Bikerafting
I slept in on Sunday, one of the first times I've really done so for a while, and when I finally poked my head outside, it looked like a fine day. I decided to go ahead with a short trip I'd had in mind for some time, to experiment with multi-modal pedal and paddle trips. I've done similar trips in the past with a folding bike and an inflatable kayak or a packraft, but I'd heard it was possible to use the packraft with a full sized bike, and wanted to give it a try with the Pugsley. Add a packraft to the offroading capabilities of the Pugsley, and well, the sky is almost literally the limit. But there may even be ways to get around that limitation. Not sure how well that would work with a Pugsley though.
I loaded up a couple of Ortlieb Back Roller panniers (which are waterproof, with dry bag like roll top closures, so great for paddling as well) with camping gear, even though I wasn't planning to camp, and threw them on the rear rack of the Pugsley. I had another big Ortlieb duffel already packed and ready to go, containing my paddling gear: my new packraft, named Sundrop (for its diminutive size and cheerful yellow color, a mental antidote to the more common raindrops around here), PFD, inflation bag, paddle, drysuit, and sandles. That went on top of the rear rack. Then I pedaled off across Beacon Hill, setting off on a test run for some future trips I had in mind.
It was a nice, partly cloudy but warm day. I followed the road for a while then took a new paved bike trail, the Chief Sealth Trail, which follows the swath of power lines southwards from Beacon Hill. I'd actually stumbled upon it last year before I left, before it was complete or officially open, during on one of my longer bike rambles around town. It is a bit different from most other paved trails in the Seattle area, since it contains some pretty steep grades, and follows power lines instead of old rail beds. It does deviate from the power line corridor in a few spots to follow roads, but I just followed the slightly bumpy grassy slopes under the lines through some of these sections, since I hate confining the poor Pugs to the pavement when there are other options more suitable for what it was designed.
After the trail ended, I meandered through a tangle of streets, over the hills to Renton, navigating by the sun to avoid getting turned around as the streets curved this way and that. Eventually I arrived in an area I was familiar with, after passing such things such as a Polynesian Deli and a brightly painted Tibetan temple, as well of lots of residential neighborhoods that I'd never set tire nor foot in. I stopped for a quick lunch, then headed to the Cedar River Trail.
I followed the trail, scouting what I could of the river along the way, noting potential hazards and take outs. Past the golf course, I left the trail to take a bridge across the river, following Jones Road a while along the other bank until I found a bit of public land with river access. Turning my wheel onto the narrow, sandy path through the vegetation, I stopped at a small clearing with a recent fire ring, right on the shore of the river.
I pulled out and inflated the raft, then removed the wheels from the bike, and used a bit of velcro strap around the down tube and fork, in order to keep the handle bars fixed in a turned position. Then I strapped the bike to the tie downs on the front of the packraft, and stacked the wheels on top, strapping them to the frame with the shoulder straps from the panniers to make a secure package. I shoved the two panniers in the tapered bow of the boat, under the bike, one on top of the other. They are also tapered at the bottom, so it was a nice, snug fit.
Pulling on the drysuit and PFD, I tossed the duffel that had held the paddling gear and which now held my shoes and other small items into the bottom of the boat, and pushed off from shore, starting my drift down stream.
Given that the handle bars and rear rack were hanging off to either side, and my legs were bent much more than normal from the panniers in the bow, my paddle stroke had to be pretty funky, but with some practice I started to get used to it. I think next time I will remove the handlebars to strap them in a more out of the way location, which should improve things.
It felt good to be on moving water again, drifting under the sun dappled, fiery leafed trees above, and tired, battered, fiery red-orange salmon struggling up stream below.
The river was fairly tame, but there were a few bits of rougher water, and enough logs and other sweepers to keep me on my toes. The raft felt plenty stable, even with all the weight up front, but my funky paddle stroke made me quite a bit slower than usual, and packrafts aren't especially speedy in any case. That made for a few adrenaline filled seconds in some of the swifter sections, as I paddled hard to clear the current that was dragging me towards an over hanging tree or other potential hazard, paddling just as fast as I thought I could without thrashing about uselessly, mentally repeating the mantra "slow is smooth; smooth is fast."
