"This is the most wondrous path I've ever been on."

Last night around ten, after we thought we had the hostel to ourselves, a mother and teenage daughter showed up... in the middle of beer and the tv show Cops. Needless to say, they didn't come out of their rooms to join us... thankfully.

This morning, Ben somehow was out of the motel/hostel before ten without making a peep. We were slow to move. 

After packing up our still sopping wet clothing, (no laundry) we went to the next door diner. Meh, American cuisine is a very dissapointing and sorry love affair with a deep friar across much of the states. My stomach is still offended. Afterward, we set out. 

Now, since yesterday evening I've had a problem with my bicycle. The back wheel crackles and pops, sounding like it's on the verge of exploding. Only eighty miles from the end, I've attempted to turn a deaf ear to the noise. But not before I wasted two hours outside the diner trying to fix this mystery noise. I may just worry about it when I get home... unless the bicycle combusts. The brakes are also completely shot. The bicycle, in general, looks and feels like it's seen over 5,200 miles of countryside.

Down the backroads outside of the Cascades National Park running parallel to Highway 20, we passed through the small town of Rockford. We killed an hour petting stray cats and drinking soda at a gas station in the forground of the "Alps of North America." From there, we popped along all the way to the village, Concrete. 

Here, a bike trail appears on our map, though it is not recommended. I had a dying bicycle, true but damnit, bike paths are as good as it gets on this thing. It also helped to have an abandoned train car from the "rails to trails" action sitting at the head of the path. My favorite.

Gravel, ugh. With thirty miles to go, the prospect of racing the sun to dark appeared to be a losing battle. I thought we'd have to get off at some point to make up time. But the trail was far too beautiful.

It began close to the parallel path, Highway 20, and reminded me of the bike path at home, only made of gravel. Suddenly, the sun was cut into strips by colorful myriads of yellow and orange leaves. The sun ignited the vibrance inside each singular leaf, from fiery red to glowing orange to shining yellow. 

Soon enough, we were in the thick of the woods, rivers running under the path and Highway 20 sitting over 200 ft. down a ledge. The trees arched over the path in a hue of dark, decaying moss gripping the waning branches like a parasite. Leaves of all colors littered the path, obscuring what was to come.

And then, suddenly we'd be released from the shade of the trees and I would remember, Oh shit, I'm up in the Cascade Mountains of Washington. 

At moments like this, I would look to my right to see a beautiful mountain and sunset. Then, after taking a picture I might realize the numerous elk grazing in the distant fields, too many to count.

Down the trail, continuing on, I would peak through a mess of branches to see the endangered Bison. 

It was that kind of day. I forgot about the night closing in, and only tried to keep up with the rapidly changing road. At one time, it tightened to only a few inches of muddy surface and had Josh flailing into the dirt like a deer on ice. Five minutes later, we break open to a field of corn. Wait, what?

Out of nowhere, the town of Sedro Woolley appeared before us. We were done for the day. 

Tomorrow, we'll be done for the whole trip. Anacortes sits just over twenty miles from our current location...

"Yeah, you've got about 62 miles or so to Anacortes."

After one complete and total day of sitting in a barn doing almost absolutely nothing, we decided to brave the weather and leave. Ben left around 11:30. We left at 3:30, which turned out to be a mistake.

We stopped at the "funky" local store recommended by our friend Troy. The woman watching the house for the actual owners, Karen, worked at the Manzama Store. The food was great but by the time we were getting ready to leave, it was pouring down rain.

Around 6:20 it finally stopped. So at 6:30, with dusk falling at 6:45, we began climbing our final (2) pass and entering the Northern Cascades National Park.

Less than an hour later, we snuck into a campground 5 miles into the climb. Before the sun had come up, we had left. Well, I left Josh behind and began the last 13 miles to the top. Despite the frigid temperature, it appeared to be a beautiful day on the way.

A great swath of haze clumped at the bottom of many of the mountains but I anticipated, with time, the sun would break the mist up. 

The winding road with flanking evergreens dissipated to long rocky outcroppings. The valley became nearly three times as wide. It slowly began to rain.

It didn't seem to be much of a problem at first until it really started to pour. Would you believe that I ripped my rain jacket (trash bag) in half the day before? Still yet to make it to the top of the mountain, I was drenched in water, and pedaling just to generate heat. 

Getting up close to the top, I saw a sign reading "Washington Pass Overlook." I went praying only for a hand dryer to attempt to dry my gloves or warm my hands. 

Indeed, up at the overlook there were several bathroom. There was also a closed Rest Area that I tried breaking into but then didn't. In none of the eight bathrooms was there any dryers. This is where things got sad.

