Category: Our West Coast Journey

Day 9 – Astoria, OR. 72 kmThis was the most difficult day of our journey to date. We woke up to rain and it steadily got heavier. The road conditions were pretty good – consistent shoulder, rolling hills, not too steep. But wet, with a heavily gusting headwind that almost stopped me dead on a descent. Abysmal. And not helped by the absence of anywhere to stop for coffee and a warm-up for at least 40 km.

Eventually we found a place to eat. When we left the rain started to let up and the wind lightened. There even appeared promising bits of blue in brief breaks of the heavy cloud cover. All was looking up. And then we came to the bridge.

The Astoria Bridge crosses the mouth of the Columbia River. Halfway across you leave Washington and enter Oregon. But crossing that bridge is a nightmare for cyclists. First of all, it’s four miles long, and offers a shoulder exactly two feet wide. The speed limit for traffic is 50 mph, and traffic includes all the usual frighteners – logging trucks, moving vans, the ubiquitous monster RVs towing vehicles. For four miles all you can do is look at the pavement in front of your wheel and try for all you can to steer straight. It was horrific. Once we were over, I hugged Sophie in relief. She had been worried about this bridge. We had heard scary stuff. But when the time came, she didn’t hesitate, she just put her head down and carried on. Which is what’s required. Because once you’re on that bridge there’s no room for stopping, changing your mind or turning back. You’re committed for all four miles.

Our reward for all this trauma is a night in a heated room with double beds, electricity, TV and our own shower.

Day 10 – Nehamlem State Park, OR – 68 km

First of all it has to be said that Oregon rocks! The coast is spectacular, the road shoulders are (generally) wide and the beachside campgrounds are fantastic. In WA the campgrounds were in heavily forested, murky areas, often alongside the highway, with dated facilities.

Here in Oregon the state campgrounds feature free showers, clean, updated facilities and campsites in open forest with lots of light and the calming sound of the surf pounding the beach, just a short walk away. It also helps that we’re in the midst of a spell of great weather.

Before leaving Astoria – the last major centre for a hundred miles, I bought a helmet-mounted rear view mirror – on the bike shop guy’s recommendation; it’s made locally by his friend in Portland, some chain lube and, at Big 5 Sporting Goods (read hunter supply store), a jacket. Not the crush-to-nothing lightweight down jacket I’ve been craving for the past week of cold nights, but something that will serve.

At Cannon Beach – a massively long strand – we ate lunch on the beach, which was surprisingly busy, with hundreds of people walking about far into the distance.

Re the rear view mirror. After a day of trying to get used to this thing, which juts from my head like an insect’s antenna and creates a massive blind spot in my forward vision, I’ve given up. (More importantly, the stupid thing looks supremely geeky.) I finally yanked it off and taped it to my handle bar, where it serves fairly well. I bought the thing because I like to keep an eye on Sophie behind me and when you turn your head while pedalling a loaded bike, it’s pretty hard to steer straight. This is not a good thing on busy roads with narrow shoulders.

Day 11 – Cape Lookout, OR. 70 km

Sunny and warm today – made for a good ride down the coast, overlooking the near total absence of any shoulder along the highway for most of the distance. Ironically, this could be seen as making for safer riding as you’re forced onto the road which requires drivers to slow down and actually steer a path around you. On narrow shoulders some drivers (thankfully not many) don’t bother to shift over at all, steaming past at full speed just an arm’s length away.

At one lookout spot over the coast we were watching grey whales spouting in the distance. I was chatting casually with an older guy who turned and said “So you’re a cyclist?” as if he hadn’t noticed before. “A lot of people around here really hate cyclists,” he added. I wasn’t sure if he was including himself in that camp – now whether he meant it as a warning or a caution. Most drivers are pretty respectful of cyclists on the roads here, but some are clearly aggravated. Like the guy who blasted his horn at us as he drove past – in the opposite direction!

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.