Hawai'i 5-O.M.G. Part 5: Frogs, Flip Flops & Feral Chickens

We decide to spend our last 10 days on Kaua’i traveling at a slower pace, by cycling our way around the island, which except for a small section of the Na Pali Coastline is entirely possible on pavement.  Our route options are limited mostly to the main road, which travels the circumference of the island like the hands of a large clock, swinging from midnight to 10:30.  Our happy little bike trailer partly dismantled for the airplane hasn’t seen much use, except the occasional beach run for hauling surfboards or groceries. The county campgrounds are dirt cheap, and though getting a camping permit turned out to be an adventure unto itself, they are usually located in or near beautiful places.  Note to all Kaua’i bound campers, you have to get your permit in person at one of the county offices with money order in hand – as they don’t take cash, check, or credit.  The hours of the extension offices remain a mystery because they were closed each time we went, despite arriving during the posted hours.  Other than that, each Kaua’i park offers as much in terms of people watching and entertainment as it does in value.  

We consider buying some cheap bikes at Wal-mart – gasp- and then selling them on Ebay after we were through.  Through the modern-day oracle of Craigslist, where all things can be found, we find someone renting for the incredible price of $5 a day.  Do they have a seat?  After the problems we experienced with the farm bikes, we need something that works, mostly; all the same, I’m still bringing duck tape.  Despite an uncomfortable saddle, these bikes do us proudly managing to get us over hills, through traffic, into unique and interesting places, and up one of the most challenging and relentless climbs I’ve had the pleasure of pushing.  

While cycling you notice different things than when you’re walking, and certainly when you’re driving.  A cyclist has to avoid many things on the road while avoiding a collision with a truck; on Kaua’i, you have to add king-sized frogs, solitary flipflops, and feral chickens, both dead and alive, speckling the highway’s shoulder.

Day 1:  Wailua Homestead to Larsen’s Beach – 16 miles 

With all of our gear and most of our food for the next few days, we leave our basecamp (Katie & Kenny’s apartment) and head out onto the open road.  Not 20 minutes down the hill we receive some local advice from a woman leaning out the window screaming, “Share the road, share the road!”  This would come in handy in terms of translation, because what she actually means is, “Get the fuck out of my way!...Aloha!” 

This all occurs while descending a major hill where the pavement was mostly missing from that nebulous 3 foot “side of the road” which cyclists normally share with the passenger side of cars.  I hoped traffic would forgive us for inching another foot or so into the lane.  Approaching 30 miles an hour usually is fast enough to appease impatient vehicles and they fall in line behind – apparently not fast enough in her neighborhood.   Shortly after the representative from the Kaua’i Cycling Board leaves us in the dust pondering the wisdom of her advice, we hit the Kapa’a Bike Path. 

This was a good thing, as we were none too enthused by her words of encouragement and gave chase with every intention to unload a full piece of our minds.  Fortunately for all, she was gone because it couldn’t have ended well for anyone.  With the right amount of motivation, I have seen my spouse go from “bitch” to “crazy bitch” in a matter of seconds, and man, was the pump primed.  But oohh… it would have felt good to chew her out.   

The Kapa’a Bike Path is a recent addition to the east coast of the island.  It sits quietly between the sand of the beaches, the rocks of the coastline, and the main highway running north and south.  The well used path, now a fixture on the landscape, only took 30 years to create.  Passed by a county referendum in the 70’s, it was blocked for years by the powerful hotels in the area who wanted to give their guests the illusion of private access to the public city beach front.   The small ribbon of pavement for cyclists and pedestrians could have been a major means by which their guests got around town, and renting bikes to their hotel guests could have paid for any number of improvements over the years.  Instead everyone rents a car and they get mass congestion in their front yards and crankiness for their trouble. 

Though long overdue, here it is and what a beautiful path.  From here you can watch the surfers of Kealia Beach, check out the humpback whale mating season, and see every walk of life Kaua’i offers.  It is also our favorite stretch of coastline, possibly because you don’t have to look over your shoulder for drivers pushing their luck to pass you.  We leisure and loaf as long as we can on this path, taking in some side roads, dirt tracks where the bones of stolen, rental cars are quickly disintegrating into dust, swimming at Anahola Beach Park, forgetting my favorite pair of board shorts in the bathroom, the usual Hawai’i vacation.

