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bluepapercup had recommended using Bicycle Route Toaster for mapping purposes! And she's absolutely correct, that it's great. I haven't figured out if there's a way to embed maps from it, but hey, it was more user-friendly, and it isn't like the previous embedding efforts worked anyway. Ha. So, here's an update with a map, now:
http://bikeroutetoaster.com/Course.aspx?course=586719
In the evening at Kalaloch Beach, I took another look at the map and realized that I only had about 140 miles of riding remaining. I could complete my bike touring expedition in two days, instead of three. For some reason, the idea of having some additional time in Seattle sounded good, so I set my sights on the town of Elma as my destination for day 4. That would put me at 70-ish miles for the day.
Before departing Kalaloch, I paused to photograph a bus shelter:
Even this far out on the Olympic Peninsula, it's still possible to ride public transportation to get places. A determined, organized person could do something similar to my bike touring trip, except by bus. This is something that Texas hasn't figured out. It is also part of what made me confident about my plans to Hipster Bike Tour: if necessary, I could always figure out how to catch a bus back to Seattle. By Day 4, however, I was pretty confident in my equipment, overall. A flat tire could always happen, or a spoke could break, or the chain could break, or a brake cable could pop out, but most of those wouldn't be complete showstoppers.
Day 4 was the point where I left the old-growth forest behind, for the most part, for more open country that had experienced clearcutting at various times. I finally reached a point where it was time to take a self-portrait while bicycling: the roads were fairly straight and flat, without a terrible amount of traffic.
I accidentally pressed the shutter button an extra time.
C'mon now, camera. What's up with this? Butterfingers.
My 30-mile lunchtime destination for the day was Amanda Park, a town on the edge of Lake Quinault. When I arrived, ready for some lunch, I encountered a bake sale:
A pretty good-looking bake sale, at that. I bought a lemon bar and a s'mores cupcake, and then headed in to the local diner for some lunch. Despite being in a rural part of the state, the diner served up a fine grilled cheese and tomato sandwich with french fries. Always hits the spot when I'm out bicycling around. In this part of the country, Tillamook is the most common type of cheese. Back in Forks, the one grocery store in town sold five different kinds of baby loaves of Tillamook cheese. None of that "American cheese" plastic nonsense. Take note, Texas: rural dining does not need to equate to nasty Kraft/Velveeta product.
But I digress. While I ate lunch, I perused a map of the Lake Quinault area, and learned that outdoorsy activities abounded nearby - hiking trails and scenic drives and campgrounds and such. Time for a post-lunch excursion! So of course, the first side road I took bore the following sign:
Hmm. SpeedSucker. Not sure I like the thought of a SpeedSucker "Program," whatever that is. Fortunately, there were no further signs of activity, just a fish hatchery, and shortly thereafter, I found myself back in old-growth forest along the lakeshore. Ahh, the deep shade felt wonderful!
Someone was telling me, not too long ago, that Sol Duc is where people under 40 go for a vacation, while Lake Quinault is where people in their 70's go for vacation. I'd observed maps for a lakefront hike, so that's where I headed, and I was treated to some rather lovely views. The morning clouds started to break up, exposing the hills beyond the lake:
And the docks on the lake made me think it is likely a nice place to go for a row:
Later, I read a sign that said that the Quinault Indian Nation oversees fisheries-related activities on the lake, and is (rightly) protective of the lake and its resources. The QIN has declared that boats operated on the lake and docks installed on the lake must all promote fish habitat. So, there aren't any speeding motorboats charging all over the place, shattering the silence with their flatulent motors, and all of the docks on the lake have to be built low to the water to encourage fish habitat. I don't know how rowing might fit in with the restrictions, but I think kayaking is all right on the lake. Frankly, that's my favorite sort of lake, nice and peaceful.
Along the lake path, I encountered an informative sign about slugs:
I'm glad to see I'm not the only one celebrating these fantastic gastropods. The sign didn't really help resolve my questions about the identity of the slug I licked, however. That whole situation remains unresolved.
