It’s 5:30am and I’ve got maybe two hours of sleep behind me. I’m at my cousin Hannah’s house in Port Angeles and her daughter had a bit of a rough night. I pack up, snag a banana, and head down to Arco for the last minute lighter purchase. I have matches, but you should always play it safe. The GCOR grand depart takes off in Sequim, the next town over, so I begin my journey at 6:13am without any pomp or circumstance. I’m greeted with a beautiful sunrise over the Salish Sea, and a tailwind, on the early flat miles of the Olympic Discovery Trail. If only I could bottle up this moment and save it for later.
This whole thing was Kyle’s idea. He offhandedly mentioned this FB group, and was bummed he was going to miss this event due to his deployment. Maybe I should do this? Can I do this?
This. The Gravel Circumnavigation of the Olympic Range. A 445 mile ride, masterminded by Tom, a Seattleite who has been exploring the Olympic Peninsula gravel forest service roads, working on this loop for many years. I’d never met Tom, or any of the five others who were attempting the route, but did it matter? This was a solo trip and after we all rolled out together, the big climb gave way to the natural separation. Some of them I never saw again.
Two weeks and zero trial days is enough preparation for your first bikecamping trip, right? In March, I did a 3 day bikepacking trip to Victoria, but was sleeping in beds, and eating at dinner tables. This was a whole other beast. Significantly longer. More remote. I needed a new (small) tent, a GPS tracking device, and to sew a few extra bags for my tiny bike. My REI membership saw an uptick in dividends and the cost of adventure was becoming real. “Outside is Free” is a misnomer, and when I finally made up my mind about saying yes to this ride, I decided to ride for more than just me. I’m raising money for the Bikepacking Roots BIPOC Adventure Grant so hopefully more people can try crazy shit like this. Let’s help get more people on bikes, and riding on this beautiful planet. There is much left to explore. Everyone deserves the opportunity to start.
And start I did. Right up and over Bon Jon Pass, but this time from the northwest side. Steep, challenging, and a harsh reality for what was to come. We rode right into the clouds, which were filled with rain. And thus began the Day 1 struggle bus.
I overpacked. For as much as I tried to edit and cut down, I really misjudged what was truly needed on this trip. My inexperience showed. There isn’t a lot of room for onboard water, so a Camelbak was needed. I prefer to drink that way on long gravel rides for the ease of access to water and the constant reminder to drink. But the additional items added to the pack really aggravated my back. And when climbing a mountain pass with a 38lb bike, it’s gonna be a minute (or hour, two, three) till you start descending again.
Gary rode with me most of the way to Quilcene. He came out just for day one, and looped back to the start once we reached the market after descending down the familiar roads of Bon Jon. Soaked, yet still stoked, I got coffee and a hot bean & cheese taquito and rolled out with Tom who was delayed fixing a brake issue. We started climbing up highway 101 and he dropped me before we turned off on Rocky Brook Rd. Tom describes this as a very stiff climb, with rewarding views at the top. I describe this climb as Misery.
Steep. Chunky. Rainy. Heavier Rain. Hike a bike steep sections. Unrelenting. Never ending. Got to the top, and then kept climbing. False summit, with zero views due to the thick clouds and heavy rain. I have a mini celebration at the actual top, dream of the views that aren’t there today, don the GorTex, and head down. I come across Tom who’s just finishing up fixing a flat. We roll out together and he drops me again. I am cold. The descent is hard, but not overly technical. Hands are frozen, water is pouring down my hood over my face. I continually tell myself to breathe, and to play it safe. Tom again, messing with his brakes. He offers to do the tricky river crossing together, but I knew I needed to stop in Brinnon to warm up. I was not okay.
I head to the market. It’s cold and has a cement floor. It’s busy. I fumble with my phone but no service. I’m soaked to the bone and not thinking straight. I need to warm up but can’t make decisions. I ask the attendant if there is any motels nearby. No. Restaurants? There’s the Halfway House across the street. I head there.
