Mahalo from Birch Bay, the scenic geographic upper ear (helix) of the contiguous USA. A spam canister’s throw from BC, where sunsets make the water ripple with viscosity of molten glass, we nestle amid birch with a dinner of pineapple fried rice and the world’s foremost meat puck.
The day began with a climb into placid Interurban Trail; ocean on the left, forest on the right, and Bellingham straight down the loam flecked beads of our all-terrain tires.
Lunch was a textural delight of wraps with prosciutto, salami, salmon, mango and more, putting air in our leg tires to tread about town and triangulate treats. A few more miles and an ice cream intermezzo followed suit, where we would harvest cherries from a tree. Cherries happen to be great for muscle recovery.
Rainier peeked out from behind cloudmallow as we prayed to the asphalt with circular oblations, each path and roadway adorned with wildflower votives; little summer supernovas.
Hard to complain on a day like this one. Weather blessed, topography forgiving, and a view George Washington would lie for. Tomorrow we bid adieu to the Red White and Blue for a spell, only to return in time for the holiday where folks roast nitrate laden pork tubes, make edible flags of berries ‘n cream, then terrify pets with the sound of aesthetic rockets. There are many paths to freedom. Biking is one of them.
