Bleakney.AdventureCyclingAssociation’sTourofWashington by John Sieber

The

Tribe Has Eaten Adventure Cycling Associationâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Tour of Washington

. Story and Photos by Gregg Bleakney

When it comes to bicycle touring, I liken myself to the Lone Ranger gone hungry, a solo eatist if you will. I enjoy both the frustrations and freedoms associated with charting my own course, picking my own companions, and most importantly, choosing my own meals. I don’t want to ask for a permission slip from anybody if my intestinal engine demands a three-hour break to demolish 21 street tacos in La Paz, Mexico, or a two-day detour to binge at the all-you-can-eat Dungeness crab buffet at the Fort Seward Inn in Haines, Alaska. Having spent much of the past three years on self-supported, independent tours in farflung corners of the planet, I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve evolved into a truly selfish, self-supported devotee. Track #1 on my bike-trip playlist, “My Way” by Frank Sinatra. I think you get the picture. With that said, you may understand why I wasn’t 100-percent stoked about an idea floated by the Adventure Cycling staff to photograph and write about one of their fully supported tours. Who cares about a bunch of pampered pedal pushers with a prescripted route plan, a mechanic

Cascade cruising. A rider lets gravity do the work on a spectacular mountain descent.

who changes their flat tires, and a truck that schleps all of their stuff? The proposed tour wasn’t even in some cool exotic location, but my own backyard, Washington state — snoozeapalooza. Worse yet, these

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poor suckers give up the freedom to choose their own food supply — that decision is relegated to a stranger. In the weeks before the tour, I actually had nightmares of an angry cook barking at famished partici-

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pants, “You get one plain cheeseburger and you’ll like it!” However, on the eve of the assignment, my attitude shifted gears after my editor at Adventure Cyclist sent a note from executive director Jim Sayer: “Think of this like an anthropological project where you’ve been tasked to document the daily life of a rare and unusual tribe of nomadic cyclists.” Hmmm, now that sounds a bit more interesting. A potential story title flashed through my head: “The Lost Tribe of the Pampered Pedalers.” With good ol’ Frank blasting away on my iPod, I hopped a bus from my apartment in downtown Seattle and crossed the immense Lake Washington basin to encounter the tribe at their midsummer rendezvous point in a cafeteria at the Redmond Elementary School. Tom Radley was the summer 2008 Tour of Washington trip leader. A retired ceramic engineer, he’s led 45 tours for Adventure Cycling since 1995. Despite his years of experience in the saddle, Tom’s figure is not that of a typical waifish, high-mileage enthusiast — a stocky Bilbo Bagginsesque physique reveals that he takes his postride calorie replenishment seriously. His eight-day tour route sheet was not only lined with turn-by-turn directions, elevation profiles, and mileage indicators, it also included a well-scouted list of the best roadside milkshake slingers in the state. Cascadia Farms near Marblemont, home of the famed organic blueberry frosty, and Rest-Awhile fruit stand near Lake Chelan, which serves up orgasmic peach smoothies, are two of his personal favorites. A deeper look into the itinerary revealed that the miles were as sweet as the milkshakes. The route began on top of 4,056-foothigh Stevens Pass, just 82 miles outside of Seattle. Then it descended through the North Cascades and tracked the Columbia and Methow Rivers north through some of the finest roads of the Eastern Slope. From the American West-themed town of Winthrop the route climbed back to the west via the high alpine environs of the North Cascades National Park — over Washington Pass (5,477 feet) and Rainy Pass (4,875 feet). The final two days of pedaling were reserved for island hopping over bridges and on ferries through Puget

Sound’s inland marine waterways. Although Tom’s route sheet was definitely something I could sink my straw into, it nearly had me fooled into believing that this tribe’s history was passed on via the printed page. The reality? Oral lore is the primary transmission vehicle of times past in his kingdom. Every evening before dinner, Tom gathers the tribe for storytelling. The stories are not only entertaining but also serve as reminders of a common societal belief system. The tale of the cycling Chardonnay sisters provides an example of the importance of the strong personal bonds that can only be formed on two wheels with a bottle of white. The Irish bartender who celebrates Saint Patrick’s Day 365 days per year clearly emphasizes that the tribe values having fun above all else. Other accounts describe how members are strongly encouraged to leave the machowacho stuff at home. There are no point deductions for flagging down a support vehicle for a lift, requesting assistance with even the most minor mechanical problem, or calling Tom’s cell phone for any reason whatsoever. However, the rich oral tradition also sets clear boundaries within the ranks. Once upon a time there was a tribe member named “Jane.” A serial cell-phone abuser, she called Tom several times a day just to say hello. One afternoon she called to report a dead tribe member on the side of the road — it turns out that he was just enjoying a nap in the mid-day sun. The next day she called repeatedly to track down her husband. After it was determined that he was clearly MIA, she instructed Tom, “If he doesn’t wait for me at the next rest stop, then tell that S.O.B. he won’t be getting any sex for a month!” This request was obviously above and beyond the responsibilities of the tribe leader. So why do it? Why is Tom spending his golden years as a tribal chief? He says, “There’s something really special about people willing to use vacation days to take a long-distance bike ride. They’re just great to talk to and have a really positive attitude about life — that positive energy is contagious.” Of the people who go on supported rides, he says, “They want the challenge of big days in scenic locations but don’t want