That's something I first heard in my combatives and weapons training years ago, but the idea isn't limited to the martial arts, it also applies in many different physical endeavors where speed and efficiency of movement is key. Try to force yourself to go too fast, and all you get is useless, unecessary movement that not only slows you down, but also tires you out more rapidly.
So I forced myself to keep that in mind, as I hurtled toward the big, nasty log jutting out over the river, waiting to try to sweep me out of the raft. Finally it became apparent that I was going to clear it, and I relaxed a bit after a quick scan for other hazards.
At another point there was a tangle of fallen trees and logs blocking the entire river, and I pulled up on a bar to scout various options for getting around, finally deciding to portage over the bar, then push the raft under a tree in the shallows of a smaller channel, and then drag it over another log in an area of shallow water with little current.
For a change of pace, and to cool off a bit after the exertion of manhandling the raft, I pushed off from the tree and held onto the back of the raft, swimming behind it, propelling it forward with my kicking legs, my drysuit doing its job and warding off the cold water and potential hypothermia.
After a minute or so of that, I hauled myself back up into the raft, and discovered I could sit comfortably on the rear tube. From this position, I could paddle more comfortably, since I was farther back from the interference of the bike, and my knees weren't up where they caused even more interference. Not quite as stable as being down in the boat, but still plenty stable for flatwater.
As I started approaching town, I noticed that I had worked up an appetite, and started softly, but happily singing to myself: "Row, row, row, your bike, gently down the stream, merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, I want some ice cream". Looking down at the poor, battered, nearly exhausted salmon, my only audience, I then changed my words for them, singing more sadly: "Roe, roe, roe you'll make somewhere up the stream, tiredly, tiredly, tiredly, tiredly, with fishes you will dream."
Drifting lazily down the river, trying to ignore the occasional pungent whiff of rotting fish, I waved to pedestrians looking down from bridges, and even had a few brief conversations with curious walkers on the riverside path as I floated past, finally gliding under the library building suspended over the river, I pulled out onto shore a short ways downstream.
Within half an hour, I had the bike ready to roll with the paddling gear packed, and set off to find that ice cream. And maybe a beer, too.
I loaded up a couple of Ortlieb Back Roller panniers (which are waterproof, with dry bag like roll top closures, so great for paddling as well) with camping gear, even though I wasn't planning to camp, and threw them on the rear rack of the Pugsley. I had another big Ortlieb duffel already packed and ready to go, containing my paddling gear: my new packraft, named Sundrop (for its diminutive size and cheerful yellow color, a mental antidote to the more common raindrops around here), PFD, inflation bag, paddle, drysuit, and sandles. That went on top of the rear rack. Then I pedaled off across Beacon Hill, setting off on a test run for some future trips I had in mind.
It was a nice, partly cloudy but warm day. I followed the road for a while then took a new paved bike trail, the Chief Sealth Trail, which follows the swath of power lines southwards from Beacon Hill. I'd actually stumbled upon it last year before I left, before it was complete or officially open, during on one of my longer bike rambles around town. It is a bit different from most other paved trails in the Seattle area, since it contains some pretty steep grades, and follows power lines instead of old rail beds. It does deviate from the power line corridor in a few spots to follow roads, but I just followed the slightly bumpy grassy slopes under the lines through some of these sections, since I hate confining the poor Pugs to the pavement when there are other options more suitable for what it was designed.
After the trail ended, I meandered through a tangle of streets, over the hills to Renton, navigating by the sun to avoid getting turned around as the streets curved this way and that. Eventually I arrived in an area I was familiar with, after passing such things such as a Polynesian Deli and a brightly painted Tibetan temple, as well of lots of residential neighborhoods that I'd never set tire nor foot in. I stopped for a quick lunch, then headed to the Cedar River Trail.
