A poorly extinguished fire and a 1999 National Forest map led us to Cathy.

We met on the steep and sandy Forest Road 200 in the Aeneas Valley, four miles off-route near the Okanogan National Forest on Jackson’s birthday. We were two miles past where we anticipated crossing the border to National Forest. Once in the NF land we could camp wherever we wanted.

Thirty miles earlier in Tonasket, we consulted the employees at the local information center and an old NF map, not realizing the national land would be chipped away at by private hands in the 17 years since the map was printed. Cathy was heading back from extinguishing a fire some RV campers left at a campsite (unknown to us) further up the road. When she passed us with her two dogs Slade and T.J., she offered encouragement and directions to the site just a half a mile up the road. The dust settled.

We continued on our way until we heard the rumble of a truck headed up the road behind us, it was Cathy again, “Hop in, I’ll give you a ride,” she offered.

We carefully hoisted our packed bikes into the bed of her tan pick-up — one end and then the other — and slowly headed up the winding road. Within minutes we were at the campsite. We carefully lowered one bike out of the truck, then the second bike slipped, the front cog puncturing Jackson’s leg. With blood streaming down his leg, it looked like he might need stitches.

Cathy willingly offered us a ride down to her house at the bottom of the hill, where we could clean the wound and address the situation. This is the moment where my “stranger danger” started to kick-in. I think we’re all taught to be wary of strangers, no matter their disposition. But being careful is more challenging when we just assume all strangers are bad, because we aren’t practiced at discerning safe and unsafe situations. I’ve been working hard at embracing uncertainty — and if you’re anything like me, that can be incredibly stressful. Part of the reason I left on this trip to begin with was to practice just that. Life is uncertain. So is this day, this hour. I can’t control any of it. The best I thing I can do, is embrace it all, especially on this trip.

Cathy brought us back to her house where we met her old-man, as she refers to him. Allen, like the Allen Wrench, was a Vietnam-era activist who used to work in the fish business. He’s seen his fair share of wounds via sharp objects. After some cleaning, Jackson decided he probably wouldn’t need stitches. Cathy and Allen suggested we camp out in their yard, so in the morning if the cut looked worse, they could drive us to the hospital in Tonasket.

Cathy and Allen are some of the most generous and kind people we met. That night they shared their pizza with us and Cathy made Jackson a birthday cake with her home-canned cherries. Cathy knew most all the answers to Jeopardy and Allen shared many stories with us.

In the morning, it was cool and dry in Aneas Valley and Jackson’s leg looked much better. We made french toast and packed our bikes to leave. We headed down the driveway to help Cathy pick her green tomatoes from her overflowing garden sprinkled with Amaranth. Later that day Allen was planning to drive to the Canadian boarder to buy bulk butter from a connection. The couple eats mostly food they’ve grown. Allen is still an activist and has since discovered Facebook as a way to share his ideas in the quiet area where they now live. Cathy knows the best she can do for the world is treat her land and those on it with respect and care. Before saying a big thank you and goodbye, we picked most, but not all of the green tomatoes.

“Leave the small ones for the ground squirrels,” Cathy said.

T.J. and Slade hanging out in the sun with our bike bags.

In the past week, we were lucky to meet many generous, storied and interesting people (too many to list here). A bicycle has a magical tendency to open you to these types of conversations in ways a car can’t. When I went on a road trip last summer, I barely met any new people. Perhaps it’s my introversion, but cars have doors that need to be opened. On a bike, I sometimes feel like a moving opportunity for conversation. People are getting out of their cars to tell us about their lives and hear about ours everyday.

Just the other day, we stopped to have lunch by a small stream. A Norwegian journalist named Gunner stopped by on his bike. He interviewed us about the elections as part of a project he’s working on — biking across the country to see what real voters think of the election. What he’s doing is important — hearing what real people have to say, in small towns you’ve probably never heard of. The act of getting to know people you wouldn’t otherwise take the chance to meet is more important than candidates or political platforms. Embracing the opportunity to hear other’s stories, teaches you a lot more about how to get along than making a vote (although you should vote too). How we act in our everyday lives dictates our reality and influences others. The more diversity of experience we have, the better we can be at making a place we all would like to inhabit.

A big thank you to Cathy and Allen, all the Warm Showers Folks (Larry, Lynette, and Aubrey) we’ve stayed with, Keene and Carina, Shelly Bacon and all the others we’ve meet along the way, this adventure is made so much better by your presence.

Morning view in Kettle Falls.

The view from the Biker Hostel in Colville.

A pit-stop for lunch.

This ride reminded us a lot of Maine.

French toast breakfast and bike maintenance on our first off-day.

A beautiful ride to Sandpoint, ID.

Hooray for bike paths on busy roads!

Another day, another pass!

Mmm dinner!

At Sherman Pass, the highest drive-able pass in Washington.