A woman with clear hazel eyes, no-nonsense gray hair in a bob, and an official-looking hat with an National Park Service Volunteer badge on the front came our way as I worked outside the rig the next day. She carried a clipboard, and told me she was checking the stay tags of visitors in Fairholme Campground at Crescent Lake in Olympic. We were reluctantly packing up to leave after two glorious weeks exploring the park.
“Tell me about those bikes,” the woman said brusquely, pointing with her pen to our e-bikes, leaning dustily against a pine as if fatigued by yesterday’s adventure.
“We only rode them on the designated bike trails,” I stuttered, worried about some wrongdoing.
Her expression softened. “No, I want to know how you like them.” Her grin was a ray of light breaking through clouds. “I need something to get around camp on, and I’m looking into those.”
“Oh!” I smiled in relief. “We love them!”
After a brief info-mercial extolling the battery-assist bikes, we exchanged names. I tol…
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