Eventually, round the bend, I came upon the Lake Quinault Lodge:
A stately place that looks mighty fine to me. Perhaps one of these days I'll have a chance to join the 70-year-olds vacationing there. Someone told me that it's a great spot to visit in November, as there are lots of good nooks and crannies inside where one can hole up with a good book while it is dark and rainy outside. There's also a 32-mile loop of scenic roadway circling the lake, and a number of different hikes ranging in strenuousness - something for everyone. I definitely want to go back for another visit. Or two.
On this trip, however, I needed to keep going if I wanted to make it to Elma before nightfall. So, back on the road for me.
At mile marker 102, I finally turned off of Highway 101, which I'd turned onto back at Sol Duc, at mile marker 218. It was a trip, Highway 101, but time for me to see other roadways.
The subsequent roadways offered a departure in terrain. For a little while, I climbed up and down over rolling hills, on Hoquiam Road, then Hoquiam-Wishka Road, then Wishka Road, then Wynooche-Wishka Road, then Wynooche Valley Road, along the Wynooche River. If only I'd had a raft with me, I would have floated down the Wynooche River. Instead, I was cursed to go up and down over the short, steep hills adjacent to the river, as the sun headed over towards the western half of the sky.
Eventually, at long last, I reached the town of Montesano, a short stretch before my destination for the evening, Elma. My legs were toast from all the time spent going up and down those Trudgers and Screamers, on enough SpeedSucker to rival the Texas back roads. I was grateful for a tailwind, which finally pushed me along on the flat, straight segment between Montesano and Brady. In Brady, I paused at a convenience store with the idea of asking the clerk about places to camp nearby, but I got an off-putting feeling there, so I settled for just buying a pink-frosted cookie to assuage my hunger for dinner and a brief sit-down to rest my feet. Pink-frosted cookies are a Pacific Northwest thing, but I can now tell you to avoid this brand, as it is no good at all:
Granny B, you need to reevaluate your recipe.
I was feeling rather tired, but decided to push on towards Elma to look around for the campground noted on the map.
I don't have any photos past this point, probably because I was tired and in want of a good shower. To sum up the evening: I never found any campgrounds in Elma, so instead I decided to push onwards to the next segment of the route, up Stamper Road, where it looked like there might be some sort of camping near the Stamper-Cloquallam intersection.
There is a section of the Adventure Cycling map that is rather unfortunately mislabeled, from my standpoint. It depicts a large hill somewhere right after the Stamper-Cloquallam Rd intersection. I'd hoped I would get to tackle the hill with fresh legs in the morning, but to my dismay I discovered this one last hill was on Stamper Road. It was a long, slow Trudger, my feet already tired from the intense climbing back before Montesano. Once I went up it, and discovered a distinctive lack of campgrounds, I was not especially interested in turning back around to go back down and find a place to stay in Elma.* Instead, soon enough, I encountered a fire station. At a loss for what to do next, I went up to the fire station and knocked on the door to get advice on where to camp. A helpful fireman with a smartphone figured out that there was an RV park a mere two miles away, down Cloquallam Rd by the highway, but then his even-more-helpful boss (or whatever he is, in fireman's lingo) said he was doubtful the RV park would let me camp, but that I could camp there at the fire station and even use their shower.
Score. I spent a bit of the evening chit-chatting with the firemen (after an amazing shower), and then pitched my tent, cooked my grub, and went to sleep. It had been a tiring, 80-mile day of riding up and down and up and down. Perhaps with more practice and a better-fitting bicycle I could tackle that sort of distance and terrain with more ease, but at this point, on this trip, it made for a long day and I was ready for a break.
