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elfsAfter rising this morning, Omaha and I sat out in the Inn's common area and typed away, getting caught up on our journals, both public and private, while I hacked on a segfault deep inside Plotlines. Our hostess came down and cooked breakfast while Omaha and I met the two guests with whom we were sharing the space that day. One was an English teacher and the other was a retrofit engineer with Puget Sound energy. After an amazing breakfast of grapefruit, a waffle, steel-cut oatmeal, and reasonable (but not great) coffee, we headed back into town, where we rented a bicycle for myself. I wanted to bring my own bike but I discovered that the Iguana would require as much money to rehabilitate as to buy a new bicycle. So we left it home and rented.
And then we were off down the road. Up hills and down hills. Through some of the most beautiful countryside on the planet, on a day that was utterly lovely-- the sun was out and hot, but the air was cool and breezy, a perfect combination. We rode through farm country, passing a goat farm, a beef farm, a riding camp, and more of the same. Down into the edge of the island where we passed onto a federal park called "The American Camp." That sounded generic enough until we discovered why it was called that. It seems that the Canadian British and the Americans both claimed this island once upon a time, and in 1867 when an American settler shot a British pig both sides were prepared to start a very ill-supplied war right here in the middle of nowhere.
We refilled our water bottles (a spider crawled out of the spigot when we started it up) and rode to the top of the hill, where the American side had once set up five cannon and were prepared to defend this ridiculous little spit of land. We passed by the commander's house-- still nicely maintained-- and a large rock, which we discovered was the last monument to a Lieutentant Michael Roberts, who was the engineer who directed the construction of this open-air fortress. Lt. Roberts went on to become the head of what we now call the Army Corp of Engineers, but is probably better known as the original author of Robert's Rules of Order.
We finish our ride around this leg, coming to rest at what was in 1927 one of three telegraph stations in the Puget Sound dedicated to helping ship-based radiomen figure out where they were. By communicating with the three stations, any ship could triangulate its position on a map. Omaha and I crawled down to the beach where we crawled around on the rocks and she spent quite a while exploring these little nook and cranny tide pools filled with all kinds of sealife. We found huge driftwood, hewn stumps bleached white by the salt and sun, and massive tentacular things that were actual seaweed roots thrown up by the recent storms. When we decided to head back, we found that the tide had surged in and it was a three foot leap from the rock on which we stood to the beach. We waited for the water to part down low and jumped for it.
We found, bizarrely enough, that we had cell phone service. We checked in on Kouryou-chan. She was doing great. Reassured, we decided it was time to ride back.
Oy, the ride back. On, and on, and on. It was nine miles in each direction, and the second half was painful. We stopped regularly. Still, we made the whole ride in about four hours, so that wasn't too bad. I know, 4½ miles an hour is nothing, but it was a good nothing for us. We were exhausted by the time we got back into town. Omaha was starving, so we headed over to a cafe' called "The Doctor's Office" for a meat pie for her and a slice of lemon bread for me-- it was past 4:00 at this point and I didn't want to spoil my appetite. I also had a drink named "A Hairy Ape." I didn't ask what was in it. Then we returned to the Inn.
Omaha's napping right now. I've taken a shower so I at least resemble a human being again. Whether I am one or not remains to be seen.
And then we were off down the road. Up hills and down hills. Through some of the most beautiful countryside on the planet, on a day that was utterly lovely-- the sun was out and hot, but the air was cool and breezy, a perfect combination. We rode through farm country, passing a goat farm, a beef farm, a riding camp, and more of the same. Down into the edge of the island where we passed onto a federal park called "The American Camp." That sounded generic enough until we discovered why it was called that. It seems that the Canadian British and the Americans both claimed this island once upon a time, and in 1867 when an American settler shot a British pig both sides were prepared to start a very ill-supplied war right here in the middle of nowhere.
We refilled our water bottles (a spider crawled out of the spigot when we started it up) and rode to the top of the hill, where the American side had once set up five cannon and were prepared to defend this ridiculous little spit of land. We passed by the commander's house-- still nicely maintained-- and a large rock, which we discovered was the last monument to a Lieutentant Michael Roberts, who was the engineer who directed the construction of this open-air fortress. Lt. Roberts went on to become the head of what we now call the Army Corp of Engineers, but is probably better known as the original author of Robert's Rules of Order.
We finish our ride around this leg, coming to rest at what was in 1927 one of three telegraph stations in the Puget Sound dedicated to helping ship-based radiomen figure out where they were. By communicating with the three stations, any ship could triangulate its position on a map. Omaha and I crawled down to the beach where we crawled around on the rocks and she spent quite a while exploring these little nook and cranny tide pools filled with all kinds of sealife. We found huge driftwood, hewn stumps bleached white by the salt and sun, and massive tentacular things that were actual seaweed roots thrown up by the recent storms. When we decided to head back, we found that the tide had surged in and it was a three foot leap from the rock on which we stood to the beach. We waited for the water to part down low and jumped for it.
We found, bizarrely enough, that we had cell phone service. We checked in on Kouryou-chan. She was doing great. Reassured, we decided it was time to ride back.
Oy, the ride back. On, and on, and on. It was nine miles in each direction, and the second half was painful. We stopped regularly. Still, we made the whole ride in about four hours, so that wasn't too bad. I know, 4½ miles an hour is nothing, but it was a good nothing for us. We were exhausted by the time we got back into town. Omaha was starving, so we headed over to a cafe' called "The Doctor's Office" for a meat pie for her and a slice of lemon bread for me-- it was past 4:00 at this point and I didn't want to spoil my appetite. I also had a drink named "A Hairy Ape." I didn't ask what was in it. Then we returned to the Inn.
Omaha's napping right now. I've taken a shower so I at least resemble a human being again. Whether I am one or not remains to be seen.
