Miles biked: 81.1 (339.1 total)
Time on bike: 6 hours, 2 minutes, 44 seconds
Maximum speed: 29.9 mph
Roads taken: In Shelton: First, University, Pioneer Way, Lake ... Cloquallam, Stamper, in Elma: Oakhurst, F, E. Young, N. 3rd/Wakefield ... South Bank, Cemetery, Elma-Gate, US 12, in Rochester: Albany ... James, Old 9 Highway, Old 99 Highway/Harrison, in Centralia: First, Washington, Cherry, Silver, Pearl, Gold ... in Chehalis: Gold, Market ... Jackson Highway.
Places stopped: Elma gas station (for muffin, pop tarts, yogurt, a lighter for my stove and a pen for my journal), Centralia library (to finally post a sport blog), Willie's Sports in Centralia (to ask about a sleeping pad and get solid directions to a place in Chehalis), Lewis and Clark State Park (sleeping spot).
For the second consecutive day, I was blessed with relatively flat roads as I zoomed through Washington. As much as I wanted to enjoy the moment, Oregon was clearly on my mind. I could smell the salt water, could envision the 101.
I had no interest, really, in what the rest of my route in Washington offered -- which, really, wasn't anything. I was in between Mount St. Helens and other peaks (to the east) and the coast (to the west).
All I could look forward to was the next little town and the chance to pick up more food for my always active appetite.
And so I zoomed on, often averaging 15 mph or more with the wind at my back and the roads flat. There wasn't much traffic, so I listed to my iPod at a low volume and sung along with the tunes when I needed to consume myself.
One thing that struck me during this trek -- and maybe I'm just inane here -- is that small towns aren't quite as barren as I've always thought. My bike map lists the population of each town I go through, so I have an idea of what I'm going to see whenever I reach a town.
So when I rode into Elma (population 3,049), I expected hardly anything. Instead, there were a good five restaurants and dozens of stores. Not bad for such a small crowd.
And when I reached Centralia (14,742), I felt like I was biking into Ann Arbor. Store after store, restaurant after restaurant and other buildings lined the main drag. And the downtown was a happening place as well, featuring a small college in addition to a decent library and plenty of other municipal buildings.
I've never been a small-town guy, but a place like Centralia showed me that while it might not be my choice of a place to live, it's not exactly dead either.
It also features people who, obviously, have that solid small-town knowledge. So when I walked into Willie's Sports shop on Main Street inquiring about a much-needed sleeping pad, while they didn't have one they pointed me in the right direction and also helped reroute me so that I'd avoid all the back-road hills my masochistic map had planned for me.
I ended up biking a few miles to Chehalis, where I found a super-cheap sleeping pad -- $10, it fits on the bike and it should be good enough for my low-maintenance needs -- and got on the relatively flat Jackson Highway heading toward my destination for the night, Lewis and Clark State Park.
That is when the infamous Northwest weather finally hit me for the first time. It wasn't for more than about 15 minutes, but a slight drizzle started and as I gazed ahead, the clouds looked nefarious. For the first time on my trip, I had an eerie feeling about the forecast.
When I arrived at the campground, after a relatively easy 81.1 miles -- my longest day to that point -- it was empty. I didn't see a person in sight. I was about to set up my tent in an empty spot near the front of the site when I noticed a large picnic area under a canopy.
The so-called "group campsite" featured several tables, a sink and even a fireplace -- all under cover.
Thinking about those gloomy clouds and also realizing how deserted the place was, I made a smart decision -- how about that? -- and moved all my stuff under the canopy. And sure enough, about 7 minutes later the rain started ... and this time didn't stop.
With my first-ever lighter -- yes, my first in 25 years; I'm so innocent! -- I boiled some water and made some tasty ramen soup to go with a sandwich and some gorp for dessert. Then I set up my sleeping pad and sleeping bag on one of the tables and prepared to sleep AT style.
(A note for those of you unfamiliar with the AMC huts in New Hampshire's White Mountains: During the summer, when Appalachian Trail hikers are passing through, the staff members at the huts allow them to stay the night, get a couple free, hearty meals and sleep on the tables in exchange for a little work.)
Before I could go to sleep -- it was still light outside -- I came to realize what the hardest part of this trip has been so far: the nights alone. As someone very domesticated, I've come to acknowledge that spending long nights alone and somewhat in the wilderness is not easy. It's not something that comes naturally.
Wild thoughts race through the mind and falling asleep is a task in itself. And especially for me, I feel even more isolated because by 9 at night all of my friends and family -- mostly in the Midwest or on the East Coast -- are already asleep.
It's something I'm still adjusting to, but I think it'll only become easier now that I'm by the Pacific Ocean and will continue to head south to a warmer and more populated climate.
Anyway, I slept well on the table and didn't fall off. That's impressive, considering my shifting patterns while asleep.
Unfortunately, whenever I awoke I was greeted with the constant pattering of raindrops on the structure. This kept me from rising before 6 and getting on the bike as I had originally planned.
The rain was still coming down when I got up at 8...
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