74.9 mi / time / 13.1 mph avg. / 4550 ft. climbing
Staying at Clam Beach County Park

On the first bike tour I ever did, leaving from my house, Joel rode with me from my parents’, through Chicago, and to the southern portion of the lakefront path before he turned around and went back home, and I continued alone to Atlanta. Just that was an emotional moment. So leaving alone this morning after a whole week riding together? Oof. I was teary-eyed for the first two miles out of camp. It was a second goodbye to my parents too. What finally snapped me out of it was realizing how awesome the bike and I must look rolling down the winding road between the enormous redwoods, lit by the dappled morning sun.

I have a lot of adjusting to do. I’m used to being on my own, but never have I transitioned from such a social bike touring experience (with Joel, Mom and Dad, and the Coast Caravan riding the popular Pacific Coast Route) to such a solitary one. And at the same time, the riding will get a whole lot harder, with climbs that make Oregon’s coast look like a pancake in comparison. But I think the engine was well primed this week, so I feel like I’m ready for it (and today’s result strongly supports that).

The sky was clear when we went to bed, and shockingly, it was still clear in the morning, for the first sunny morning of the trip so far. It was also the coldest at 48 degrees. I was again spoiled by camper-delivered breakfast, and the even scored a whole bunch of extra food from Mom to take with me. The ride down CA 199 back west to Crescent City might have been even more awesome than CA 197 yesterday. There are a LOT of big redwoods in this area. I kept waiting for the fog to hide the sun as I neared the coast, but even more shockingly, it never did.

The whole day would remain sunny, and utterly spectacular. Oregon was excellent, but at least on this day, California beat her. I spent half the time awed by the beauty and half sad that Joel didn’t continue on for one more day. The day alternated between redwood avenues and coastal vistas similar to Oregon, but somehow the waters here didn’t seem quite as forbidding. I feel privileged to have ridden through some 40 miles of redwood groves; when counting up the National Parks I would see on this trip, I almost didn’t include the Redwoods, I guess because it’s a state/federal partnership, and it’s so spread out. But it totally exceed my expectations, in no small part because the main features (the trees) can be seen and experienced just by riding through it, and moving at bicycle speed is a perfect way to do it. Late in the day while on another nice quiet oceanside 101 alternate, I passed an area where I could hear the sea lions barking away, but unfortunately could not find which rocks they were on 300 feet below.

Find the bike!

In a change from the previous week, lunch was cobbled together on the roadside from stuff I’d packed (sweet rolls, cookies, hard boiled egg, cornbread, and cheese). For dinner, when I eat in camp, a can of chili and a can of soup is something I normally enjoy, but since today I had cornbread from Chika, cheddar cheese from mom, and oyster crackers from some restaurant, it was perfect, I had to do it!

I picked that stuff up (along with a beer, I’m not roughing it that much!) in Trinidad and then was lucky to grab the last campsite available in the fairly brutal “campground”. It’s $8 for bikers, but no one else from the Coast Caravan is here; instead, on one side is a fat old pink-haired woman who beats her dog, with an unseen man in the tent, and on the other, some young hippy/druggie/punks who sound like a tuberculosis clinic. So not so pleasant, but the beach is just over the small dune, and I got a chance to watch the second ocean sunset of the trip. Bye-bye Pacific, it was nice getting to know you. Tomorrow, for the last time, I’m going to evacuate your Tsunami Hazard Zone good and hard!

Sorry, was having trouble with this one in the main post.

57.4 mi / 4:11:27 time / 13.6 mph avg. / 2838 ft. climbing
Staying at Jedediah Smith State Park

Woke up to a wet tent again, though this time it must have been actual rain or drizzle, since there were no overhanging trees to blame it on. Ch3ecked in with Mom and Dad at 7am, and then we all went for breakfast at the cafe connected to the RV Park. Everything you need in one place! Never tried the sauna though.

Giant Slug

Since we had a sag wagon available with Mom and Dad, we dumped most of our bags on them and headed out in “lightweight” mode for the day. That was good because we had the 2nd biggest hill of the Oregon coast to climb right off the bat, in pretty nasty 51 degree cloudy, misty weather. Even the hostess at breakfast complained how abnormal it was for this time of year; they’d normally be expecting sun now. Oh well, we did pretty well the first few days. I still probably had 20 more pounds than Joel to haul up the hill, but luckily he wasn’t able to drop me as easily this time. Or maybe he just wasn’t trying as hard!

