"Entry for Friday, 25 July 1997

View of the Columbia River valley near Wenatchee.

Last Modified on 9/3/97 at 3:46:08

Day's Narrative: It was cool again as I left the motel room this morning to look for a restaurant. The restaurants usually open at 6:00 am. I try to leave as soon as I can after eating breakfast. That's about 6:50.

The road from Leavenworth to Wenatchee is four lane and has lots of traffic even early in the morning. Fortunately, there's an 8 foot shoulder to ride on.

The uphill push of yesterday has settled down into flat-land bicycling and the adrenalin wasn't flowing today like yesterday. That doesn't mean today was without excitement, however.

I stopped at a convenience store in Wenatchee, about 20 miles from Leavenworth. The owner/manager was interested in the trip, and liked to cycle also, until he hurt his back. I left the store and rode only a short distance when POW -- I had a loud blowout. OK, time to change the tube. This time, however, the tire and tube were both destroyed. The sidewall of the tire had a big split in it and the tube was the same. Fortunately, I had my folding spare tire in the pack. Not often have I thrown both tire and tube into a trash barrel!

Today was a shorter ride than yesterday, and I expected to beat Connie to Ephrata. The flat buried that possibility. Connie caught up with me as I was entering Quincy, about 17 miles from Ephrata, and we had lunch together at McDonald's.

The last 17 miles went fast, as I had a tail breeze. I got in about 2:30. Lots of time for a shower, nap and then shopping at Safeway down the street.

[Connie] In tiny Ephrata -- 6,000 or so, the Safeway had canned Coconut milk -- nowhere in Los Alamos can one find this.

I've been wanting to mention the cross country bicycler I met in Green River, UT. While not yet technically on the bike trip, this guy was an interesting fellow.

I was out cycling early last Monday morning along the main, and only, street of Green River, and a bicycler waved at me as I passed the service station were he was standing. I turned around to go back and say hello.

He was a little dirty, had a scraggly beard, was wearing a red luminescent road-worker's vest and sandals, and was standing beside a fully loaded mountain bike. He looked like a homeless person. On the front of the bike he had a bike basket made from a plastic milk carton holder. The rear had side baskets, and it was piled high with cooking gear, tent, sleeping bag, and other assorted stuff. For a moment I thought I recognized a kitchen sink in there.

He had left Missouri and was going to Oregon. In every town where he stopped, he went to all the restaurants and asked if he could work for a meal. I was dressed in the usual bicycler uniform of fruity-looking bike pants and bicycle shirt. I had one small bag on the back of the bike. As we talked about routes, techniques and all those things cyclers are interested in, an older man walked up and began to listen. When the conversation paused, the older man pointed to me and said, "I'll put my money on him.", and then walked off.

I don't think I ever met a bicycler before who worked his way across the country. We had seen this cycler come into the restaurant the night before, go up to the cashier, talk to her briefly, and then leave. Apparently there was no need for an extra hand that night. It must be a hard way to get meals while traveling.

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© Ray & Connie Poore, 1997