Week 1

I know that I’ve published a lot of posts in succession, but I don’t really have anything else to do right now. I’ve been marooned in the cute little town of Elma, Washington for the past three days due to moderate-to-heavy rain. In all honesty, I have no idea how the hell earthworms survive here.

Plus this posts sets me on the proper schedule of publishing once a week throughout the journey. And, it being the 8th and all, it’s already been one full week of my Big Year!!

Day 2

The day was rocky from the beginning. After sharing a delightful breakfast meal at the Inn with a veritable pair of Debbie Downer guests (sorry if I offend y’all, but the course of the conversation ran from natural disasters to the Mexican mafia), I packed up and got ready to ship out for real. No more test runs. Don and Linda wanted a photo before the departure, and my simulated exit fell embarrassingly short of video quality. So I made my way up to level ground on foot to mount up.

Level ground didn’t seem to help me at first. I found the fully-loaded Battlestar extremely difficult to mount. For the next half hour, I tried grabbing on to everything from mailboxes to signs to staple-covered telephone poles. But hanging on to an anchor and keeping the uni centered under me was like the most difficult multitask that I had ever attempted. I would have needed two independent bodies acting simultaneously to pull that off. Doubts about myself flooded in to my brain like shoppers at Best Buy on Black Friday. Had I drastically miscalculated? Should I have invested more time in training in a real-world scenario? I tried to keep these impeding thoughts at bay as I continued to make a fool out of myself to the numerous passersby and the Amazon Prime van. But suddenly, one attempt heading the opposite direction did the trick! A euphoria bomb went off in my head and obliterated the fear.

By the time Linda drove by with her granddaughter, I had ripped both of my dry bags and bruised my legs and my ego. I could see the doubt in her eyes, that doubt that just minutes before was strangling my hope. But I assured her of my progress and eventually set off, this time for real. Freemounting would be the only way. I just had to adjust to a new technique that involved a downslope start, a slightly different pedal angle, and a harder kick on the left foot. It was like learning to mount again.

I felt the same sensation as the previous day: it was like riding a drunk unicycle. Not riding a unicycle while under the influence of alcohol (which I have done), but riding a unicycle that itself has an ABV over 0.08, sluggish and slow to react. But, on the flip side, I felt much more centered with my backpack, which acted like a sort of ballast.

As I made my way into Olympia in a very stop-and-go manner, I followed some biking trials that were highlighted by a Thurston County biking map that Don generously gifted me.

And it rapidly became clear to me that this act of riding while weighted down is very tough. In one of his long-distance videos, Ed Pratt mentioned that his favorite part of unicycle touring is starting after a hiatus. If that’s so, I’m really in for it...

Before long I spotted the familiar skyline staple of Olympia’s Capitol building. Winding my way down to Capitol Lake, I was confronted with cold rain, the result of an incoming cold front. My breath left my body in big clouds of steam. Past the point of no return, a song from the Phantom of the Opera, continued its multi-hour rerun echo in my head.

A full day of riding can be broken down to 9 mi of riding and 7.5 miles of walking.

Day 3

Today I would be getting another substantial boost to my juvenile year list. Two days prior, some very nice and helpful birders at Nisqually had tipped me off about two chaseable species that were high priorities for me in this part of the trip: American Dipper and Trumpeter Swan.

Dipper was first on the docket, so I walked south to Tumwater Falls Park by way of greenway trails.

After completing the half-hour loop around the urban waterfall park and dipping on the Dipper, I made my way back to the falls to reassess. It was like looking for a gray rock among rocks in an environment of constant movement. And most of looking for birds is just cuing in on movement.

But then... the approach of this bird of mystical lore.

Can you believe this thing? It’s a little water sprite! It cannot imagine living without rapidly flowing watercourses. As Sibley points out, this is North America’s only swimming songbird. As I’m treated to a private performance of this personality-filled Ouzel, I find that this bird combines traits of other familiar birds: the shoreline-bobbing antics of the Spotted Sandpiper, the physique of a Thrush, and the coloration of a Catbird.

Did you catch his bizarre white eyelid? I wouldn’t mind seeing him again somewhere down the line.

Backtracking to the Lake to snag those Swans, I am interrupted by a flock of Bushtits. We eastern birders are really missing out on the experience of seeing Bushtits when we go out. These guys are literally the real-life version of the  birds that hang out around Cinderella. The combination of their minuscule size, fairy-like active behavior, and hilariously energetic chips make seeing them a real Disney experience.

Eventually I pull away and reach the south shore of the Lake. Scanning the middle pool, I am happy to see two large white birds awkwardly sticking out among the more normal-sized waterfowl. Once I reach them, I am treated to point-blank views of these majestic beauties. If you’ve never seen a Swan forage, they kind of trample around in shallow water to rustle up benthic goodies before gleaning them from the water’s surface. An enterprising drake American Wigeon reaped the benefits of their work as he prowled around like a remora on a shark’s belly.

