August 9-10: “Death Highway”
“Death Highway.” That’s what the old man called Highway 2 through the Cascade Mountain Range. He was a friendly guy who had simply walked up to me and started a conversation while I was resting at a store in Skykomish. He was referring to the narrow shoulders and the high volume of traffic, especially big RVs and pickups towing all manner of recreational contraptions. I could certainly relate to what he was saying: this was my second day of riding on Highway 2 and it has to be some of the most unpleasant riding I’ve experienced anywhere in the country.
I had stopped at a store that seemed forgotten next to the gas station where there was a line to fill a car, truck, RV, boat, motorcycle, or ATV or whatever you might be hauling up or down the canyon.
The forgotten store had absolutely no vehicles in front of it and a sign read “Deli / Liquor Store” so that’s where I went. I was going to go in and get a cup of coffee to warm me up after having just spent a rainy night in an “unofficial” campsite just outside the town of Index, Washington. It was a great camping area along side the Skykomish River. Being a free campground, it was crowded, but I found myself a small slice of grass closer to the road. Later that night I would realize I had chosen well. All the bears were roaming closer to the river. Several times throughout the night, I heard people yelling and screaming and occasionally “go away.” I was never visited by a bear (as far as I know), so I’m only guessing at what the yelling was all about. What else could it be though?
Later in the night, I had an all too realistic dream about a bear trying to get into my tent. I was unable to yell or move because I was so sleepy. The dream ended when I finally managed to yell out “Go away!” and I woke myself up.
The friendly old man said he was from near Skykomish. He went on to tell me about the bike touring he did in Europe shortly after World War II. He bought a bike in Germany — a “Steiger”, I think he said — and took it to Switzerland, France, England, and Ireland.
I never got inside to get coffee. I realized I had absolutely no cash with me. I would have to use the next twenty miles of climbing to get me warmed up. It worked. The summit of Stevens Pass is at 4061 feet and I had my conversation with the old man at about 750 feet of elevation. The last six miles is a steady 5-7% grade. Even with the tailwind and temperatures hovering around 50 degrees, I was working up a very good sweat and all I was wearing was shorts, jersey, and arm warmers.
All was going according to plan on the climb until I was about a mile from the summit. I started feeling a sharp poke in my side right where my OmniPod was located. I didn’t think much of it, but I checked on it at about a quarter mile from the summit. Yep, my OmniPod, located near my front and just above my waist, had worked its way loose after three days of pedaling.
On any other day ride, this might have been a disaster because the Stevens Pass summit is 35 miles from where I started. Today though, I had everything I needed to remedy the problem. Placing a new OmniPod unit seemed out of the question: not only was I on a busy highway with no shelter around, it was hovering around 50 degrees with a brisk wind.
So, instead, I elected to take a small injection of insulin to cover my needs until I arrived in Leavenworth, today’s destination.
Here are some of my favorite photos from the last two days of riding:
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