--
*I need to note that, at this point, I was tired to a point where I wasn't interpreting the Adventure Cycling map very well. If I had been, I would have discovered that there was a "Youth Hostel" symbol for Elma, and if I'd flipped over the map, I would have found an address and phone number for the youth hostel, which allowed camping. This only dawned on me the next day.
bluepapercup had recommended using Bicycle Route Toaster for mapping purposes! And she's absolutely correct, that it's great. I haven't figured out if there's a way to embed maps from it, but hey, it was more user-friendly, and it isn't like the previous embedding efforts worked anyway. Ha. So, here's an update with a map, now:http://bikeroutetoaster.com/Course.aspx?course=586719
In the evening at Kalaloch Beach, I took another look at the map and realized that I only had about 140 miles of riding remaining. I could complete my bike touring expedition in two days, instead of three. For some reason, the idea of having some additional time in Seattle sounded good, so I set my sights on the town of Elma as my destination for day 4. That would put me at 70-ish miles for the day.
Before departing Kalaloch, I paused to photograph a bus shelter:
Even this far out on the Olympic Peninsula, it's still possible to ride public transportation to get places. A determined, organized person could do something similar to my bike touring trip, except by bus. This is something that Texas hasn't figured out. It is also part of what made me confident about my plans to Hipster Bike Tour: if necessary, I could always figure out how to catch a bus back to Seattle. By Day 4, however, I was pretty confident in my equipment, overall. A flat tire could always happen, or a spoke could break, or the chain could break, or a brake cable could pop out, but most of those wouldn't be complete showstoppers.
Day 4 was the point where I left the old-growth forest behind, for the most part, for more open country that had experienced clearcutting at various times. I finally reached a point where it was time to take a self-portrait while bicycling: the roads were fairly straight and flat, without a terrible amount of traffic.
I accidentally pressed the shutter button an extra time.
C'mon now, camera. What's up with this? Butterfingers.
My 30-mile lunchtime destination for the day was Amanda Park, a town on the edge of Lake Quinault. When I arrived, ready for some lunch, I encountered a bake sale:
A pretty good-looking bake sale, at that. I bought a lemon bar and a s'mores cupcake, and then headed in to the local diner for some lunch. Despite being in a rural part of the state, the diner served up a fine grilled cheese and tomato sandwich with french fries. Always hits the spot when I'm out bicycling around. In this part of the country, Tillamook is the most common type of cheese. Back in Forks, the one grocery store in town sold five different kinds of baby loaves of Tillamook cheese. None of that "American cheese" plastic nonsense. Take note, Texas: rural dining does not need to equate to nasty Kraft/Velveeta product.
But I digress. While I ate lunch, I perused a map of the Lake Quinault area, and learned that outdoorsy activities abounded nearby - hiking trails and scenic drives and campgrounds and such. Time for a post-lunch excursion! So of course, the first side road I took bore the following sign:
Hmm. SpeedSucker. Not sure I like the thought of a SpeedSucker "Program," whatever that is. Fortunately, there were no further signs of activity, just a fish hatchery, and shortly thereafter, I found myself back in old-growth forest along the lakeshore. Ahh, the deep shade felt wonderful!
Someone was telling me, not too long ago, that Sol Duc is where people under 40 go for a vacation, while Lake Quinault is where people in their 70's go for vacation. I'd observed maps for a lakefront hike, so that's where I headed, and I was treated to some rather lovely views. The morning clouds started to break up, exposing the hills beyond the lake:
And the docks on the lake made me think it is likely a nice place to go for a row:
Later, I read a sign that said that the Quinault Indian Nation oversees fisheries-related activities on the lake, and is (rightly) protective of the lake and its resources. The QIN has declared that boats operated on the lake and docks installed on the lake must all promote fish habitat. So, there aren't any speeding motorboats charging all over the place, shattering the silence with their flatulent motors, and all of the docks on the lake have to be built low to the water to encourage fish habitat. I don't know how rowing might fit in with the restrictions, but I think kayaking is all right on the lake. Frankly, that's my favorite sort of lake, nice and peaceful.
Along the lake path, I encountered an informative sign about slugs:
I'm glad to see I'm not the only one celebrating these fantastic gastropods. The sign didn't really help resolve my questions about the identity of the slug I licked, however. That whole situation remains unresolved.
