Day 1 - June 23rd - Seattle to Easton

Finally. The beginning of the adventure. How will this dream unfold?

Kobi was a brave and kind soul, rising at 5:30am to make me a plate of buttermilk pancakes and some strong coffee. What a thoughtful send-off! It fueled me for miles, allowing me to focus on the path ahead.
David and the boys had conducted an undercover project during the weekend prior, assembling trail mix bags for each Rider, complete with a bike quote and well wishes to everyone. David brough them to the start and gladly thrust them into the hands of each Rider Some were startled to be receiving a gift before even getting out of the park!

By 7am, most of the Riders had assembled in the small park space at the UW. Daniel (our Ride leader) explained some basics - how to get out of town, etc. - and a few other ALA people made statements, noting our fundraising accomplishments. After the speeches concluded, in clusters of 3 or 4, we rolled out of the park, along the Burke-Gilman trail, heading north.
As this was a section that I know quite well from local training efforts, I carefully passed some of the Riders who were taking in the scenery. The route, out to Marymoor Park was familiar to me and I took it at my own pace, using a few alternate route segments. The weather was perfect - no threat of rain, and not too warm. Very little wind. I met a couple of Riders (Ash and Pauline) along the way, and others at the rest stops at Marymoor, Snoqualmie Falls, and further along the way. Douglas, Bob and I rode together for awhile on the 13 mile I-90 section, and then Bob and I continued on our own through the cool and shady Denny Creek segment. We stopped at the summit at a pancake house, as we saw a couple of bikes outside. Chuck and Tony had stopped to re-fuel. We agreed that some regular food was in order. A hot roast beef sandwich hit the spot! Paid the bill and headed out for another I-90 stretch, of 20 miles to Easton.

Riding along the highway was very challenging and sapped my concentration. There was frequent traffic of massive vehicles to my left, and hazards in my path on the shoulder. In-between: the dreaded rumble strip. A rumble, when muffled by the constitution of your car, is one thing. When experienced on a bike, it can be tortuous. The intense vibration can disorient you: what in the heck just happened here? Am I having some kind of seizure?
And then you realize that you are in the rumble zone. Just latch onto whatever wits have not been shaken out of your head and gentle steer to the right. At this point, your concerns about running into bits of re-tread, their concealed bundles of wire that hunger to infest your tires, shards of glass, various parts of belts and fasteners from trucks, and other mysteries of the shoulder, are no longer an issue. You just want to stop the vibration.
Bob and I made good time to Easton, pocketed our shower tokens from Daniel, spied the shower truck, and found camp sites that seemed acceptable. Some Rider alums came to fix us dinner that evening, and there was more mingling around the picnic tables filled with food. The roar of truck traffic did not disapate - not through dinner, early evening, and the late hours of the night. Stumbling down the path to the bath house, nearly every Rider's face showed fatigue along with a sense of relief. The first day - long awaited - was coming to an close.