July 11 Lopez ... no San Juan ... wait no, Orcas Island

We had planned to cycle Lopez island, the flattest of the main islands making up the San Juan Islands, but we missed the ferry by about 30 seconds. Since the next one to Lopez wasn't for another three hours, we got on the next ferry instead, which went to Orcas Island, the hilliest. We'd planned to do Orcas on a previous trip but never made it, so today was just as good a day, since we were already here and there was no way we were going to meet up with our group.

The ferry was listing on one side and then the other and it made a horrible sound when they turned. I told Harold I was expecting it to blow up or flip over, and thankfully he laughed, so I knew I was overreacting. We pulled into Shaw Island first, then landed in Orcas Island, a 45 minute trip from Anacortes. There's always a hill right off the ferry and Orcas was a bigger hill than the usual. As we waited with some other cyclists for the cars to go on by, we saw the most beautiful polished wood kayak go past on an old rusty 70's Mazda, laughing at how the kayak was worth 10 times the car. One of the guys with us said "I don't even own a car, but my bike is worth a good bit too."

 On the way down the other side of the hill, I noticed  there was a squeaking noise coming from the front of my bike. When I got faster, it got louder. I was afraid the front tire was going to either blow up or fall off. I seem to have a fixation with the fear of things blowing up.

We stopped and looked at it a few times, but couldn't see anything wrong, until we eventually turned it upside down and took both tires off. We found a little wire staple sticking in my back tire, taking it out and being thankful for my thicker treads, but knew that couldn't have been the problem. Then we noticed the kickstand was so loose it was almost flopping. Thankfully that was the problem, and it had only taken up 45 minutes of our ride to figure it out. Oh well, it was nice to have it fixed and on we went.

Just down the road I saw this big dead rodent in the middle of the road, calling out to Harold "What is that thing?"

"It's a squirrel." He quickly responded.

"That is not a squirrel!" I scoffed. "It's way too big!"

"It's a fox squirrel." He yelled back. "they get that big!"

"I don't think we have fox squirrels here! I'm googling that!" I challenged, to which he just shrugged his shoulders.

The sun came out as we cycled up and down the hilly countryside. Another 10 minutes down the road, I came across this horrible stench and looked over to the side of the road to see a fly covered deer corpse. The smell and view were so disgusting, I was sure it would invade my nightmares later.

We came out alongside the water, and on the side of the road were four beautiful, huge sparkling, twinkling, jingling metallic wind chimes. There wasn't a sign or anything saying who made them or how they came to be there, but they really were so magical.

We got to Eastsound Village on the north end of the island, where we stopped for lunch. This is a very quaint seaside town, the only one large enough to be deemed a city on Orcas, but still very small. It's made up of small boutique hotels, restaurants, and artsy tourist shops. We first went downstairs to the pub but it was overflowing with people watching the World Cup game, so we went upstairs where we had a beautiful view of the waterfront.

After lunch, we headed out along Crescent Beach, then up the hill to a wine shop where we tasted wines from Lopez and San Juan Islands. We'd visited San Juan Vineyards on a previous trip and knew we liked the Merlot-Cabernet blend but also liked the Lopez wines, both whites and reds, but in the end we bought two reds, the Merlot-Cab from San Juan and a Merlot from Lopez. The islands aren't hot enough to grow red wine varieties, so they grow whites and get their reds from the Yakima Valley.

Wine in bags, we headed up north to the ocean, and then cut back west, cutting through some streets that showed as public on maps but were gated against cars with Private signs. We chose to ignore them and continued on, coming out by the airport, then we cut around town, to head back down south again. Along the way there was more roadkill to smell and view. When I visit Arkansas, I am always surprised by how much roadkill they have there, and I'd figured it was because they just don't have the billions of acres of wild lands we do up here, and I expect that's what also happens on the islands as well.

I have this love-hate-fear thing going on with my cleats on my cycling shoes. Last year was my first experience using them on my bike, having only used them for spinning before that. Like an noob, I fell over pretty much every time I clipped in. This year, because we've been training Toonie on the back of my bike, I decided to get used to only clipping in on one side. Some times I switch sides but for the most part I clip in on the left and leave the right unclipped. Yesterday as we were coming up one of the bigger hills, I figured, "Hey Tracey, you can handle clipping in both sides. You're not gonna forget to check anymore, you always check. Besides it'll help a lot to get up this hill." So I clipped in and I was right, the hill was much easier. Sailing down the other side, I geared up to the highest so I could eventually pedal and then at the bottom I sailed around the corner to a new hill. I know now I geared down way too fast, and my chain came completely off, bringing me to a stall on the hill and as I stood there, for that brief second, the thoughts that went through my head were:

First, the panic starts ..."Oh %&^$, I'm clipped in!"

Immediately followed by ... "I'm trapped! I'm falling!"

Fear and horror come into play ... "Oh please don't let me fall in a bloated, maggot infested deer corpse!"

And finally, my pride makes a showing ... "Please don't let anyone see this!"

Thankfully, there were no corpses in the immediate area, just a ditch and a hill to slide and roll down into. As I laid there catching my breath, trying to decide how hurt I was, cars drove by and people leaned out, to ask if we were okay, but Harold waved them on. Realizing there was no one except Harold to see me, I let myself cry. I'm not sure if it was from pain, embarrassment, or the relief that I hadn't ended up in a pile of rancid, infested roadkill.

Harold helped me up and we had a discussion about the way I'm shifting and we figured out my gearing logic was all screwed up. After that, I followed Harold's instruction, only to find it made the hills so much easier! My fall now had a purpose.

We cruised up and down the hills back down to Orcas Village where we waited for the next ferry, talking to other people waiting. Due to all the exploring we've done down here, we actually have a clue where people are from. One family with the most adorable puppy was from Concrete where we'd cycled in June, whereas another was from near Mukilteo, south of where we'd been a few weeks later.

On the ferry back, we read a bunch of leaflets and magazines about the local areas and were amused to find the info about the Olympic Peninsula now includes a big section on the tiny little town of Forks and the fictional Twilight characters.

On the ferries, our bikes get tied in at the front. So we need to be down there to get them untied and unlocked and ready to be the first off, before the cars. When we got down there, the wind was so strong and cold, even in the full sun, it was freezing cold. I stood huddled behind an SUV while Harold got out our windbreakers, then waited until we got closer in, to untie and be ready to get off.


Once we got home, I did follow through and google "fox squirrel orcas island" and didn't find anything saying they are found there. However, another search for "fox squirrel washington state" came back with results showing that Fox Squirrels are found on the mainland here, so perhaps Harold is right after all.

Some days you think you should have maybe just stayed in bed, but this absolutely wasn't one of them. At the very least, my tire and kickstand were saved, I have no broken bones, and I completely missed falling on even one corpse.