Chapter 7: A tale of two smaller cities
Continuing the theme of slow travel, getting to Portland involved a two-day journey on a bus from the south of Oregon with a driver who was on his own time schedule, staying overnight at a warmshowers host (like trail angles for cyclists) and then a very full Amtrak train ride. My friend Jennifer, who has been so generous to me on this trip with connecting me with her friends in the Pacific Northwest, put me in touch with Sarah and her family who lived just southeast of downtown Portland. Sarah, Abasse, Talla and Watson, their Boodle (border collie x poodle) Watson made me feel so welcome over the few days.
I had three main intentions for my week: cycle, eat, and caffeinate my way through the city of roses. So many of the cities I’ve visited in North America so far have been cycle-friendly, but Portland took the win on this one. I made the most of its incredible infrastructure by cycling into town through the greenways. Guided by a Google Map filled with bookmarked places, I began my culinary odyssey. I could spend many paragraphs writing and reminiscing about all the solid vegan food, but here are some highlights included a caramelised onion scone from Shoofly bakery; an everything bagel-flavoured savoury donut from Doe Donuts; a slice of gooey pizza from Boxcar Pizza; and gigantic bowl of roast vegetables and all other bits with nutrients my body was craving from Harlow. The coffee was pretty great quality too, and after weeks of drinking 16-ounce americanos I finally tasted my first flat white at Proud Mary, an Australian-owned cafe. I almost ordered Vegemite on my toast, then remembered Marmite is far superior.
You’d think eating and drinking was all I did, but I promise there were some other activities in between meals. I also visited the Oregon museum of science and industry that was buzzing with multiple school groups visiting on the same morning. In Washington Gardens, a beautiful oasis of trees, the roses were out in bloom and attracting more tourists than bees. I would have loved to have visited the Japanese gardens but just ran out of time.
Wandering the Portland neighbourhoods was fun, too. My fave was Alberta Arts District, a quiet but colourful area with community cycling initiatives and queer stationery shops. And then there was Powell’s. I spread my time in the bookshop over two days, both to escape the 33-degree heat and because you need more than one day, maybe a lifetime, to appreciate the number of books in this place. The cruel thing about travelling by bike is the limit of how many heavy things you can carry. While buying books was not on the agenda for me, I found many ideas and inspiration in this place.
On my last day, I met up with Jennifer’s friend Maya. We got coffee and talked for the best part of an afternoon, and it was interesting to hear her perspectives and knowledge of some of the social issues facing Portlanders (Portlandians?). The day before we met, the Portland city council had voted on a day camping ban, which would mean that people who lived in tents on the streets would not be allowed to camp between the hours of 8am and 8pm. There was a community meeting being held that evening to discuss this, and Maya invited me along to find out more.
Although I felt limited in my ability to contribute to the meeting, attending was valuable in helping me understand both the historical and contemporary issues of homelessness in Portland. People’s ideas and experiences that were shared in that space humanised homelessness for me and made me reflect on the judgements and stigma I hold and must actively challenge about people who are unhoused. These meetings are the types of things that you otherwise miss out on when you’re passing through places briefly, so I valued the chance to sit and listen.
My time in Portland was brief, but rich with experiences that fulfilled many senses (mostly my sense of taste). It’s been my favourite place to visit so far (probably the abundance of vegan and queer things) and feel there is unfinished business in this cool, weird city.
From Portland, I took an Amtrak train back to Jaymee’s for one last night in Seattle and where I’d fly out to Juneau, Alaska, the next day. Mountains and midnight sun! Jaymee patiently helped me with boxing up my bike for the flight, which was adventurous given my pedals were screwed on too tight and had to be taken off by a guy at the nearest bike shop.
After a flustered airport run and with sweat dripping down my forehead, I shoved Sirocco’s box along to the oversized check-in with my pack and two carry-on bags dangling from each arm. The person at the desk countered my stress with her super chill attitude, which I appreciated a lot.
The departure lounge for the flight to Juneau was busier than I expected: I’m not sure why I thought not many people would be going there, but it must be a popular vacation destination for people from the Lower 48, or Down South, as Alaskans would say.
I met my friend Jodie, who lives in Juneau, earlier this year in Angelus Hut on an incessantly rainy afternoon, on my final night as a hut warden there and Jodie the sole occupant of the hut after a very busy spell of trampers overnighting from all over the world. The fact that Jodie had come up in this weather said a lot about her tolerance of Type 2 Fun (the type where it’s not necessary fun at the time, but it is remembered as being fun in hindsight). This made more sense when I learnt she was from Alaska, a place I imagined had plenty of opportunities for wild outdoor adventures and rough weather.
We spent the evening talking in the corner of the otherwise empty hut, and the next day bush-bashed our way down Speargrass Valley together avoiding the swollen river. It was a character-building experience, to say the least. As we journeyed down, we exchanged stories about life in Wellington and Juneau. It didn’t take much for me to be enthralled about Alaska and its untamed wilderness. As we went out separate ways again, Jodie kindly invited me to stay in Juneau if I ever visited. We made tentative plans that I would visit on my travels later that year.
