Hawaii’s Big Island full of surprises
by Julie Ubben, Assistant Marketing Manager
Hawaii this year? You bet! I’d been to Maui twice before, and couldn’t wait to get back to the islands. I crave the sun and warm water the way some women crave chocolate, or the way some men crave a remote control. More, actually. I love the scent of tropical flowers, the monstrous jungle plants, the feeling that everything is bursting with life. But my first impression of the Big Island – as we circled a black airstrip surrounded by barren plains – was slightly panicky. Where were all the tropical flowers? The palm trees? Where was that pungent scent of fertile soil? (Is this the wrong island?) The 40-minute shuttle from airport to pre-trip hotel spun through more charred-looking lunar landscape. It quickly became apparent that the Big Island was going to be full of surprises.
I crave the sun and warm water the way some women crave chocolate, or the way some men crave a remote control. More, actually.
The youngest of the Hawaiian Islands, the Big Island of Hawaii gives the impression of an island still under construction – which it is. Kilauea, its active volcano, has drizzled over 70 acres of new coastline onto the island’s southwest side since 1983, its fiery lava continually draining, cooling and hardening as it oozes into the ocean. Islanders take it for granted, shrugging off the volcano’s activity as a fact of everyday life. On the moist eastern half of the island, it only takes about 20 years for plants to grab hold and begin the dramatic transformation to enthusiastic jungle – but on the drier western side it’s another story. Concrete-like, the lava fields there are a fine place to build an airport. But where not paved over or blanketed with imported topsoil, the ancient Trail of the Kings – the earliest 'road' on the island – remains intact, tattooed into the lava by human feet. For centuries, broken lava-bubble caves offerred the only shade along the Trail. Petroglyphs dating to pre-European arrival dot the landscape, indicating where shade was to be found, which way travelers had gone, recording constellations, eclipses. Later images record the arrival of horses, of men who wore clothing, of inevitable change. And like the Trail, our trip took us ultimately on an exploration of a surprising, always changing land.
From the western lava side with its ancient secrets, we headed up to Hapuna Beach Park, eager to start cycling. We pedaled north, with views of the ocean to our left, pastureland to our right. “Whales!” shouted Janet, one of the riders: She’d spotted them breaching and spouting offshore within the first half hour of our very first ride.
On the northwest corner of the island, we hiked into breathtaking Pololu Valley. In the 1700s, Hawaii's King Kamehameha organized a 25-mile human chain to transport rocks up and over the hillside to build a temple to his war god – fulfilling a prophecy that in so doing, he would gain the blessing to conquer and unite all of the islands. (One suspects that the sacrifice of his chief rival, his cousin, may have contributed to his success.) That evening we dined at Bamboo in the old sugar town of Hawi, where a mouthwatering meal of fresh-caught fish made a fine finish to the day.
The next morning found us beginning in the cowboy town of Waimea, where world-famous Parker Ranch still produces more than 15 million pounds of beef annually. Our metal steeds carried us through bucolic ranchland as we gently climbed, fields dropping away on both sides of the road, horses gazing placidly, the occasional chicken or rooster sounding an alarm as we pedaled by. But for the rows of palms edging the fields, it could’ve been my grandparents’ farm back in Washington State.
As we crested the top of the hill, though, the farmland suddenly disappeared, swallowed almost instantly by jungle. The scents changed abruptly too, from breeze-dried grasses to the pungent charge of eucalyptus spiked with gardenia and white ginger. The air moistened, and the cackling of chickens and roosters succumbed to the songs of a bevy of tropical birds hidden in thick foliage. This was the Hawaii I was looking for! Tracing curve after curve of a long swooping downhill, we saw just one other cyclist and only a handful of cars. The afternoon’s ride was equally surprising: what looked at first to be an intimidating labyrinth of route instructions turned out to be an ingenious, delightful exploration of the countryside leading into Hilo. Rounding a twisting bend, we were stopped in our tracks – first by a half-rainbow shimmering over the water, then by more of Janet’s whales. Another turn yielded an overlook to a surf break where boards dotted the waves below. Neighborhoods bedecked with gardenia and jasmine led to rows of banyans – and finally, our lodging in Hilo Town.
