Herd of Wild Deer

  For the first night of his adventure, Albert slept without dreaming. He awoke to the slowly departing sounds of tip-toeing feet. Peeking out from his cosy little tent, Albert was pleasantly greeted by a tray of warm bread and hot cocoa. Surprisingly however, it was not breakfast for one, but for two – which made total sense as there were two tents...two tents!? With a little stealth inspection of his overnight neighbor's trailer and equipment, Albert recalled it as that of belonging to the young-lady cyclist whom he had passed by yesterday afternoon near the reservation town of Kalaloch.

   Without a peek from the young lady’s tent, Albert quietly ate his breakfast, packed his gear, and headed down to Lake Quinault for a short morning visit. “Oh my,” said Albert as he gazed across the misty, glassy waters. “Quite the beauty,” came a voice from behind where Albert was standing. “I visit her whenever I’m in the area,” she continued. Upon turning, expecting to see Ali, Albert was temporarily baffled when he realized that there was nobody there, just a Jaybird sitting on a tree branch. Had he imagined what he'd heard? Albert had read somewhere that you had to be a little crazy to be a solo, long-distance cyclist, and if you weren’t in the beginning, it was very likely that you would be by the end.

   Leaving Lake Quinault and rejoining 101, head-on into the wind and through sheets of rain, Albert headed south-west in the direction of Copalis Beach. Roughly five-miles out, a truck pulled up along side Albert and from the cab’s rolled-down window, came a friendly, but gruff-voiced, “you’re a good lad, where ya headin’ son? “Wherever the sun’s shining!” was Albert’s spontaneous response. With a thumb’s up, the truck sped off, and Albert, through the roar of a Peterbilt 389, thought he heard, “well if I see her, I’ll make sure to send her your way.”

   At Humptulips, Albert left 101 and took a sharp right turn down the lonely Kirkpatrick Road. Albert had read about surfing with pods of dolphins, but he’d never heard of cycling with a herd of deer. However, that’s exactly what happened next. Whilst whizzing down Kirkpatrick Road, from the peripheral vision of his right eye, Albert suddenly noticed a female deer bounding along beside him. As she passed him by, immediately followed by three others, two more came up along side of him on his left. Here was Albert, momentarily cycling along in the middle of a herd of wild deer. Faster than Albert, the deer soon took a quick left turn, and leaping a small hedge, disappeared off into the surrounding woods. “Wow!” thought Albert, “I wonder how often that happens to cyclists.”

   At Copalis Beach, thoroughly drenched, Albert found a place to dry-off. Continuing south through Oyhut, Albert arrived at Ocean Shores, where down an avenue of seaside vacation tackiness, the road came to an end. The way across Grays Harbor was by ferry and at this time of year the ferries only ran on the weekend – today was Wednesday. Albert had to improvise and decided to befriend a group of local fishermen. The journey across was short, but as the weather was still bad, a little bumpy. Albert was sure pleased when the small fishing vessel docked in the port of Westhaven. From here he continued south and soon after ran out of yarn. Here he found himself outside the entrance to Grayland State Park and sneaking down Cranberry Lane, through a small opening in the rear, Albert snuck himself into a campground yurt.

   Today had been a short fifty-mile ride, but due to the weather, a rather tiring exercise. Albert, curled up for the night and quickly drifted off only to be awakened around midnight by the sounds of rustling outside. Suddenly, through the same opening in the rear of the yurt that Albert had climbed through, popped the woolly little head of a young latin girl, seemingly not much older than Albert. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” said the young girl. “I’ll find myself some other place to sleep.” “Don’t be silly,” replied Albert, “there’s more than enough room for one in here, please join me.” The girl’s name was Ali, short for Alijandra, and Ali was cycling her way home to Mexico.