Today is the day I have been waiting for - an epically planned motorcycle trip up to Bellingham, through the tulip fields and the scenic Chuckanut Drive. I awake to sunshine, and finalize the route on Google maps. I start out in a dozen lanes of traffic, exhilarated and ready for all the excitement. Very soon, however, things begin to take turns that weren't on the route...
Not 20 miles into my drive, I begin to get chilly. Very chilly. The 70° weather in Bothel has faded into 60s and then low 50s as I head North. I realize quickly I'm a total amateur and should obviously have packed a TON of gear for all weather conditions. I know better than this. Thankfully, a quick stop at a shopping center yields a bulky sweater and a pair of Isotoners for my hands. Back in business.
I continue to tick the miles away but am not seeing the delightful colors of the tulips promised by Kristen. I continue to search road signs and fields but no flowers appear. Perhaps it is too early. Perhaps I am not on the right road...A bit further down Chuckanut the scenery is gorgeous. The road winds along a steep edge that drops off down to the water. Taking the sharp turns and leaning into the rock face, I scrape a peg on the asphalt and remember to take note of the terrain in addition to the breathtaking views.
The road begins to veer away from the water, and starts to begin down a dull sparsely inhabited area. The highway signs indicate nothing to tell me where I am, but I'm also getting chilled to the point that I might not be as vigilant as a more warmer me might be.
Soon groves of pine trees appear, and the air grows markedly colder. I hesitate and slow, but am not sure turning around is the answer. I have been on this course for some time, and wonder if I haven't somehow hit a mountain pass and will come out on the other side soon. Turning around would just take me back through the cold part of the pass I have potentially already driven through, so I press on.
The cold begins to really nip at my fingertips, my face, and my legs. The road twists and turns and suddenly I realize that snow has appeared. Has the snow always been in the ditches, along the road? At first, I noticed only the snow in small amounts, under fallen trees and in the places more hidden by the sun. Now the snow appears in greater amounts, and soon in feet.I have to be through this pass soon, I think to myself. I can't remember being colder, or more confused about what to do. Suddenly the road turns to switchbacks, with pieces of the road cleared between 7 foot walls of snow. If this is a mountain pass, I am deep in the middle of it. As I continue on, the sides of the road cut away at times, revealing views that confirm I am most definitely on a mountain. I've slowed to around 20-30 MPH to navigate the snow and ice covered ground. I am past a state of panic. Whimpers escape my frozen lips as I pray for some sort of end to the pass.
Finally buildings come into view that signify I am at least arriving at something. I don't know what, but at least there is a change in the scenery. I get closer and it appears I am entering some sort of industrial campus. There is no one in sight. I park nearby a building that has a slight hum to it, indicating it might at least have electricity. Far across the parking lot, two specks appear on the horizon. As they walk closer, they become two humans, carrying snowboards. The two humans near the building and I call out to explain I'm lost on my motorcycle and freezing, and likely need a two truck. Said humans barely acknowledge the danger I am in, and mention that I can warm up inside. They then disappear.
Once inside the building I pull out my cell phone to try to call Kristen, and a tow truck. Signs in the buiding indicate I am on Mt. Baker. I'm nearly in tears. I reach Kristen and explain the situation. Kristen asks no questions, sensing the fragility in my voice. She has to be at the airport shortly, but Scott will make the 1 hour plus drive up towards Bellingham, the closest town. The two truck driver is also quite careful in handling my call. It will take them over an hour to get up the hill. I wait.A small problem exists: getting the bike home. I'm too cold and exhausted to ride over an hour back to the Seattle area. But my truck is locked inside of the Ford dealership lot because I left it there this morning for maintenance. I try in vain to reach them to see if Scott can somehow get it out and drive it to me. I'm skeptical that he will be able to reach them. I leave messages with the dealership, and call Scott. I tell him the keycode to get inside the vehicle, give him the location of my spare set of keys in the cab, and wish him good luck in breaking it out of the lot. I pray somehow Scott can get the truck out so that I can load the bike into it once I get off this damn mountain. I can't imagine getting back on it for a second right now.
I take stock of the building. I am inside a sort of commons area. It appears this is a dorm of some type, and occasionally a man will walk through the area. None of them seem to find it odd that a female clad in leather clutching a motorcycle helmet is occupying the common area. Some of them don't seem to notice. These odd mountain men are unnerving. I continue to wait.
