The Washington Weather Pastcast (June 19th, 2006)

by your roving San Francisco meteorologist, 97.5% accuracy guaranteed

There has only been one day that has been 100% precipitation free.  Gangs of roving clouds move around the sky, dispensing sunshine or rain randomly, however they see fit.  Only on the Washington Pass day (day three?), did it rain continuously from about noon to 8:00 pm.  The "rule of thumb" is that it rains more on the western slopes than on the eastern ones.  My worst rainstorm was a heavy downpour while descending Sherman Pass.  It only lasted fifteen minutes, but it was very wet. So much for rules of thumb.

During the planning stage, I was pleased to see that the western states on my route followed the "California" pattern: highest precipitation in the winter, lowest in the summer.  The year 2006, however, is the wettest June on record (so says the Spokane TV station).  My charts show an average of about an inch and a half of rain in June; this year has brought three inches of rain, and it's only mid-June.   The river through Bonner's Ferry, Idaho --- not far off my route --- is two inches above the flood stage.

The clouds have a "silver lining" though.  It could easily have been 80 degrees or more (27 C) while climbing those 5,000 foot (1500 m) passes, but it was usually relatively cool without being cold. At times I rode over a lot of pavement that was very wet, but the downpour hadn't occurred while I was there.  One day it seemed like the "hole" in the clouds followed me along, although I could see ominous clouds all around me and sometimes see the rain falling from them.  Elsewhere.

What it's like on the road in Washington

One of the things that has surprised me the most is how considerate drivers are towards cyclists.  On a two lane road with a wide shoulder (and theoretically at least, if there is no broken glass, I'm riding to the right of the white line), cars generally pass me by swerving into the lane for oncoming traffic --- assuming, of course, there is no oncoming traffic.  The drivers give me far more space than my actual physical presence on the road requires.

I've spent a lot of time on SR 20.  There is generally a good shoulder, ranging between four feet and six feet in width.  Close to towns there is heavier traffic, but a few miles out, you can go several minutes without seeing a car or truck.  The Northern Tier maps route you on smaller side roads whenever possible, and on those roads you might go ten or fifteen minutes without seeing a motorized vehicle.

Up here, they believe summer starts in, well, summer. Many of the facilities haven't ramped up yet for the summer tourists, and some are still closed in mid June.  This is very different from California, where "summer" starts in April or May.

I believe I have a slight head start on the "great hordes" of cyclists making the same cross-country trek.  The route goes through small towns with populations ranging from a few hundred to a few thousand.  From the motel and restaurant owners I've spoken to, the bicycle tourist trade represents a good portion of their business.  They are not phased in the slightest if you want to take your bicycle in the room, and ask for an old rag to wipe down the bike.  They probably figure that's better than using the fresh towels.

The only other cyclists I've seen so far was a family of four from Napa, CA.  The father and son were going all the way cross-country; the mother and daughter were only going to Sandpoint, ID.  I also met one westbound cyclist, Gary, who had started in mid May in Ohio.  He had plenty of miles to prepare himself for the mountains in the west, and that's a good thing: it's my impression that the slopes are even harder going in the opposite direction.

The People

People have been very friendly and outgoing.  Especially at mealtime in a restaurant, they'll strike up a conversation when they see you're studying a map or messing with your bike gear.

In San Francisco you become very accustomed to the cultural and ethnic diversity of the area.  It's part of the  background ---  Filipino, Chinese, Indian, Latino, African-Americans who may speak in their native Tagalog, Mandarin, Cantonese, Spanish, or English languages.  It took me a few days to stumble upon the realization that everyone around me was white and everyone spoke English.  There is undoubtedly greater diversity in the big cities (Seattle, Tacoma, and so forth). but not in the outback.

In Michael Moore's "Fahrenheit 9/11" he interviewed the same kind of folks I've seen here.  There is an Army recruiting station in downtown Colville, population 4,988.  These are the small towns that send their sons to fight the war in Iraq and Afghanistan, and to me it's heartbreaking to see the profusion of yellow ribbons tied to roadside mailboxes, to trees and fences, and posted on specially erected billboards supporting the troops.  Yesterday I rode past a cemetery that was covered with gravesites with American flags.  I don't know if that is a reflection of patriotism in general, or somehow related to all the yellow ribbons that declare some parent's love and dashed hopes that their sons come back home alive and intact.

The Culture

Just riding through, it would be presumptuous to say too much about the culture here.  I'm an outsider looking in.  There is lots of space here, and I suspect that changes how people view "personal space".   Perhaps that explains why the drivers give me such wide berth on the road.  They have the sense that everyone has a right to a lot of space, even cyclists.

I didn't plan it that way, but with my two-day delay I arrived in Colville just in time for the annual professional rodeo.  I have to admit that it was a fun experience.  [When I get around to writing the next journal, I have live action "cowboy" movies to go along with the narrative.]   The downside to the lack of cultural diversity is that even at mega decibels on a public address system, the master of ceremonies freely dispenses bigoted humor that, back home, would cause an investigation by the Human Rights Commission and the Board of Supervisors.

How the gear is working out

My best purchase ever: the global positioning system (GPS).  I never have to pull out the map to find out where I am or which way to go.  I still like having paper maps with me, reading and studying them in the evening, planning my next day or reliving the current one.  When I pull into a new town, I don't have to scout around much for restaurants, motels, and campgrounds.  I push the "find" button and tell the GPS what I'm looking for.  It provides a list sorted in order of distance from my current location.  It will tell you the street address and the phone number, in case you want to call ahead and save yourself the disappointment of finding no room at the inn.  Then you select "navigate", and the GPS directs you to whatever you've selected.  I don't know how I lived without this gadget.  It works in the car, too, and is useful for finding freeway exits and entrances, and gas stations in the area if you're running low on fuel.

The most worthless purchase was the weather radio from Radio Shack.  I bought it because I freaked out when I read about tornadoes and thunderstorms in the Midwest.  Maybe it will work when I finally get there, but in the mountainous West, it hasn't picked up a NOAA signal since I've been on the road.  Even more aggravating, it seems to turn itself on while in my fanny pack.  Then it starts squawking about how there is no NOAA signal.  I have to stop riding, pull my fanny pack around to the belly pack position, dig out the radio, and turn it off.  More than once, I have been tempted to throw it to the ground and stomp on it.  Die, you damn radio!  But maybe in the flatness of the Midwest, it will yet warn me that I'm about to be swept off to Kansas.

Learning new social skills

There is an art, I've discovered, to greeting other moving vehicles on the byways of Washington state. Actually, this applies particularly  to motorcycle and truck drivers.  I used to think that the art of waving hello was near universal, but I'm changing my habits and learning to "wave" like a leather-clad motorcyclist.

First of all, you don't actually wave.  The wrist must be held as if frozen in fixed, rigid position.  (Lord knows what they might think if there were any wrist flapping, either up-and-down or side-to-side!)  The second step is to extend one or two fingers of the hand you are "waving" with, starting with the index finger.  On rare occasions, you might extend four fingers, but that is exceedingly rare.  It exhibits an excess of enthusiasm.  The final rule is that if you move your arm at all (not a requirement), you must not raise your forearm higher than the horizontal. 

I have been practicing in front of the mirror in the evenings, and I think I have the technique just about mastered.  Try it out.  You can be cool too.