My Longest Solstice

 I thought about ending this post's title with "ever" or "yet", but I don't want to make the prediction that either of those additions would entail. "Ever" means all time, both past, present, and future, and who knows, I might go even longer some day, while "yet" suggests I will do that, and I not making that commitment either. Suffice it to say, eighteen and three-quarter hours was a long time outside.

(Sorry, still no photos, so use your imagination: Mount Ranier on the distant horizon, looking across six empty lanes of Route 520 from the adjoining trail on the bridge crossing Lake Washington. In my photos, Ranier fades into the clouds more than it truly did, so imagination may serve better!)

Those keeping track will note the solstice was five days ago. No, I haven't been sleeping in recovery ever since, but while waiting didn't connect me with a computer to upload photos, it did give more time for reflection on my solstice in less familiar surroundings at a more northern latitude and in the western end of a time zone. I started from my mother's house in Sammamish, the outskirts of the Seattle metropolis, at 4am and walked (not stumbled!) back in the door at 10:45pm. I'd targeted a 10pm return for full solar darkness, but the region's bike route signage, or lack of it, had me turn wrong in Bellevue and add at least a half hour.

I did say, "unfamiliar surroundings." That wasn't intentional. It was only shortly after I'd booked flights to attend my sister's wedding, tomorrow, that I realized my western stay would include the solstice. OK, my mother does live on the edge of the densest development, and I do keep an old, beloved bike out here, so it seemed I had reasonable options. When the airline, after a change on their end, gave me a chance to push my outbound flight later, I kept my original date to make sure I had a couple days for recon to ensure I could reach trails in the dark in reasonable safety. The "edge" where mom lives is still heavily developed.

(Looking east across treed wetlands from a sidewalk bridge as the first twilight shows on the horizon)

In the fifteen minutes of roads at the start of my day, including one major connecting route, I saw less than a handful of cars before reaching the nearest trail that would connect easily to more of the same beyond. By the time rush hour started three or four hours after my departure, I was truly in the woods. And yes, the Cascades have plenty of woods.

(Map of Grand Ridge Park which I joined after crossing the road from Duthie Hill, a public park that caters to mountain bikes specifically. Trails are one-way to avoid head-on collisions, and all other trail users are to yield to bikes. Whoa!)

My route took me south to the Interstate 90 corridor and the northern entries to the Tiger Mountain(S--I learned there are three) area. In past trips, I hadn't explored Tiger much, as except for the most remote side, it is closed to mountain biking. It had been awhile, and a severe bang on my noggin, since I knew that, so at the trailhead, I sought a sign detailing trail rules and read that mountain bikes were allowed except where posted. There was no prohibition posted there, so after scanning the map, I headed up the wide main trail in search of a singletrack to my left.

Before I found it, I met Janice after she informed me the trail was closed to bikes. I thank her and asked where it was marked, explaining the rules at the entry, which I'd intentionally read, said it would be posted on a trail by trail basis. It was a genuinely civil and positive interaction, especially for being told I was in the wrong, and we had a nice enough chat to end up trading names as we walked along together. I did find the notice a quarter mile up the trail after we parted, but I read the "no bikes" sign as "no biking". I was content to push my wheels up the trail, and no hikers, or runners, I met took any issue with my interpretation. Some, always women, even apologized to me when I'd hold my bike off the narrow trail for them to pass. I assured them, I was the wide load and they had nothing for which to apologize!

(View either of or from the summit of Tiger Two, and for now, I needn't decide which!)

Two of the Tigers support cell towers, so there was a dirt roadway, open to bikes heading down the opposite side from the middle summit I climbed. After a brief snack and nap sitting against a tech support shipping container, I coasted down to the south, and then the east, and then started climbing to the south again. Wait, what, climbing? Despite general downward topography to the east, the access road climbed.

I climbed too, at least I did until the main roadway hooked left into a steeper uphill while straight was closed by a gate wearing a "no bikes" sign. Hmm, I pulled out what maps I had as there was no signal reaching my phone from the towers above, and decided what I really wanted was to head down to the east. There had been a less maintained, more overgrown, roadway heading that way a half mile back, and while I didn't love the idea of retracing my path, it really was the direction I wanted, so retrace I did. I did offer me another pass by salmon berries, to which sis had introduced me earlier in the week, and that, at least, was sweet!

