Entering Oregon (Again) and Entering Washington (Again)

Today, I cycled from Crow Butte Park to Touchet, Washington. To make the best of the roads, I crossed the Columbia back into Oregon near Umatilla, but about 15 miles later, I re-entered Washington. As I left the Columbia River to go inland, I enjoyed a few last spectacular views.

The campsite that evening was a bit eerie, as I was the only camper that night. I had one guest, though: A 30 lb wild cat (cougar?) sauntered through the campsite, completely unfazed by my presence, but giving me ample space, as well. Rachel hasn't met a cat she didn't like, but I think this one would have given her pause!

Columbia River

The day before yesterday, I rode from Washougal to Bingen. It was 50 miles along the Washington side of the Columbia River (the Oregon side, at that point, being unbearably hilly as the mountains start to encroach on the Columbia). The big milestone (no pun intended) was crossing the 1,000 mile mark since my departure from Davis.

The views of the gorge, as the Columbia carves through the mountain ranges are spectacular. The river is so wide, it feels almost like a long lake: It features windsurfers and parasurfers.

That night, I stopped at a simple little private campsite, right off the road. I shared company with about 15 tunnel engineers, all in their twenties, who had spent the day rafting. They were a good fun group to hang out and have a few beers with at the end of a long day.

The following day, I made a big push from Bingen to Crow Butte State Park. Despite a little rain in the morning, I made 92 miles, largely in thanks to the wind at my back. Crow Butte is a little campsite on an island in the middle of the Columbia, so it felt quite remote despite being quite close to highways on both the Oregon and Washington sides of the Columbia.

I've yet to encounter any bicyclists on my Lewis and Clark trail. This is undoubtedly a result of a combination that it isn't quite as busy as the California and Oregon coasts, as well as the fact that this time, I'm going in the same direction as most riders and therefore I'm less likely to encounter them (unlike the coast, where I was going against the wind, and saw hundreds of riders going the other direction).

Entering Washington

Today was a short 50 mile ride from St. Helens, Oregon, to Washougal, Washington, via Portland. I rode across the Columbia River on interstate I-205's bridge as the highway leaves Portland towards Seattle. It's a curious configuration, whereby the bicycle lanes are in the middle of the eight lane super highway, with traffic flying by on both sides. While unnerving at first, it is perfectly safe on this fenced-off bicycle lane, but it's the first time I've seen a set-up like that.

It was a largely uneventful day, again cloudy in the morning, clearing in the afternoon. I enjoyed intermittent views of the sparkling Columbia and the dramatic mountain peaks in the distance. The locals continue to be extremely friendly: Without exception, every time I've stopped, at least one group has struck up a lively conversation regarding my tour.

Bottom line, another great day on the road.

Eastward Bound

Yesterday, I commenced my eastward trek with a 70 mile ride from Astoria to St Helens. Even with a late start, the lack of headwinds made a huge difference, making the two long climbs on this hilly day seem less daunting. The day was very overcast and gray, but when I crested a large hill at 3pm, I saw this unfamiliar, big yellow object in the sky. The sun finally made an appearance and I welcomed its company.

This interplay between the terrain and the weather has been fascinating. Cycling near Seaside one morning, I watched a thin layer of fog, pushed over the northern hills, hugging the tree lined slopes as the thin layer rolled down the southern face of the range. Oregon citizens are intimately familiar with the positive correlation between valley-to-coast temperature variances and the level of fog on the coast. In New York, one's knowledge of the weather does not go beyond what is printed in the Times, but the scenic northwest enjoys a more intimate relationship with the environment.

Sin Lam Memorial Trust Fund

After many delays, I've finally established a trust fund for Andy's and Wendy's college education and emergency medical needs. Please see:

  http://sinlammemorial.blogspot.com

for more information. Thank you, everyone, for your patience.

Reached Columbia Gorge

Today, I've cycled from Nahalem to Astoria. My tour can be best described as "bicycle from Davis, California to Astoria, Oregon, turn right, bicycle to New York." Tomorrow will be time for that right turn and I'll be able to commence my tour along the Lewis and Clark trail. It will be a novel experience to have, finally, the wind to my back.

