And so there I was, again, for a second time at the entrance to the Hatcher Pass turnoff road, next to the espresso stand. I was there yesterday afternoon; then it was sunny. This morning it was raining. I spent the night six miles up road, at a private cabin residence. Was pleased to have been pointed in this direction – the off-the-grid cabin was a nice backdrop. Had my choice of two picnic tables and also had at my disposal (no pun intended) a very artsy fartsy outhouse. As always, should have taken photos.

Woke (in my tent) to the sound of rain pattering on my always dry on the inside tent. Was grateful because nothing was wet. Thought I might sleep in because I didn’t need to get off to an early start. Pete had remarked last night that if I was to go over the pass that it would be best if I get off to an early start. The weather was to be a deciding factor. And what was decided was I was not going over the pass. Rather, I was heading back to the turnoff where supposedly Pete would pick me up.

I’d run out of phone juice, so I wasn’t able to contact him and solidify plans. Oh Oh. Something to fret about as I packed up, walked up trail to road, and then road down road. It was an easy six miles to the turnoff,

Alys's writing cabin

which would have been memorable if it wasn’t raining. It was a cold rain, and the spray from the tires spattered my glasses. My rain gear sucks. So does my footwear. In minutes my feet were cold and wet.

It was déjà vu, just like the first two and a half days of this trip. All a person can do in such situations is endure. I noticed, on the way down, an interesting mix of rednecks and liberals live on that road. There are a Don’t Tread on Me and a Confederate flag, and lots of junked cars. There is also the whitewater kayak place, and also well-tended homesites. A mile from the turnoff I saw a spot where I might have camped and cursed. Even going uphill I was going too fast.

Ahh, I made a beeline for the espresso stand picnic table and after parking my bicycle, I put on dry socks, my wool hat, and a second fleece coat. I then tried my phone, I had maybe a minute or two left, and managed to get a hold of Pete who said he was on his way. After, I put up the umbrella on the picnic table, and hunkered down with a copy of The Things They Carried. Great book. Lots of ideas materialized for my essay. Right now I have two competing ideas.

And so there I was, in full view of the espresso car lineup – had to wonder what they thought. The only thing that designated me as a non-homeless person was my bicycle. Then again, could they tell it’s an antiquated top of the line mountain bicycle?

Finally, Pete showed up, verifying that, yes, I am loved and have a home.

Next: 180. 6/29/20: Disorganization