Four months later, after a plane ride over an abundance of snowy mountain ranges, Jodie welcomed me at the airport with her “aggressively affectionate” husky mix, George, who very quickly made himself at home on my lap in the front seat. The sun, still strong at 9pm (being only a week away from summer solstice) offered us the chance to go for a sunset walk. Bald eagles flew overhead and otters danced near the rocks.
The city of Juneau is the state capital of Alaska and host to endless streams of cruise ship passengers. The downtown area, a while away from where Jodie lives, is brides at the bottom of steep slopes leading up to mountains over 1000 metres tall. For a place with a population of 37,000, Juneau was busier than I’d imagined. It has the smallest Costco in the US apparently (it still seemed pretty big to me!)
But downtown is not where the magic happens, I quickly learnt. The transition between the city centre and the trails is abrupt: one minute you’re driving through the tourist shops selling alpaca beanies (why alpacas in Alaska I’m not sure), the next you’re winding through mossy forest with waterfalls cascading down rock faces.
Jodie suggested we walk/run up to Mt Juneau, then take the ridge back down to turn the trail into a 12-mile loop. After having not run for the past 6 weeks, my body was equally eager and surprised when we started running the runnable sections of the trail (the trail was mostly unrunnable). Like in New Zealand, Alaska doesn’t really do switchback or zig zag trails. As the route took us straight up the mountain, we gained height quickly and at each viewpoint a new layer of mountains revealed themselves behind the next.
It was blustery up on the summit, but I was too busy gaping at the panorama to notice. We found a cosy shelter behind a rock to eat our snacks and decide whether to go further on the ridgeline. As we were umming and ahhing about it, given the visible patches of snow we could see obscuring the trail, a group of hikers set off in the same direction. They seemed to be good spirits and know what they were doing. One of them told us their friend had walked the ridge a week ago and said it was fine. This gave us the affirmation we needed, and we too bounded off too, eager to see how far we’d get.
Putting our faith in the group ahead, we followed their fresh footsteps and kept an eye on which line they took. It was a pick-your-own-adventure trail in the snowy patches, just as long as we didn’t get too close to the cliff faces. Those were some steep drop-offs. George’s inner Husky was relishing the snowy fields, bouncing ahead, sideways, and behind. Occasionally we’d meet the official path or a cairn (rock pile) marking the way, which assured us we weren’t too far off.
After a decent undulation along the ridge, it was time to head down again. To our delight, a large slope of snow rolled out below us, its moderate gradient inviting us to either run or slide down. I’d never run in the snow before. The delight of doing something for the first time rushed into me as I bounded down the hill, gathering quite a pace. When I lost control, I’d give into sliding down, using my hands as brakes. Despite the icy numbness stinging the bottom half of my body, this act filled me with unwavering joy.
Back on (relatively) stable land, we navigated a bog and snow-fed rivers to find our way back to the trail(ish). The patches of snow became fewer, our pants drier. Eventually, a sign told us there were only 3 miles to go to the car park. We ran the rest of the way, filled with the satisfaction of having chosen to continue along the ridge. It was an absolutely worthwhile adventure, and the trail instantly bumped its way the the top of the list of best day trips I’ve ever done.
While our Juneau ridge adventure set the bar very high, the following day trips did not disappoint. The next day I cycled out to the Mendenhall Glacier (luckily Sirocco had not been squished in the plane) and walked as far as I could reach to the face of the ice river. Like the redwoods, the magnitude of glaciers instil an unmatched sense of wonder. In the visitor centre, a timelapse of the glacier over ten years showed both how the glacier ‘flowed’ forwards and retreated at the same time, sadly more retreating than flowing. It seems funny that we describe slow movements as glacial, yet the rate at which many of them are declining is far from slow in the grand scheme of things.
Another highlight was walking up to Mt Jumbo, a peak with more vistas I could have only dreamed of. Jumbo is the tallest peak on Douglas, an island that runs parallel to Juneau but apparently its community makes a very clear point of not being Juneau.
This route was steeper and more technical, and therefore provided more opportunities to improve my snow skills (admittedly without an an ice axe or crampons). The hiker who was just ahead of us thankfully provided a rough guide with his footprints, of which route to take to the summit. There were a few moments where doubt crept in to our thinking about continuing as we didn’t know how the snow would be at the top, but we persevered.
The wildlife encounters have lived up to what I imagined Alaska to be like. Although we didn’t see any bears (for better or worse!), bald eagles would perch on the lamp posts like kererū do back home, and we watched whales bubble feeding in Auke Bay from Jodie’s window. Wherever you go, mountains are the common denominator here. Going to the beach? Snowy peaks! Climbing a mountain? More mountains ahead! Jodie casually pointed out all the adventures she’d had recently, climbing this peak and that ridge. The possibilities seemed endless.
Packing up from the places I’ve been staying at to prepare the next stretch of my travels never gets easier, thanks to people’s hospitality. While adventure calls, and is no doubt worth it every time, you can’t argue with a plush bed with seven pillows and running drinkable water and hot showers and pantries full of food. I feel like the luckiest person when I think about all the cosy beds and abundant generosity that people have provided me along the way.
Getting back into the frugal mindset that’s required for bike trips with limited resources, I squished everything back into my four bike bags, ready to leave for the ferry the next morning. One final thing, an act of relative luxury: a hot bath. I savoured the temporary feeling of cleanliness and being rested.