I'm leaving the gorgeous Oregon coast tomorrow. One native ask me to report that it was terrible with horrible weather on the Oregon coast, in order to discourage anyone else from finding out about the undiscovered beauty of Oregon. You cannot blame him for not wanting to share the treasures of Oregon. It really has been spectacular.

Roaring Fire

Today I cycled from Netarts to Nehalem, about 40 miles. Around the Three Capes Scenic Road there were some great views of the ocean and of Tillamook Bay. The skies were clear most of the day, but the winds picked up quite a bit. Fortunately, the hills were forgiving and the ride was mercifully short. I only have one more day before I hit Astoria and head east with the winds to my back.

Right now, I'm sitting in front of a roaring fire with waves crashing in the distance. I relived my childhood summer camp experiences by roasting marshmellow over the flames. I couldn't take more than a half dozen of them (they're too sweet), but the flaming marshmellows brought back many great memories.

I shared the campsite with three other cyclists. We had another potluck: I provided food and they supplied libation.

Tomorrow will be another short, but hilly, 40 mile ride to the mouth of the Columbia gorge. The prospects of finally getting past the headwinds provide ample motivation for the day.

Forging Along the Oregon Coast

Today I'm riding from Newport to Netarts. It was a day of contrasts, riding past more rugged coasts (such as Otter Point, to the right, another set of rocks carved out by the pounding waves of the Pacific), evergreen lined hills, surfers on the breaking waves, farms with crops and cattle, and horse ranches. Most startling was the contrast of the sand dunes, below, that have encroached into forests, making it look like evergreens had simply sprouted in the middle of a desert.

As the variety of sights demonstrates, it was a long day. While only 70 miles, the headwind and the hills made it seem much longer than that. Frankly, it was too many miles, because the entire focus for the day became making it to the destination by 9pm, rather than just enjoying the adventure. I'm eager to head east to get the winds to my back, and fortunately, I'll be heading that way in just a few days, starting the Lewis and Clark route!

Rest Day

After several grueling days of headwinds and hills, I've taken another rest day. On this lazy Sunday, I watched Tiger win the final round of the British Open and Floyd Landis win the Tour de France. The latter holds special interest for me: Floyd survived a tumultuous Tour, featuring a devastating set back during his first day in the Alps in which he not only lost the yellow jersey when he cracked on the hilly climbs and, by everyone's estimation, fell out of running for the Tour. That evening, I was also killed by hills (Oregon's in my case) and when I arrived an hour late at my Port Orford motel, the bicycle-loving receptionist likened my slow ascent to Floyd's. Little did we know that the following day Floyd would not only recover, but also achieve an unprecedented stage win on the hardest mountains and lay the groundwork for his eventual victory.

On the short ride from Waldport to Newport, I visited the Seal Rocks, but more importantly, I rested up for my tough day tomorrow.

Oregon Coast

Yesterday was another glorious day as I departed Tahkenitch Lake for Waldport. As I head north, the Oregon coast is becoming lusher than the dry, northern California coast. It still has rugged coasts (such as Devil's Churn, a chasm that the pounding Pacific has cut into the volcanic rocks) and great sites (the largest natural sea cave home of hundreds of sea lions, down a 200 ft elevator ride through the rock base), but definitely lusher than California.

The coast is crowded, though, with all the Oregon natives escaping the blistering heat of the valleys in favor of the cool, yet sunny, coastline. Lodging has been hard to find (either campsites or motels), but it should free up as we head into the work week. I was charged an outrageous rate for my room last night in Waldport, but having spent $4 in total for the two prior nights, it averages out alright.

Bandon to Lake Tahkenitch

Well, I finally found the August Vogue. What a great photo: Rach is stunning, outshining the fashion models in the endless series of high-glitz ads. If you haven't seen the magazine, check it out. I ripped out the article and I'm carrying it with me for the rest of the trip. That was definitely my highlight of the day.

