April 28th--Rainbow Falls to Bruceport

My pleasant night of rest was brought to an end by the insistent squawking of a crow overhead. I lay there for some time cursing it before i decided to just get up and try to ignore it. I eventually put it in the back of my attention by focusing on all of the wonderful flora around me: Trillium, Vanilla Leaf, Fairy Bells, Sorrel, Thimbleberry, Salmonberry, Devils Club, Skunk Cabbage, Oregon Grape, False Solomon Seal, Bleeding Heart, Fiddlehead Fern, etc. I began taking pictures of all of these plants, which was an involved enough process to push the crow out of my mind altogether, though i did notice when another crow challenged the extremely loud one's perch and replaced its squawking with a slightly less piercing and insistent one. Nevertheless, i was entranced by the flora and went for a walk across the road to the trails.

Nearly at the road, on the Chehalis River, i came upon the namesake of the park: Rainbow Falls. I wasn't sure where the rainbow came from, as the falls were not particularly rough, and so didn't produce a whole lot of mist for rainbows. It was pretty though, and there was a lovely flowering tree that i've not yet identified along the banks near the bridge. In addition to the bridge for motorized traffic, there was also a pedestrian suspension bridge, but it was under renovation. A caravan of touring retired motorcyclists passed by me with their loaded rigs as i crossed over the bridge.

Across the river and the road, there were numerous trails winding up the hill opposite the park. I decided to save time by going on the shorter "interpretive trail." I'm so enchanted, however, by these northwest forests that i spent nearly an hour-and-a-half on a trail that is probably only half of a mile long. The dense foliage overall, the "fortpflanzerei", as it was described disdainfully by the voice of Homo Faber, made me feel somehow at home and at ease. There were sparse trees made fuzzy by moss inches thick, with Usnea lichen flowing down from the branches. Nearly every plant i saw i knew to have some medicinal value, thanks to the bible of northwest wildcrafters, Medicinal Plants of the Pacific West by Michael Moore (no relation to the documentarian). There were not a whole lot of fungi, perhaps because this may have been the first sunny day in some time. I did see one quite interesting fungus, though i have to admit a shortage of knowledge in this field, despite attendance at several Fungus Festivals while living in Santa Cruz. The fungus did remind me of a joke told by one of my fellow campers at Rose Valley in Los Padres National Forest: "So, a mushroom walks into a bar and asks for a drink. The bartender says, 'sorry, we don't serve mushrooms here.' The mushroom responds, 'but, hey, why not? I'm a fungi [fun guy, get it].'" I think that falls under the category of "yuck yuck" jokes.

Anyway, i remained enraptured by the Hemlock (the evergreen tree, not the poisonous water plant), the wonderfully aromatic Western Red Cedar, the prehistoric-looking and thankfully unaromatic Skunk Cabbage (like actual skunks, they tend to keep their smell to themselves unless disturbed), the wonderfully dainty Bleeding Heart and Maidenhair Ferns, the arching False Solomon Seal, whose flowers, along with those of the Thimbleberry bushes, taunted me with the wonderful taste of their fruits-to-be. I smiled at the ground covered in flowering Sorrel and my mouth watered painfully with the first taste of its oxalic acid. I was happy they were there, but i stayed clear of the threateningly spiky and lanky Devils Club. Small streams wound throughout the area, and parts were completely swamped, easily identified by the Skunk Cabbage. There was a boardwalk built over part of the trail, but it had fallen apart and was quite useless for its intended purpose. In addition, its slippery, off-camber, moss-covered wood was even worse, especially with my bike shoes, than the swampy ground beneath.

Eventually, i reached the end of the short trail and became disappointed to leave, but my stomach was growling, so i went back to camp to make my breakfast of amaranth gruel.