This was easily the most remote day in Oregon, with the 27 mile stretch between Gold Beach and Brookings completely devoid of services and few signs of civilization at all. I’m actually surprised they don’t highlight that fact on the Coast Route Map, because it’s pretty unusual. No problem for us though, since we had Mom’s sweet rolls and oatmeal cookies to tide us over. The lack of services is counterbalanced by an abundance of viewpoints, most from vantages high above the ocean, including a flat bridge 385 feet above a ravine (the highest in Oregon, in case you were wondering). Happy we didn’t have to descend and climb that hill!

In Brookings we ate lunch at Vista Pub, a place cool enough to live up to their “gastropub” appellation. They only had 4 or 5 sandwiches on the menu, and my pulled pork was awesome. A final clam chowder, and of course a good Oregon beer rounded out a week of great lunches. On the way out of town I stopped at the bike shop to pick up some Kool Stop brake pads to replace my crappy Shimanos, while Joel tried to figure out a way to hold a cup of hot coffee in his water bottle cage.

Just before we reached the California border, the familiar black Chevy flew by with Mom’s arm waving out the window. It’s funny how the one and only border crossing I’ll do in this trip happened 7 days in, after our East Coast trip where Dennis and I crossed a state border or two every day. I guess it saves time with fewer photo setups required!

South of Brookings and in California, we were mostly on alternate roads generally paralleling 101, and that was made possible by a rare flat area that appeared between the mountains and the sea, filled with farms and easter lilies and cattle (California apparently upends Wisconsin’s “Dairy State” claim by fighting the battle right from their borders on in). We even hit a section that could have been a Midwestern farm town, if not for the mountain backdrop.

And it turns out the foothills of those mountains are covered in towering redwood trees, another thing you don’t see much in the Midwest, or anywhere else in the whole world. We did our final 7 miles on a road where their great boles rose right from the road’s edge (thanks for not cutting them down just to build a dumb road, CA DOT!), and where they made a line of telephone poles look like matchsticks.

Then we made a turn into the state park, rolled to the campsite Mom and Dad had already gotten to share with us, and that was the first end: Joel had successfully completed his 385 mile portion of the journey. Going in, I knew that my brother and I would get along well on the road together, but it turned out even better than that, it was pretty much the easiest thing in the world (if you ignore the bike riding part of it at least!) We were totally in-sync on both the riding and everything else (several times we even ordered the exact same thing for lunch or dinner). He can totally do this bike touring thing, and probably even stick with me through the giant mountains coming up in California; all he’d have to do is get up earlier and settle for less-luxurious lunches. 🙂 In the way that we referred to the two Canadian bike tourers as “The Canadians”, we were known to at least one member of the Coast Caravan as “The Brothers”. I must say I liked the sound of that.

Just after we arrived, the clouds did their magic 4pm disappearing act they had done a couple days earlier, which was perfect timing for the hike the whole family did down across the Smith River on a footbridge and then through a grove of some of the most majestic trees I can imagine. Joel had been here with his family a year ago, and I can completely understand why he wanted to return and made it the endpoint of his journey. The short trail displays a large variety of Coast Redwoods in all stages off their life cycle, from the rail-thin, ramrod-straight 30-foot saplings to the fallen behemoths, and the atmosphere was powerful. The only thing I missed was seeing Han Solo and the Ewoks. Oh, ok, that might have killed the peaceful vibe, so it’s probably okay that they were fighting Stormtroopers somewhere else today.

Mom and Dad whipped up a multi-course dinner of hamburgers, potatoes, and peas, and then around the campfire Joel and I taught them about s’mores with our leftover ingredients, and they broke out the Cherry Garcia they had picked up. Yum. For the record, except for lunch on the first day, Joel and I managed to have beer at every non-breakfast meal. And of course good stuff too. Woo hoo!