Yesterday was a bit of an adventure. Riding from Bandon into the stiff wind and through the hills, I was exhausted and started looking for campsite when I hit 30 miles on the odometer. I heard about a nice campsite just shy of Reedsport (Umpqua Lighthouse State Park), so purchased provisions for the night, and forged on to the 45 mile mark. Once I cycled down the long, steep hill to the campsite, I discover that they were full (why couldn't they have put the "no vacancy" sign at the top of the hill?!). So I proceeded to ride back up the hill to the road, and another 5 miles into Reedsport and I'd stay at a hotel. After a few calls, I discovered that all hotels and campsites were fully booked because of the big ATV show/fair this weekend, which further explained my problem at Umpqua. By 8pm, I started to get desperate with the sun setting in the distance. I investigated a number of rogue campsites (i.e. roadside locations that I could pitch a tent for the night, just out of sight), but they were rare in the rocky terrain and none were really suitable. The sun set and I rode another 10 miles in the pitch black night with my tiny headlight and flashing rear light. It was simultaneously exciting and terrifying to see nothing but what my little light cast in the 20 or 30 feet in front of me. Though I was exhausted at 6pm, the evening reinvigorated me and I got my second wind. After 65 total miles, I finally found a full campsite at 10:00pm, but snuck in and pitched my tent in the woods. It was "good value": No showers or significant amenities, but it was free, so I cannot complain.

Port Orford to Bandon

How many people can say that they bicycled through Denmark? I can, though it was admittedly Denmark, Oregon.

That is just one of the little towns along the Oregon coast. Unfortunately, these little villages don't carry Vogue magazine and I still haven't found a copy of Rachel's article yet. I'd like to say that I'm secure enough in my manhood to walk in and proudly ask, "Do you have the latest edition of Vogue magazine?", but inevitably I'd rationalize my interest by adding that I was looking for an article about my wife. Everyone was sufficiently impressed and my manhood went unquestioned.

Last night, I camped at a great site just past Bandon, Bullards Beach State Park. I met up with a couple of groups heading south (only complete idiots go north into the strong southerly winds), including two high-school graduates from Cambridge, England on their "gap" (a one year break that many English students take between high-school and college), and a German guy. We had a pot luck where I cooked up the spaghetti and corn and Tom cooked up the hot dogs over the fire. The meal definitely hit the spot.

When the campfire went out, I capped off the evening by watching the crystal clear skies. Away from city lights, the glow of the Milky Way jumps out at you, adding a whole new dimension to the night skies.

Brookings to Port Orford

Today, I'm cycling to Port Orford, OR, past Brushy Bald Mountain (isn't that a contradiction of terms?). The views continue to be outstanding, with massive, rugged, building-sized rocks (sometimes called "sea stacks", such as Whale's Head pictured here) jutting out of the ocean and beaches. It's easy to become blasé about the scenery when you see it all day long, but it doesn't make it any less impressive.

When I ride through some of these towns, particularly some of the smaller towns in northern California, I continue to be struck by the contrast of wealth and poverty unlike anything I remember from my trip in the early 90s. The little towns sport fancy art galleries with dilapidated houses and appalling poverty only blocks away. The middle class seem to be driving by on the highway, but the towns seem to have either the well-off or the run-down, but little in the middle. Perhaps my perspective now is different than it was in my 20s when I last toured like this, but the contrast is striking.

Entering Oregon

Today I cycled from Crescent City, CA to Bookings, OR. Unlike last week, the weather is fabulous. The terrain is farmland interspersed with the rugged coasts.

I had to conduct another roadside operation on my bike. I had lost nine of my 27 gears when my front derailleur stretched out of alignment. A quick cable adjustment and I was back on the road.

I encountered a curious fellow the other day. He was a full-time solo bicyclist. He was retired, drawing social security to pay for his bike tuneups and his stays at the campsites (which are only $3-$5 a night for bicyclists at state sites). Sounds like he's been doing this for years. Frankly, it looks like it too: With the scraggly beard, the leathery skin from years of exposure to the elements, aged well beyond his years. Most disturbingly, though, was the desperate, yet practiced, way he struck up the conversation. Starved for conversation, he harangued me for 20-30 minutes with the minutiae of what he was eating, where he was camping, etc. A nice enough guy, but a bit disturbed, too. At points in the conversation, he would have a side conversation with himself. Stark raving mad.

