…named Zephyr, coming up Loup Loup Pass between Winthrop and Okanagon.  Red hair, bushy beard, wearing a long denim smock with a poofy-shouldered, light-blue dress-shirt underneath.  He had a floppy-brimmed, brown, cotton hat too.

It was really hot that day (August 18th).  And he was climbing out of the woods inside the boundary of the Okanogan National Forest.  I imagined that he had been primitive camping there.  (It is legal to camp in the US-national forests wherever it isn’t specifically outlawed.)  Says he has been on the road 18 years, though he didn’t look thirty and might have looked 18.  He had a mountain bike with road tires and front and rear panniers.  Says he travels about twenty miles a day, is happy (made a point of stating this twice, no bills, no health insurance, no job), and spends most of his time memorizing scripture.  Seemed bright and grounded in ways I did not expect.

He was obviously out of water.  I started to reach in my bag to give him some of my water but was still straddling the bike and plugged into my MP3 player.  I said, “here, you root around in there.  There should be a bottle right under the bag of food.”  Eventually he found it.  But not before identifying my stove which I thought impressive because it was sealed in a black bag.  He also inventoried my food (less impressive, as this was lying open in a couple grocery bags…but still, perceptive).  Started chatting me up about my my set-up and route.  On set-up, his question, “why don’ y you have any weight on the front fork?  Aren’t you supposed to have at least a third up front?”  Which showed a surprising awareness of conventional thinking on bike culture/touring prep.

As soon as I said I was going to Canada, he said two things in short succession, “like Manitoba,” (this was said with a wistful awe with which he could have said, “like Eden,”) and, “so, you have a passport?”  Which creeped me out a little bit like he was sizing up whether my passport photo would pass for him, but mainly I read it as a he didn’t have a passport and would like one.

In exchange for the water he gave me a couple cloves of garlic and a couple bags of tea (one of which I inadvertantly got wet before using).  I didn’t feel the need to exchange, and he didn’t insist, but he seemed eager to give something to me and I knew I could use both the garlic and the tea.  He also tried to give me an apple, “I saw you already have some bananas, but would you like an apple?”  No thanks.  ”It’s organic?”

I wondered later if he really just wanted some bananas.  I would have given him some had I been thinking more clearly.  I introduced myself and he himself.  What a better time to learn someone’s name than when you are about to never see them again?  And I started back up the hill to Loup Loup Pass (about 2000′ of elevation gain in 12 miles, so reasonably daunting in that heat).

Zephyr must have started out shortly thereafter.  I saw him in my rearview mirror for a while.  He was now wearing something bright red.  I wasn’t absolutely sure it was him.  He was climbing at the same pace as myself and maybe gaining.  I put the pedal to the metal.  I was worried that maybe I had slighted him by not offering bananas, that maybe he was after my passport, that maybe he would nomadically follow me to camp, that maybe his parting “be safe” had an ominous note.

Just hope he had enough water.