"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...