From there I made my way to the port, but only added Barrow’s Goldeneye on this long trek. Still, I am satisfied with my achievements on the day, scoring on these priority species with the Big Year mentality: get it now or lose out later on!

Bird-wise, the big takeaway of this part of the nation is the richness of the waters here. I mean this cold water is just bursting with life. Most of my birds on the year are a testament to that. Waterfowl is insanely abundant in these clean waters. A few days before the first, I took some time to try out my new Phoneskope rig and photographed a pair of Common Goldeneye in the marina.

Watching these lustery-eyed divers snag craps from the Sound’s bottom makes me wonder what those Goldeneyes that I saw in Augusta back in ‘14 and ‘15 were dining on in the comparably unenticing waters of Merry Brothers Brickyard Ponds and Lake Olmstead.

Another diving duck, the Bufflehead, has just shocked me with its ubiquitousness and density. I mean these guys own Washington. And I think it is appropriate that they do; they bear a likeness to the man.

And my last waterfowl note for day involves the Green-winged Teal. I witnessed, for the first time, their amusing display. An out-of-place swingset sound called my attention to some horny drakes and a choosy female. The drakes performed this whiplash act, among other aquatic charades. Meanwhile, the hen did not give a damn. Relatable.

In this paradise of waterfowl, I am happy to have my scope, despite the extra burden that it places on my physically.

As I eat my overpriced hotel dinner that night, I am treated to Sail on Sailor through the sound system. In case you are reading Mr. Dan Lipscomb, I am thinking about you. Your fascination and appreciation of my unicycle, in addition to your overall refreshing way of seeing the world, is an inspiration to me.

Day 4

See you Olympia! I’m out of here. It’s my first big time moving day. Don’s map gift has caused me to reconsider and redefine my route to the coast in favor of a slightly more roundabout, but safer route that takes advantage of one significant bike trail and another rails to trails. In imagining this endeavor, I ideally pictured making use of this sort of infrastructure, but had resigned myself to the fact that greenways are just not developed and interconnected enough to cover much ground. So this day is a rare treat and a nice and easy way to up my early mileage.

So bye Olympia, the land Last of the Singing Cowboys ( I say that because I heard this Marshall Tucker song three times while I was there, and nobody ever plays it back home).

I pass a group of birders as I head out, making my last pass by Capitol Lake. I holler out to them, but realize that they probably won’t recognize me as a fellow birder in this getup. The weather is just peachy and does volumes to lift my spirit in this traveling game. As I skip town, my buddy Mac’s challenge of 550 resonates in my head. As I turn it over and over, considering its likelihood, an alarm call alerts me to an overhead Sharp-shinned Hawk, another species pushing me closer to some 500 number.

You don’t say?  

The Chehalis Western Trail runs south from Olympia, and it offered relatively pleasant riding with low traffic. These were the first rural scenes of Washington that I have seen: lots of pastures, horses, cows, and that familiar putrid smell of cattle that reminds me of birding in south Georgia. I’m really getting to the country! And it’s high time too; urban areas are not conducive to my mode of transport. I ride on and observe the numerous Douglas Fir branches that litter the trails and road shoulders, imparting the Christmas spirit.

As I neared the intersection of the Chehalis Western Trail and the Yelm to Tenino Trail, that comfortable riding weather gave way to the more typical Washington rains. But I wanted to get to Tenino ASAP, so I just kept on keeping on. I started to realize that the rain was hurting a little more than usual, and upon examining my sleeves, I saw there was some ice building up. Sleet. Yuck.

On top of this discomfort was the fact that my saddle had been loose all day and was getting looser with every mount and dismount. The issue is with the bolt that attaches the saddle to the seat post. I noticed its tendency to loosen quickly back home, and it seemed that my added elbow grease on the latest assembly did little to alleviate that. It was like riding a rockinghorse down the trail. The thing just kept clicking back and forth.

At least I didn’t have to pay... 

I told myself that I would tighten it in Tenino, knowing that it would require a complete disassembly of the seat. When my sister first saw my dad’s and my modification of the unicycle, she joked that I needed some Mr. Zogs sex wax for the skim board, but it actually would have been useful in this situation as a coating for the bolt.

I was pretty well drenched upon arriving in Tenino, a cute little town with Hallmark appeal. After grabbing a warm cinnamon roll and downing some hot chocolate, I pushed onwards to Grand Mound.

But my riding was short lived. A gnarly cramp in my right cheek had developed, likely due to my skipping lunch in favor of a rapid sucrose dose. So I limped into Grand Mound, primed for a hotel stay. Before ducking into cover for the night, I checked my tire pressure at a gas station. It read a dismal 20 psi (from me hand-pumping it back at the Inn). That, in addition to the seat post issue that I postponed, would need to be resolved before my next stretch.

24.5 miles riding, 9.5 miles walking on the day

Day 5

Two back-to-back moving days. I gotta get to Elma. Nothing is holding me in Grand Mound, that’s for sure. So I hit the road early, despite gross weather. And man was I gliding with that added 30 psi and tightened saddle.

