With a soggy squish I take off towards Mt. Baker.  The thick green forrest slowly fades to white as the foggy mist puts me in a Jurassic Park mind set. The roads are wet but manageable. With each bend in the road snow starts to pile on the shoulders. It starts to get colder and before I know it, I’m shuttling down a hall way of snow with walls 10 feet over my head. My bike feels small as massive trucks hauling snowmobiles pass in the opposite direction. The wet slush on the road turns to ice as I pull into the Baker parking lot with more curious eyes looking on. A few people take photos of the bike and I begin to put my ski gear on.

I don’t have enough money for a lift ticket so I opt for some road laps that dump out back down canyon. It turns out the rain made a guest appearance over night and left all the snow in a soggy mush. Despite the slog it was still fun to be back on skis bouncing my way down the mountain. It felt amazing to finally be doing something other than riding my bike. I wanted to ski all day into the night but I had to take off before the sun dipped to low.

I stopped at a small coffee shop just down the road from Baker to warm up and get some food for the night. Life is simple in these parts and the people seem to have no worries. I could get use to this but I have to keep moving. Next stop, Whistler.

Around the next valley is Snoqualmie Pass. A winding mountain road that separates Seattle from all things to the East. As the road pitches upwards and the temps drop lower, I see dark clouds building over the pass. Not a pleasing site when completely exposed on a motorcycle with no windshield. Loosing feeling in my fingers, I pulled over to throw on more layers. It was hear I saw the exact line where the road went from dry to wet.  The next two hours would be one of the coldest experiences of my life and probably one of the more dangerous as well. Winding over the pass as snow plows sprayed massive waves of ice and rain left me with a 2 foot wide ribbon of pavement to grip. Drift off the ribbon and the snow had stacked to high for the tread of my tires. Traction would be impossible and laying down the bike is inevitable.

30 minutes in I realized stopping was not an option.  The cold would set in too heavy and I would not be able to pull it off. So I pushed on, over the pass and down into the valley. Clearing my goggles every 10 seconds with the wipe of my hand I get my first glimpse of Seattle as the sun brakes through the rain and snow.

Awkward stares flash frequent as I drive deeper into the city. Some seem impressed. Some confused . Some have no emotion at all, just blank inspecting   stares taking note of the biker in their blind spot. I swing through Pikes Place Market just as every other tourist in Seattle did that day and realize I need to keep going. This trip is about skiing and I have yet to put on my boots.

Leaving Seattle the traffic moves at 5 mph for 10 miles in all directions. Staring to the north the clouds stack heavy and turn a deep purple. These are not winter clouds. These clouds suspend massive amounts of moisture that patiently wait for me to pull closer before releasing sheets of rain that will soak me to core. It reminds me of the prank I would play as a kid by putting a bucket of water on a door seal and drenching anyone who would pass under. As expected 10 miles down the road the rain soaked me thoroughly and didn’t seem to have any end in sight. I had another 20 miles to go before pulling into a friends house just west of Mt. Baker Ski Resort. Tomorrow I would finally be skiing.

Focused on staying in your lane,  there is not much time to think about anything else. If you were to let your mind wander I can promise you would most likely end up in a ditch. It’s the kind of never ending consistency that leaves people to lose their mind counting miles and pac manning the yellow dots on Interstate 84. This is why breaking up the drive with frequent stops is a must. Pizza is a food I have come to know quite well. It’s not my ideal dining option, in fact I never wanted any from the start. I just don’t have many choices in towns with a population of practically nothing. At least now I know why practically all truckers are massive.

Another great way to break up the long drive is to get a flat tire. It’s a guaranteed option to give yourself plenty of time to kick back and relax as the local motorcycle shop tweaks away on a new tube. It didn’t make sense to me that a brand new tire would pop flat only a few states away from home. Then the shop mechanic showed me a pile of 1/4 inch thorns he pulled out one at a time and it all made sense; the Evel Kneivel jump site back in Twin Falls was full of weeds and . I felt as if I were Evel and I just attempted the jump over the Snake River and didn’t even come close. Luckliy all I was dealing with was a new tube and I found myself back on the road.

When it comes to highway slamming, experience is something I don’t have a lot of. As a relative novice only a fraction of the way to my destination I felt a bit discouraged to say the least. At this pace I wont make it to Alaska for another month. The snow will be melted and I’ll be begging for coins to fill my tank 100 miles at a time.

Luckily with every mile I push on is another mile of experience gained. I’m learning the tricks of the road and picking up the pace. No more threatening stares from crusty truck drivers passing me on the left, just confused stares as they pull off to my right. Already pre-living the next 2,000 miles over and over again in my head I’m left in a numb state not sure what to think. All I can do is hope the weather is right and my head is in the right place.

With a late start I rolled into Twin Falls, Idaho at sun fall. Far short of my initial goal but a humbling accomplishment at least. A big day to follow sent me to my tent early and sleep came surprisingly easy as I listened to the thunder of passing traffic on Interstate 84.