Today was forecast to be a good day and, surprise of surprises, it was.  In fact, it was a very nice day.  Not only was the weather fine, but I didn’t have to go to work at my other job.  So I went for a bike ride.  Actually, I was going to go for a ride whether the weather cooperated or not, but it was nice that it did.

    Since it was cool when I got up, 30° outside and 62° inside, and dark, I read a little (Sometimes a Great Notion by Ken Kesey.  My third read of the book in thirty some years.  The first time I read it, I was in college.  I began it, read late into the night, got up the next day, skipped classes, and finished the book.  I don’t remember when the second read was, but it was more than seventeen years ago because I hadn’t lived in the Great Northwest yet.  This time the book has new meaning.  Jonas was the first Stamper to come to Oregon, and he was hard as a hickory axe handle, but he wasn’t up to “The Great Northwest, Where (the pamphlets made it clear) There Is Elbow Room For A man To Be As Big And Important As He Feels It Is In Him To Be!”  Those of you who have never lived here, and worked outside here, can’t know why a prairie-tough feed store owner from Kansas couldn’t make it in The Great Northwest, but Ken Kesey knew why.  “You must go through a winter first . . .”  “You must go through a winter to understand.”)

    Well, winter isn’t over by a long shot yet, but we get some nice days this time of year.  They kind of taunt a person, but they’re grand when you have a day off to enjoy them, or when you muster the courage to take the day off whatever the boss says about it anyway.  Winter doesn’t officially end here until sometime after the 4th of July and it starts poking its nose back into things in September.  By October, it is a very morose place unless you grew up here, like Jonas’ sons did.

    Today was a grand day though, like I said, and I went for a ride on my yellow roadie.  Dry roads, no fenders, and no flat tires.  I guess I got in about eighty miles and all the climbing I could cram into it.  I say, I guess I got in about eighty miles because I have been on the no cycle computer mode since July, last summer.  Now, I don’t want anyone to think I am a Luddite, because I’m not.  It’s true I haven’t actually used a cell phone yet, but I have burned CDs.  In fact, I owned an Apple SE 30 that I bought new off the showroom floor.  

    I don’t have a cycle computer, though.  Do you know why? No?  Nuts.  I was hoping you could tell me.  I think it has something to do with riding a bicycle for fun.  I read that the only truest of true bicycle ride is a commute because then you are not burning fossil fuel.  Well, I say bones to that.  Riding a bicycle for the pure joy of riding a bicycle is, as far as I can tell, the truest of true bicycle rides.  And that’s where the cycle computer is messing around.  

    Here’s my story: I thought a cycle computer would change my relationship with my bicycle, or at least with my riding, but I didn’t know how it would change it.  Would it be a good change or a bad change, or was I wrong?  Would there not be a change at all?  Anyway, I bought one and put it on my bike and noted the date in one of my repair manuals (the Lenorad Zinn one.  He graduated from the same college I did, but four years later.  When I meet him, I hope he gives me a sentence or two in Velo News since we were almost classmates.) and I kept it for a year.  It was way cool.  I really liked it.  That little computer told me all kinds of neat stuff and it was only a Cateye Mighty 8.  I wanted a wireless computer, but Jan Ullrich used a computer with a wire so who was I to spend extra money for a fancy wireless one.  And, as it turned out, the Mighty 8 was computer enough for me.  I would have liked cadence, but either you really have wires or you spend a whole bunch of money; and it’s supposedly easy to figure your cadence anyway by counting pedal strokes for six seconds and multiplying that by 10.  But when my cadence is constant for six seconds, I am so bored, my mind wanders.  So, I put the computer on my bicycle because I wanted to see how far I rode in a year.  A year later, I forgot to note the milage on the exact date, but the next day I remembered and since I knew where I rode the day before, I was able to determine I had ridden almost exactly 4987 miles.  Now, that stinks.  Thirteen more miles and I would have had 5000 miles.  So now I was bummed.  A year with a cycle computer and I ended up bummed out.  One more itsy bitsy ride and I would have had 5000 miles.  It wasn’t only that, though.  I was always looking at the computer and figuring.  My commute to work is 17.5 miles each way.  The few times I made it in less than an hour, I was elated.  The many times I made it in an hour and three or four minutes, I felt like I should have gone harder.  The one thing I have to say for the computer is that I got lost just as often with the computer as I do without it.  That is, strangely, reassuring to me.