62.1 mi / 4:45:00 time / 13.0 mph avg. / 2698 ft. climbing
Staying at Indian Creek RV Park

After the big party last night I didn’t get to bed until after midnight, but waking up at 7am wasn’t a big deal. It’s funny how all the cyclists pretty much get up at the exact same time, I guess we’re tuned to the sun, or at least the glow of cloudy fog backlit by the sun. Since we’d be staying at an RV park tonight, which most cyclists (including this one!) generally turn their noses up at, we figured this would be the last time we’d be seeing all these people, so we said our final goodbyes, particularly to  Martin and Pierrette (aka The Canadians) and Samantha, who were all people I really liked. Brian, who continued to be oddly obsessed with me, came by to get a picture of Joel and I, but it was really just a ruse to get a close-up shot of me. Sneaky fellow! Beyond the obsession, for which I can’t really blame him, he seemed like a cool guy, and he had some interesting gear choices he was more than happy to evangelize (Sil-Tarp!)

We got a quick coffee-shop breakfast in Bandon (rode ourselves there this time) at the same place the night before we signed a petition to get a local midwife off murder charges. Then we put in an extra mile by making a wrong turn, and finally got on the correct beachside bypass which brought us back to the fog-shrouded rocks-in-the-ocean views we had seen a few days previous. Yeah yeah, more endless scenic beauty, blah blah blah. Unfortunately it stayed cloudy and cold all day (I wore my long-fingered gloves and hat for the first time riding), but it was still pretty awesome, and ocean rocks in the fog is a different flavor than ocean rocks in the sun anyway. The wind had actually turned around, so we had constant mild headwinds rather the usual big tailwinds, added on to our longest day with the 2nd biggest climbing total, but after a week of this bike touring stuff we’re big enough badasses that it was no big deal.

After a fancy lunch at Redfish in Port Orford (their clam chowder had artistic whirls of colored sauces in it), we leapfrogged our Canadians for the last time, and then, while finishing a rest stop high above an endless stretch of beach, a black Chevy pickup pulled into the turnout. Our parents had arrived! They ran on ahead and secured sites for themselves (in the packed RV area) and us (in the wide-open tent area). On the final approach into Gold Beach, we took another virtually car-free bypass off 101, where we passed a flock of sheep to whom both Joel and I had a good time yelling all sorts of nonsense. After a shower in the bathhouse that was 400% nicer on the inside than it looked from the outside, we joined them for a home- (or camper-) cooked meal of piles of beef stroganoff, kicking it old-school, plus beers brewed and delivered from my uncle (and aunt?) who they visited the night before in Washington. Yum.

Then, since it was freezing out, we all piled into the camper, which surprisingly fit 4 without much difficulty, and chatted and snacked and used the park’s WiFi.

47.4 mi / 3:27:50 time / 13.6 mph avg. / 2175 ft. climbing
Staying at Bullard’s Beach State Park

It pseudo-rained last night. Enough drops fell on our tents to completely wet them, but it wasn’t exactly rain from the sky, it was fog condensing on pine needles and then shaking off whenever the wind blew. Had to pack up the tents wet, but it wasn’t too big of a deal. The Canadians were first out, then Leslie, then us, with Samantha planning to hit the road at noon.

It was probably the crappiest day of riding yet, but even the crappiest day on the Oregon coast in September ain’t bad. It stayed cloudy the whole day, and there were no grand scenic vistas like we’d had previous days, but temperatures were coolly comfortable and the wind stayed with us.

We cruised to lunch (fish and chips + chowder + beer for both of us) in run-down Charleston. Many of the towns we’ve been through the last few days have been pretty depressed compared with those north.

Immediately after we hit the Seven Devils Road, which nicely took us off the busy Hwy 101, but we had to pay for it with several vicious climbs of 10% or more. There were a lot of (seven?) ups and downs, but I actually love the variety and trying to figure out what gear to be in makes the miles go by unnoticed. We passed three touring cyclists as yet unknown to science (or at least to Joel and I) in this stretch.

After turning into the state park around 4pm, the half-crappy day turned fully-awesome. Again we had leapfrogged the Canadians all day, and again they beat us into the hiker/biker sites. A new guy, Steve, was also set up between us and them. And then, the sun suddenly came out, and it was glorious. What a difference that distant exploding ball of hydrogen makes down here on the edge of the big ocean. It allowed us to turn the tree by our tents into a backpacker’s Christmas Tree, with all our stuff hung like ornaments to dry. We gave our parents a call to wish my mom a happy birthday and to plan tomorrow’s meetup.