It was pouring outside and I was shivering cold. I pushed my bicycle into the personal bathroom and changed clothes. No longer with any dry "winter" clothes and my body's extremities going numb, I unraveled my sleeping bag and slipped inside, pulling it over my head, breathing heavily to conduce heat. Peaking out, and looking at the bathroom strewn with all of my things, it suddenly occured to me... This is how people die.

Somewhere in close proximity with this thought, it stopped raining and the sun came out. I joyfully walked back out amongst the living and took a gander at the Washington Overlook, now in the gleaming sun.

"What's your name?" said an attractive miss atop the mountain.

"Uh, Ralph," I said bashfully. "What's yours?"

Leah had done me a favor hitting on me, giving a little boost to my self-confidence after a very long and dirty four months. She was with her class from Gonzaga and once they heard what I was doing, I was surrounded, which was cool. I was really laid back and weird about the whole ordeal, talking pretty monotone and glancing casually over the view. I was pretty lame. I had also just come back to life from the bathroom floor.

Venturing back on Highway 20, I ran into Josh going up to the Overlook. He was not as cold as me. Anyhow, it was finally time to go down Washington Pass....

And then climb a few more feet to than reach the aptly named, "Rainy Pass."

Guess what it started to do again here at "Rainy Pass?"

The downhill was the best of the entire trip. For starters, it wasn't an exceptionally steep one. I could watch the trees and mountains drift by without anxiously watching the sharp turn at the bottom of the hill and wondering if I'm going too fast. Secondly, the landscape was unbelievable.

The fog that hovered around the mountains made everything have a magical quality. It felt like some kind of Cloud Kingdom. Then, when the whole mountainside turned into a thick jungle of wet forest, I didn't know where I was. To top all of this off, I went over Diablo Lake. You need to google this place because I didn't get any pictures that do the color justice. The bluest blue you have ever seen.

Around this time, I rendezvoused with Josh. He was now freezing cold. And it was now absolutely pouring cats and dogs out. With my backup pair of clothes now soaked, Operation Get-To-A-Motel ASAP went into effect. If I stopped, I'd get cold. I had to keep biking.

So that's what I did.

After I exited the Park after the town Newhailem(?), things flattened out a bit and the woods took on yet another. Everything was covered in some sort of fungus. All the trees had a thick green layer of moss dangling off of them. I had entered a rain forest.

I'm in Marblemount and the days are numbered.

"That's your damn sarcasm again! Matt, you haven't changed at all!"

At 4:30 AM, I was already rearing to leave Okanogan and tackle the damn mountain. Yesterday, after eating a meal that was far too violent for physical activity, my mindset went to shit. I didn't want to ride the damn mountain and Josh didn't care. So, we stayed another evening, in a motel, and the Pirates were on, and they won. That was a solid win to see with the playoffs on the horizon and it helped quiet my squirrelly nature. However, as the night crept over town, I wanted to sleep so I could finally flee the damn neighborhood.

Finally, my alarm signaled to me that the sun was coming up. At 6:45, I rose out of bed, opened the front door and made sure I could see that pinkish orange gleam outlining the hilltops. At 6:55, I was gone. I figured the pizza from the night before would be enough for the climb. Eh, kinda was, kinda wasn't.

The climb began immediatelly. The third of four passes left on the trip. Sherman Pass was the longest, a 4,000 ft. ascent up the colorful jungle of pines. There were no real "viewpoints" or overlooks, the forest had too much of a hold on the road. The next day after Sherman was Wauconda, a slightly easier 2,000 ft. climb through a much drier climate. And after a few days, we now have the third pass known as Loupe Loupe, a 3,000 ft. ascension to 4,020 ft.

It started out difficult. Beads of pizza sweat dribbled out from all pores, spilling upon the cold pavement. The first eight miles or so were steep and through neighborhood farms and ranches.

That said, the trees eventually began enclosing together, and the houses/farms dissapeared. We were back in the thick of the Okanogan National Forest. Thick may be a poor word to use though because there weren't many trees left.

In July of this year, Washington dealt with the worst wildfires since the early 1900's. There were two fires I learned about by Sherman Pass that were really bad. One in 2008 that burned about 30,000 acres and one in 1929 that burned 120,000 acres. This most recent fire consumed over 300,000 acres, including much of today's barren forest that we rode through.

At the top of Loupe Loupe Pass, the descent began. Around one green bend, you were met with the entire burnt out landscape that had previously been a forest. A scorched earth with black sticks standing perfectly straight in the ashy snow. Dashes of red splayed on some trees that appeared to have somehow avoided the flames. It was a surreal experience cycling through this apocalypse.