    Where were we and how did we get here?  

    On my wonderful ride today, I left Tumwater when it was almost  40° and headed up Mud Bay Road.  You might wonder what Mud Bay looks like.  Well, when the tide is in, it is beautiful.  when it is out, mud.  I didn’t stop, but on Mud Bay Road you pass, or stop at, the Blue Heron Bakery.  (This little area is modified in the book, but it is where Jim Lynch’s “The Highest Tide” takes place.)   The bakery has a feta cheese and spinach (more on spinach later) turnover that is killer.  They sell out fast, though, so I seldom actually get one.  I should stop more often.  

    Then I bore right onto Madrona Beach Road.  This is all part of my commute.  At Steamboat Island, which is really miles from the real Steamboat Island, I crossed Interstate 101 and headed back east to Shaker Church Road.  I took that over to Interstate 8.  On the way I passed, the “1911 Shaker Church Indian Church, No Trespassing” and joined Interstate 8 west.  

    For the first time after all these years, I went around Summit Lake.  Nina and I sleep on a bed frame that we bought at Summit Lake Antiques, but we didn’t go on to the lake.  Today I did, and it is pretty nice except that there are a zillion houses crammed around it.  

    On the south side of the lake, I passed a road that said, Turkey Road.  Nina and I play music and sing at an Alzheimer Center twice a month and one of the songs we do is “Would You Like To Swing On a Star.”  In it is a line that says, “And all the monkeys aren’t in the zoo.  Every day you meet quite a few.”  That lyric came to mind as I passed Turkey Road.  And do you know what?  Twenty-five yards later, I passed Turkey Road again.  It is so short, I think only a mailbox lives on Turkey Road.  

    On the north side of the lake, I passed a house with a sign that said, “Spanich.”  Here, I wondered if they meant to write “Spinach” or “Spanish.”  In either case, they spelled it wrong.  

    So I thought, the Turkeys live on one side of the lake and the people who can’t spell live on the other side of the lake.  I will never move here because I’d have to buy two houses and I’d get tired of rowing back and forth across the lake from one house to the other.

    When I was nearly around the lake, I came to a crossroads.  I decided to try going right about one hundred yards after turning left.  Right was the correct choice since I quickly found Interstate 8 again.  On I went to Mox Chehalis Road.  I was in familiar territory now, but a bit confused.

    You see, you turn left onto Mox Chehalis Road where the sign says, “McLeary, Mox Chehalis Road, one mile.”   Then, after riding along Mox Chehalis Road for a while, and it is a pleasant road, you t-bone into Mox Chehalis Road.  Did they run out of names?  I don’t know what Mox is, but Chehalis is miles to the southeast of where Mox Chehalis Road is.  Well, as I say, it is all pretty country and there is very little traffic so I like this road a lot.

    Eight miles later, I turned onto Route 12 at Malone and rode on to Porter, where I made my first stop at the Porter Store.  There I bought a Sobe Green Tea and a bean burrito.  I also talked with the lady behind the counter and then got dragged into a little local color when a crying girl ran into the store followed by/chased by a man, a woman, and another child.  I thought for sure there was going to be trouble with me in the middle, but when the chasing man and woman saw me, they cooled it.  Soon there was another man and then another and a fishing pole across the road and everyone knew each other and the girl stopped crying and I ate my burrito and drank my tea until most of them left.

    I turned left off Route 12 into the Capitol Forest ,which is certainly the prettiest road anywhere around here.  I think the Capitol Forest was named because they cut so many trees down in it that they were able to pay for the very fancy Washington State Capitol.  Since then, they have cut down a lot more trees, but there are still a lot of trees and creeks and springs all around.  Plus, very little traffic.

    Riding through the Capitol Forest means riding over the Capitol Peaks.  There are any number of dirt roads through the forest, but only this one paved road.  From the west, it is a long climb up and a short steep decent down the other side.  I enjoyed both.  The campgrounds were empty.  Usually, homeless people live in them, but maybe the part-time ranger ran them off.  There should be some place for homeless people.  

    When I came out of the forest, I headed home debating whether to take the flat boring way home, or the way that heads back up into the forest on Wadell Creek Road.  I went up and got home just the same; with legs a little tireder, but no flat tires all day, and, even though it was partly cloudy, it was also partly sunny.