By that time Samantha had also rolled in and we made plans to go the couple miles into Bandon together for some food. Joel and I were assuming we’d ride our now-unloaded bikes, but she suggested hitching a ride. Umm… sure… if it’s not about having adventures, than what are we here for? The first day we met, she was gone from her site all night because a family had invited her over to their site for dinner and a fire, and I told her that’s something way more likely to be offered to a lucky solo girl than a poor couple of dudes together like me and Joel. So here was another chance to work her girl-magic at the campground entrance while Joel and I just tried to not look too scary. Just as we were about to give up, we caught a guy who had just been checking out the campground, and who had even done a bit of touring in his younger days. He zipped us across the bridge and into the Old Town where we quickly found a Mexican restaurant. We got our margaritas and pina colada less quickly since the weird cyborg waiter spent at least a minute scanning, processing, and classifying each of our IDs.

Afterwards we walked to the grocery store; I had noticed Steve getting some firewood in camp, and suggested getting real marshmallows for this night. Samantha ran with it and collected full-on s’mores ingredients (including sticks!) to share around the fire. From the store, on about the 10th try Samantha found a slightly-creepier yet-still-friendly guy to take us back to camp in his beat-up Ford Probe at breakneck speeds.

Just as we returned, a new guy, Brian (spending a year weaving around the US), rolled in, and when I said “hello!” in the fading light he immediately said “Chicago?” Turns out he’s not an accent savant, he just thought I was part of a couple from Chicago he had heard about. Anyway, he seemed to immediately take a shine to me… I think? Then Leslie rolled in, and we all spent another good time around the campfire, creating community, as was Steve’s goal when he bought the wood. It’s cool how people are cool. To steal a good line from Joel’s secret-journal entry yesterday as he waxed philosophical, “I’m wondering if at other campgrounds 50 miles north and south there are other groups of bike tourists doing the same thing”. I hope so, because that means they’d be having a pretty good time.

59.3 mi / 4:17:56 time / 13.8 mph avg. / 3178 ft. climbing
Staying at Umpqua Lighthouse State Park

The 52 degree morning was chilly enough that I wore my pants the first 5 miles into Yachats, where we had our first real breakfast of the trip (the usual of French Toast, sausage, and a large milk for me.)

Today’s ride was truly a coast ride, as we didn’t have many large bays to circle around to pull us inland. So it was just one vista after another of Oregon’s classic rocky coastline, sometimes dropping away hundreds of feet straight down to the inrushing tide, sometimes wreathed in fog, sometimes lit by bright sunshine, and sometimes that beautiful combination of the two where shafts of sun pierce through the pines as the fog rolls down the hill. Every quarter mile was worthy of a photo, but eventually you have to ride.

Well, first we took a short hike down to the tidepools to see all the critters making a living in that environment. My favorites were the fat-ass sea stars, who make no attempt to present themselves in that nicely symmetrical shape you see in a child’s book about animals. It’s nice to have Joel along as a guide, because he’s pretty much seen the entire coast by car, so he knows a lot of cool places to check out, or even local histories.

We had only made it 30 miles by the time we stopped for another fancy lunch at a riverside seafood restaurant in the old downtown of Florence (fish tacos, yay!) Then Joel got fueled up with an espresso at a coffee shop there, and once again pushed by tailwinds, we made really good time for the second half. His knee has been holding up fine, and it seems his concerns about it are fading away, which is cool.  In general, we’ve been working together even better than I thought we would. Sometimes he’s not exactly the most decisive guy in the world, but on this trip he’s definitely taken the lead and I think we’ve hit on a good balance from the get-go.

We did an ice cream and food/beer-for-camp stop in Winchester just before the campground. The ice cream was good for calories and energy, but maybe ill-advised at 62 degrees, except that we had a big hill to climb in the last mile to warm us up again. Samantha from Texas who we met last night made it to the hiker/biker sites just before we did, and then Martin and Pierrette (the Canadians that we again were leapfrogging all day) rolled in. Joel and I took a walk after dinner and found the lighthouse (they don’t build ’em here like they do on the East Coast, I guess because here they have big cliffs to put the stubby things on!) and then got a fire going with Samantha, and were later joined by the Canadians, and finally, a third Canadian (Leslie) rolled in at nightfall to join the party. Okay, not much of a party, but standing around a campfire and sharing travelers’ tales is a pretty exciting evening for touring cyclists, and we were even able to roast some marshmallows that I appropriated from the top of a Rice Krispie Treat I had picked up earlier!