By mid-afternoon we arrive at one of our favorite beaches and destination, Larsen’s.  You won’t find this beach labeled on most maps, but everyone on the island knows where it is.  The closest to our farm and home to the local population of Monk Seal, Green Sea Turtle, and Caucasian nudists, we know many of its secrets.  It is a stunning place, all modesty aside, with trees offering shade during the hottest parts of the day and a shallow reef giving views of the local fish population – the rip tide is strong here, and many swimmers have been sucked out and drowned.  We make it just in time to set-up camp under the trees before the forecasted Kona storm (south wind & rain) hits.  We enjoy a great dinner while taking in the scene of rainbows and breaching whales.  Thank goodness our eyes glance toward the sea at the same moment when one catapults his entire body (all 20,000 pounds) including most of his tail flukes, out of the water in display.  Imagine a city bus launching itself from the water to a height of 40 feet, rolling and landing on its side.  That pretty much keeps our eyes glued to the water for the next 30 minutes.  You can shovel pasta into your mouth without looking down, though a few noodles go astray.

Day 2:  Larsen’s Beach to Ha'ena Beach – 24 miles

From our camp we head back up the bumpy dirt road to the pavement of Koolau Road, our old farm stomping grounds.   As if in protest of returning to pavement, my rear tube goes flat, thanks to the worn out stage of the tire.  On Kaua’i, all things rust, wear away, turn back to their base elements faster than anywhere else, but this tire looks like it had been purchased during the Clinton administration.  For this and many other reasons, carry duck tape.

After a quick fix, we make our way through our old neighborhood of Kilauea and progress up the busy road to Hanalei along the Kalihiwi viaduct, an ass-puckering bottleneck of traffic with nary a shoulder and lots of impatient drivers behind you.  On the way, we swing through one of the more developed areas of Kaua’i, a haole favorite, Princeville.  We had heard it mentioned many times and just had to see what it’s like.

We see what we expect:  community gate house, suburban southern California cookie-cutter homes, condos, and a golf course.  Princeville dominates much of the view of the Hanalei Bay looking back toward the east; it is a view which really makes me question the intention of developers – “pave paradise put up a parking lot.”  There was a “bike lane” here, pointed out to us by an taxi driver, apparently we get in his way as well.  I’m not sure you can call a 2 foot section of blacktop used by many headphone wearing walkers, joggers, baby strollers, wandering children and other denizens of the area, a bike path.  While negotiating the human obstacle course we confront more missing pavement, roots, and pot-holes of this path.  Sorry Princeville, we’re taking back the lane, we are traffic.

When we arrive in Hanalei, hunger drives us to an awesome little burrito trailer near the county park.  Say what you want about private development on this island, but everyone (local or tourist) has access to all of the most stunning beaches and waves on the island, thanks to the county and city parks. 

Hanalei is my kind of island town.  Here residents can walk and bike everywhere, the houses are funky individualistic expressions of beach life with no track homes or gate houses in site, plus there are world-class waves for all levels everywhere you look this time of year.  Despite the “no parking” and “private property” signs, here it seems as if the village grew up like the jungle around it, one opportunistic movement after another, organically without some master plan.  If I have to choose between the order of Princeville and the relative chaos of Hanalei – I’m leaning toward the latter. 

We push on.  After the town, the road narrows considerably and many of the bridges are single lane.  Kaua’i retains some of its remote village feel here, with drivers yielding to oncoming traffic – a local tradition of 5-7 cars.  Bikes don’t always qualify as a car we discover.  Some fun moments when a car stops mid-bridge to let you go pedal around earns you a shacka and smiling nod.  The road to Ke’e State Park, the end of the road and the beginning of the Na Pali Coast trail, is a real stunner.  We pass by high cliffs overlooking the ocean, even the beach that they used for filming parts of South Pacific.  We arrive at Ha’ena County Park for our night’s camp and enjoy ice-cold showers and a beautiful sunset dinner, beachside. 

Oh, and in case you think the county doesn’t check on your permit, think again.  We didn’t see anyone official at any of the county parks, but failure to put your permit on the outside of your tent will earn you a 5am wake-up call by the park official on his daily rounds.  “Why yes sir, I have it right here.”   