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Daily map meeting. Cycle Washingtonians react to tour leader Tom Radley’s often hilarious route briefings.

to give up the option of camping. They’re willing to outsource the hassles of selfsupported touring — like carrying a bunch of stuff on their bikes, dealing with broken spokes, and preparing their own meals.” I glanced around at the 60-odd tribe members introducing each other during orientation in the elementary school cafeteria. There was Susan, winner of the 2008 Adventure Cycling Co-Motion touring bike giveaway. She held her new steed with pride and assured the tribe, “Yes, that annual contest is entirely real.” The triplebrothers Kenny wasted no time telling the group that they intended to be the last to leave camp every morning and the last to finish up in the evening. A father-son team, Ale and Alejandro, made the trip all the way from their hometown in Mexico City and a six-gal posse of mother, daughter, and close girlfriends was full of smiles and catch-up talk. At this point, Tom’s charisma, stories,

and scrumptious route sheets had almost won me over, but there was one mystery yet to be unearthed, namely, “Where does the chow come from?” Enter head cook Kathy Jordan. On the morning of Day Two (our first day of riding), Kathy was shuttling boxes of powdered mix, veggies, coffee roast, and poultry in and out of her mobile catering truck. She was intensely focused — I was immensely skeptical. What could this woman with a thin athletic build and a blonde ponytail possibly know about the caloric requirements of a high-mileage cyclist? She was obviously not overindulging on her meal plans, a bad sign indeed. The trip’s first breakfast eased my doubts. Kathy unleashed a 30- by 18-inch platter heaped high with warm, homemade raspberry scones. The scones were accompanied by fresh banana bread, three overburdened bowls of fruits and cheeses, coffee, juices, and bottomless warm and cold cereals. I

14 adventure cyclist february 200 9 adventurecycling .org

later learned that Kathy’s culinary expertise was forged as much through the rearing of three boys, Matthew, Aaron, and Scott, as her 13 years in the restaurant business and 63 Adventure Cycling tour catering gigs. There’s only one thing on the planet that challenges the appetite of a touring cyclist — a growing teenage lad. Her boys have not only shaped her tour menus but have traveled and assisted with her business as well — washing dishes in the middle of a cow pasture in Utah and defending the food supply from marauding chipmunks, raccoons, and bears throughout the West. Breakfast was trailed by a 25-mile riproaring descent off the top of Stevens Pass. While some tribe members time-trialed their way down the hill to the shores of Lake Wenatchee, others meandered slowly, snapping pictures and easing along to camp just outside of the Bavarian-themed village of Leavenworth. Growling stomachs were rewarded for conquering Day Two of the

tour with a dinner of mango-salsa–glazed Tilapia and braised asparagus. Thus, by the end of our first day of pedaling, the eat-tocycle, cycle-to-eat ecosystem of the trip was firmly established. Provisions continued to whiz by as impressively as the mileage. A hot desert ride through a scenic canyon along the Columbia River led to a cool dessert of double chocolate Oreo yogurt pudding and a mountainous main course of barbecued chicken wings on the shores of Lake Chelan. On the outskirts of the Methow Valley, Kathy’s scrumptious pork chops corrupted several meat-averse tribe members while Caprese salad and peaches from local orchards provided sustenance for the health-minded set. A gargantuan 100-mile day up and over the high alpine environs of the North Cascades highway was tamed midway through by a turkey-croissant sandwich lunch stop. After lunch, when the tribe should have been basking in the bliss of a high speed 45-mile downhill, a nasty headwind slapped them in the face — they were barely able push their pedals past 10 miles per hour. Many a “normal” rider would have required a sports psychologist to get them back in the saddle after that day. A massive feast of beef brisket and freshly baked ice-cream brownies topped with Cool Whip and Kathy’s recovery breakfast with stacks of banana hotcakes so massive they overwhelmed even the largest-diameter eating platforms seemed to ease the pain — 100 percent of Tom’s tribe continued on. On the seventh day of the tour, at Deception Pass State Park on Whidbey Island, Kathy carried out a culinary feat of such extravagance that it’s been permanently scripted into the gastronomic annals of tribe leader Tom Radley. To ensure the evening’s success, she called in two key players from the bullpen — her 85-year-old mother responded with raspberry rhubarb sauce for dessert with berries from her garden and her 84-year-old father, retired from his custom meat plant, brought his uncanny grillmaster skills. While the tribe members cycled their way through the farms of Skagit Valley and beaches along Puget Sound, Kathy procured local, sustainable, organic products en route. Mussels, clams, and grilled oysters were masterfully grilled