I walk in and am immediately asked to don my mask. I apologize and wrangle the soaked bandana out from under my coat and head into the bathroom in search of scalding hot water to pump life back into my hands. I begin undressing at my table, peeling off the wet layers. I head back out to my bike for my wool baselayer and down jacket from the dry bag. A woman in the corner senses my distress, obvious from the drown rat look I’m rocking, and offers a blanket from her car. I happily accept.
Hot tea. A big burger. Clam chowder. Homemade marionberry pie. I’m beginning to become a person again. The woman asks what I’m doing and where I plan on staying. I don’t have a plan. Tonight was supposed to be a camping night. She immediately offered her spare bedroom and a hot shower. Before I could say yes, she had the restaurant worker load my very dirty bike into the back of her van. She was clearly a regular.
Sandy. She’s from St. Paul, MN and also a military spouse, so we immediately hit it off. She’s just lost her husband a few months ago to a 20 year battle with cancer. The car ride home is uneventful. But her front door greets me with a Trump sticker, and we pass the urn on the way to the shower. This is going to be a long night. She is lovely and offers me her robe.
Where am I? What am I doing? What should I do? The sweet relief of the hot shower melts away the fear and I decide to ride it out. To be open minded. And of course, to be thankful for this woman who just saved my life. She makes me a cup of tea. I sit down in the living room filled with recliners and tchotchkes. Seahawks memoriabilia, scottie dog cement statutes, and cow knickknacks clutter the space. Fox news on TV mentions the confederate statutes being torn down and she voices her displeasure. BLM protests are covered and she proclaims she has Black friends, Mexican friends, white friends, and that all lives matter. I sit, as a guest in this woman’s house, in a moral debate with myself. I can’t piss her off, but know I can’t sit silent. I’m literally on an adventure, raising money so BIPOC individuals can do what I’m doing. If I was Black, would she have saved my life?
I gave my her my response to why Black Lives Matter and what those statutes mean. It’s not erasing history, it’s about not celebrating injustice and slavery. She actually considers what I’m saying, and then we are both distracted by the dog and cat playing.
Day 1: 80.78 miles, 9:26 ride time, 9,078′ elevation gained
I decide to keep riding. Why not? I’m warm again, the forecast is okay for the next two days, I slept great and had a big breakfast with Sandy. My high school friend Kayla reached out ahead of time to ask how she could help during my trip! She offered to meet me on day two at Potlatch State Park, so instead of backtracking to re-enter the route where I left it, I just continued onward and rejoined at the next turnoff in Hamma Hamma, skipping about 30 miles of day two. Typically, I’d be sad. I just “forfeited” my official GCOR ride and opted for my own “lite” version. But any mile ridden forward was progress. I had to keep riding. People were donating. I was physically okay. Just getting back on was a success in it of itself, and I was happy to be cruising along. The sun was shining. Things were looking up.
And day two was fantastic. The riding was amazing, the views were gorgeous, the gravel was rad. I caught up to Ron on his single speed and heard about his night spent in the shelter of a pit toilet. I passed Ahron and Tom, working on Tom’s derailleur. I figured I’d see them again since the climbing was about to come, but my real breakfast and amazing night’s sleep gave me quite the advantage. I rolled into Potlatch at 4pm and Kayla and Audrey arrived shortly after.
Tacos. Campfire cheese & bacon fries. Cold IPA. Smores. A real pillow. A hot shower. Could I be more spoiled?! If Sandy saved my life, Kayla and Audrey saved my trip. They brought me tampons and a lighter camelbak. (Yep! Got my period at Sandy’s – another reason why my temperature was dropping so rapidly descending in the rain.) I gave them everything I wasn’t going to use including my stove & gas, some food, oatmeal, aeropress mini coffee maker, a pair of bibs, and the long sleeve jersey I wore on day one. They had a 3-person tent and an extra pad, so I just stayed with them so I had less to pack up in the morning. We played cards before bed and they made potatoes and eggs for breakfast. SPOILED. It was very hard to leave them, knowing I had a very big solo day on tap with no services. I am extremely grateful for their hospitality and generosity in coming out to meet me!
