Lost in the Wilderness!

Part of the Olympic Peninsula of Washington State is the Quinault Indian Reservation. It is in this area that the fairly major US 109 is unsealed for several miles. My National Geographic guidebook warned me of this fact, but assured me that the road is well graded and worth travelling.

What the National Geographic did not, and could not realistically, warn me about, is that the road would be closed for repairs some miles in. A detour sign directed me down another well graded unsealed road. I hesitated for a moment, then put my faith in the detour sign and soldiered on.

Unfortunately, that detour sign was the only direction offered by the roadworkers. There were no instructions at any of the many intersections that followed. However, Thelma (the Satellite Navigation unit - see earlier post) was confident that she knew the way out. The roads were still good and I wasn't in any particular hurry, so I eased the Cream Puff (Volvo - see earlier post) along at a gentle pace. I was here for an adventure, after all, so I might as well go with the flow.



Gradually, the roads Thelma directed me to became less and less substantial. Well graded gravel became two tracks with grass growing in the middle. Then the tracks shrunk and the grass expanded until I could hear it swooshing along under the belly of the cream puff. It gradually became apparent that Thelma didn't distinguish between roads navigable by a passenger car and vague tracks left by goats and several times I ignored her suggestions until she was forced into "recalculating" an alternate route.

Eventually, I came upon an alternative source of directions. This eccentric signpost told me to turn right for Highway 101 and go straight ahead for Stink Bridge. Thelma wanted to go to Stink Bridge. I took a deep breath and decided to trust the truck. As it turned out (much later) the truck was right. It was just inadequate. Like the detour sign, it gave good advice for a single intersection, but no instructions for handling the next ones.

I was forced, once again, to put my faith in Thelma. She confidently directed me down a very narrow road, with a significant crop of grass growing in the middle and assured me that 8 miles down this path, followed by two quick turns, I would find the paved splendour of highway 101. It looked uninviting, but I was encouraged by the directness of the route. Down I went, for almost 6 miles at a tooth grinding, nail biting, painstakingly slow, cream puff preserving crawl. Then I came to a fallen tree. I got out and tugged on it, with very little hope and absolutely no effect. I did a quick inventory of the tools on hand, decided I probably couldn't saw through the trunk with a butter knife, hack through it with a paring knife or hoist it out of the way with some combination of nylon rope and duct tape. I was going to have to go back.

Of course, in these close quarters, that meant literally going backwards. There was no way I could turn the cream puff around on that narrow track. So I swivelled my head 180 degrees and repeated the whole excruciating 6 mile operation in reverse. Having finally reached the comparative safety of a wide, well maintained road I did a bit of research with my various inadequate maps and decided that Highway 101 had to be approximately "that way" and really couldn't be very far away - certainly much closer than the way back out by the route I took to get this far. I had plenty of water (although no signal on my phone) and decided to trust to my spirit of adventure to see me through.

I aimed as close to "that way" as possible at each intersection, with the condition that the path I chose should always be in suitable condition for cream puff navigation. In surprisingly short order, I was back on the smooth sealed surface of Highway 101. I checked the undercarriage of the cream puff for signs of trauma and discovered a cable hanging down a bit, presumably swept loose by the grass. I tucked it up out of the way and resolved to visit the first auto doctor I encountered on my journey.

I had emerged alive from another fine adventure, this time without any personal injury - although my knees and hand were still quite sore from the Ape Cave experience.