okanogan we had a fast, wind-behind-us downhill run into the wee town of Riverside, where the barges which came up the Columbia River and then onto the Okanogan finally docked and were met by horses and carts and then the railway. Now it's glory has faded, and only about 200 people live there. But it has a general store, a Diner & Grill, and a huge Western outfitters run by a very nice blond lady of about 60 (altho one of the guys thought she was late thirties) Donna, resplendent in pink shirt, blue jeans and a huge diamante-decorated Western belt. The store was like Aladdin's Cave if you were horsey. There were lassoos/lariats - none of your old brown colour but pink, fluorescent green, orange. There were shirts in all kinds of check. There were belts (one that caught my eye had the tops of shotgun cartridges riveted to it). They also make their own Western saddles, with price tags from $1500 upwards. I pulled out what I thought was a fairly fetching look - brown leather waistcoat, white, fringed cowboy boots and my black Lycra cycling shorts. I'm sure there are clubs somewhere that would welcome me with open arms with that look.
Paul, Arek and I were on a wee explore (which didn't take long) and next we found this kid called Tyson holding a month-old St Bernard puppy. He had ten of them for sale, $500 each, and they and their two parents and a Boxer dog seemed to rule the shack they lived in.

Then we found an old car sitting in a mechanic's shop, and itl turned out to be a Model A Ford from 1917, which belonged to this kid's grandfather. But he didn't much want to talk about it, nor did his wife sitting by on an old seat and holding another dog on a leash. Americans are fond of dogs.

Back to the church, quick shower (already becoming apparent which of the team take a long time and which whizz in and out) then down to the main town of the area, Omak, pop 6,000, for their Thursday night joint-churches outreach. This was surprisingly good, and well-attended. There was a small park in the town centre with a covered stage. First they provided food for all who wanted it - macaroni and mince (the default here we think for any event requiring you to feed unknown numbers - we have had it every day but one so far), plus fruit and juice.

They had invited a band from Portland, Oregon called Issachar who were excellent - very clear words, very good testimony, and Bryan Blomker and I also spoke and did a bit of intro to our group. Lots of Indian kids, mixed-race families, and dogs again, including two tethered to my table-leg which their female owners were hoping to sell for $150 each - "provided the kids get permission."

Six of us went home then with a widowed lady called Lynn, who lived about 20 miles away up a series of canyons, in a log cabin built by her late husband, with spectacular views over a huge basin to buttes beyond, with no road in sight, no sound of traffic, and as the moon came up, only the odd late-night bird calling and (of course) dogs barking from some of the half-a-dozen homesteads that you could see in the distance across the valley. Wonderful for us, but lonely for her, and she has it on the market with a view to moving into Omak.

Four of us guys slept in a kind of loft above the lounge and kitchen, reached by a staircase that had absolutely no guardrail around the hole in the floor where it reached the upstairs. One false step in a groggy trip to the bathroom in the dark and you could be out of action for weeks.
Disconcerting also was to watch Dan bedding down. He sleeps on his back hooked up to an oxygen tank via a full face-mask - I think to help with a snoring problem. When he's unconscious it looks like a medical experiment in a Dracula film.

Day 4 and our landlady's alarm went off at 4.00am. She made us a great breakfast, took a few photos, a random deer wandered by outside, and we headed back down the canyons to Riverside for depart. This was moving, as there is a bright wee sprite in the church called Linda, 4 years old, ginger hair, a beautiful smile, big into running round in circles and doing ballet twirls. Her Dad quit,, and when she was six months old her Mum, Roxanne, was diagnosed with cancer. Roxanne has hardly any hair, and knows that humanly-speaking she is dying. Her dearest wish is to live long enough to see Linda graduate from High School.

This was a tough day of riding. The first 15 were OK, then from a wee town called Tenasket the road went straight up for many miles - a real killer. That was followed by a long series of drops and climbs before we got to the town of Wauconda - literally one service-station/store/cafe. Bryan, Arek & I were together at this point, and as it was a very hot day our bodies were crying out for chocolate milk shakes, and this cafe made the best we had ever tasted. That got us up Wauconda Pass, 4310', a long hard climb again, then a fast run down into the town of Republic, pop about 954, where we were hosted by the Nazarene Church and slept on the floor. They were involved with a local programme called Youth Dynamics who had some Christian bikers up, and we went along to hang out with the kids. The YD building had a big log porch right on Main St, and the bikers lined their bikes up and showed them off. Everyone had exotic names - Spider (on my left) spoke, and Catfish, and tattoos and silver and turquoise rings were the order of the day. Everyone who spoke had been in jail, and the kids really listened. Jerry (on my right) said:: "you young girls, look after yourselves. Jesus really loves you. I tell my daughters' boyfriends - I've been in jail before and I'm not afraid to go back - so be careful!"

A great night ending an extremely hard day. Thanks for praying - no accidents at all so far, not counting a couple of people falling over their bikes when walking!
Sleep well.