Author: kevin.noel@telus.net

Day 12 – Beverly Beach 93 km

A long ride today featuring three long climbs. The first two were particularly difficult, with punishing grades and no shoulders. But the coastal views were fantastic. And the descents were sweet – long and fast.

We regularly see dead animals along the side of the highway. Today we saw an eviscerated raccoon, a snake with only its head crushed, a lizard – a skink I think (not a skunk, there was no stink), and, most often, possums. And they’re not pretending. I don’t know why possums are particularly vulnerable to the hazards of the highway.

We also often see bungee cords alongside the highway. I suspect they come from cyclists, who use bungees to hold things like tents to the back of their bikes.

IN camp we met a young couple from Israel, who are spending some months on the road and will continue down through Mexico. Also a young English couple with an enormous tent. I remarked on its size and she claimed it’s just a regular three-person tent. Maybe in England but not here, unless you include tents carried in the trunk of cars. Says she, innocently, “It’s barely big enough for the two of us to get dressed in.” She’d prefer it slightly larger. But, of course, she’s not the one lugging it around on the bike. They travel short distances per day. I’m convinced it’s the tent that dictates their pace.

Day 13 – Earl Washburn State Park, OR. 70 km

We took the morning to ride into Newport to a bike shop, to buy a new saddle for Sophie and get her bike tuned up. No luck with the saddle. She’s been using mine for the past few days and so it will continue until the next town with a proper bike shop.

After a big breakfast in town and the morning gone, we decided on a shorter day of riding. Sophie’s a bit dispirited (her comfort on the bike is an issue) and tired after the major exertions of yesterday’s climbs.

Day 14 – Sunset Bay State Park, OR. 108 km

Great weather for riding today, although it blows hard around here. When it’s from behind, which is usually the case, all is good. But when it’s a headwind (rarely) or from the side (often) it’s hard to take. Makes me wonder why people here put up with it. I couldn’t.

We reached two milestones today: longest ride and passing the 1,000 km point on our trip. Sophie’s bearing up heroically, but I don’t want to do this distance again for a while. I have to keep reminding myself, it’s the journey, not the destination we’ve committed to. This is an ongoing struggle.

We were obliged to share a campsite here with a couple from Eugene travelling with their dog, Indie, who is towed in a trailer. Brittany (32) is relentlessly cheerful and reminds me of the woman from Portlandia. Her partner (husband?) Tom is mid-sixties and retired. Interesting match-up. They are bound for Mexico but with no deadline. This is good, as they only make 25 miles a day. As Mexico is at least 1,000 miles away, it will take them a long time. But then, I think the destination is not really important for these two. It’s just a motivating idea. Their real purpose is engaging in the everyday routine of being on the road (with a dog!) on their bikes. Wherever that road eventually takes them, and for as long as they like it. I doubt they’ll reach Mexico. But I certainly wish them well.

Day 15 – Humbug Mountain State Park – 94 km

Today’s ride offered the most consistently wide shoulders we’ve seen so far. It appears Oregon is dedicated to improving conditions and safety for touring cyclists. We’ve seen a lot of recent roadway/shoulder improvements. The whole coast highway is designated the Oregon Coast Cycle Route, all tunnels and many bridges have lights you activate to let drivers know you’re in/on that structure, and the state park system fully supports cyclists with dedicated campsites and free showers. It’s very impressive.

As for Oregonians, it’s a study in contrasts. We’ve ridden through some dumpy little coastal towns and have encountered lots of yahoo types in the latest camo designs – Trump supporters all, without a doubt. But it’s also a progressive state, with legalized pot and assisted death policies. The state parks are excellent, well used and ubiquitous on the coast. There’s no sales tax because, as one store owner told me, they vote them down every time. Oregonians hate taxes. The same guy told me that among all states, Oregon has the lowest rate of high school graduation among white kids entering grade nine, i.e. the group you’d expect most likely to complete high school. Apparently nobody has a good answer for why this is so.