Day 2: 54.48 miles, 5:45 ride time, 4,012′ elevation gain
“Birds flying high. You know how I feel. Sun in the sky. You know how I feel. Breeze drifting on by. You know how I feel. It’s a new dawn. It’s a new day. It’s a new life. For me. And I’m feeling good.” Michael Buble
Day three was a journey from east to west across the peninsula, with no stores and one stop at a campground for water. It was rugged and remote. It was sunny and hot on the climbs and tree covered and cool for the descents. About halfway across the cloud cover started, and I didn’t see the sun again for two days. This sector was the most unique, traveling through so many different ecosystems. I was thankful to have the real food from dinner and breakfast propelling me, and felt like I was staying on top of my nutrition and hydration all day. With just a few low points and only a little bit of self talk to stay motivated, the day was getting long. My initial plan was to stay in a hotel in Forks the following day, but with the rain coming in, I figured a good night’s rest and a quick start would be a better call. So I opted to find a hotel at Lake Quinault. I wandered the mart nextdoor like a bowling ball on lane bumpers. My arms were full of anything that sounded delicious. Mac and cheese, tv dinners, chips, V8, candy. I’m sure the attendant was wondering what kind of drugs I was on. Another shower and I was a new woman. Got everything charged up and mostly packed, as I planned for another early start.
Day 3: 92.68 miles, 9:29 ride time, 6,919′ elevation gain
Raindrops. I had a wee bit of PTSD as I rolled out this morning. I was fearful of going into the mountains only because I was fearful of descending into hypothermia again. But not going up, meant I would be braving a narrow highway. Today’s route had four gravel sectors that would veer off a paved road and meander back. Veer up. Meander down. I decided to modify the route, and just follow the highway until mile 50 and would rejoin the route for the western rainforest gravel sectors. I was glad it was raining, as it forced me to wear my bright orange jacket, making me more visible to the passing logging trucks on the narrow, no shouldered highway. By mile 19 the route turned onto a much less traffic’d road, and I enjoyed the moody morning. Hurried past the corrections center as the sign mentioned and thought hard about the “Full Productive Day” sign at the entrance.
Once crossing over Hwy 101 at Ho Ox Bow, I entered the Ho Rainforest and was greeted with a herd of Elk crossing over the road I was on, stopping to feel the rumble beneath my feet. A few long climbs and steep punchy sections followed by some nail-biting and straighter descents where I could let off the brakes a bit followed. The rain would come and go, and the day was a mostly moderate temperature around 50. Once I crossed over the river before Forks, I started dreaming of a cheeseburger and onion rings from Sully’s. And it was in the back of my mind, but I had decided to not stay in Forks, and continue onward since I had the light of day and the legs (hopefully) to get over the FS29 pass. An hour later and I was on my way up. And up. And up. That 27 mile climb out of Forks is no joke. At this point, you just start playing tricks on your mind to make it mile by mile, foot by foot climbed. I had gummy bears and Swedish Fish loaded in the bento box.
I’d been dragging this tent around the entire peninsula, and dammit, I was going to use it for at least one night!
The descent off FS29 is a vary narrow, mostly paved road. I felt myself wanting to come back to go up this way on a road bike. I was dreaming of ripping these corners on a light, agile bike, and all of a sudden, my bike felt light and agile. I realized I no longer felt the weight of the bike underneath me. It had become an extension of me. I was used to it. I could stand and climb. Sit back and descend. I felt stable. I got to the bottom and breathed a big sigh of relief. That was the last big climb of the trip. And then I ran into Tom! I made up time by skipping those initial sectors and spending less time in Forks. We rode the flat Olympic Discovery Trail together and discussed our prior days and the plans ahead. We saw a baby bear (I held my breath while he shouted like a mad man) and we made it to a nice spot by the river for “dinner.” Aka cheez-its and a lemon pastry for me. This was initially going to be my camping spot for the night, but we decided to continue on past Lake Crescent and poach the original route, rather than take the highway. Since it was 7:30pm, we figured the trail workers would be gone for the day, and we got lucky. Made it through and I found a camp spot right at dusk. Tom continued on, wanting to ride the singletrack by headlight, and I wanted to sleep.
