2nd Annual Ride for the Pies

Last Thanksgiving, 5 of us decided to ride from Seattle to Zack's mom's house in Fall City. We ventured up the Burke buzzing with excitement and under mildly ominous skies, but by the time we hit the big hill outside of Woodinville, the sky opened up and began pouring on us for the next 3 hours. The temperature dropped, the winds picked up from the south, and as we slowly made our way up the Snoqualmie Valley our blood sugar plummeted and the bonking set in because of course none of us brought any food (It was Thanksgiving! There'd be plenty of food at the end!). The struggle to keep pedaling was amplified when we asked Zack how much farther and for the next hour he replied, "We're almost there....just a few more miles....just around the corner.....another 15 minutes....". Forty-five miles from where we began, we stumbled into Janna's house and immediately inhaled huge slices of pumpkin pie drizzled with hot blackberry sauce much to the dismay of the shocked pie maker.

Thus began the annual Ride for the Pies Thanksgiving ride.

This Thanksgiving Mike, Rhi, Josiah, Davis, and myself set off from Rhi's house in Wallingford up the Burke and onto another memorable ride. This time we knew the weather would be crap - rain, highs in low 40s and 24mph gusts from the south - but we bundled up well with head to toe rain gear. Rhi even donned her bright yellow rubber rain boots. We brought plenty of food and 4 thermoses of hot tea this time, most carried in a 20# backpack by the animal known as Davis.

As we sat in Rhi's warm apartment knowing what crappy weather lay ahead for the next 4 hours, I tried placing seeds of dissent by suggesting we could just ride back to my place where I have a sauna (!), booze (!), food (!), and it will be warm (!) and we could drive out later. I was joking for the most part [cough], just trying to exercise those last whimpy notions.

Rhi finished putting the load of food into Davis' pack and asked if anything else should go in. I suggested throwing in her jar of Nutella and a spoon. It wouldn't be the 5 kg tub of Nutella Mike had seen in Europe, but it would do for today's trip.

Off into the cold cold cold rain and wind! Heading north our spirits and energy were still high as we were pushed along with a gracious tail wind. Our first stop was the Log Boom park for an unregulated pee break since the bathrooms are under construction. Davis whipped out the tea, we ate a ton of snacks, got chilled, and wondered how we were going to last another 3 hours if we're this cold and hungry already. Onward we pedaled up through Kenmore and Bothell, past some kayakers in their colorful boats in the slough, and zipping past the infamous Bothell Wild Chickens who were startled by my loud bell. At the Woodinville rest stop, where we'd get off the trail and onto the road, we made a more formal pee break. When Rhi and I got out of the women's room, Mike invited us over to the men's room for tea and snacks. The 5 of us huddled in the men's room, Davis layed out the buffet, and we used the hand dryers to get warm and dry clothing. A 10 year old boy came into the bathroom, looked around at us eating and drinking, surmised that Rhi and I were girls, made his way toward the urinal, but thought better and made a quick turnaround and exit. Next, a racer with a baby blue Vanilla cap came in and was delighted at our setup. A bit older and more confident than the 10 year old, he made his way to the urinal, did his job, politely declined offers of chocolate or tea, and told us to have a good day.

We pryed ourselves out of the warm, dry men's room and began the next leg of our ride - east on 170th (past Molbak's!) and up the dreaded neverending Woodinville-Duvall road hill. Where 170th ends and we turn right up the hill I remember this being the spot last year where the rain began, hunger started to surface, and Davis and Josiah shared an Odwalla bar. So in my head this year as I tried to ignore the upward arc of the hill, I renamed this intersection "Odwalla Bar Corner."

Surprisingly, the hill wasn't nearly as bad as last year. We were up and over it in no time, then on to the continuous rolling hills (and downhills!) that would bring us into the Valley. By this point the rain had mostly ceased or become a mild spit, but the water from the road did a good job of keeping us wet. A few times we stopped to gather everyone together and I couldn't help but smile at the picture of 5 friends on bikes traveling in the crappiest weather to a holiday meal while people zoomed around in their cars thinking us insane. Insane, well maybe, but smiling the whole way and with far better stories to tell than anything that can come from the inside of a heated metal box on wheels.

The W-D road dropped us down into the Valley and we turned south onto West Snoqualmie Valley Road. The formerly flooded valley sprawled in front of us and I spent a lot of the next 2 hours surveying the muddy, mushy landscape and imagining how horrific it must have been just 2 weeks ago. We rode past numerous farms with cows and horses and I wondered where these poor creatures must have been and how they got to higher ground. To wish them a happy Thanksgiving I continuously rang my bicycle bell and pretended I was cheering them up and making their day.

Our last stop was at the intersection of 80th and Carnation Farm Road. I downed some more juice, Davis whipped out more tea, and Rhi said that she was getting tired. "Eat something," said Josiah. He was right, she needed sugar or she wouldn't last much longer. Nothing seemed very appetizing to her until I said, "Eat some Nutella." With that her eyes got huge and she started digging around for the jar and spoon in Davis' pack. The spoon was nowhere to be found, but she did find his 15mm wrench, which she happily declared as clean and dove into the sweet, thick nectar, licking it off the obviously very versatile tool. I opened one of my Lara bars, which I've always said would taste better with a thick layer of Nutella on top. Now was my opportunity to find out. I broke it in half and reached in for a huge helping of chocolatey goo and inhaled the deliciousness. Yes those bland Lara bars are much tastier with Nutella.

Filled with new sugary energy, we took off for the homestretch. As we left I noticed a huge hawk sitting in a barren tree above us. I rang my bell and he cocked his head in interest and I wished his a happy thanksgiving too. To the northwest a bright blue sucker hole opened in the sky filling us with hope for continued dry weather. One of the gods obviously heard that wish and granted us a nice hard, cold shower for a few more miles. We rounded a corner overlooking another farm and in front of us was a huge rainbow seemingly ending at the farmhouse. This made us break out into a chorus of "Under the Rainbow" with improv lyrics about mass amounts of Pie at the end of the rainbow.

Mile after mile, turn after turn, we sped along knowing we were almost at the finish. More sucker holes filled the sky, which fed us with more exuberance. The wicked wind that blew from the southwest never managed to find us or slow our progress. A few parts of the valley road had some water over it, but nothing to stop our momentum. Pumpkin carcasses, victims of the flooding, lined the path and were strewn all over the farm fields and even in the trees. Davis lamented at the thought of all those pumpkin pies that would not come to life.

Finally, 4 hours after leaving Wallingford, we reached the final short hill to Janna's house. As we crested the hill to turn into her driveway we were greeting by a bright yellow sign that said, "Pies". We made it the whole way, no flats, no mechanicals, and no bonking. Inside Janna put together a huge spread with a table covered in 6 pies and 1 raspberry cobbler, hot chai, eggnog, and a variety of warming liquor. It was a night of pie indulgence with a little turkey and mashed potatoes to balance out the sugar.

The sag wagon had brought my backpack of dry clothes and computer microphone so we could all talk to Zack. It took some hotwiring by Josiah to work, but everyone was delighted to hear his voice after not hearing it in over 2 months. "It's good to hear his voice," someone said to themself outloud. Over the next hour and a half brothers, moms, and friends got to talk to our boy in India. We could hear the laughter from both continents way out in the living room. As the tryptophan and sugar crashes began to take hold, we dropped off like flies and said goodnight to Zack. Maybe next year he'll be able to lead us up the Burke for the 3rd annual Ride for the Pies.

(Route)

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