The Rascal Diaries: 7/8/14 Olympic Sport

From the mountains to the sea, we reached the furthest part of our journey today. Immersed in the heart stopping beauty of Olympic National Park and the mysticism of the Makah Nation, we swooped from the sublime to the sacred.

The sound of seagulls woke us as we rolled out of bed and onto the bike. Port Angeles, too crowded, separated from us easily. Instantly into the Olympic National Park, we breathed the pines and mountains and were revived. Hurricane Ridge began to expose itself through the trees. Jagged teeth broke into the sky at every turn. The vista broadened with the altitude. Riding the mountain side, I was not phased by the unguarded edge. We flew our dragon into the brilliant unclouded day, as a platoon of the most magnificent peaks in the west marched along side of us. Joy bubbled up inside me and I held my breath to hold the moment.

Everywhere, wild flowers bloom in this rainy state. Phlox six feet tall and Queen Anne's Lace, with heads the size of cauliflower, line the roads. Purples, pinks, yellows and whites painted our way up into the clouds.

Stopping at the top of the park, we sat in the sun, soaking in our place in time. So often on this trip Jules and I look at each other in amazement and our thoughts cross... "Do you believe where we are?" A Bloody Mary brunch added to the glory of the morning before we moved on.

Coming down the park road was just as scenic and a little more exciting. Leaning out over edges with no guardrails, staring into an abyss thousands of feet below, I put my trust in Rascal who slalomed down the curves with ease, making an Olympic sport out of this mountain, and winning a gold medal.

Back down to the water, we turned west, hugging the Strait of Juan de Fuca. Riding to the end of our earth, we headed toward the most nortwestern point in the continental U.S. Climbing high on cliffs overlooking the strait, the road suddenly chuted us downward to coast along the strait, watching Victoria in the haze across the water. A pullover and a parting in the woods found us in picnic paradise. A driftwood log, a loaf of bread, a bottle of wine and thou ...... Warming to each other in the sun, the affirmation of the essence that is us, grew. A moment in time that surpasses any photograph was recorded in our memories.

Morphing from the present to the past, we left our paradise to ride into ancient mysteries. Past the Makah Reservation, the road to the end of the continent stops, but the journey does not. The Cape Flattery Trail led us to the absolute. Paths through forests of gnarled , weathered trees, pre-historic ferns and soft organic undergrowth led us on a 3/4 mile walk back in time as the elevation dropped 450' to the sea. Our first view of the Pacific Ocean affirmed that we had truly crossed the country. A lighthouse on a small island eerily sounded its horn to passing ships as the waves slapped the point, creating carved monoliths and mysterious caves.

Ancient Indigenous People plied these waters in their canoes, fishing and whaling. They hunted these forests and walked these paths. One can imagine them standing on this point and watching as explorers sailed up the Juan de Fuca. As we slowly ascended the steep incline, I could feel their presence. An eagle flew over us, adding sanctity to the moment.

Tonight we are staying just outside the Reservation. The view from our window is of fishing boats and ships on the strait. A cruise ship slowly lumbers by on its way to Alaska. In the trees over our room, fledgling eagles try to escape their nest when mother leaves to hunt. From the mountains to the sea, we explored the Olympic Penninsula today. Dizzy from the elevator ride, we rest with the windows open to the sound of sea gulls and memories of another perfect day. How fortunate we are.