Battle Rock Park is located outside of Port Orford, the oldest settlement on the Oregon coast. It’s very scenic. The sign board says in 1851 it was the spot where nine settlers landed with the idea of settling down. However, they weren’t welcomed by the locals and had to hide out on Battle Rock until they could make their escape. They returned later with 70 well-armed friends and forced the issue. There is no mention of what the local native people thought about this or, for that matter, suffered by way of battle. After all, the site is called Battle Rock. It commemorates the heroism of Oregon’s white settlers, and it’s not the first of such we’ve seen. All generally celebrating the arrival of dauntless settlers coming to a wild new territory. Conspicuous by its absence, from a Canadian perspective, is any parallel account of the experience of the native people. Presumably they are assumed under the general category of adversity faced by the early settlers, along with bears and bad weather. History, as they say, is written by the victors.

Day 16 – Gold Beach, OR – 40 km

We took a rest day today, booking into a motel in the first town we reached. Sophie was particularly bagged this morning, hardly able to maintain 14 km/hr. To be fair, we had a stiff headwind most of the way. As soon as we checked in – at 2:45 – I suddenly realized how exhausted I was. After long hot showers we both just lay around for the balance of the day before walking down the street to a late dinner at La Casita de Oro. As we ate a couple of 20-ish guys came in. They did not look local. First of all, neither was wearing anything resembling camo fashion. Then Sophie heard them speak to the waitress (this is a tiny restaurant – just four tables). It turns out they’re from Maple Ridge, riding down to San Francisco – but carrying only a change of clothes and staying at motels all the way, they’re travelling at twice our pace.

I was surprised by how tired I feel. We sleep 9-10 hours a night. In a campground there’s not much to do after it gets dark. But in retrospect, it’s kind of like working hard for two weeks straight without a break, but also eating and sleeping at your worksite. Being off the bike and walking around this little town (proud home of the Gold Coast High School Panthers football team, who this evening are hosting the Myrtle Point something-or-others) was a bit surreal. First because small town America is really foreign to me. But more because our routine of riding, eating, sleeping, repeat has been broken and I suddenly feel adrift and without a purpose in a strange place. And the only way of escape is by bike.

The forecast is for rain tonight and through the next few days. With that prospect we’ll probably take another easy day tomorrow and overnight at a motel in Brookings, just 30 miles down the road.

You meet a lot of people when you travel by bike. Many are people interested in what you’re doing. People who would never do such a thing themselves, but who are intrigued. And of course you also meet a lot of other touring cyclists. People who choose to do this kind of thing tend to be pretty sympathetic types – not hard to like. Travelling by bike requires patience, stamina and a sense of humour to get you through the worst of times – like driving rain, headwinds, and steep hills.

And because cyclsts doing the Pacific Coast are all on the same route and travelling at roughly the same speed, you tend to bump into the same people time and again – usually at the campgrounds. Sophie and I have recently been travelling in synch with Martin from Iowa. I don’t know much about Martin, but we’ve bumped into him at grocery stores, campgrounds and once rode together with him for 40 miles.

Some of the other people we’ve met so far on our journey include:
Lucy. Originally from Chicago, Lucy spent ten years working in Alaska, This trip down the coast by bike is part of her transition back to the “Lower 48” and follows a previous adventure last spring – hiking the Pacific Coast Trail with her brother. Lucy travels slowly because she carries a lot of gear, including an inflatable boat. Bringing a boat on a bike trip makes no sense to me, but I admire the audacity of it.

Henry & Linda. A retired married couple from Vernon, with six grown kids.Turns out Sophie knows one of them from university in Victoria. Henry is ex-RCMP and does a lot of bike touring. LInda is a road cyclist and seems up for the challenge, but Henry’s pretty hard core. He did a ride last year to Southern California but on a route through the mountains. He says he finally tired of that self abuse in Bakersfield and headed to the coast to complete his trip.

Allan. We met Allan at a campground in Northern Oregon. He lives on Lopez Island in Washington on a 22 foot cutter sailboat and rides a collapsible bike (Brompton) because it has to fit onto his boat. At one time Allan lived large. He worked for a bank, owned seven luxury vacation properties – which he rented out, had a fleet of cars and, so he says, had money to burn. But when he hit 40 he looked over his life and didn’t like what he saw. He sold everything and says he gave most of his money to charity. He now lives as a minimalist, which is self-evident from how he travels. He carries a tent on the back of his bike, a bag with a change of clothes on the front, and lives on beef jerky, avocado and other simple stuff. He has no cooking utensils. Allan is a man of extremes. He’s also very likeable. On one of my trips to town for groceries I brought him back a bottle of beer. He was ecstatic. In return he gave me his one-inch high bottle of Tabasco Sauce. What else from a minimalist?

