A bike ride in the county

Follow along for a moment: If everything that Phillip said about bicycles was simultaneously transcribed and published, he would have tomes so numerous that even Marcel Proust would think it excessive. His love of bicycles overflows and he wistfully tells tales of favorite rides – along the banks of rice paddy fields in Korea on a rusty, old cruiser; up endlessly steep Austrian mountains on a trusty steel Peugeot; down the Pacific coast and into Mexico on a beloved blue Raleigh Grand Prix. But he is perhaps the most nostalgic for rides in Whatcom County where he grew up. So when the opportunity finally, finally came up for me to join him on his infamous “Pie Ride,” just days before we moved out of Washington state (forever?!), I threw my hands to the heavens, tears streaming down my face, and after the sobbing had subsided, I whispered “yes, I am ready.”

Okay, so we are both fairly dramatic about bicycles.

A country ride, how novel, I remember thinking. If the scars on my face and the missing part of my tooth are any indication that city riding isn’t ideal, I didn’t realize this until we packed up and pedaled out of Bellingham into “the county.” Phillip’s sister being in town and joining us was an added bonus!

countybikeride01

countybikeride02

countybikeride03

countybikeride04

countybikeride05

countybikeride06

So off we rode into the early morning fog, past the dreamiest of barns, the lushest of fields, the noisiest of cows. Farm dogs snapped at our heels, puddles were narrowly avoided, and wardrobes were swapped as storm clouds rolled in and heart rates rose – I think every single configuration of neon yellow reflective jacket and Paddington Bear-blue rain slicker was tested (Phil in yellow, his sister in blue; Sarah in blue, Phil in shirt sleeves; etc. in perpetuity).

countybikeride07

countybikeride08

countybikeride09

countybikeride10

countybikeride11

countybikeride12

But Phil called this a “Pie Ride” so where was the pie? In Lynden, of course, twenty miles north of B’ham. Once in town, we coasted down Front Street to the famous Dutch Bakery, hitched our bikes outside, and scurried in for warmth and treats. Lining the walls of the shop, boxes of pies towered a dozen high for the Christmastime rush, and we queued up for slices of our own. Bumbleberry, a mixture of berries for which the region is renowned, was generously dished up and we stuffed ourselves silly. Our blood sufficiently sugared, we saddled up again for the ride back home.

countybikeride13

countybikeride14

countybikeride15

countybikeride16

countybikeride17

countybikeride18

We had grown cold from sitting at the bakery for so long, and we tried to pick up our speed for the return, but by that time the light had changed, and we were seeing everything from a different angle and it was so beautiful that we had to stop for photos of highland cows basking in the golden hour, even as we cursed ourselves for not wearing thermal pants.

countybikeride19

countybikeride20

We lingered at this wooden tower for a spell; Phillip’s seen it countless times and is no less impressed by its construction and intrigued by its history – it looks like it is from another time and frankly, from another continent. We searched for clues, but with the wind picking up, we started on the final stretch to Bellingham. A truly spectacular ride, one that I would be happy to repeat!

countybikeride21

The next morning we were treated again to pie, a lovely rum raisin and apple crafted by Phil’s sister, but this time we only needed to go as far as the kitchen, so it all averages out, I guess. Forty miles or a couple of steps, if it’s pie, I’ll take it!

Advertisements

4 thoughts on “A bike ride in the county

  1. This reminds me so much of when I lived in Scotland. I worked in a café/bakery and many bike riders made a pitstop there during their ride through the Scottish countryside.

    • A cup of coffee and a good treat is the best reward for a bike ride. How lovely it must have been in Scotland! I think I’d even make do with the rain for a chance to ride in that landscape… 🙂

  2. All these photos are so great! And this whole post is making me really nostalgic for the PNW (and for some good ol’ American pie—sometimes delicate French tartes just don’t cut it…).

    • The PNW is so special – I’ve been missing it so much, too! French pastries for all their delicate flakes, are just too finicky sometimes – American pies number one!!!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s