Finally, past dark, lights appear in the parking lot. The tow truck has arrived. I'm saved. Two men come out of the two truck and emphatically get details from me. We laugh about how this scenario resembles a horror move: lone girl lost in the mountains at night. Strange tow truck drivers come to her aid. Etc., etc. The men comment that they are glad I called them as they definitely are some shady companies in this area. I laugh nervously.
Finally the bike is loaded and I climb into the cab. I quickly realize I am completely safe and that the driver and his companion are nothing but genuine, if not slightly concerned for me. They have brought me several bottles of juice, saying they were not sure what I preferred. Now that I'm returning to normal body temperature and my panic level is down significantly, I begin to joke with them. We have a long ride down and make the most of it with light conversation.
A short ways down the switch backs, I glance back at the bike in the rearview mirror. Is it sliding? I can't tell but it appears to have moved... It's definitely falling off of the truck. I hastily mention my observation to the men and the truck is stopped. They walk back to secure the bike more tightly. I exhale slowly wondering what else could possibly go wrong now that my bike has nearly fallen off the two truck and tumbled down a mountainside.
Towards the bottom of Mt. Baker, the truck driver points out a road sign that tells us this is a mountain, and there is no through road. I roll my eyes at him. A few miles later he points out another identical sign. I missed them both. They laugh and I laugh with them. My humor is returning the closer we get to civilization.
We finally pull into Bellingham, where Scott has somehow miraculously waiting with my truck. God is good. I don't know how it happened, but God is good. Scott has friends in Bellingham, and after thanking the two truck drivers immensely, we load the bike and make our way to his friends' home. They have homemade breakfast for dinner waiting, complete with eggs from their own chickens. It's warm and amazing. I can't socialize skillfully, because I'm so exhausted that my brain isn't working correctly; but I'm so thankful to be off of that mountain.
After a meal and some understanding words from everyone that I am not a complete idiot, Scott and I depart for Bothel. Scott falls asleep instantly and I point us home. I'm mortified and ashamed for getting lost, and I feel terrible for inconveniencing Scott and Kristen and their friends. I am consumed with my embarrassment as we drive home in silence.
I call Kristen in the morning, and she surprises me with a revelation - a complete twist on the way I was feeling about what happened. Kristen says that she and Scott were more than happy to help out, that everyone makes mistakes, and on top of that, it gave them a way to be there for me. Often I am there to help out my friends and come to their aid, but I never realized I didn't give people many opportunities to be there for me. Kristen said that she was thankful for the opportunity to help. I was stunned.
This humbling situation reminded me that man was not meant to live by himself, he was meant to live in fellowship, surrounded by others. We are meant to help and support each other. It's no show of strength to always try to do it alone. We all need help. We all need each other. And even when we think reaching out makes us weak, puts a strain on our friends, asks too much--we can be surprised to find out that they see a completely different picture. They see a chance to help us, to be involved in our lives and offer support. They see an opportunity where we previously might not have asked them to get involved.
I think we spend a lot of time trying to climb as high as we can, stretching to reach the top of that mountain, and thinking we have to do it alone so we don't both anyone else while they try to take their own path up. The truth is, we can all get to the top if we help each other along, and accept help when we need it. Sometimes we have to do parts of it alone. Sometimes we may feel we are struggling and lost as we muddle through the path on the bottom and try to get to the top, especially during the times where we climb alone. But I find we can be just as lost, if not more once we get to the top. If we are aiming for the wrong peak, or trying to get through life with blinders on, alone and unable to see other viewpoints, we may end up more lost even when we reach the summit.
I found myself on the top of Mt. Baker. It was the top, but it was not where I wanted to be. I was too stubborn to turn around or think I could possibly be lost. Maybe I was also a bit numb and unable to think clearly. But I missed the signs that I was going the wrong way. We miss those when we get our blinders on. We work a job we are unahppy at, live somewhere convenient. We avoid seeing the signs that we are on the wrong path because we either can't see them or don't want to. We believe the path we are forcing is right, or is at least safe and comfortable. And we don't want to have to ask for help.
I learned such an incredible lesson about life and love while I froze up on Mt. Baker. I was too embarrassed to share it initially. I didn't want to look foolish, or let on that I had needed and accepted help. After speaking with Kristen, she helped me see that when you really need help and you ask for it, you're not becoming a burden, You're offering an opportunity for someone to be part of a blessing. Your blessing.
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