WFB - Journal Entry

July 11 - Through the Tunnel

It's a little to soon in the trip to notice firm patterns, but I seem to be in an early rising pattern. On this particular morning it was just me and the birds and a snoozing motel clerk.

Our group now numbers 7 cyclists on five bikes. Seattle, with three tandem manufacturers has a disproportionate (to its population) number of tandems in the cycling community, and in my circle of friends, the numbers are higher still.

We started up Snoqualmie Pass in glorious sunshine, needing to use interstate 90 for the first 3 miles to get by a falling-down trestle, we quickly got ourselves going on the railtrail that is Iron Horse State Park.

This trail, which is unpaved, goes from North Bend to Beverly on the Columbia River. We anticipated taking the trail most of the way to Cle Elum, and knowing that the going would be slow, the 50 miles seemed adequate for a day's work. The trail is well graded, but in spots the ballasting still remains from the days of the Milwaukee Road and really demands a mountain bike. Our main objectives on this day were several: to ride the railroad grade, to go through the tunnel at the pass, and to stay at the railroad section house that is now a bed & breakfast at Cle Elum. It all seemed very appropriate.

Thankfully the rail grade on the way up the pass is in VERY good shape, and we had no trouble getting to the tunnel entrance. After enjoying the site for an extended time, we were able to ride through at a very slow speed. It is very disorienting when all you can see is the small spot your headlight makes on the ground in front of you and the tiny incandescent dot which is the east portal, some 2.3 miles distant. It was somewhat claustrophobic, very cool and quite damp in spots, but a very memorable passage.

Then we were presented with the oven that is eastern Washington. The temperature was not all that hot but the sun is very intense. I better get accustomed to that in short order.

We coasted down the grade with minimal effort when the ballast was good, and grumbling alot when it was not. Our five bikes had a total of three flats and two of them were mine. But I was the one who chose the route, so I could not whine, at least not aloud. A flat tire is one of the few points of vulnerability on a bike, and it is somewhat unsettling. I recall saying to someone the first day that I hoped that the first one would come early on, to get it over with.

We stopped at Easton and amazed the lady at the counter of the cafe/motel/grocery with how much liquid and frozen yogurt we could consume. The high point of the day was passing over an irrigation ditch just as three young lads were leaping off the 15 foot bridge. They had spent the whole day buckin' hay and this, it appears, is a daily ritual. I hope it is for us, too, because it was a delightful end to a wonderful day.

And what did Mr. Babcock encounter on the way to Cle Elum?

Through the Tunnel From Franklin we crossed through the woods to Cumberland and followed the Northern Pacific railroad to Hot Springs, arriving at 4 P.M., wet to the skin, but a warm hot sulphur bath and a brisk rub down made us feel as good as new. The Hot Springs Hotel seems to be a favorite place for wheelmen, and two or three fast wheelmen have been training on the track near the hotel. Although it was a great temptation to remain a day at the springs, we were anxious to get over the summit. We left the hotel at 9 A.M. and found the ride to the summit rather steep, and we were obliged to dismount continually for culverts and sidings. Took lunch at Stampede, and through the kindness of Mr. McIntire, the operator, secured a lantern, and entered the tunnel, trundling our bicycles along over the ties. The bumping of the wheels and the sound of our footsteps echoed and re- echoed with a weird hollowness as we kept on. When part way through the tunnel we concluded that our lantern might be made to burn more brightly and so unjoined it to raise the wick, when it suddenly went out. We hunted through our pockets but failed to find a match and were obliged to stumble along in the dark. We kept straight ahead, for we had just listened to the story of how a Tacoma man came to grief on a similar trip. He started in at the west entrance with no lantern and was nearly through when he met a train. He sat down in one of the holes in the wall and waited for the train to pass and the smoke to blow out. He then continued his journey, which seemed to him interminable. He finally came out into the sunlight and looked around in a bewildered way, then going up to the telegraph station, he addressed Mr. McIntire:
"Did you see me go into the tunnel an hour or so ago?"
"I think I did."
"Am I at the west entrance now?"
"You certainly are."
"Well how the devil did I get here; I ought to have been on the other side?"
The poor fellow had gone the wrong way after the smoke had cleared.
We were more fortunate, for after going a short distance further we found the incandescent lamps lighted and a gang of men at work. The track at the summit keeps pushing up and the company is now underarching it in order to overcome the difficulty. The tunnel was lighted the remainder of the way and the oft repeated question, 'How are we going to get through the tunnel?' was soon answered.
Leaving the lantern with the operator at the east entrance, we started out with the assurance that the road was well ballasted and fair weather the rule. Up to the time that we reached the summit hardly an hour passed without rain, but this side we have not seen a drop.
Down the grade we flew, with only an occasional stop for a trestle or snap-shot with the camera, till we came to Easton, where we found an excellent country road. We shall make frequent mention of the roads, since that subject seems to be of paramount interest to wheelmen, and it is what we most readily observe. If any scorcher wishes to take a fine spin, or make a century run, let him start from Easton towards Ellensburg. The roads are in excellent condition, and our last two days experience has made us appreciative of smooth easy grades. We let out several links in speed. The pointer of the cyclometers moved regularly around as we turned the curves through groves bright with a profusion of flowers, past beautiful orchards over well-built bridges and well-kept roads. Nothing but poverty should keep a resident of the Yakima valley from owning a wheel, for the roads are superb.
At Cle Elum we took supper at 6 P.M., and then rode to Ellensburg, twenty-eight miles distant.

You should know that Babcock and Turner took a different path over the Cascades, across what is now watershed for Seattle's water department (off limits) and through the Stampede tunnel which is now closed. But we joined them in Easton and concur with their opinions about the route from there to Cle Elum. It is very pretty countryside and fine cycling.

Mile 117 and a long hot day ahead of us.

Dennis

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