I followed the trail, scouting what I could of the river along the way, noting potential hazards and take outs. Past the golf course, I left the trail to take a bridge across the river, following Jones Road a while along the other bank until I found a bit of public land with river access. Turning my wheel onto the narrow, sandy path through the vegetation, I stopped at a small clearing with a recent fire ring, right on the shore of the river.
I pulled out and inflated the raft, then removed the wheels from the bike, and used a bit of velcro strap around the down tube and fork, in order to keep the handle bars fixed in a turned position. Then I strapped the bike to the tie downs on the front of the packraft, and stacked the wheels on top, strapping them to the frame with the shoulder straps from the panniers to make a secure package. I shoved the two panniers in the tapered bow of the boat, under the bike, one on top of the other. They are also tapered at the bottom, so it was a nice, snug fit.
Pulling on the drysuit and PFD, I tossed the duffel that had held the paddling gear and which now held my shoes and other small items into the bottom of the boat, and pushed off from shore, starting my drift down stream.
Given that the handle bars and rear rack were hanging off to either side, and my legs were bent much more than normal from the panniers in the bow, my paddle stroke had to be pretty funky, but with some practice I started to get used to it. I think next time I will remove the handlebars to strap them in a more out of the way location, which should improve things.
It felt good to be on moving water again, drifting under the sun dappled, fiery leafed trees above, and tired, battered, fiery red-orange salmon struggling up stream below.
The river was fairly tame, but there were a few bits of rougher water, and enough logs and other sweepers to keep me on my toes. The raft felt plenty stable, even with all the weight up front, but my funky paddle stroke made me quite a bit slower than usual, and packrafts aren't especially speedy in any case. That made for a few adrenaline filled seconds in some of the swifter sections, as I paddled hard to clear the current that was dragging me towards an over hanging tree or other potential hazard, paddling just as fast as I thought I could without thrashing about uselessly, mentally repeating the mantra "slow is smooth; smooth is fast."
That's something I first heard in my combatives and weapons training years ago, but the idea isn't limited to the martial arts, it also applies in many different physical endeavors where speed and efficiency of movement is key. Try to force yourself to go too fast, and all you get is useless, unecessary movement that not only slows you down, but also tires you out more rapidly.
So I forced myself to keep that in mind, as I hurtled toward the big, nasty log jutting out over the river, waiting to try to sweep me out of the raft. Finally it became apparent that I was going to clear it, and I relaxed a bit after a quick scan for other hazards.
At another point there was a tangle of fallen trees and logs blocking the entire river, and I pulled up on a bar to scout various options for getting around, finally deciding to portage over the bar, then push the raft under a tree in the shallows of a smaller channel, and then drag it over another log in an area of shallow water with little current.
For a change of pace, and to cool off a bit after the exertion of manhandling the raft, I pushed off from the tree and held onto the back of the raft, swimming behind it, propelling it forward with my kicking legs, my drysuit doing its job and warding off the cold water and potential hypothermia.
After a minute or so of that, I hauled myself back up into the raft, and discovered I could sit comfortably on the rear tube. From this position, I could paddle more comfortably, since I was farther back from the interference of the bike, and my knees weren't up where they caused even more interference. Not quite as stable as being down in the boat, but still plenty stable for flatwater.
As I started approaching town, I noticed that I had worked up an appetite, and started softly, but happily singing to myself: "Row, row, row, your bike, gently down the stream, merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, I want some ice cream". Looking down at the poor, battered, nearly exhausted salmon, my only audience, I then changed my words for them, singing more sadly: "Roe, roe, roe you'll make somewhere up the stream, tiredly, tiredly, tiredly, tiredly, with fishes you will dream."
Drifting lazily down the river, trying to ignore the occasional pungent whiff of rotting fish, I waved to pedestrians looking down from bridges, and even had a few brief conversations with curious walkers on the riverside path as I floated past, finally gliding under the library building suspended over the river, I pulled out onto shore a short ways downstream.
Within half an hour, I had the bike ready to roll with the paddling gear packed, and set off to find that ice cream. And maybe a beer, too.
posted by Matt at 14:49
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