Eventually, round the bend, I came upon the Lake Quinault Lodge:
A stately place that looks mighty fine to me. Perhaps one of these days I'll have a chance to join the 70-year-olds vacationing there. Someone told me that it's a great spot to visit in November, as there are lots of good nooks and crannies inside where one can hole up with a good book while it is dark and rainy outside. There's also a 32-mile loop of scenic roadway circling the lake, and a number of different hikes ranging in strenuousness - something for everyone. I definitely want to go back for another visit. Or two.
On this trip, however, I needed to keep going if I wanted to make it to Elma before nightfall. So, back on the road for me.
At mile marker 102, I finally turned off of Highway 101, which I'd turned onto back at Sol Duc, at mile marker 218. It was a trip, Highway 101, but time for me to see other roadways.
The subsequent roadways offered a departure in terrain. For a little while, I climbed up and down over rolling hills, on Hoquiam Road, then Hoquiam-Wishka Road, then Wishka Road, then Wynooche-Wishka Road, then Wynooche Valley Road, along the Wynooche River. If only I'd had a raft with me, I would have floated down the Wynooche River. Instead, I was cursed to go up and down over the short, steep hills adjacent to the river, as the sun headed over towards the western half of the sky.
Eventually, at long last, I reached the town of Montesano, a short stretch before my destination for the evening, Elma. My legs were toast from all the time spent going up and down those Trudgers and Screamers, on enough SpeedSucker to rival the Texas back roads. I was grateful for a tailwind, which finally pushed me along on the flat, straight segment between Montesano and Brady. In Brady, I paused at a convenience store with the idea of asking the clerk about places to camp nearby, but I got an off-putting feeling there, so I settled for just buying a pink-frosted cookie to assuage my hunger for dinner and a brief sit-down to rest my feet. Pink-frosted cookies are a Pacific Northwest thing, but I can now tell you to avoid this brand, as it is no good at all:
Granny B, you need to reevaluate your recipe.
I was feeling rather tired, but decided to push on towards Elma to look around for the campground noted on the map.
I don't have any photos past this point, probably because I was tired and in want of a good shower. To sum up the evening: I never found any campgrounds in Elma, so instead I decided to push onwards to the next segment of the route, up Stamper Road, where it looked like there might be some sort of camping near the Stamper-Cloquallam intersection.
There is a section of the Adventure Cycling map that is rather unfortunately mislabeled, from my standpoint. It depicts a large hill somewhere right after the Stamper-Cloquallam Rd intersection. I'd hoped I would get to tackle the hill with fresh legs in the morning, but to my dismay I discovered this one last hill was on Stamper Road. It was a long, slow Trudger, my feet already tired from the intense climbing back before Montesano. Once I went up it, and discovered a distinctive lack of campgrounds, I was not especially interested in turning back around to go back down and find a place to stay in Elma.* Instead, soon enough, I encountered a fire station. At a loss for what to do next, I went up to the fire station and knocked on the door to get advice on where to camp. A helpful fireman with a smartphone figured out that there was an RV park a mere two miles away, down Cloquallam Rd by the highway, but then his even-more-helpful boss (or whatever he is, in fireman's lingo) said he was doubtful the RV park would let me camp, but that I could camp there at the fire station and even use their shower.
Score. I spent a bit of the evening chit-chatting with the firemen (after an amazing shower), and then pitched my tent, cooked my grub, and went to sleep. It had been a tiring, 80-mile day of riding up and down and up and down. Perhaps with more practice and a better-fitting bicycle I could tackle that sort of distance and terrain with more ease, but at this point, on this trip, it made for a long day and I was ready for a break.
--
*I need to note that, at this point, I was tired to a point where I wasn't interpreting the Adventure Cycling map very well. If I had been, I would have discovered that there was a "Youth Hostel" symbol for Elma, and if I'd flipped over the map, I would have found an address and phone number for the youth hostel, which allowed camping. This only dawned on me the next day.
