lost to found

Navigating emotional (and bike) terrain in Port Gamble

Words by Jennifer Dorothy • Photos by Brian Kilpatrick

MY FIFTEEN-YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER ALITA STANDS ON HER PEDALS, pumping her way up a steep hill with just a few huffs as I groan and think, this is going to hurt. My bike's not outfitted for trail riding and my body's not fit for the kind of riding she wants to do. The succulent aroma of soaked soil is pungent. It's pouring rain and my pants are drenched. I focus on the trail to avoid the roots, rocks and divots that with one slip will surely take me out.

We’re in the middle of one of the largest county parks in the Continental U.S.: the Port Gamble Forest Heritage Park, a 3,500-acre recreation playground in North Kitsap. My girl’s tires splatter through puddles. She grunts with every turn. My legs crank round and round, shifting gears as I struggle to keep up. She hits a jump and I wince. Please, not today. No visits to the ER. I eye the red GPS numbers marking each trail with a little more consideration. At least if I need to call for help, I can give 911 my location. She flies over the jump gracefully. I exhale, loosen the grip on my handlebars, and carefully steer around it. The rain eases up as my body relaxes into the ride.

I miss my kid. She’s in that phase of not wanting to hang out with her mom. Ever. So it seems I go to great lengths to spend time with her. That’s how we ended up mountain biking these logging roads and single tracks. She hops off her bike to get a closer look at the trail map, a bewildering spider web of numbers and colors. I watch in wonder as she takes in the information. She has no idea the thoughts going through my mind: This kid is amazing. Look at her. She moves through the world with such grace and determination. She’s becoming her own person and I adore getting to know who that is. Tears well up in my eyes and I wipe them away before she sees them.

“Mom, are you crying again?”

“Yes, but I’m fine.”

These moments are commonplace by now, and she brushes off my gaze like a celebrity waving off the paparazzi. Good for her, to know she’s fiercely loved. It sure helps balance out our moments of conflict.

“Let’s do Derailed!” she says pointing with fearless abandon at a black diamond trail.

Let’s not, says my gut. Let’s find a happy medium. The symbols on the map are like trails on a ski hill. Green circles: easy. Blue squares: intermediate. Black diamonds: advanced. Kind of like parenting. We’ve gone from the ease of green-circle parenting (sleep, feed, cuddle) through the intermediate blue-square parenting of firm, fair and consistent boundaries, to the more advanced parenting skills of: Let her go. Let her make her own decisions.

“I’ll ride over there with you and meet you at the bottom.” I look closer at the 65 miles of trails on the map and wonder what exactly a “blue square” will feel like on these 45-year-old bones.And then the threatening sound of skidding tires and squealing brakes is coming downhill towards me, fast. Crrrrrruuuuunch. Scrrrreeeeeech!

With my attention on the map and our discussion of the route, I’m straddling my bike smack in the middle of the path. The surprised cyclist skids to a halt and looks at me wide-eyed, terrified by my improper bike placement. We both apologize for the near-accident. It’s been so quiet out here, I’ve forgotten that we don’t have the forest all to ourselves. The trails are only open to non-motorized use: hikers, mountain bikers and horseback riders, with plenty of outposts for birders, too.

Alita and I confirm our meeting point and continue on a trail called Hyperspace. If we get separated, she knows where the car is parked. I relax into letting this be whatever it will be. She speeds off yelling, “Bye mom, I’ll meet you down there!”

I get a little lost, which is okay at first. The obstacles and inclines on the trail are just challenging enough to hold my attention. At some point, it feels pretty rad. I’m balanced on my pedals hopping over rocks like a kid again, feeling one with my bike and briefly relieved from constant adulting. The fun of the skinny single track ends too soon as I’m deposited onto a wide logging road. Scanning the blur of evergreens on both sides, I wonder about the history of the park and who keeps up the trails.

I later learn that the trails are maintained by volunteers with the county parks department’s Port Gamble Stewardship Committee. The park will also soon be home to a 177-acre mountain bike ride park with features like ladder bridges, skinnies/log rides, steep rolls, rock gardens, drops, jumps and roller coasters designed for all skill levels. The park will also host the Evergreen Mountain Bike Festival, a giant bike and beer fest coming to Port Gamble June 18-19.

That sounds pretty amazing. But so does the fact that both the Great American Rail-Trail, a paved, shared-use path, proposed to cross the entire U.S. from Washington D.C. to Washington state, and the Sound to Olympics Trail will include a 6-mile segment through the park.

But why does it look like a working timber forest? Well, it is. Logging has been a constant on these lands since the mid-1800s when European settlers first arrived. According to the park’s website: “The sawmill was founded and the company town was built around it. Much of the land has been a timber farm ever since… In portions of the park, timber harvesting is expected to continue for another 25 years while the remaining commercial land slowly transitions into a public park.”

I imagine the original residents of this place fishing, foraging and hunting here as long as 10,000 to 15,000 years ago, and I’m fully aware that I’m a guest on sacred S’Klallam and Suquamish Tribal lands. I take solace in the fact that a unique partnership, called the Kitsap Forest to Bay Project, led to the acquisition of multiple properties in north Kitsap County, with participation from the Port Gamble S’Klallam and Suquamish Tribes. Don Willott, a member of the Port Gamble park steering committee, told the Kitsap Sun, “We have a good chance to have this be a model place for ecological exploration.”

I breathe a little easier, imagining a future where the current monoculture of dense Douglas fir trees is long gone, replaced by an understory of native plants, naturally-spaced trees and views of Olympic peaks and Cascade mountaintops beyond.

Back on the trail, pedaling tirelessly, I feel the anxiety start to build. Enough minutes have passed that I’m starting to wonder how much farther and if Alita’s okay. I brush off the thoughts that I might have missed her. Am I in the right place? Did something happen to her? Did she hit a jump wrong and now she’s unconscious?

My heart rate increases as I grab the old safety net—my safe bet—the “family safety app” on our phones (or let’s be real, the tracking device.) Like magic, I see her picture slowly cruising down a line near me labeled “Derailed.” Hallelujah! The smart people of the world have listed these trails on Google maps just for moms like me.

Soon enough, I hear the sound of tires on dirt, speeding through the trees. Here she comes, perched on her bike like an eagle. Looking as strong and confident as the athlete that she is, gliding side to side from one overhanging dirt embankment to the other, making it look easy. I know she’s going to be okay. I know I’m going to be okay, letting her go and trusting her.

“How was it?” I ask.

“So awesome!” she replies.

“What was it like?”

“Super steep with lots of jumps. You would have hated it.”

“Ha! Well, I’m glad you did it.”

“Mom, it was SO fun!”

The joy in her voice makes me want to stay below those trees with her beaming smile for as many hours as it used to take to get her to sleep as a baby. I want time to feel endless with her again. My tears start to fall, and she huffs, “What? I was being SAFE!”

“I know you were being safe. I’m not crying because I was scared for you. I trust you.”

“You do?”

“Yes. Completely.” Then I chuckle, “Well, most of the time.”