= Idlewild CG to Matthews Creek CG Day 2 =
Waking with the sun, I make my way through my morning camping ritual. Gather sticks and start the fire. Make the coffee and oatmeal, stuff the sleeping bag, roll the sleep mat, take down the tent. Eat breakfast, pack the bike. Everything slowly. Watch the sun make its way down the steep walls of the valley. Greet the birds.
I'm soon on the road and continue my descent toward Forks of Salmon. As I pass Sawyers Bar, I recall riding the same road two years ago, when I stopped and made failed attempts to call Monica on the pay phone. The pay phone worked enough to make her phone ring, but we could not hear each other, just enough contact to worry her that something was wrong. A half hour later, I finally found a resident with a working phone who let me borrow and successfully called to reassure Monica. This year I recall that today is the day Monica flies to Boston to see her mother. I stop and feel my gratitude for her as I send off this text with my satellite messenger:
'''Entering sawyers bar feeling grateful for all you do to help me be smart about taking risks. Hoping your flight is smooth. Love to both you'''
While there is a part of me which is not grateful, a part which would prefer to live dangerously with total independence, the adult part of myself really is grateful that I am doing this trip with a good amount of safety. Before leaving I contacted a group of friends and neighbors who agreed to watch for my '''"all is well"''' text messages. I send three a day to the group and they have agreed that if I miss two in a row, they will reach out to make sure I am ok, and send help if I don't respond. This trip is a good compromise. On the one side I'm riding solo through these remote mountains for 100 miles carrying all of my provisions for 4 days. On the other hand, I maintain contact with a crew of friends who are available to come to my aid.
How different from my very first bike tour in 1991. A couple years earlier, I had wanted to ride from my parents' house in Sioux Falls, SD to my grandparents house in Snyder, TX. Bike touring was not really much heard of in my world back then, and my plan sounded pretty outrageous to my parents, who forbade me to go. So in 1991 while road tripping with a couple of college friends in Austin, I acted out, buying a cheap bike, improvising packs, and hitting the road for Snyder without telling anyone outside of my two friends of my plans. This was back in the days before cell phones, so from the perspective of my parents, I dropped off the radar completely. I can't recall exactly how many days I rode, camping with no tent in random places along the way. It must have been around 5 or 6, as my total miles were 270. I do recall getting out of my sleeping bag on the final day after a night of not much sleep in a field behind a small town high school. Frost coated everything, my body felt sluggish with a touch of hypothermia. I rode just a few miles that day into Robert Lee, TX and called my grandpa from a pay phone. He was so kind to me as he drove me the final stretch to Snyder, and my parents were so filled with relief that I was ok, there was none of the shaming and anger which I had expected.
Here is a way I parent myself better than my parents parented me as a young person. In my adult self, I can meet my need for adventure and risk taking. I'm also better at being an adolescent than I was as a young person. Because I can trust myself to honor my wild side, I don't have to act out to get a piece of this marvelous freedom feeling as I ride down deserted narrow mountain road carrying my beacon for help in my pocket, having sent my coordinates to my friends during breakfast.
{{../2021-05-30-salmonMineSwim1.jpg|Salmon Mine Swim 1|width=75%}}
{{../2021-05-30-salmonMineSwim2.jpg|Salmon Mine Swim 1|width=75%}}
{{../2021-05-30-salmonMineSwim3.jpg|Salmon Mine Swim 1|width=75%}}
{{../2021-05-30-salmonMineSwim4.jpg|Salmon Mine Swim 1|width=75%}}
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