47.9 mi / 3:28:10 time / 13.7 mph avg. / 1982 ft. climbing
Staying at Beachside State Park

Another morning dawned grey with fog, but in the time I entered the bathhouse and the time I left, the entire sky above had turned blue. That was short-lived however, because as soon as we got out on the road, the fog returned. It was a nice lazy morning for a nice lazy day: a stop at a coffee stop got us muffins and a scone (and a second sighting of Ryan Kain’s bike-touring doppelganger) , but nothing to drink (Joel already had his coffee in camp with Chika’s zucchini bread). So it was another quick stop at the IGA for juice and milk and bananas.

We played leapfrog with the Canadians we met yesterday throughout the foggy morning, seeing them at various viewpoints and overlooks. Eventually the Oregon Coast Route took us off Highway 101 and on to Otter Crest Loop for a stretch. It was easily the best part of the trip so far. The skies blued up again, we were the only traffic on the road, and we were surrounded by devastating beauty. From the high bluffs through the tall trees we alternately glimpsed views of narrow coves and wide-open ocean stretching out below. And ominous high wall of fog lay across the sea like an army poised for battle, but so far the sun to the east seemed to be holding it at bay.

By noon we made it to Newport and across the treacherous bridge to the Rogue Brewpub, where of course we had to have lunch. The emphasis is clearly on the “brew” as you have to wend your way past forklifts and warehousing and towering stainless steel brewing vessels to reach the tucked-away restaurant. We both got 4-beer samplers (plus one on the house as a starter) which went well with our lunch and our now-customary cups of clam chowder.

A bit more and the never ending north breeze brought us to Waldport, the last town before our campground, before 3 o’clock. It took some convincing, but Joel finally believed me that we could find food we’d enjoy at a grocery store that we’d eat in camp. And we did pretty well there, including beers of course.

Luckily Beachside campground is not too close to the beach, because the fog had returned and brought a 55-degree chill with it, and the wind had never left. We found a well-sheltered spot within the hiker/biker area, next to our Canadians, who, despite their claims of slowness, somehow managed to beat us here. Our early arrival and the weather meant it was a perfect night for a fire, and Joel did a good job of getting it going on the first try, so we enjoyed that for a couple hours. The have some good-smelling wood here in Oregon. I thought it might be a good way to get the solo bike-touring girl the next site over to come hang out, but alas, she seemed to disappear after setting up camp.

57.3 mi / 4:05:42 time / 13.9 mph avg. / 2194 ft. climbing
Staying at Devil’s Lake State Park

The 300-site campground with 4 cars to a site, people sleeping outside in camp chairs, and a guy sneezing so loud that a woman several sites away shouted “god bless you!” got surprisingly quiet on this Labor Day’s eve. Either that or we were plenty tired and fell right asleep regardless of any fireworks or morons revving their F-350s. The morning broke foggy but had cleared before we even got out of camp.

Today’s ride included a big loop around Tillamook Bay, where a surprising amount of green pastureland found a home between the surrounding mountain peaks. It was a very windy day, but luckily they stayed behind us for the most part. 37 miles in we came to Pacific City and the Pelican Brewpub, crowded with the last gasp of summer’s tourists. There was another giant rock in the ocean here, which is just one part of the beauty along this route. I’m guessing the Oregon coast doesn’t get a lot of visitors from far away, given that the temperature tops out in the low 60s even in the best conditions, but for touring cyclists, it’s world-class.

After the brewpub, we had one of the biggest climbs we’ll have on the Oregon coast. Averaging 7% and bringing us up over 700 feet, I could only stick with Joel for the first quarter of it, and then had to let him go while I trudged the rest of the way up at 5.5mph. It wasn’t fun getting dropped, but when I stopped thinking about myself it made me quite happy. Despite that effort, I’ve been loving these Oregon downhills. Somehow they always feel like they give me more back on the way down than I put in on the way up, which is the opposite of how hills usually feel.

We might have had an easier time if the route up that hill recommended by the Oregon Coast Route map wasn’t closed, but it was at least really nice that we learned in advance that it was definitely closed, because often a road for “local traffic only” is still passable on bikes. On a homemade sign that read “NO WAY Through for Bikes or Cars” someone had added “It’s true 🙁 -Biker 8/12). Sucks for him, but he surely helped many cyclists who have come after.