The next day we give our butts a break from the saddle and we hike 8 miles along the Kalalau trail on the Na Pali coast up to Hanakapiai Falls, along with everyone else.  Most of this I already covered in “My Feet Have Gone Native” post, so I won’t go into too much here.  I understand why people are drawn to this iconic place, and why the state bird should also be changed to the helicopter, for those are the most frequent flying objects in the sky – with one flying over head about every 6-10 minutes.

Day 4:  Ha’ena County Park to Fern Gully – 17 miles

While camping at Ha’ena, we notice a middle-aged couple with well equipped bikes racks, panniers, and who, by the looks of it are engaged in a similar enterprise as we.  I never get the chance to ask because on our second night shortly before we went to bed, but well after sundown, they pack up and take off.  Where?  I have no idea.  With the number of DUI’s here, I’m not sure the fewer cars of nighttime offers greater safety on the road than during the day.  Stoking further conjecture the next morning, we see them again, going back in the other direction but without much of their gear.  The puzzle of this couple remains with me.  Where did they go?  Why under the cover of night?  Why were they just now duct taping additional flashlights to their helmets?  Perhaps it’s best described by just another cast member in the cavalcade of characters which come cascading across your path on Kaua’i. 

There is Eric, wearing only cut-off jeans and a spaced-out look, who loves listening to me play at the farmer’s market, usually squatting close by with his eyes closed, rocking back and forth.  He never puts money in the case, but always adds some sort of fruit from the farm on which he worked, sweet.   

There is Jonah, who brings his guitar to the market and sits it for a little while.  He has a carbon fiber guitar, saying it stands up the best to the Hawaiian heat, sun, and ocean.  It stands up to more than that, according to Jonah, as this same guitar survived a fall out the back of a speeding vehicle and was run over by the one following.   A little glue and some new strings later he was back to playing a few mean licks on it.  I think that kind of testimony is more than what the manufacturer intends, but should definitely be on their website.   

Then there was the mostly naked man who loves doing yoga and whose cut-off shorts were not up to their job of “marble-bag” containment when he started into poses at public gatherings, festivals, in the park – he was everywhere.  He bends in ways that I haven’t been able to since my fontanel closed up, and he was quite happy to do it.  I guess we all have a gift to bring, and bliss to follow.

The characters range from the tripped out and harmless to lovable, and one such pairing is Chandley and Austin.  Chandley is an orphan from the farm and a member of our little Ohana (family) there.  After enduring similar treatment from the manager, she also leaves early, and finds another job at the local pineapple stand.  She met Austin on the island, through a mutual friend back on the mainland. 

Austin is a part-time tree landscaper, care-taker, and during the summer, a fly-fishing guide in Alaska.  He’d come to Kaua’i a few years back with some friends and decided to stay in the off season.  While living with a friend Eli, another character with his own story, he noticed a vacant property next door.  This house had been all but abandoned to the jungle, and while holding her own, the jungle was winning – as it always will.  Austin asked the realtor if he could exchange fixing up the place for living in it.  The house wasn’t going to be sold in its current state, yet still worth ¾ of a million for the property alone.  He got both a place to live and a full-time project.  After hitting it off, Chandley moved in with him and they began to make the place more livable.  A few weeks back, we gave them our best one day of service to the project in classic, “it’s all part of the challenge – MLK Day” style.  We helped remove trees which had grown-up around the house so some sunshine could make it to the moss covered deck, cleaned up the interior and scrubbed the unidentifiable green substance from all the ancient and erstwhile bathroom fixtures.  It’s amazing what four motivated people can do to a house in 5 hours of elbow grease and bleach.  They affectionately named their love-nest, “Fern Gully.” 

But, I disgress….

Feeling like we are one with our bikes, we kick butt up the hills coming back down the coast, earning a few “yahoo’s” and shackas from the locals as they patiently waited while we cranked up the steep hills. It’s funny how you can earn the respect of drivers when you slow them down going uphill, but annoy the hell out of them when they insist on speeding up to pass you on the down hills. 

On our way back down the coast, we meet up with our hosts for the night at our local surf spot, and I get a few more last minute waves in at Rock Quarries Beach.  The weather turns wet and cold, for Kaua’i about 60 degrees, so we head back to Fern Gully in Austin’s truck, holding on to bikes, trailer, surfboards and each other in the back of his truck as we bounce our way back to the house.  We claim the floor in one of the newly cleaned, but far from finished rooms.  After filling up on fry-bake pizza and cheap beer, we call it an early night.  

