It’s All Downhill From Here
Keechelus Lake, Washington
Having crossed through the damp, near freezing air of the Snoqualmie Tunnel, we were thrust back into the sunlight and warmer temperatures of the eastern slopes of the Cascades. The air was noticeably drier as well, not just because of the dampness of the tunnel, but because the eastern side of the Cascades marks the ecological transition from the Pacific Northwest rainforest to the arid deserts of central Washington. Though right then, we were still well within the forested mountains.
With the tunnel being the highpoint for the western half of the Palouse to Cascades Trail, our next major landmark was far below us at the Columbia River some 90 miles away. This meant gravity was on our side and our eastward progress would be a little easier now. The first several miles though were pretty flat as the trail followed along the quiet side of picturesque Keechelus Lake, a large reservoir that feeds into the Yakima River and ultimately the Columbia. Even better, we had the trail virtually to ourselves which was peaceful and exactly how this type of landscape should be experienced.
(click photos to enlarge and see descriptions)
The lake eventually came to an end at a dam but not before we had a chance to watch a beaver swimming around and slapping his tail on the water’s surface. After a few minutes enjoying the beaver, we found ourselves back in a slowly disappearing forest. There was still enough shade though that we were able to find a patch of snow on the trail that was deep enough to support the bike without a kickstand. Not bad for an 80+ Fahrenheit June day!
It was around this time that we were nearly blown off the trail by a shirtless, helmetless, and probably toothless, guy on an ATV even though there were several signs prohibiting motorized vehicles. It’s one thing to break rules/laws, but a totally different thing to have no regard for other people. It’s people like that that make me crave the solitude of wilderness so much. Covered in a fine sheen of redneck dust, we pedaled on.
Fresh off our encounter with Meathead, we continued down the trail a ways and started noticing more and more snow runoff near the trail. The dogs absolutely love to splash around in water, especially on a warm day that was in the 80’s, so it made perfect sense to pull over for a little splash. When I went to let the dogs out of the trailer, it was apparent that Meathead had gotten the last laugh as all of the dust he had kicked up had triggered Captain’s super sensitive nose to have a major blood runoff of it’s own. I hoped that maybe playing in the water might help get some moisture back into her nose and help slow the bleeding.
While she was splashing in the water, Captain sneezed, but since she was chest deep, when she jerked her head forward to sneeze, she wound up sneezing entirely underwater! As her nose was still bleeding heavily, a beautifully tragic, lava light-like amorphous, red reminder of Captain’s nasal cancer was left behind to float in the water. Simultaneously, her blood was both terrifying and one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. It made me incredibly sad to have such a blatant reminder of her pending mortality, but at the same time, I was strangely comforted by the fact that part of her would now be floating downstream towards the Yakima River, the Columbia River, and the Pacific Ocean, possibly feeding a salmon along the way and becoming part of the greater circle of life.
As they played in the water, I saw that Zilla’s harness had twisted a bit. I absentmindedly put it back in place, still focused on Captain’s fate, and forgot to tighten it as well. A short distance down the trail, this mistake would come back to haunt me and become something I’ll regret for the rest of my life.
