Sumner to Eatonville, Washington. Wednesday, May 1, 2024.
Not to put too fine a point on it, but there are three levels of weird here.
First of all, highpointing is peculiar, there’s no getting around it. You can see wanting to get to the big mountains, but come on—Florida? Delaware? That funny one in Connecticut where the top isn’t even a mountain, but just where the state line crosses the slope of a higher mountain? What’s up with that?
But OK, let’s say you can see that highpointing is a thing. After all, they have a club, a magazine, an annual convention where a bunch of mountain nerds get together and pat each other on the back. Almost 400 people have done all 50. But I’m not content to stop there. I have to insist that they all be climbed from sea level, entirely under one’s own power. Nobody’s done that. Nobody’s even thought of that. Who cares?
And to that I am adding a third level of weird. I’ve climbed most of the hard ones, but always from a trailhead, a parking lot, not from the sea. I’ll post this map again, only the ones with gold pins have been climbed from sea level.
Since retirement, I’ve been working to turn all the pins to gold. I reclimbed all the ones in the northeast, and did the ones in the Midwest for the first time that way. Actually, I climbed South Dakota and Nebraska anew. Now I’m on the final leg of this journey, starting in the northwest, aiming to finish all the ones I haven’t done and to claim that I have climbed those hard ones from sea level. Being an old man, I can’t climb them again. That ship has sailed. But if I bike now to those prior parking lots, wouldn’t that count? Sea to summit in two stages, after the fact? Huh? Wouldn’t it?
Casting weirdness aside, that’s what I’m trying to do. And the first one is Rainier. The Paradise Inn, where I began my climb in 1994, is at 5400 feet, and only 115 miles from Annie‘s house in Seattle. I had allowed myself four days, seemingly plenty of time. But poor sleep, distractions, and delayed starts have put me behind schedule. I’m two days in, but I’ve only done about 70 of those miles, with most of the climb still ahead of me. There is only one more day of good weather. After that, they’re talking about inches of rain and I don’t want to be on a high mountain road in that.
Today’s ride was typical. Most of it was flat or on good bike trails, but there was one stretch of gravel so bad I had to backtrack and plan out a bypass on busy roads with no shoulders and lots of semi trucks. One of them almost ran me off the road. I was so sleep deprived I felt like I was running on fumes. That last 6% grade hill into Eatonville was only half a mile, but I had to stop three times.
Once there, spotted in automotive garage that didn’t look too busy, and thought oh good, I can get my seat checked out. Right as I was starting in Vancouver, I heard an alarming snap in my saddle as I sat on it, but a cursory inspection didn’t show anything wrong. It was raining, the seat was covered, but it seemed OK, as it did on further inspections. Still, I noted a disconcerting thunk from time to time as I pedaled. I have the parts and tools I need for a repair, but I also need some heavy tools that only a garage would have. Here was my chance. I’m always sheepish, bugging garage mechanics, but Blake was pleasant and seemed happy to help. For the first time, I took my seat completely off and was horrified: one of the main rails that support the seat had fractured completely.
On top of everything else, this felt like a devastating blow. This has happened once or twice before, perhaps a design flaw in the other otherwise perfect Brooks Saddle, perhaps because I’m overweight, but in those cases I sent it back to the North American service Center, and they repaired it, charging me only postage. Still, it took about two weeks. I felt like the whole trip was over.
But Blake was nonplussed. He said oh, I think we have somebody here who can weld it for you. And sure enough, Aaron did just that.
He apologized, said he couldn’t weld it all around for fear of damaging the leather, but it looked pretty solid to me. Blake leant me the tools I needed to complete the repair. I was so grateful I was almost in tears, and gave them a huge tip. A perfect example of a couple of trail angels.
Time will tell. I’ve asked Jane to send me another saddle off another bike from home, but that will take more than a week (a pretty big ask, today is her 68th birthday). I’ll just have to hope for the best. The repair burned up another couple of hours, so I decided just to stay in Eatonville.
Why not just buy another saddle? Because once you’ve broken in a Brooks Saddle (they’ve been made in England since 1868), nothing else will do. It takes about 1000 painful miles to break it in, but once you do, pure heaven. I’m totally spoiled. But I suppose I could get another one if I have to.
So here I am, with 44 miles and 6000 feet of climbing to do an a single day. Almost 90 miles round-trip. I’ve got this motel room for two days, so I will keep all my heavy bags here, turning my 115 pound rig into 35 pounds. I’m getting to bed early, have decided to break my xanthine abstinence and use performing enhancing substances (caffeine). I’ve got this one chance.
Hey yo, I’m just like my country
I’m old, scrappy and hungry
And I’m not throwing away my shot
Distance 35 miles, 248’ total. Time 7 hours with stops. Elevation gain 1332 feet
©️ 2024 Scott Luria
The Ends of the Earth 