
I have finally experienced the perfect ride. I found it along the ribbon of highway that winds its way up to the base of Mount Baker in Washington State.
The newly paved road was buttery soft and almost car free. The sun was warm without being hot. The scenery -- forbidding mountains and glaciers -- was the most spectacular I have ever seen from the seat of a bicycle. The company was pretty good too.
It didn’t start out smoothly though. The plan was to drive to Abbotsford and ride our bikes across the border. We thought it would be faster to get into the U.S. that way. But it turns out that spandex-clad cyclists are now a potential terrorist threat.
We were detained for an hour because the American border guards didn’t like Jonathan’s British passport. He was fingerprinted, interviewed, subjected to a background search and forced to fork over $65. Once we got the warm welcome over with, we were on our way (that’s me in the middle).

I spent most of the long ascent alone feeling completely dwarfed by the mountains. I realized this -- the open road, the stunning mountains, a day spent with friends -- was about as good as it gets. Who needs a boyfriend when you have a bike?
The return trip wasn’t as fun. The descent was long, cold and full of hairpin turns. John and I rode back together and we were both nearly hypothermic by the time we hit flat ground. And then once our legs thawed out, our quads started cramping.


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