Rounding a twisting bend, we were stopped in our tracks – first by a half-rainbow shimmering over the water, then by more of Janet’s whales.
Day 3’s ride was a heart-stealer. We pedaled for hours along a peaceful shaded road along the curving coastline, where alleyways of tropical forest played peek-a-boo with sparkling beach views. Brilliant blue water crested with incandescent foam splashed against black, black rock – and then gave way again to shady tunnels of trees. Dreamlike, riding through passageways of mysterious banyan, regal palm and ghostly eucalyptus, we were in a reverie. The afternoon finished with a dip in a natural hot spring, where fish tickled our toes while giant waves crashed against the breakwater just outside. Then we headed upcountry, to spend the night at a lodge on the volcano.
The next morning we began our exploration of Kilauea volcano in earnest. We hiked into the Thurston Lava Tube, a chilly cave fringed with rainforest ferns, and then right into the volcano’s eerie crater. Its barren rock-strewn plain bespoke something out of Dune, as steam vents belched a continual fog into the landscape. We joked about getting lost down there and having to roast a Nene, the protected Hawaiian goose, over a steam vent for sustenance. With rain threatening, our guide suggested we take a cruise in the van to several points around the rim – the Volcano Observatory, the art gallery, the museum – so that if we chose to bicycle the rim the next morning, we could do so without feeling the need to stop at each one. Afterward we drove downhill out of the clouds and toward the ocean, hiking out to watch distant lava dribbling into the sea as day faded. When the landscape was lit with stars above, streaks of glowing lava on the far-off hillside, and glowing phosphorescence in the waves, we headed back up the hill to dinner.
The next two days’ riding took us from the volcano’s heart back to the seacoast and northward again. Rounding the southern point of the island, we pedaled into Na’alehu, the southernmost town in the United States. We feasted on coconut tarts at its bakery, then headed north to – joy of joys! – coffee country. We cycled an old road high above the highway that stretched for miles overlooking the ocean as we headed toward Kona, coffee capital of the known universe. Scents of coffee roasting, of fertilizer and rich soil, of exotic plants and flowers, regaled us from the roadside, changing every minute. Coffee and chocolate are more or less the new kids on the block, shifting the island’s agricultural center from the north, where sugarcane once reigned, to the drier southwest side of the island. In the town of Kealakekua, we toured Greenwell Farms, a coffee plantation makai (on the shore side) of the main road. We pedaled to the City of Refuge, where both shamed warrior and escaping criminal could find absolution – if they could reach the place before they were caught. We marveled at the ki’i (wooden images) surrounding the temple; obligingly, they ogled right back. We took a dip in the water there, too, finding both absolution and hundreds of fish dancing among the rocks.
On our last morning, we breakfasted at the Waikoloa Beach Marriott, feasting gloriously on lemon soufflé banana pancakes with coconut syrup, Kona coffee and mango juice. Walking down to the waterfront, we were met by the crew of Red Sails Catamaran for a whale watch/snorkeling cruise. The peaceful bay where we dropped anchor showcased thousands of fish in brilliant hues and a playful baby green sea turtle dancing amongst the underwater lava formations. Janet the Whale Whisperer came through on the return cruise – calling a trio of humpbacks to within a coconut’s toss of the ship. Afterward, returning to the hotel’s lobby for a farewell party, we felt thoroughly refreshed – and a little sad. Leaving Hawaii is never easy.
Now that I’m home on the mainland, I’ve decided that although the Big Island of Hawaii wasn’t what I expected, I shouldn’t have expected a clone. Oh, the fish, the pristine beaches and the tropical plants were there (just not at the airport). But what made this trip truly special is that the Big Island is truly unique – and in exploring much of what it has to offer, we came away with a sense of its uniqueness. After all, it isn’t everyone who has some of the world’s tastiest coffee growing right outside the front door, an active volcano in the backyard, and primal petroglyphs on the sidewalk.
Bicycle Adventures’ Assistant Marketing Manager Julie Ubben would return to the Big Island in a heartbeat. Especially if lemon soufflé pancakes with coconut syrup were part of the deal.