Day 5:  Fern Gully to Wailua Homestead – 21 miles

There is only one road around the island, and when you reach the end of it you get to cover the same ground, so we come back to where we started before moving on.

We meet back up with the bike path at Donkey Beach.  Here the whales once again greet us with more displays of affection and joy of life.  While back in Kapa’a, we trade in our Christmas gift certificate at Rainbow Living Foods, and enjoy some well-earned vegan raw food, compliments of our sister-in-law, Aleia, who finds us the perfect gift. 

In desperate need of some clean clothes, we strip down to what is still legal, and throw the rest of our wet, dirty laundry in the machines at the local laundromat.  I spend our last 3 quarters on the nearly worthless local bit of newsprint, “The Garden Island” – where the crossword at least keeps me a little interested as people hardly glance at us in our nearly nude state, nothing new here. 

After one of the world’s best chocolate covered macaroons and some espresso at Java Kai, we sugar power our way back up the 4 mile hill to Katie and Kenny’s house for a good shower, shave, and another night spent among friends.

We are greeted by Katie’s wild but lovable dog, Leiloa, and nearly scare the neighbor girl half to death by showing up unannounced sweaty and hauling our bike trailer.  Teenagers are seriously paranoid if they get freaked out by two middle-aged cyclists huffing up the drive – clearly something nefarious is about to happen.  We restore calm with a few name drops, and friendly smiles.  We lived there for over 2 weeks the prior month, but apparently had gone unnoticed until now.   Teenagers.

Day 6:  Wailua Homestead to Waimea’s Lucy Wright Beach Park – 45 miles

 
This is our longest mileage day and through some of the most congested parts of Kaua’i, so an early start with a big breakfast seems as good an excuse as any to go out for breakfast. Kountry Kitchen is one of the classic diners of the pacific and ranks among my top favorites, with massive portions and for the island reasonable prices.  After consuming the world’s largest omelet, we swing by the Kapa’a Bike shop to pick up some new bike shorts for Shari; her previous evaporated suspiciously from a drying line next to our tent overnight.  Who ganks used bike shorts?  Don’t people know most folks don’t wear underpants underneath?  The store also sells some of the best lube this side of a sex shop, “Hoo Ha Ride Glide” designed just for ladies’ sensitive girlie parts.  The rented bike saddle gives some sassy back talk to my wife’s undercarriage, if you get my meaning, and we have a few long days ahead of us.  

We cling to the bike path and side roads for as long as we can in our new south, south westerly direction toward the other side of the island.  We duck off the main road into Lihue, Nawiliwili, swing through the shipping port, and roll by the Menehune fish pond.  Shari’s rear, homemade, pannier supports require some field repair along the way.  I put tent stakes and duct tape to their secondary uses.  I ask you, is there anything that this powerful combination of fixit supplies cannot do?

We spend the next hour hugging the white line of the west bound lane, wistfully dreaming of the whale inspired serenity of the Kapa’a bike path.  Thinking we’d catch a break from the traffic, we detour toward Poipu – the Princeville of the south side.  The road rolls downhill, so we keep a pretty good clip of 25 miles per hour or so.  Regardless, clueless drivers continue to pass us on completely blind corners, blind hills, and several other places where a bad roll of the dice would meat being, at best, witness to, or at worst, involved in a head on-collision with an ice truck.  This, of course, will not come as a surprise to any cycling enthusiast.  We’ve all had words, gestures, trash, sketchy drivers and broken glass thrown at us at some point while we’re “sharing the road,” but we remain shocked by the risky chances that more than a few tourists took to shave about 15 seconds off of their drive back to their beach bungalow.  I understand that to them, my life might not be worth slowing down their day by a few seconds, but what about theirs?  

Back on the main road, we finally catch a break with an all downhill and almost traffic-free jaunt toward the coffee plantation.  Five miles of ocean view and nary a car in sight offers just the break we need for the push on to day’s end.  Exhausted from the heat, traffic, and mileage we cross the bridge into Waimea and find our small county park campsite.  