So, when I get back from three months on the road by myself, if you see me looking nervous and talking to myself, you'll know what happened. Now that I mention it, this blogging is a bit like talking to myself, so perhaps I've already gone nuts...

Rachel in Vogue

Please note that Rach is featured in Vogue Magazine which apparently hits the newsstands tomorrow. Keep an eye out for it!

Leaving California

After 50 miles of riding, and a total of 450 miles of riding in California, last night I stopped at Crescent City, the last significant town before I hit Oregon. It's here that I finally encountered an Internet cafe that has let me catch up with my blog (given Verizon's not-so-national digital network).

While I've shed 5-10 lbs of items I didn't need (extra knife, wrench, pipe, non-riding shirts, etc.), I'm going to hit a bike store before I leave to get a few things I need. Hopefully I'll still have a net savings of weight. As I climbed the 1200 ft up through the Del Norte Coast Redwoods State Park, one's mind dwells on every extra pound: I questioned the wisdom of carrying the stove, pots, fuel, and food up and down the mountains. That's probably another 5-10 pounds that I might shed as I cross the mountains (since I usually stop for a cooked dinner, only using the stove twice so far). I'm not ejecting the cooking materials quite yet, though, since once I start camping a little more as I head east, I may want it. Early in my ride I toyed with getting rid of my air mattress, but having camped a few times, I'm definitely hanging on to that. My old bones really like having a soft spot in the tent.

Dipping Wheel in Pacific

Weather on the Californian coast has continued to be by dismal: Windy, gray, and temperatures in the 60s. I took shelter on day 11, hoping it would clear up again, but it never rid, so I ventured off on the road again today, riding 35 miles from Arcata to Orick, CA.

After watching surfers brave the freezing Pacific waves at Clam Beach, and a nice lunch in Trinidad, I encountered a nice beach just past the Humboldt Lagoons State Park. It was here that I conducted the transamerican cyclist tradition of dipping my real wheel in the Pacific. I will complete the tradition when I arrive in NY by dipping my front wheel in the Atlantic.

The inn that I stopped at in Orick is what you might call "good value", or at least "value". For $35 I effectively got a tent with running water. Sure, it was a permanent structure, but the cracks in the wall were covered with duct tape that came unstuck and thus had light streaming into the room with views of cows and sheep milling about a field. The mattress had evidently lived outside for some period (evidenced by leaves stuck to the bottom) and this was the first inn that I felt inclined to go to bed over the covers, fully clothed. I checked for ticks the following morning and I think I escaped unscathed.

When I went out for dinner at 8:30, I discovered that Orick rolls up the carpet at 8pm and all the restaurants were closed. I did find a bar, recently acquired by Mark Rochester, which had some frozen pizzas that Mark was able to defrost for me. Mark's transforming the bar to a Harley destination, with classic motorcycles, gas tanks, and wheels decorating the bar. In the heart of the People's Republic of California, a deeply Democratic state, Mark is trying to establish a bastion for Republicans. He has an imposing, 48-star flag on the wall and a huge picture of George Bush on the wall, cleverly put out of reach behind the bar to prevent Democratic graffiti.

Eureka!

Day ten was a good day, riding about 70 miles on the rolling hills of northern California. The weather was dismal in the morning, cloudy and cold in the morning, and by the time the sun came out, so did the howling headwinds. I've discovered that the traditional Pacific coast route is north to south, given that the prevailing winds go that way. Thus, I've seen many riders heading the other way, but very few going my way. I spent a good part of the day on my drops, keeping a low profile in the wind. I made it from Myers Flat, through Eureka, to Arcata. Legend has it that Eureka, CA (Greek for "I have found it") was so named by James Ryan in the mid 18th century. While Ryan is not related to me as far as I know, I enjoyed the symmetry of it all.