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and steamed by her father. Dinner was locally caught silver salmon in bourbon sauce, a salad of greens and raspberries picked that morning, and a dessert of raspberry, strawberry, blueberry shortcake. The most common utterance mumbled by the tribe that evening was, “Wow, I thought that I’d lose weight on this tour!” Despite the overindulgence offered up three times daily by Kathy, some tribe members still couldn’t get enough and resorted to personal sourcing to top off their tanks. On Day Three, at a roadside vendor outside of Lake Chelan, the brothers Kenny brutally tag-team consumed a roadside vendor — an account now known as “The Assault at the Peach Shack.” Their ordering was so complete that the resulting receipt trailed from the register to the concrete flooring three feet below: one raspberry with chocolate scone, one cup of Joe, one peach shake, two chocolate shakes, two bags of Bing cherries, one chocolate-chip cookie, one loaf of banana bread, one sack of raspberry gummy bears, one bag of marionberry saltwater taffy, one jar of marionberry jam, one jar

The mirrored surface of the Columbia how about the tribe? An idea struck Cycle Washington 2008 & 2009 Route River reflected soft cumulus clouds, me — I would fleece my fully-suplow-lying hills, and the desert scrub ported cravings under the guise of North Cascades Bellingham National Park of eastern Washington. anthropological bicycle journalism. I Day 5 Marblemont Deception Pass Winthrop This scenario repeated itself quickly hacked a couple of emails to State Park Day 6 Rockport Washington Pass 5477ft through the end of the trip. On Day Jim Sayer: Day 4 Langley Day 7 Five, Brian provided roadside water l l l Olympic Day 8 Day 2* bottle top-offs between alpine lakes, Jim, I’ve unearthed some interestNational Park Stevens Pass Chelan Redmond 4056ft waterfalls, and towering mountain ing findings regarding the Tour of Seattle Day 3 Leavenworth overlooks along the North Cascades Washington Tribe but the sample size *Day 1: orientaion in Redmond Highway. That afternoon, Tom Radley is just too small and geographically ELEVATION PROFILE Washington Pass 5000ft shuttled riders through nasty headcontained to be conclusive. I’d like to Stevens Pass 4000ft winds plaguing the 42-mile downhill cast the net a bit wider next year. Let’s 3000ft Winthrop 2000ft run to the Cascade Farms milkshake target the organic eating tour, Farm Chelan 1000ft Redmond Rockport stand just a few clicks away from Fresh in northern California, the Sierra camp at Steelhead State Park. On Cycle Washington 2009. The 2009 edition of Cycle Sampler in Lake Tahoe/Yosemite, Cycle the final eve of the tour in Langley, Washington is set for July 11-18. Check out www. Montana, and of course the Wine Country Special. a small village perched above the adventurecycling.org for complete details. Puget Sound on Whidbey Island, parl l l ticipants uncorked bottles of Washington home state kept me clinging to Tom’s route Jim, did you receive my last email — are State Cabernet, Pinot, and Syrah that were maps. I was addicted to the idea of light- you with me? carried throughout the week by tour sup- weight climbs backed by Kathy’s pancake port vehicles — greasing the chain for a breakfasts, organic salads, and barbecued Gregg Bleakney is currently riding a bicycle someraucous grand finale dinner celebration. dinners. I wanted more, but how could I where in South America ... without a support van. A week after the tour ended, my new- make it happen without losing my street Learn more at www.greggbleakney.com. found curiosity about the far corners of my cred as a hardcore self-supporter. Wait, 5

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guys going to do with all that stuff?” Since that day, their response has led me to much reflection. “We’re going to drink the coffee and shakes right now and throw the rest of the stuff in the support van for later,” they said. Jealousy spiked up my spine as I thought of the missed opportunities brought about by space-limiting panniers during my self-supported tours. That jumbo gaucho cowboy hat in Argentina, the faux-fur bikini in Alaska, and the heavy bag of dried spiced grasshoppers in Oaxaco. If I had had access to a support vehicle back then, I just know I could have given those brothers Kenny a run for their money! After the Assault on the Peach Shack, I hitched a ride with Brian, the tour mechanic. He’s the type of guy who carries a chain whip in one hand and an epic novel in the other. During a stretch along the Columbia River, he pulled off the road to help Ale and Alejandro (the father and son from Mexico City) with a flat tire. I watched as Brian easily repaired the puncture. I would have been cursing the flat and flailing under the strain of three chain tools and an unyielding tire. Then Ale and Alejandro did something that I could never have imagined under self-supported, flat-tired circumstances — they smiled and enjoyed the view.

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