This campground, Lucy Wright Beach Park, is not going to make the cut in any travel book.  It consists of an old grass ball field complete with two-story chain-link back stop, a small lighted picnic pavilion, three picnic tables, a cold water outside shower corral, and one completely unappealing bathroom.  It does, however, boast a beautiful view of the sunset.  But what do we, or the other local full-time campers (mostly local guys who sat around and drank beer), need really?  We have our tent, a flat grassy space, an all-too-near busy road, and more free-range roosters than necessary to let you know it is 3am in the morning and there is no reason in the world that you need to be awake right now.   

“Free-range rooster” is a lovely euphemism for what are really 10,000+ fowl slowly taking back the island, one cock-a-doodle-do at a time.   We can’t spend a night anywhere without being awakened multiple times by the local roosters checking in with one another.  The stories vary as to how they came to be so prolific here, but at least two major cyclones in the last 40 years have decimated their domestic coops and dispersed them all over the island to join up with their native jungle fowl.  They are the real locals, for they truly own the island and call the shots.

"Sam" comes over to interrupt our tent set up, an ex-pat Scotsman living in Colorado who never misses the chance to spend February thru April camping on the south shore of Kauai.  Though he freely admits to being 80 (this information comes as part of his opening line and calling card), he surely doesn’t look it as his enthusiasm for life, his adventures, his kids, their kids, and even a few of the characters in the book he’s currently reading show.  Another lovable chap, we hate to cut short the conversation, but the calories we’d consumed throughout the day burned up on the last short rise into town and setting up camp – we need dinner quick.  Off to the Big Save market for supplies.  Not 30 minutes after the last noodle of our “grown-up mac ‘n cheese” (another great use for sautéed kale) goes down that we go down for the night – exhausted.

Day 7:  Waimea to Kekaha Beach, rest day @ beach – 6 miles

We sleep in as long as the roosters and rising sun will allow.  We lounge around enjoying a lovely and long breakfast, consuming calories like only swimmers, cyclists, and the pubescent can.  We loaf our way up the road with unloaded bikes and spend a great afternoon at the beach.  The water is lovely, the surf minimal and the snorkeling gear earns its weight in the trailer when another sea turtle blesses our swim by tolerating our close presence.  Is he as curious of us as we are of him?   

We pull ourselves away from the water to weave back to the campground to make dinner and prepare for the morning’s early departure.  The next day we will cover only 22 miles, but we’ll gain over 3800 feet for our effort.   For those who live in near our hometown in the Blue Ridge Mountains, this is like going from Willmington to Linville in just over 20 miles.  This is our fourth trip up to Waimea Canyon during our 3 months on the island, but the first time without the help of a whirlybird or piston engine.  Are we up for the challenge?

Day 8:  Waimea to Koke’e State Park – 22 miles, 17 of which were straight up

This morning the roosters’ early call contributes to the mission at 5am.  After breaking our fast with another high calorie omelet and repacking our gear, we hit the road with a liter of coffee under our belts.   

Even at 6:50am, the Hawaiian sun begins to beat down upon us.  This western side of the island lies in the rain shadow of the mountains and receives little moisture.  The average temperature here is a full 10 degrees warmer than the rest of Kaua’i.  As we begin our 17 mile uphill climb to Waimea Canyon and the mountains, my heart falls when I look back and realize that I am already in my lowest gear, nowhere to go but up.  Shit, this is going to be a long day.   Shari asks me if I am going to complain all the way up the mountain or if I am just getting it out of my system.  I get the point and shut up, and enjoy one long last look at the beauty of this canyon and the stunning views of the Pacific Ocean from this side of the world.

Now, I’m not bitching here, please understand that.  We did this to ourselves, knowingly.  We have all of our camping gear for the wet and cold mountains of the high Hawaiian rain forest, all our food for 3 days and we push our pedals Island style, wearing flip flops.  For 17 miles, Mother Kaua’i keeps her hill a nearly consistent slog of endless switchbacks in which I never once get out of the small chain-ring.  It is a good climb, with 360 degrees of absolutely stunning scenery, and probably the hardest cycling day in the past 20 years.

We laugh to ourselves as we are certain that the 50 or so tourist bus drivers tell jokes about us, going up and down the mountain; “When you go with the other tourist company, that’s their idea of island transport,” (or some other lighthearted poke at our chosen method).  One driver even has his whole bus load of people cheer for us as they pass us again on their way back down.  This makes the day.  