The ride to my next stop, i have to say, was not nearly so pleasant as the morning stroll through the forest. The road quicly exited forested areas and i rode past clearcuts and smoldering slash piles. I rode through the small community of Pe Ell and prepared for the climb over the ridge from the Chehalis River to the Willapa River. Having been dodging debris on the shoulder since shortly after leaving Rainbow Falls, i finally got a flat part-way up this hill. The flat was easy enough to fix, and the weather cooperative, so i decided to finally take care of something that had been bugging me for a while. I was still running my little gear: 39-17, and it was driving me nuts to spin on the flats. I had not needed it since the climb up Mt. PiÒos, but had just been too lazy to change it. It slowed me down considerably as i rushed to catch my train to Seattle, though it helped for a brief moment en route to Matt Case's place at the top of Yesler. It may have also helped a bit for some of the hills on the way to Olympia, but i probably would have been alright in the bigger gear, too. So, anticipating only about another 500' to climb on this hill, and with my bike already upside down to repair the tube, i decided to finally change the gear. I first tried to just change the chainwheel, hoping that this simpler operation would work. Unfortunately, using the big chainwheel with the big cog resulted in the chain being too short for the wheel to spin, so that plan was right out. In the future, on trips with less dramatic hills, i 'd like to arrange things such that i can just change the chainwheel, as this requires less tools (especially the heavy chainwhip required for changing the cog) and chainwheels are generally pretty light. But things were, alas, not set up this way this time. Changing the cog turned out to be a serious task. The cog was on incredibly tight, and i had to wander around the spot on the side of the road looking for something strong and horizontal against which to brace the wheel. The mailbox post nearby was not even adequate, as the cog was on so tight that i had to stand on the chainwhip to get enough torque. I eventually found a utility pole against which to brace the wheel and with which i could steady myself while standing and bouncing up and down on the rather unstable chainwhip. After 30 minutes of fenagling to get something to work, i finally got the cog off, at which point someone drove by to offer some help. Having just worked everything out, i didn't have to deal with the dilemma of whether to act proud and capable and self-sufficient or to break down and ask for help.

With all of that taken care of in short order, i continued on up the hill and discovered that i had indeed been nearly at the top of the hill already, with only another 100' or so of elevation gain. I shouldn't need to change the gears again until Adrienne and i tackle the Trinity Alps.

While i no longer had to worry about spinning myself into a blur, i still had to worry with rough pavement and lots of debris on the shoulder, including many large chunks of tree bark from passing logging trucks. As such, i got yet another flat at around Menlo, this time a pinch flat, probably from rolling over a sharp rock. The weather was still cooperative, so the glue dried quickly enough and i was back on the road. Truth is, loading and unloading the bike takes almost as much time as fixing the flat.

I was also facing headwinds at this time, as the road turned northbound along the Willapa River. I eventually reached the town of Raymond at the intersection of Hwy 6 and Hwy 101, where i took a break from battling the wind and the horrible pavement to check out the "historical downtown" and its visitors center. The latter was closed, but i was pleased to find taped to the window and advertisement for camping at Bruceport Park, which was not far away. I didn't have any information on where to find campgrounds, hoping to just find something along the way. Stealth camping any-ol'-where on the side of the road is always an option, but, with enough of a budget for a hiker/biker camp is less than ideal.

After a brief rest, i continued down the road, now Hwy 101, to the town of South Bend, the county seat of Pacific County, Washington, and the "oyster capitol of the world". The sign at either approach to town also proclaimed South Bend to be "the ideal place to raise a family" and "a fine place to retire." There was actually a separated bike path alongside the freeway, but it only ran from Raymond to just before South Bend. Nevertheless, it was a welcome relief while it lasted. I stopped at the visitor information kiosk, where there was a memorial to a Mr. Bush (i forgot his first name), a medic in WWII who sacrificed himself to his superior by holding aloft a bag of plasma in a very vulnerable position while fending off the enemy fusilade with his sidearm. Very dramatic. The information at the kiosk primarily gave forth about the various types of salmon and salmon fishing. There was also a history of Bruceport, some six or seven miles toward the coast.

The ride out of South Bend was a battle against stiff coastal headwinds from the north. They subsided around the turn that took me west toward the coast. The Bruceport County Park Campground was at the top of a hill, and the camp host greeted me, saying, "yup, everyone comes huffing up that hill!" The hiker/biker site was $10, and the host assured me that the water in the coin-op showers was plenty hot, because he had to use them himself. Having not yet taken advantage of a shower at a campground, i couldn't relate to the concern about lukewarm water, though it made me even less likely to take advantage of them in the future.

The park was up on a bluff overlooking the Willapa Bay to the north. It was previously referred to as Shoalwater Bay, due to the shallow waters, evident from the pictures. I was able to catch a lovely sunset and had some sardines with pita for dinner.