Blue Bird and Golden Piglet

   Worn out from a day of riding, Albert slept like a baby. Even the storm that kicked up during the night couldn’t rouse him. Albert awoke to blue skies and a glistening Lake Cranberry. The sun had begun it’s process of warming and drying out his rain drenched surroundings. Albert couldn’t recall all of the details, but during the night he’d dreamt of facing a formidable mountain on his bicycle. In the dream, Albert was a third of the way up the mountain, out of his seat giving his all. Blurring his vision, beads of sweat were running down his brow and into his eyes. He could visualize his muscles tearing, but he knew that with enough recovery time, plenty of water and the right protein intake, the experience would only make him stronger. Now just shy of the summit, lungs and legs burning and on the verge of defeat, he looked up and to his amazement, what he thought he saw standing at the top was a blue bird and a golden piglet cheering him on. With a second glance, Albert could see that they were beckoning to him. “Come on Albert, you can do it!” yelled Blue Bird. “You’re almost there Little Prince, the reward is greater for the suffering,” spoke Golden Piglet. With these words of encouragement and all his reserve energy put into one last push, Albert summited the mountain. He wanted to thank the blue bird and golden piglet for their support but to his surprise they were nowhere to be found. It was at this time that Albert awoke from his dream to the morning sounds of a thousand tweeting birds and the snorting grunts of what turned out to be a wild baby boar in search of food.

   With his belly filled with locally grown organic apples and half of one of his mother’s Eccles cakes, Albert set off in search of adventure. The previous night, Albert was unable to procure additional yarn and so had to improvise. In his retro, celeste-blue, Merino wool Bianchi cycling jersey, Albert noticed a snag that he was able to agitate loose. Securing the celeste-blue thread to the original orange yarn, Albert headed south. With the constant roar of Military jets overhead, he traversed Whidbey Island, passing by Noisy Creek, Monkey Hill Lane, and Waterloo Road. Waterloo Road reminded him of school and his history lesson on the Battle of Waterloo. He wondered if the landscape of Whidbey Island looked anything like Belgium where he’d heard the “hard men of cycling” came from.

   Passing Lavender Farm and Twin Lagoons, Albert headed down the wild berry-lined country lane of Madrona Road. With Penn Cove off to his left he rolled into the small town of Coupeville where he read about the history of Block Houses (armory safe-houses) built by fear-driven European settlers to defend themselves from the Native Indians – they never had to use them.

   By mid-day, Albert found himself at Fort Casey where to continue his journey he had to cross the waters of Admiralty Inlet. A friendly fisherman was kind enough to carry Prince Albert over to the Olympic Peninsula and Port Townsend. During the crossing, remembering his mother’s advice, Albert tried to make polite conversation with the fisherman. “How’s the fishing industry?” he asked. “Well we try to look on the bright side, but world populations of fish are down to nine-tenths of what they use to be. We have to go out farther and farther for less and less. Things aren’t looking good,” replied the fisherman.

   Upon arrival in Port Townsend, Albert noticed a rather quirky old couple named Mo and Bo. Befriending the couple, Albert discovered that coincidentally, Mo, who reminded him so much of his mother, was an avid knitter, and that Bo had been cycling since he was a young boy back in the 1950’s. It turned out that Bo was just heading out for an afternoon ride and asked Albert if he would like to join him. With farewells to Mo, who kindly gave Albert a ball of her left-over yarn, they rode off in the direction of Discovery Bay. Over rolling hills they sped, a fine pace did Bo set. Bo, seventy years of age, with all his years of experience pulled Albert passed Four Corners and over route 20. Along the way, they overtook an elderly woman cycling with her touring trailer, panniers, and handle-bar basket containing a small pooch. He had notice the lady the day before at the base of Chuckanut Drive and wondered if their paths might meet again.

   Albert and Bo parted ways at the crossroads of 101 with Bo heading back to Mo and Albert heading north-west to the area of Dungeness, famous for it’s ‘World’s Longest Spit’ and crab industry. Just shy of town Albert noticed a sign advertising environmentally friendly Eco-pods, and made a mental note to find out what those were.

   It was on the Sequim-Dungeness road that Albert’s retro Bianchi cycling jersey finally expired. Looking around he noticed a farmhouse and pushed his bicycle down a gravel path over to where he noticed a very large Slavic looking man tending to his livestock. The man reminded Albert of Andrew, one of his fondest pals back home. The giant of a man greeted him with one of the warmest smiles Albert had ever seen. “Hello,” said the man. “Hi,” replied Albert, preparing to explain himself. “I’m long-distance cycling, and was wondering if there’s the possibility of pitching my tent for the night on your property?” The farmer turned westward and looking at the sky said, “looks like a mighty storm brewing son.” Then, pointing with an index finger the size of a night-stick he continued, “you might want to consider spending the night in my hay-barn over there.” With a warm thanks, Albert headed for the barn with bike-in-tow.

   That night, snug and warm, Albert was oblivious to the howling storm outside. Instead, he again dreamt of Blue Bird and Golden Piglet. This time, whilst Blue Bird, full of energy flew back and forth, rising and swooping, he found himself sitting cross-legged on a grassy mound talking to Golden Piglet about his journey. “I’m a little anxious about not knowing what’s ahead or where my ride will take me,” he explained. “It’s not the destination Little Prince, but the journey,” responded Golden Piglet. “Besides, wherever you end up, there shall you be,” she continued. With these existential words, the dream, like the storm, began to fade and Albert could barely make out Blue Bird’s calling, “come fly with me Prince Albert, let’s fly together.” “But I can’t fly,” he remembered thinking, only for Blue Bird to say, “don’t be so sure of that Albert, don’t be so sure of that.” Albert slept.