Number of flat tires: 228
Minimum number of pounds of goat cheese consumed: 3
Me and my big mouth. I had to go and say something about how I hadn't had any flat tires. As I rode out of Walla Walla, soon after writing last, a thunderclap announced the arrival of a storm that immediately started dumping down a slurry of frigid sleet and hail. And of course, about five minutes later, I got a flat. I fixed my tube on the side of the highway, drenched from the sleet and the passing trucks, fingers quickly freezing without my gloves. By the time I got on the road again, I could no longer feel my fingers, and didn't have much warmth left with which to heat them up. Looking up the road at the expanse of looming clouds, I knew this would be a long, cold, cold night.
But! Luck was no stranger that day. By the time I neared the end of my day, the sun had returned enough to dry me out some, as had the feeling in my extremities. As the sun was setting and I was looking for a place to bed down for the night, I passed a goat farm that looked inviting enough. I sallied up to the door, and was immediately greeted with an enthusiastic embrace, congratulations, cheese and wine, before I could even say who I was or what I was doing. I was given an AirStream to stay in, known locally as the KyleStream, which had been given to the farm by Kyle MacLachlan, of Twin Peaks and Sex in the City fame (apparently he grew up around here or something). I was stuffed to the gills with wonderful food and saunaed well into the evening.
Monteillet Fromagerie is a gorgeous farm, owned by Pierre-Louis, an endearingly charming Frenchman, and his equally gregarious wife, Joan. Goats, sheep, dogs, cats, geese, ducks and chickens all run under feet around a sprawling, lush tract of gently-wooded grassland in the Walla Walla valley, cut through by the Touchet River. In was an easy decision to stay an extra day to help out some, and get to know the place better. After a day of weeding, plowing, food and wine and playing with animals, several of us drove to the nearby town to what I can confidently say was the best bar I've ever been to in my life. jimgermanbar is the brainchild of its namesake, Jim German, a Seattle transplant who has shunned the city lights and commotion, in lieu of a more low-key and intimate setting, to bring his noble gift to all who seek it: Master and God of the Cocktail. I tried (note: tried) six or seven different drinks from him, and every. single. one. was without a doubt the best cocktail I'd ever had. After my first few tastes, it was clear this was a man who could do no wrong; I didn't even bother picking something from the menu, but just asked them to bring me "something". Wow. If you're ever in the neighborhood, or even if you're not, good lord. It's worth the drive to Waitsburg.
I set off the next morning well rested, showered, laundered, and laden with cheese. Monteillet would be an exceptionally easy place to get sucked into (they offered to keep me for the week, and then drive me to Missoula, and I don't think they were kidding), but I was ready to get back on my bike. I had a pleasant, if non-descript, day of cycling ahead of me.
But ugh, today has been the most trying by far. I woke up to rain this morning, and after wheeling my bike out of the field of grass I camped in, found both of my tires completely flat. I spent the next two hours pulling out literally hundreds (I counted) of vicious thorns from my tires, portaging my bike and gear to safer ground, and reassembling. I was lucky (or just smart) to have been carrying two extra tubes with me, because there aren't enough tire patches in the country to have fixed those poor shredded tubes. It's continued to rain nonstop all day, and though I've only made it about fifteen miles so far today, as I look out the window from the familiar comfort of a library, it seems a daunting task to head back out into the dreariness. It helps to look on the bright side, though; at least I have goat cheese.
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