We're in the Olympic National Park, Washington State, USA. The sun is shining, Crescent Lake is a gorgeous luminous green at the base of the hill in front of our campsite, and coffee is beginning to flow from our awesome stovetop coffee maker. I love this device. There are chipmunks frolicking about, chasing each other through patches of sunlight and up and down trees. It's a peaceful, beautiful setting.
Last night was pretty much the opposite, with rain and noise galore, both from party animals of the human persuasion, and from critters going about their nightly business. Signs regarding critter management are plentiful here - which makes sense given that the critter roster includes bears and cougars* - and dictate measures including locking away not only all food, but also cosmetics, toiletries, and "Any Smelly Items." On that basis, I really should have been locked in the van for the night, but wasn't, which may go some way towards explaining why some small creature of the night (non-human variety, I'm pretty certain) was so intent on using our tent as a scratching post.
We left Vancouver after a day more than originally planned, during which we finally went Downtown to see what we could see. As it turned out, what we could see included the Ming Dynasty garden of Dr Sun Yat Sen (which was arse until someone explained it to us, after which it was quite cool), the Vancouver Aquarium (too many cool things to list), and the Downtown East Side, which is where the homeless people congregate. The latter was an unplanned encounter, on our way from the garden in Chinatown to the eating establishments of Gastown**. In the space of a block we went from Oriental squalor/splendor to being surrounded by literally hundreds of homeless people, almost all men. The one space which was not chock-full of scary grubby men was outside the Women's Refuge, and it was full of not-as-grubby but scarier-looking women.
Janine's just handed me a breakfast burrito (scrambled eggs, spicy rice, sundried tomatoes, and "Mean Green Iguana" hot and spicy jalapeno sauce, all wrapped in a corn tortilla). It's the most delicious thing I've ever eaten. We've already found jalapeno goodness in cheese and on potato chips, and we're still within a day of the Canadian border - looking forward to more chili goodness as we get further south.
Crossing the border was interesting - we had to jump through some extra hoops as a result of Janine's New Zealandness (my Canadian passport was waved through without a second glance), but Officer West was very nice and found a way to get us through without paying money***. One of his fellow officers wasn't quite so nice though, or so it seemed when he appeared behind the counter, muscular tattooed arms, sunglasses, bulletproof vest, grim face. "Is that your van?" he asked. "Gulp," I replied. "This fell out." He held out a tennis ball. I suspect he found it funnier than I did, although the prospect of being cavity searched began to fade**** and I was smiling by the time we got back to the van. Smile turned to confusion when we hit the highway to Bellingham - wide open country road in good condition, but with a 50 speed limit posted. Everyone else seemed to be ignoring that by at least 40km/hr, but I REALLY don't want to be arrested, so was obediently trundling along at 50km/hr... until I realised that with the crossing from Canada to the US we'd moved from metric to imperial, and the speed limit was 50 miles per hour, not 50km.
Next stop Anacortes, on Fidalgo Island. Connected to the mainland by a causeway, Anacortes hosts ferry services to a bunch of islands, including Vancouver Island. We didn't get on any of them though - we went to the information centre, and were given maps and directions from a lovely little old lady*****. We then visited Skagit Bikes Anacortes for ride info and were given a bunch of primo info and map detail, including the bike shop guy's own preferred ride loop, which I rode in the early evening while Janine drank beer and read her book at our campsite in Washington Park. The riding was pretty good, although constrained by its semi-urban setting into tighter, twistier trails, with less flow and variety than the excellence of Campbell River. Still really nice though, so despite falling off and carnaging a finger and hip right at the start, I was keen as a bean to go again with Janine the next morning. Neither of us had major falls, but we saw a mole (dead, and reminiscent of a dead little blue penguin I once saw and photographed on Opito Bay beach), and what may have been a beaver dam******, and Janine found a big patch of stinging nettle, and came away with a nasty rash, which I thought was funny until I found some nettles of my own to play in.
Ferry from Keystone to Port Townsend was cool, and included some tall ships firing some cannons at each other. Unfortunately Port Angeles was closed (it's a long weekend here, and lots of shopkeepers seem to have bailed), so we have no idea where any riding is around here. Not a major issue though, as we're heading now for a trail run followed by a soak in the Sol Duc Hot Springs, which is sounding more and more lovely as the temperature plummets.
* = actual mountain lions, not women of a certain age seeking younger men for wriggly action
** = based purely on the name, I consider Gastown to be my spiritual home. The fact that it's full of places to eat and drink, and abuts the slightly seedy part of town (Blood Alley, anyone?) adds to the match. Smart Mouth cafe, where we ate lunch, was also pretty awesome
*** = and no sexual favors either, from either of us
**** = he had REALLY big hands
***** = the only thing I didn't like about the helpful little old lady was her gnarled arthritic hands. Not because of any premonitions about my future, but because it confused the heck out of me when she pointed things out on the map, to the point where not only did I get hopelessly lost while attempting to find Washington Park, but I also managed to helpfully misdirect a couple of touring cyclists based on my woefully incorrect understanding of where things were
****** = may have been a random collection of sticks and mud clogging a minor waterway
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