Speed

Day 8: Twanoh to Elma WA. Bicycling puts you at an interesting speed. Slow enough to stop for any whim, any vista-gazing, any road kill inspection, any stranger's question, but fast enough to keep you moving through towns and counties, through hills and valleys, fast enough to avoid a sticky situation, avoid running out of food (mostly), or outrun a dog whose owner has let him loose. The worst of the last of those was today, as we rounded Mason Lake, having daydreamed our way through at least five miles of completely car-free country road. To a loose pitbull, a bicyclist must look as a gazelle does to a cheetah - something to be run down and chewed up. This dog along Mason Lake, having ignored his owner's daughter's limp pleas to stay put, looked intent to both run me down and chew. It seems there's two options in this situation. Stop and stare down the pitbull (it would usually back off as soon as you're not moving), or flee (and assume that on bike, you can outrun a dog). The second option seems more foolproof, since some dogs are freaks who might just chomp at your leg given any chance. I fled, ridiculously yelling 'chain up your dog'. As soon as he slowed to a panting trot (half mile), I switched to technique 2, so that Ilana could pedal through without a problem. It worked. Speed also helped dodge a shady black-eyed pickup driver who pulled over to leeringly ask 'can i ask you guys a question?' It was his only question. He might have delivered his follow-up but we were already around the bend. We've only broken the speed limit once - 35 downhill in a 30. Ilana recorded our violation proudly with her bike computer, a nifty contraption which measures the rotations of her front wheel. Speed wouldn't have helped us near Buck's Prarie Store. As we glided into for a late-afternoon stop, the owner squinted down the road in the direction we'd just come. A neighbor had spotted a cougar on his property which seemed headed towards the road (the one we'd just biked) and he'd phoned to tell the store-owner. Everyone seemed satisfied that we were heading off to the south, but Ilana and I later wondered whether we should have asked what to do if we had an encounter. Riding away certainly wouldn't be the answer then. We wondered but didn't see anything. Overall our day's ride was hilly, dry despite the forecast, and entirely rural. We popped out in Elma WA, a small town which we considered an unfortunate necessity so that we could stop in Twanoh the night before. But Elma surprised us with a rowdy county fair and the last hotel room in town. Huge first-place zucchinis looked across as brisket sandwiches were assembled and sold. A ferris wheel turned and the Little River Band played for a hay-bale audience of hand-clappers and slow-dancers. The Little River Band's road manager slept in a neighboring room, and the next morning I was treated to a Spinal Tap-worthy conversation about the pros and cons of fairground meet-and-greets.