A glimpse into the roadside brush beside me revealed another flock of Bushtits, those Cinderella birds that must have gone through the avian version of Honey I Shrunk the Kids. I considered my situation, riding along in this dismal weather, and then looked at them.

The first words in David Sibley’s description of this species are: “Extremely small.” At 0.2oz, one weighs the same as my first bird of the year, the Anna’s Hummingbird. And both of these species are making it in this brutal environment, despite weighing slightly more than an individual sheet of paper. To hold one of these birds in your hand would be like holding a Hershey’s Kiss, although I don’t recommend putting these birds in your cookies.

What better inspiration could I ask for??

So I continue on, harnessing the spirit of the small, but mighty Bushtit. Just then I hear a chorus of what sounds like bike horns. I’m not exactly sure which direction to look because I have no idea what these sounds could be emanating from. Some movement above catches my eye, and I realize these are the calls of a flock of Trumpeter Swans. Really? I would not equate that vocalization to the sounding of a trumpet. From now on, I’ll place the Trumpeter Swan in the same category as the Bald Eagle: kickass bird with a lame call.

These winged musings abruptly deteriorate when, in true Washington form, a pop-up squall materializes. Once again, I am tossed amid gusty winds, falling branches, and sheets of precipitation. I probably looked like an unhappy camper at that point.

The weather here is certifiably bipolar; I asked I psychiatrist. Just moments later, the sun was back out and an incredibly vivid rainbow gestured to its pot of gold down the road: Elma. I probably should have taken a quick picture, but myself and my spirits had been dampened by the moisture.

As if cueing in on my dejected mentality, a very nice man in a Tesla offered to take me into town. Not even considering help from an automobile, I nicely refused but thanked him for his generosity. It wasn’t until later when my sister pointed out that I probably could have gotten away with this, the car being electric and all. But still, I’m glad that I did make it into Elma on my one wheel, which I hopped back upon just as Tesla man peaced out.

In 5 hours of easy Sunday traffic, I made 18 mi riding and 5 mi walking

Day 6

So now I’m in Elma, staying at a recently closed hostel that still accepts cyclists. You may realize at this point that I am actually getting further from home as I head west to the Pacific. Sometimes you gotta go west to go east. I’ve opted to follow the path of least resistance, simulating gravity’s effect on a water droplet.

The previous day saw my leaving Thurston County for the coastal county of Grays Harbor. I suddenly feel a bit like I’m hanging out in western North Carolina; Elma has that small town feel and irresistible allure.

It’s the kind of place where an auto shop will give you two tire valve covers when you ask for one, where the ACE hardware serves free popcorn, and where random passersby comment on the low quality of double zippers. I do lament that I am missing the full, genuine experience of Elma, observing that a Family Dollar has driven the neighboring hometown grocery into oblivion.

Perhaps a good deal of my admiration for this place stems from the delightful hostel owners that I am staying with. Jay and Linda are living with a lust for life. Both in their seventies, they’re avid adventure bikers, with a pair of imposing BMW’s. They also maintain an 18-hole disc golf course, enjoy skiing and biking, and would prefer to be camping out in the mountains above all else.

After showing me around their place, they asked if I had ever been in a hostel. Apparently my pleased reaction and regard for their business would not have been expressed by a seasoned hostel-hopper.

Day 7

It’s another laid back one. I spend time indoors, appreciating shelter from the rain a tad more than usual, and work away at planning, logistics, and writing. Some of my planning involves coordinating an express exodus to outrun a forecasted snowstorm early next week. Although Jay doubts that this part of the state will see much snow, I don’t really feel like taking my chances with cold precipitation, no matter the form.

Feeling like an Elma local by now, I observe an interesting phenomenon for a second time while enjoying a Meatball Marinara at Subway. In my moving around between businesses during my stay here, I have been puzzled to find employees dragging full-size wheeled trashcans, like the kind you take to your curbside, through restaurants and out the door. Why do they keep them inside in the first place? It seems unsanitary. As I am thinking of asking the Subway worker, the moment passes and lunch rush hour demands their attention. I guess it’ll continue to be a mystery for now.

Most of the afternoon is spent inside the Elma library, where I pass hours watching Ed Pratt’s full unicycling Southeast Asia documentary. I find myself getting very emotional as he dips his wheel in the tepid waters south of Singapore at the completion of his second continent. I’m fully aware that I may be the only library-goer with tears in my eyes at the moment.

My Week 1 ended with another touch of grace as Jay and Linda kindly offered for me to share a meal of thoughtfully-sourced spaghetti and fruit.

Tomorrow I take off for another day of riding to reach the coastal town of Aberdeen. From there, I’ll be stacking up days of back-to-back travel, hoping to reach Long Beach by the end of the weekend. As I return to the reality of riding, I want y’all to know something. As rewarding as this means of transport is, it is also very hard. I am really relying on y’all’s support and words of encouragement—I mean that. In the toughest of moments, it’s those positive thoughts that drift in that will keep me rolling.

See you next time and don’t forget to consider making a donation or two.