I've decided on a change of itinerary: My sister will be in Sweden during my planned arrival in Seattle, so I'll defer my visit until after she, Tor, Sten, and Liam return. So, when I hit the Washington-Oregon border, I'll bypass Seattle and directly proceed east along the Columbia River, picking up the Lewis and Clark trail there.

Note, Verizon's highly vaunted "nationwide digital network" is not as great as they claim. I've been out of Internet connectivity for days now, and my posts will therefore be coming sporadically until I get better reception. Thanks for the patience.

Benbow and Myers Flat

The following two days I did light riding, recovering from my climb up Little Red Mountain. I cycled from Leggett to Benbow on day 8, and then on to Myers Flat on day 9. I've hit the Avenue of the Giants, a scenic road through Humboldt Redwoods State Park. I've witnessed everything from the majesty of trees with trunks over 20 ft in diameter, to kitschy little tourist stores offering insights to finding the legendary Big Foot monster. The scenery of the ride through the redwoods is amazing on this lightly traveled road.

Little Red Mountain

It was disappointing to discover that climb to Leggett, which I earlier called my personal l'Alpe d'Huez (after a historic, monster mountain in the Tour de France), actually was a climb up Little Red Mountain. So, I had by head handed to me by the Little Red Riding Hood of mountains. What a disgrace.

It was a monster, though, with inclines in the range of 8-10 degrees at points. While that might not sound like much, with a bike this heavy, that's killer. I can comfortably climb up 6 degree slopes, but beyond that is my undoing. It's definitely getting me in shape for my future mountain climbs.

At the top of the mountain, I detoured to a kitschy tourist stop, the Drive Thru Tree in Leggett. The Chandelier Tree has a car-sized hole carved out, which gives you a sense of the size of some of these trees out here.

On the Pacific

On day 6, I rode from Mendocino to Westport, CA. It was a short ride, but the next campsite is in Leggett, which is up an 1800 ft climb. For those Tour de France fans, this climb to Leggett will be my own, personal, l'Alpe d'Huez.

So, to make sure I had fresh legs for the climb to Leggett, I stopped at a wonderful campsite in Westport, on a bluff overlooking the Pacific. While the campsite is right off of route 1, it felt surprisingly secluded with the ocean to the west, and evergreen lined hills to the east.

I sat, overlooking the bluff with waves crashing below me, watching a lone seal bask on the rocks as the sun set on the Pacific. In the inky black sky with a bracing ocean breeze, I then witnessed the impressive was the rising of the full moon an hour or so later over the tree-lined hills to the east. Away from the noise of city lights, the sky is amazingly clear, and the moon rose, creating an effect of a muted sunrise, with darker shades of the same colors you see at dawn. It was amazing.

Redwoods and Pacific

Yesterday, as I rode from Boonville to Mendocino, I passed through redwood forests. The trees are spectacular, looming over the narrow, winding road. Even though the sun is shining, the trees prevent sunlight from breaking through and temperatures have dropped from nearly 100 in the last few days, to the high 60s today.

As I approach the coast, a fog has rolled in and temperatures have dropped further. Even with the fog, the sight of the rocky Pacific coast is exhilarating. The ride along the shoreline highway is impressive. By 5pm, after riding through the imposing fog and low temperatures for an hour or so, I have taken shelter at a local inn for the evening. After a quick shower, I step out of the inn to see that the fog has rolled through and reveals a clear, gorgeous evening and it bodes well for tomorrow.

My new chain performed admirably and I'm ready for the hills of the next few days along the California coast.

Bike Breakdown

The rest day left me in great spirits this morning and I headed off on rt 128. This beautiful, lightly traveled road offers rolling hills not as punishing as those experienced in the last few days. The wildlife encroaches on the road with deer resting in thick brush next to the road. More than once, as my bike silently slid through the forest, I would startle (and was, in turn, startled by) a well-camouflaged deer that would noisily bolt from a distance sometimes not more than 5 or 10 feet from my bike.