At the bottom was the tourist town of Wisp, generating money off people coming to visit the nearby National Cascades Park. 15 miles west of Twisp is Winthrop. Both towns had evacuation warnings and their electricity shut off. It was on the way to Winthrop we met Troy. A bald, athletic guy in his forties cycling in spandex. He was cool though, had an accent any South Jersian might feel comfortable around.

"All over here on your left was a separate fire. This was started out by a guy's exhaust pipe. Luckily, we already had the fireman here for the inferno. Originally, those were three separate fires all caused by lightning strikes. It was the perfect conditions with the wind though, and they all met up," Troy gushed alongside us.

"Yeah, it reall-", he was cut off from. Corvette beaping at him. "Hey, fuck off!" 

he screamed, flipping the bird at the passing vehicle. "Sorry about that," he apologized to us.

"Nah man," Josh said, "I feel like doing that several times a day."

Troy left us in the town of Winthrop, his home, describing the place as a real "cowboy town." It really was something out of the old west.

Our goal was to get eight miles up Washington Pass and then turn in for the night then conquer it the next morning. However, on the beautiful ride from Winthrop to Mazama, we came across a sign.

"Bicycle Camping", it read. We followed the signs up to an empty driveway. "Please camp beyond the barn". And so we did. It's supposed to rain pretty heavily tomorrow and seeing as the owners haven't appeared, (we e-mailed and called) we're setting up shop. Since we've set up camp and hauled up in the barn...

A man named Ben from Switzerland is also here for the evening. He's hidden behind in a rugged blonde beard, a small blue cap, and shorty shorts. He started hiking in New Mexico, followed a trail to Glacier Park, and then found a bike, which he has since cycled by us. Since April 15. 

3 Day Photo Recap

Sherman Pass. Central Washington.

An overlook on top of Sherman Pass.

Wauconda Pass: 2,000 ft. elevation gain over 12 miles. Eastern Washington. The beginning of desert-like features on the landscape. Forests are more open and filled with sagebrush and pine trees.

Tonasket, WA.

Omak, WA.

"You smell like cheese."

(It would suit this article abundantly if you changed the narration inside of your head to one with an English accent)

Tonight, I write from the upper echelons of luxury. Here, at the lavish Bacon Hostel. Deep in the woods of 570 Hotchkiss Rd. in Coleville, WA is a two-story cottage, reserved for the pennyfarthers and riders of two wheels. A splendid sheltering of movie machines and clothes washers. Truly, an oasis in the parched, green land of the mirrored waters. A paradox if there ever wasn't one. 

The pay is null. A mere how do you do with an ensuing conversation is reasonable enough. In this quid pro quo, the tipped scale rather suits us most favorably. But, Shelley Bacon takes the most pleasure in merely having guests. A delightful character, she puts us brainless drifters to shame. Fresh off a venture in the land of Africa in an attempt to bring education, water, and air conditioning to the poor, she has returned to converse with the less holy. Seriously though, Shelley and her husband Barry Bacon kick poverty's ass.

Out of Sandpoint, a bike path guided us along the car-streaming Highway 20. A dastardly place for bicyclists that we thanked Zeus we didn't have to ride on. For eight marvelous miles, we zig-zagged around on the massive bike path. It was biblical; two lanes of traffic. Like two car lanes. It ran parallel to the highway over the Pond Oreille Lake. Eight miles later and an Idaho license plate later, we were on Highway 20 but not for long.

Eventually, twisting our way through backroads and small hills; we found ourselves sitting directly on the border of Washington in the town of Newport... and Oldale. We continuously went back and forth between states searching for supper.

After an ill attempt at a healthy meal with a Mexican Beef Salad, Josh and I walked bowlegged to our bikes, and officially crossed into Washington, the final state. As previously professed, I believe this is the land of mirrored pools. Lakes, ponds, even moving rivers show no ripples in water; only giving the appearance of a smooth glass surface.

We slept on a beach.

When one tends to greet the ole dream-wink early at dusk, one tends to seek reality as the mist breaks up over an early rising Helios. Although temperatures never dipped into winter threats, they did make a body on the sand quake. Two shivering shadows got up with the sun and traveled through the Kalispell Indian Reservation. 

Midway through, two wild beasts leapt out from the green beyond and gave chase to our bicycles. They attacked.

As layers peeled away like the shedding of my hair follicles, the rising sun followed us west toward the town of Ione. The Pend Oreille River guided us the entire way, through a plethora of Pine, Hemlock, and a vast array of other Evergreens. Although much of the green was losing its green.