By the time we reach the main ridge, the temperature has dropped about 35 degrees and we have already gone through second breakfasts, and ellevenzees.  I hate to keep coming back to food, but by the time we pull into the state park, it went from sprinkling to full-on raining and I want to eat a large pizza for an appetizer.   Fortunately for us, the café in the park is still open so we treat ourselves to someone else’s cooking and endless refills on coffee and hot chocolate while we watch it pour buckets outside in between blue sky sucker holes.

Day 9 :  Koke’e State Park, rest day in the rainforest

These damn roosters, this must be their headquarters.  

Today we live the life of the exhausted and tent bound, as the rain clouds park themselves tenaciously upon the mountain tops – we can neither leave nor is there anything to do.  We stay in our tent and regret our decisions to leave reading material back at basecamp – we didn’t want the added weight. 

The small visitor’s center offers a welcome distraction from the day, so too does more cups of coffee, tea and a slice of pie from the café.  Ultimately we lie back down on our mats, chat, write, stretch, doze, and await a time to make another meal.  I realize that though the thought of more weight in the trailer sickens me, I wish I could have hauled a book, any book.

In retrospect, we needed this tent bound rest day more than we realized.  It was time to do nothing for a change, and absolutely nothing seemed productive on that day.

Day 10:  Katie, Kenny and Leiloa Arrive

We are delighted to see our friends who come up the next morning with their crazy little wonderful dog, Leiloa, and are another excuse to get out of the tent.  Though we earned our descent down those steep slopes, we don’t have the time to ride back to basecamp.  Katie and Kenny bring extra coffee and our ride back to town.  

We spend the day walking the trails on the top of this mountain which overlooks the dramatic Na Pali coastline.  We skip in our sandals from root to rock over slippery wet trails to remote overlooks and boardwalks, and slosh through mud holes.  We eat a delicious Thomson family traditional camping dinner, mushroom stroganoff and enjoy the campfire on a beautifully clear, cold and dry night.  

On the way back down the mountain, our friends take us to the only part of the island we weren’t able to reach via our bikes, Polihale State Park.  Swimming one last time in the beautiful blue South Pacific water and soaking in some tropical sun is just the right send off.  We have a purely fun day in the Kaua’ian sun before heading back to basecamp to sort and repack our things, preparing to leave this place, this crazy dot in the middle of the big blue and head back to the land of close-toed shoes and big coats.  Though we will only be in Carolina for a few days before heading to the Dominican Republic for our Spanish Program, we are not looking forward to having to wear socks.  Just the idea of cold feet makes me feel a little nauseous.

We leave Kaua’i on January 14th with little hoopla.  Kenny drives us to the airport after dropping Katie off at work on an early Tuesday morning.  We’ve made this trip so many times in the past 3 months.  We’ve taken Katie there, picked her up, dropped Kenny off, ran back to get his passport and dropped him off again, picked them both up, met Shari’s parents there who were celebrating her mom’s 70^th birthday on the island, and now finally it is our turn to leave, to go through the doors to anywhere else. 

I remain conflicted about this little patch of dirt so far away from any continent on Earth; it will continue to defy simple for me, but part of it has entered into my heart and will not let go.  For me the complexity that showed its face here is reaffirming, and hopeful – we sometimes need to struggle with understanding our place just as we struggle to understand ourselves.  As human beings we want to put things into nice complicit boxes of meaning, to reaffirm possibly what we’ve already observed elsewhere.  If you’ve ever spent time on the American interstate highway system, you could believe that you know all there is to know, seen all there is to see about our country as you zoom by at 70 mph, but you’d be wrong.   

Coming to Kaua’i and spending more than the typical 7 -10 days here, one begins to see the complexity of even this small place. The truth about Kaua’i is the same about every other place the highway blazes through along those big stretches of America such as the Great Plains; nothing is as simple as it seems.  We can never truly know a place until we move through it slowly, at a human-powered pace, come to terms with it on its timeline, wait and see how she reveals herself.  We have forgotten how important slowing down can be, as has Kaua’i; but it is such a small place, a place that we can only move over the landscape so quickly before coming the other side.  After that, you have to return to where you started and have another think about it.