Then we were into Lincoln City, which is a real city but nonetheless has a state park smack dab in the middle of it. $6 for a hiker/biker site and free showers and you have a winner. We’ve seen 10 other touring cyclists in two days, but tonight finally got to chat with one staying here as he sat at an empty site plugged into the electric to charge his full-sized laptop. Classic. Him and his girl are on a slow 3-year meander from the Yukon to Argentina. Even though a lot of people find my 4 week trips pretty hard core, I’m always envious of people who have the time and guts to do rides that go way beyond.

We walked over to a seafood restaurant where the food was good but the setting was otherworldly. The building rose on stilts above the wide sandy beach where kites dove and wheeled, while the low sun over the ocean passed through a thin veil of fog which kaleidoscoped its light into a billion shards, filling the sky and the room with a dreaming glow. It was an atmosphere that I already know will stick with me for a long time to come. And it’s only Day 2. Nice.

53.3 mi / 3:57:59 time / 13.4 mph avg. / 2526 ft. climbing
Staying at Barview Jetty County Park

I flew out of Midway on Saturday morning, after Swati was nice enough to haul herself out of bed at the crack of dawn to take me there. Checking bags reminded me why I almost never check my bags, but at least they flew free with Southwest. Joel and Ren picked me up at the airport, and shortly after we got to the house, my parents arrived! They came the hard way, driving in their camper-truck over five days, but at least they didn’t have to check bags!

After lunch Joel and Chika came along to the Amtrak station to pick up my bike, which I had shipped ahead earlier in the week via Amtrak Express. I was scolded for sneaking a couple bags inside the box (not by the crusty old lifer, but by the cute young Amtrak employee, a creature I didn’t even know existed!), though the box was actually in better shape than other times I’d shipped it. $64 including the box, still a great deal.

Though we had considered getting a ride out to the coast that afternoon, we decided to wait until Sunday morning, which I think was a good decision. That gave us more time to hang out with Noah and Ren, put down an rib-sticking meatloaf dinner courtesy of Chika, do some final prep, and catch up on much-needed sleep.

So Sunday morning, we packed the bikes on the Subaru and drove out to the coast at Astoria with my parents in the back seat. After a final setup and goodbye, we were off and riding, with my parents driving the Subaru back to Portland. But hopefully we will hook back up in a few days.

The riding started cool and easy. For the entire 168 hours through Oregon, the temperature is never expected to rise above 63 nor drop below 53. I let Joel set the pace, and a nice tailwind kept us zipping along. Labor Day holiday traffic was pretty insane, but manageable. We got our first view of the Pacific Ocean in Cannon Beach, and the bustling shops and streets of the cute tourist town helped slowly bring me along to feeling like I’m on vacation. It was warm in the bright sun, but a Floridian would have thought all the people insane for going to the beach on a day with such dreadful conditions. Relativity is a funny thing.

After a yummy lunch of meatloaf sandwiches that Chika had packed for us, we had a couple more good hills to climb, some bridges to cross, and a tunnel with flashing “bicyclist inside” lights to traverse. We made a big loop around Nehalem Bay with lots of smaller ups and downs, and then hit the only flat and straight section of the day through Rockaway Beach. It’s such a contrast to the alluvial plain of the Atlantic Coast I rode with Dennis a couple years ago: here the fingers of the mountains run right to the sea, and even past it.

Someone left their rock in the ocean.

Above Manzanita

Nearing our destination, I put too much trust into a back entrance shown by my computer maps and led us into a Methodist campground, down a gravel road, then a dirt road, and then right to a locked gate topped with barbed wire, with our campground right on the other side. Ugh. Joel was kind enough to take it all in stride.

The $5 Hiker/Biker sites at Barview Jetty are regular, individual sites, which is unusual, though “induvidual” is a stretch for any of the sites. I have never seen such a densely packed campground. We saw a couple sites where people strung up tarps between trees to provide a bit of privacy! Though even on Labor Day weekend some 10% of the 300 sites were untaken. We walked back out to the campground entrance for a Mexican food truck dinner, and then talked in camp over beers and snacks before heading to the chilly beach to catch the sunset.

And bird crapped on my seat while I was standing a foot away. Better than my head I guess!