Tag: concrete

Mass Transit

August 11, 2018. From stealth site above Concrete to Sedro-woolley motel.

I had set my alarm for 4:30. Right after it went off I was moving. Since it was still dark, I did everything by headlamp. However, once it came time to hike, I turned of the light. Clouds had rolled in as the forecast had predicted. Presumably, rain would come later. For now, though, the clouds trapped enough light that I could safely hike on the gravel road with no headlamp.

Only one car whipped past me on the curvy road down to town.

Low clouds hang over Concrete

In town there were a few historical displays. No surprise that its claim to fame was a large cement production plant. If you consider just the hydroelectric facilities I had passed, it is not hard to imagine the historical demand for concrete in this part of the country. One thing I learned was the ecological damage from a concrete plant. Sure, I assumed it would be dusty inside, but apparently a wide swath of surrounding countryside was often dusted with a heavy layer of waste.

I was waiting when the 5B bakery opened. I order corned beef hash. Then a danish. Then a cinnamon roll. The bus left at 9:30, so I had some time to kill. Eventually, people started flocking in. By the time I left, the line went almost out the door.

The bus made me feel right at home. It was populated with older men who looked either homeless or on some kind of work release furlough. Indeed, the two guys in front of me almost came to blows on how little money they paid for their used bib overalls. Yes, I was among my tribe.

Where did you get them overalls?

It felt so weird to go so fast. I had not been in a motor vehicle since Oroville. Out the window I caught glimpses of the 22 mile rail-to-trail route I was skipping.

Sedro-Wooley was a fair sized town, a little spread out. Until the Library opened at 11, I educated and amused myself by going to the museum. The lady who welcomed me had not heard of the PNT, so I gave her some history on it. Many of the displays were awfully close to looking like a very well organized garage sale. However, there were some real gems.

First, they had great photographs of early logging and railroad. There were some huge trees harvested in the Skagit Valley in the early years. Tow transport the logs, railroads were built, sometimes traveling over 130 high trestles.

Second, and more endearing, was the 2,334 pairs of salt and pepper shaker collection. Over her lifetime, Ida Mae Quarles collected them. As you can imagine, she was probably the easiest person in the word to buy gifts for. At least early on. She had custom display shelves built. Four of them. She left them to one of her daughters. Again, no surprise, the daughter demurred and donated the entire collection (with a few sentimental favorites withheld) to the museum.

Happy at this unique discovery, I went to the library to attempt to catch up on this blog. With energy being scarce, I had not made many entries. Indeed, I found a pen at some point and just wrote down some bullet points about each day. I made a couple entries, ordered a few supplies, and pushed off before the library closed at 3:00.

My motel was over a mile away, most of the walking to be done along busy Highway 20. I powered up my resolve by getting a burger at Hal’s drive in. Then, I walked, thankful the forecasted rain had not materialized. I was pleased to see I had a full-sized grocery store near the motel and some restaurants.

About a quarter mile from the motel, the skies unloaded. It was a sprinkle at first. I took the clue and popped open my umbrella. As the rain intensified, I did stay dry under the umbrella, but the splash from the cars whipping by next to me soaked me on the one side.

I got to the motel. It was an interesting place. After some fits and starts, I eventually got settled in. The room had a couple interesting stains on the floor, both appearing to be from a human and one almost certainly from blood. The previous tenant was apparently better than the rest of us because they had smoked cigarettes heavily. As an ex-smoker, I am nota crazy zealot, but it was annoying to have that reminder of making a bad choice everyday for 28 years.

I got my new shoes, and ate and bought groceries. I knew tomorrow would be mostly road walking so I bought crappy munching food at the grocery.

Stupidly, I turned on the news before going to sleep. I tried to sleep, but it did not come very easily.

A Road Walk on Asphalt to Concrete

August 10, 2018. From Park Creek Campground to stealth camp in commercial forest above Concrete.

I was the first one up in the campground. The family reunion people must felt at home because they simply let their dogs out to roam. They were pretty well behaved and sniffed their way through my camp.

I had another day of highway walking. My Chief Logistics Officer has informed me of a potential bus route in the small town of Concrete that would get me to Sedro-Woolley where she had reserved a motel and where new shoes awaited me. Tomorrow, Saturday, it only ran twice: early in the morning and late in the afternoon. All I had to do on this day was get close to Concrete and camp so I could pop in to town, eat, and get on the bus.

At first the early morning walk was beautiful with no traffic. I did, however, encounter a tragedy. On a bridge with solid concrete walls, hundreds, if not thousands, of tiny toads were trying desperately to get into the water. I don’t know how they got there, but it was hard to catch and rescue them. After 15 minutes, I stopped trying to help and turned my back. Once traffic started, that bridge was going to be unpleasant.

Highway walking is boring. It is repetitive motion, so your feet and legs, which have become accustomed to intense variety, get numbed by the repetition. Mentally, there is not much there other than avoiding being killed. So, I tried listening to an audio book. However, this got to be a hassle because to hear it over the sound of the occasional truck or massive RV, I had to have the volume up too loud.

Late morning I came to a stream that was recommended as a good water source. I walked down and there was a lady sitting on the rocks at the stream’s edge about 20 feet upstream. We exchanged hellos. She had a smaller backpack, more like what a student would use than a backpacker. I went about filtering water. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see she was just sitting there sometimes tossing a rock in the stream. I must’ve been too focused on my water because I looked up and she was walking right near me. She said sorry as she brushed past and up close I could see from her skin and teeth she was leading a pretty tough life. She had vanished by the time I got back up on the road.

I eventually jumped off the busy Baker Lake Road and went on the shoulder-less Burpee Hill Road. Since all of the motels in Concrete had been sold out for weeks, my plan was to sleep up on the bluff overlooking town and then drop down early in the morning. Hopefully, there would be some public land I could camp on.

Early on, my plan seemed bad. All the land appeared to be privately owned. Just before the road began its curvy descent to town, I passed a gate. It was across a road and said “No Cars Allowed.” It did not say no trespassing or have any other warnings. Earlier, along Baker Lake Road, I had seen similar gates and they did have additional prohibitions. Seeing no overt prohibition, I hiked at least a half mile up the gravel road. It was maintained and used, but judging by the foliage growing in the tire tracks, not very often.

While I waited, a doe and her two fawns snuck out of the woods and foraged before seeing me. You can get a sense of the mosquito level by their twitching.

I waited until dark to pitch my tent. I managed to pitch my tent on what felt like a rock quarry. However, the promise of town food, a bus ride, and new shoes proved a powerful elixir.