Calgary to San Francisco, via Peru: Westport

The bookends of the day were two delicious, and rather large, meals. Breakfast was at the Blue Buoy Restaurant. I think I set a PR for the most Bisquick consumed in one sitting. Along with two eggs (served over easy) and 3 strips of bacon that made Wendy's Baconator look like child's play. Two comments about breakfast: One cup of Bisquick has three times as much trans fat as a McDonald's Big Mac. Interesting huh? I perused upon this while rummaging through the empty cupboards at home while Katy enjoys her gourmet Google cooking. Comment number two: every time I've ever ordered eggs at a restaurant I've always had them served "over easy". It's kind of a knee jerk response. To be honest, I don't know what "over easy" even means and I also don't even know the other acceptable answers to the question, "How would you like your eggs cooked?" If you have any other suggestions for me to try, please enlighten me. (But don't come at me with scrambled eggs. We all know that this is just what happens when your cheap non-stick cooking pan meets a metal spatula and the delicate, but most desirable, yolk breaks.)

The other bookend (dinner) has a bit more explaining to do. After battling the unceasing headwind over the ridiculously long bridge from the southeast corner of Washington to Astoria, OR (picture included) I came across a kind fellow named Dave, driving a red pickup, who asked where I was spending the night. I'm getting good at spotting friendly folks, so I play dumb to see what he has to offer. I told him I was unsure, he asked for my phone number, and we parted ways. He called back moments later, inviting me to stay the night at his house, but I assured him he didn't want Charlie at his house running around at 11:30pm screaming "Cakaw" and pretending to be a bird. To be cordial I asked him where a great place to eat was, and he started giving me directions to the local hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant (my favourite). Halfway through some pretty basic directions he said, "you know what, where are you staying? I'll just drive over and escort you to the place." Before I could tell him that wasn't necessary I heard him yell across the house "honey, I'm gonna go show these guys how to get to the Mexican restaurant" and then the line went dead. The rest of the story is uneventful, except for the fact that I ate a burrito the size of my thigh, delicious guacamole and also managed to finish Charlie's and my mother's meal. I usually resent being the designated 'eat all the leftovers' person but since I had just rolled off 85 miles without anything but 2 water bottles I wasn't going to argue. Dinner also supported my theory that the closer you get to the border, the better the Mexican food (it also explains why Ann Arbor is the culinary capital of the Midwest, but unfortunately has terrible Mexican food).

As to the events between eating and eating? Just pedalling. Today I got a email from my dad with a High School Commencement speech attached. It resonates, in part, with some of the things that I've been thinking of lately. Towards the end of the speech it says, "Climb the mountain not to plant your flag, but to embrace the challenge, enjoy the air and behold the view. Climb it so you can see the world, not so the world can see you." The idea being, enjoy something (like a bike ride) not because you'll eventually arrive at your destination, not so you can tell your med school friends what a cool summer you had and not even so you can have a blog to let others know how cool you are (but I am pretty cool, right?). But engage in whatever activities appeal to you because the very act of engaging is the reward of the activity. For me, the reward of riding is not arriving in San Francisco, the reward is the long hours in the saddle, the aching quads, the roller coaster of rain and shine, meeting folks like Dave and enjoying the never ending beautiful scenery and standing in awe of the majesty of Him who created it all. I think President Monson summed it up best when he said, "Find joy in the journey." The destination will come and go, but we will always be right in the middle of our journey.

My journey typically involves staring at my handlebars, front tire and the white line. (Sometimes I see how long I can go without lifting my head up and looking at the road. It wouldn't surprise me if one of these days I run into a parked car at full speed while trying to go longer than I previously have.) I took a picture to illustrate the reality of my journey. I get up each day and jump on my bike. There are mountains and oceans, small villages and large cities and rain and shine. But day after day it's just me, my handlebars, my front tire and the white line.

Besides that, I managed to get some pictures of that ridiculously long bridge, my support team as seen from the top of the Astoria column, dinner at La Cabana de Raya, "Entering Oregon" and Charlie playing a game of hide and seek. I'm not sure if he's hiding or seeking.