Day 17 – Brookings, OR. 50 km
Another short day of riding. However, not a particularly easy one. There are six long, winding climbs and descents between Gold Beach and Brookings. And for half the way we had a stiff headwind. At least it wasn’t raining. We stayed in a motel again – this could be habit forming. Took the opportunity to do laundry. Apart from the constant wind, this is an appealing area of the Oregon coast, although there’s precious little of interest in the towns.

I spent too much time this afternoon watching US election coverage on TV. It’s all fascinating stuff. Especially the continued level of support for Donald, the narcissistic buffoon. This just wouldn’t happen in Canada, or in other mature democracies, although Italy’s Berlusconi comes to mind as a comparable.

Day 18 – Klamath, CA, 76 km

We set out from our hotel in a driving rain and into a headwind. Then started the toughest climb we’ve had yet – 2.2 torturous miles of continuous 6% grade. That’s comparable to the steepness of the Cypress Mountain road. My bike with gear weighs at least 80 pounds, so it’s slow going.

This climb took us into the heart of the Redwood forest. On a grey day it was truly a darkness at noon experience. And with constant traffic and road shoulders disappearing around every bend, it was not much fun. On the descent, riding at 40 kph on the edge of the road – there was no shoulder – and cars careering past, a pick-up truck actually honked at me as they went by. Presumably they saw me as an irksome obstacle. Never mind the frequent postings of Share the Road signs.

Every day we get passed by hundreds of vehicles. As a cyclist you have no choice but to trust the good judgment of every one of those drivers. That’s a scary thought if you linger on it. And especially when you factor in the number of older drivers operating bus-sized RVs on this highway.

Tonight we’re camped in a private RV park alongside the highway, with the sound of traffic hissing by – as Jim Morrison would say – like the waves down on the beach.

Day 19 – Arcata, CA. 96 km

A long ride today. No camping available anywhere nearby as our legs started to give out, so we’re in a motel. Arcata has a reputation as a “hippy” town. There’s lots of young people with back packs wandering about and the air is skunky with the smell of weed. Our motel is located in the midst of all this. It’s the kind of scene I would have found very appealing in my 20s. I’m pretty sure Sophie feels that way now. But she’s dead tired and with her dad.

We had a trio of young Australian guys in the motel room above ours. We were well asleep when they came in after midnight and started with the music and lots of loud thumping about. It was too much. I went up to complain and found three glassy-eyed cheerful and apologetic guys. The mysterious thumping? One of them was practicing back flips on his bed!

Day 20 – Burlington State Park, Redwood Forest – 96 km

It has to be said, Northern California is beautiful. The weather today was perfect for cycling. In fact, today was perhaps our best day so far. It started along the generous shoulder of the freeway leaving Arcata. Wiith gently rolling rises and dips and a wind at our backs, the miles sped by.

We eventually left the freeway for a quieter road, the Avenue of the Giants, so named for the massively grand redwood forest it winds through. Riding the newly paved roadway through this forest in the warm afternoon with sunlight filtering down through the high canopy was like finding religion. Awesome!

At the campground we pitched our tents in an area shared with other cyclists. There was a couple – Rebecca and Nathan (mid-20s) – from Vancouver who are taking up to a year to cycle as far south as their time and money will last. Bob, a retired insurance guy from Chicago who seems to cycle all over the continent, is going to San Diego on this trip. Andy and Naomi, a retired couple from Cornwall, spent a month cycling in Alaska before starting this coastal trip in Bellingham. They too are making for San Diego. They’ve toured all over the world, but for some reason are reluctant to call themselves experienced touring cyclists. Perhaps because their adventures don’t compare impressively with those of one English dude they met in the Yukon, who was just 100 miles from his final destination in Alaska, having cycled all the way from southernmost Argentina!

I’ve been impressed by the fellowship that exists between touring cyclists. It’s rooted in a few shared truths. First, they’ve all chosen to travel only at the speed that a bicycle and their own leg power will take them. And second, you only carry as much as you need because it’s you doing all the work. There is no quick and easy way up a hill, headwinds are nasty, as are roads with no shoulders and obnoxious drivers in oversized and over-powered vehicles. It strikes me that if everyone spent more time on a bike the world would be a nicer place.