(Narrow path opening through the ten foot high saplings growing in an old service road, and look, a couple white daisies in the lower left!)

That less maintained and more overgrown road became more of both of those things, but even when walking through twenty foot deep washout chasms, it wasn't awful pushing the bike, and I even was willing to climb some more after crossing the substantial bridge that I'm guessing once supported heavy logging equipment. Then I reached the old logging site.

(Big, heavy bridge that even sports metal guardrails, with a climbing thicket of a road beyond)

Logging can be great for forest diversity because it lets lots of light to enter what had been shaded understory. The light allows new growth, LOTS of new growth. While the overgrown road had been manageable, the tangle of early successional tangle (yes, lots and lots of tangle) was daunting. I looked down to my left, into the reasonably open understory that was shaded by the uncut trees. I could also see, through the clearing, consistent downward topography to the I-90 corridor and river valley far below.

I was aware that Cascadian wilderness can turn both temperate rainforest dense as well as steep, but I really wanted to go that direction and I really didn't want to clamber back through the way I came. It was also before 1pm, so I had lots of time to make up for a potentially bad choice, and while not checking luggage and no luck in a couple thrift store hunts meant I didn't have the fundamental survival equipment of a knife, I did have both a lighter and matches, so decided I could survive an overnight if need be. I went down, off the trail.

(Bike handlebars pointed toward a few rotting logs but very little undergrowth)

The next two and a half hours were interesting. On the good side, I ate a lot more salmon berries, but on the bad side, their plants, along with their briars, can make headway challenging, especially toting a bike. My descent took at least an hour longer than the winding singletrack climb had, and in hoisting, and then dropping, my bike over one of the giant, downed trees, I broke the dainty mount of my headlight. Fortunately, I immediately noticed, found the light in the brambles, and credit to Trek, their shop in Redmond even replaced the plastic piece for free the next day! Of course, if their design department was as good as their warranty support, I wouldn't have had to finish my last hour of riding holding the light in my hand.

I did make it down to a sort of trail, then when that more completely disappeared, I descended through the growth again, and once I was less than a mile from the highway, and within earshot, I also had a phone signal and was able to confirm my exit direction as well as that the sounds I'd heard relatively nearby forty minutes earlier probably had been a rider on the mountain bike trails. That was also when I found another substantially, but not completely, overgrown path, and then even the reassurance of a fallen tree with a sawn limb. I was on a trail used by humans!

(Dilapidated, half open metal gate with a dirt roadway I was exceedingly happy to see just visible beyond, through some final, minor thicket)

I like the woods, but boy, the infrastructure of civilization can be appreciated as well. So I was out of the woods, and soon after that, I was rolling on actual pavement! I did end up retracing, backwards, some of my earlier route after exiting Grand Ridge Park, but I didn't mind one bit. I spent, and have spent, some time contemplating my venture off trail in unfamiliar surroundings that I knew have put people in trouble, and have reached the conclusion that my choice was not idiot proof, but fortunately, I wasn't raised to be a complete idiot! As kids, my sister and I had been quized by our dad, "If you're lost in the woods and find a stream, which way should you follow it?" I'd answered correctly: down!

(Dual direction and wide bike lane alongside the roadway, but separated by folding plastic poles, a design I'd love to see become more common)

Down worked, and I even made it back to the separate multi-use path along Lake Sammamish and then up north to Marymoor Park in Redmond, where I refilled water and enjoyed sitting for dinner while my phone recharged at an outdoor outlet. With both of us sated, it was still four hours before ten, so I rode mostly trail, except where I lost it due to limited signage, on a loop around the northern half of Lake Washington and then back across Bellevue to the same park. OK, I did also take a brief nap to recharge myself while my phone charged longer, so I wasn't even completely drained walking back inside at 10:45. I even rode Monday!

(The "O K Mount" [part of bike brand logo stickers removed to satisfy my neurosis] that stays in Washington and completed its first solstice jaunt. Not bad for a frame I bought in the fall of 2003, when I thought I was done racing and wanted a rigid bike with fewer parts that could leak or break, but then carried me part way to my eighth New England championship the next year before my sponsor realized I was still racing and sent me a bike)