Day 4: 143.91 miles, 14:06 ride time, 9,793′ elevation gain
Once I got my camp set up, I laid down and was immediately out. That was the best night of sleep on the entire trip. It was the longest day on the bike, and I was obviously the most fatigued. Thankful for the rest and that I wasn’t woken up by a creature stirring / stealing my food that I hung from a tree, I woke up before my alarm. I was a little puffy and slow getting ready, but wasn’t feeling rushed. I had 30 miles to go, and mostly on the beautiful singletrack of the Olympic Adventure Trail. The end was in sight and I hoped to enjoy this last day.
wow. WOW. woah! omg. what? this. is. amazing.
Grinning from ear to ear, I enjoyed every mile of that trail. Just gleeful. The weather was perfect, the sun had begun to peek out, the flowing single track just kept revealing itself, 20 feet at a time. Unrolling out in front of me. I’m coming back here with my mtb and doing this entire thing, out and back, with a lunch stop in the middle. Crossed the bridge in Elwa, and was home free.
Day 5: 32.36 miles, 4:20 elapsed time, 2,388′ elevation gain
It’s a lot to unpack. Not just the 404 miles pedaled over 43.5 hours in 5 days. Not just the 32,000′ climbed. It’s the solo adventure that wasn’t so. I was saved by the kindness of a stranger. I was helped by the generosity of a friend. I was supported by so many cheers from afar. Donations were coming in. My legs did the work, but each day they started a little lighter than expected. And although our journey is our own, we are not alone. And I hope those who benefit from this grant, find that the kindness of others is essential in our journey forward.
I was mostly solo, but I wasn’t so.
I have so many thank you’s to write. But here’s a preview:
Thank you to everyone who donated to the BIPOC Adventure Grant: Mike, Chuck, Gary, Diem, Mackenna, Katie, Kiki, Mitur, Austin, Isabel, Starr, Janet, Meesa, John, Jenny, Margaret, Paul, Joe, Annicka, Alexander, Megan, Kathryn, Brooke, Linda, and Bill. You are giving someone the opportunity to have a life changing experience. To my husband for your inspiration, belief (even though you were concerned – rightly so), and love. To Thomas for dreaming this insanity up. I only swore your name a couple of times. “What the hell is this insanity? These people are crazy. This cannot be the route.” To my team and sponsors – my bike was the champ. Zero mechanical issues, no flats, just a lovely wonderful ride, and in a kit that can handle all the elements. I have zero saddle sores / skin issues. I switched between the Velocio thermal bibs for the 2 rainy, cold days, and the Velocio Luxe bibs for the remaining 3 days. I wore the Merino Concept jersey for 4/5 days and I am obsessed. Thank you to Sandy for saving my life (she doesn’t have the internet) and to Kayla and Audrey for saving my trip. Thank you to cousin Hannah and fam for housing me and feeding me in Port Angeles at the start and finish of my trip. And thanks to Jolene for keeping the cats happy at home.
I’ve been listening to The Adventure Stash podcast and during the Quarantine Companion series, they’ve been asking what’s one thing that COVID has given and taken from you. Most of us would answer that the racing season has been taken away, but that’s also what it’s given us. The time to stay home and venture out in our own backyard. GCOR is something I never would’ve done. I didn’t think I’d like bikepacking. I thought I didn’t have the right bike or gear, and it just seemed really cumbersome. I thought I needed a start line and finish line with a big field of racers. But what I’ve realized through all of this is that our souls need adventure. Nature has natural start and finish lines. What I needed was to scare myself a little and to push myself harder, to grow as a person. And I’ve learned I’m privileged, and very thankful, to have had the opportunity to do so.
What’s next? 😉
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