At Ione, we chatted with some locals at another place to eat. Jack, 89, a wheel-chair bound veteran of the Vietnam War from the Air Force. Terry, 50, a local woman who bartends in Idaho but held a rental home in Ione. Dell, 56, a scarred, scabbed old man with crude tattoos scrawled on his arms, moved from Spokane to help his son (or his son help him) work. 

Unfortunately, we were very much aware of the 1,325 ft. "hill" jutting out of the countryside west of Ione (Josh calculated it). The view was picturesque for the first five minutes but then we disappeared into the brush and into the tall trees. The sun was blazingly hot, gaping down from the cloudless sky. Eventually, it came time to descend and the thirty miles to the Bacon Bike Hostel flew by with the scenery. 

"You're a poser."

Place: Highway 2 Rest Area, in between Troy and Libby

12:00 AM: Estimated time I fell asleep.

1:35 AM: The park sprinklers turned on as expected. My rain jacket that covered the sprinkler nearest to me was blown off by the sheer force of the water. I leapt out of my sleeping bag pacing back and forth as the torrent of liquid slowly made its turns toward me. After about two minutes standing in the cold, I became convinced the water wasn't going to bother me.

2:45 AM: The right side of my body has begun to ache from lying on the concrete in a deflated thermarest. I flip over to my left side.

3:50 AM: My left side has gone numb from lying on the concrete. I flip onto my stomach.

5:30 AM: I wake up in a pile of my own drool, now shockingly cold and incredibly... gross. A dog named Chuck has barked at us from underneath one of the picnic tables. Alexy and Valerie's dog responds with a grunt and the little dog goes flying back to its owners.

7:30 AM: Alarm.

It was a shitty night's sleep. Josh and I got up early around 8ish, and I immediately started to heat up ramen noodles on top of my make-shift burner, draping my sleeping bag around the little fire to keep myself warmer. Josh hooked up our phones into the wasp nest/electricity outlet in the middle of the parking lot... ever so carefully. A few hours later, it was time to leave and say goodbye to our French friends and their pooch, Boyd.

(Boyd's in the bottom right hand part of the picture)

The morning's cold had largely dissipated by 10:30ish and all the outer layers of the body were shed for the afternoon's warmth. The fog still hung over the mountains in the distance and only appeared to elongate their height.

After a short period of time on the road, Josh pulled over at one of the first restaurant's he saw; "The Halfway House".

"Yo... isn't that a place for alcoholics and stuff to recover?" I said, hesitating to make way for the door.

If they did, they also made food, played football all day, and gave cheap drinks... so, hopefully they weren't for recovering alcoholics. Although the bartender asked Debra to pick up two bottles of Everclear when she left. The best part about this place was watching the Pirates vs. the Cubs on the Wi-Fi. I witnessed a perfect triple play, the first by the Pirates in five years. I lost my shit inside the bar but no one else was there so Josh just stared at me.

The day was filled with the most spectacular and beautiful views that I have seen, in arguably the entire trip. "Bold statement," Josh said, raising his eyebrows. "Eh, top ten," I said, scanning the memory banks.

First, we criss-crossed our way through the Cabinet Mountains Wilderness, which boasts some of the most rugged wilderness in Montana.

From the Cabinet Mountains Wilderness, we ventured to Clark Fork. Somewhere along this route, we finally left the state of Montana and entered Idaho. YES! It's been who knows how long in Montana. And though entering a new state really doesn't change much... symbolically, it does.

Once upon a time, over 10,000 to 20,000 years ago, the from here east to the Rocky Mountains, glaciers up to 5,000 feet deep covered the territory. As temperatures warmed, the glacier at Clark Fork erupted, spilling so much water with gargantuan force, it sculpted what eastern Washington looks like today. Basically, I'm not sure yet but I'll be there tomorrow. The spillage has an analogy that helps a bit. The dumping of the waters was like dumping a bathtub full of water onto a sand pile in your backyard pushing everything aside and carving out chasms into the sand.

I just found this aerial photo of the Clark Fork River. It really helps illustrate what I'm talking about.

In Sandpoint, ID, we hurried to meet up with our CouchSurfing host, Marsha. And there we stayed.

Today... literally nothing happened. Somehow, Josh and I left Marsha's around 12 and by the time we were finishing "breakfast" it was 3;30. We gave up on trying and stayed in Sandpoint to enjoy the festivities, which was lying on the beach and reading. Tomorrow, we leave Idaho and enter Washington.