Unfortunately, just short of Boonville, my chain jammed on a big hill and got horribly bent out of shape when I tried to extricate it. After that, the bike was useless on the hills, spontaneously skipping and changing gears back and forth every revolution of the twisted chain. Surgery was called for, but I needed an operating room. Bill (a Harley riding grandfather and part time Wilderness Man Camp counselor) and Pete (his young ward, visiting from DC) stopped and gave me a lift into town. On the stoop of the general store, I operated: After 3 hours of surgery, the patient survived with 3 new links.

Rest Day

In honor of the Tour de France's rest day on Monday, I took day three off. I descended the monster hills of Lake Sonoma's campsite in 20 minutes (a tad faster than my 3 hour assent the prior evening) and stopped at Cloverdale for the day. I just rested, watched the Tour on OLN, and read my book. It was nice to relax after a few killer days. My legs were very appreciative of the break.

Sonoma County

Yesterday was another gorgeous, cloudless day, with a rich, blue sky as far as you could see, though hot and dry, at nearly 100 degrees. In the evening, away from any city lights and smog, the stars seemed more abundant than usual, even with the competing, brilliant, three quarter moon that shone so bright that you didn't need a flashlight.

Yesterday, as I rode from St Helena, through Napa, Sonoma, Alexander, and Dry Creek valleys, I saw my fair share of hills again. A short, 48 mile, hilly day was capped off by a monster climb to my campsite at Lake Sonoma. I bicycled up a 1600 ft elevation to get to the site and nearly cried when I realized that I missed my turn for the campsite at only 1000 ft, fortunately, Mark, a kindly local not only gave me directions, but let me throw my bike in his pickup, saving me nearly another hour of cycling after nightfall.

A grueling day was capped off by a good, hot, campside dinner. A good day, all in all. More tomorrow...

Napa County

Today was a great first day. As I rode from Davis, CA to Napa valley's St Helena and Rutherford, I witnessed the best of California: vast expanses of grasses made golden from the dry season (after all, it is the Golden State), sunflower fields with yellow as far as you can see, llama and ostrich farms, and acres of grape vines lining Napa valley. It was simply spectacular.

It was a grueling day, though. The hills dwarf what I'm used to on the east coast, and cycled up and down hills up to 285 meters in elevation. I estimate that my 55 mile ride included climbing 1500 to 2000 feet of elevation in aggregate. I was planning on my first week being a flat training ride to get me in shape before I hit the mountains, but the California countryside obviously had other plans for me. I'm hoping that the next few days are a little more forgiving.

Thanks to Charlie and Bruce

I have to thank the Moore's for giving me a first class sendoff. Charlie provided a place to rest my head before I hit the road. He also picked up camping fuel for my portable stove (the airlines are funny about not wanting to include flammable fuels in anything besides the plane's own tanks). Bruce made the trip down to Davis, picked me up at the airport (including suffering through America West's delivering me five hours late), cooked up a first class dinner (including that key carb, the musical fruit) to make sure I was fueled up, myself.

Charlie and Bruce, I wanted to thank you guys. Both of you are gentlemen and scholars. Again, thanks.

Departure

With anticipation of my early morning flight to California to kick off my bike trip, I sit, listening to the local fireworks in the distance. I have been looking forward to this three month trip for so long that it is hard to believe my adventure starts tomorrow.

Today, I test loaded the bike and panniers. Bike and kit weighed in at 79.5 lbs (including tent, sleeping bag, cooking equipment, etc.). It took a few minutes to get used to riding with that sort of load. There are a few items I can discard, but nothing that will add up to any material weight. The heaviest non-essential item that I have is a sleeping pad (only 1 lb, 8 oz), so I'll assess whether it's worth the carrying weight in my first few days of the trip. Last time I did a trip like this, as soon as I hit mountains I became pretty ruthless about discarding non-essential items, so we'll see if the sleeping pad makes the cut.

I've now disassembled the bike, and it's packed up for my flight to California tomorrow morning. Bruce and Charlie have kindly offered to prepare a farewell meal tomorrow night (Bruce kindly avoided calling it my "last supper"). I will set off Thursday morning from California on a nice, easy training ride up to Seattle. My next communication will come from the road.