Presence Over Posting: The Pacific Northwest Ride
My Washington cycling buddy Kristin!
Five weeks without a blog post. That’s how much the Pacific Northwest pulled me in. Unlike the early, lonelier stretches of this ride, this section was full of people—other cyclists, old friends, new friends. I chose presence over writing, connection over sharing.
The ride from Bellingham, WA to Portland was pure joy. Washington delivered its best—Mount Rainier and Mount Baker rising snowcapped in the distance for days on end. My good friend Kristin, a Canadian who I first met through a mutual friend in New Zealand back in the late ’90s, joined me. Over the years we’ve snowboarded, cycled, and watched soccer matches together, so riding side by side in the Northwest felt natural and grounding. We were even joined for a day by my Portland friends Ashley and Lane—such a dream after the solitude of the middle of the country.
Kristin and I rolled into Portland together and, in true Portland fashion, headed straight for breakfast first thing the next morning at Tin Shed. She caught the train back home, but the city didn’t let me linger in nostalgia for long. My Louisville friend Marcus flew in, and we borrowed a bike so he could ride with me to a Timbers match—a rite of passage in my old hometown. I was a Timbers season ticket holder for years. Portland also reunited me with my godson, Matt, and many of my dearest friends. It reminded me why a piece of my heart will always stay there. I’m already imagining renting a place in Bend, the coast, or Portland for a month or two each year, just to feed that Oregon pull.
My Godson Matt!
Leaving Portland wasn’t smooth—I lost a full day after a tire exploded from unnoticed rim cracks (thank you, Mike, for being my sherpa through that!). But this trip has been different than my 2013 Road to Rhode. Back then, I rushed, forced, and let little frustrations get the better of me. This time, I’ve leaned into patience. A blown tire, a detour, bad weather—none of it rattled me. I’d remind myself: I’m safe. I’m alive. I can navigate this. And then I’d keep moving.
When I finally reached the Oregon Coast, it felt like a homecoming. Lincoln City meant camping by the ocean again, and soon I met Gabrielle and Caitlin, sisters traveling from Big Sky and Miami. Evenings at a picnic table talking school leadership and the FIFA World Cup 2026 made the coast feel even richer. They were on a tight timeline to the Bay Area, so eventually we hugged goodbye.
Of all the camping spots, Humbug Mountain State Park near Port Orford stands out. The short walk to the beach was effortless, and the reward—watching the sun melt into the horizon—was unforgettable.
The Pacific Northwest gave me friendship, reconnection, patience, and perspective. It wasn’t about documenting every moment—it was about living them.
