Dreary Oregon Coast, Sunny California

When I woke up in Clatskanie, Oregon, there was a thick haze in the air. It wasn't actually raining, but I got as wet as if it had been within the first few minutes. My glasses were catching water droplets and fogging as I rode, but I eventually dropped out of the clouds and into Astoria, Oregon. As I approached Astoria, I couldn't help but think of the movie Goonies. I felt like I had already been there. I found a little coffee shop to get my caffeine buzz going again and to browse the internet for lodging options ahead. While I was inside it started to rain. I threw on the rain gear and headed back out to the bike to knock out a few more miles. Though I had reached Astoria, my turning point to head south, I had not yet actually seen the Pacific Ocean.

I hit the pedals pretty hard and made my way to the town of Seaside, Oregon. When I got there, I made as direct a line to the coast as I could, which put me on a boardwalk that followed the beach. I asked a man that was passing by if he would snap a picture of me by the Seaside, Oregon, sign. He obliged, and was also rather interested in my travels and the route that had brought me to the coast. He suggested a place to stop to eat in Cannon Beach, just down the coast, so I held off on lunch until I got there.

By the time I reached Cannon Beach, I had forgotten where my Seaside photographer had suggested I eat, so I pulled off at the first place I found that had an overhang where I could try to get my bike out of the rain. It was rather difficult to get myself motivated to leave the restaurant once I was somewhat dried off and warmed up, but I had to get back out on the road.

As I rode south of Cannon Beach, the weather stayed pretty dreary. I pulled off of the road at Manzanita to see what kind of lodging options were in the area. I pulled into a grocery store and asked the cashier if there was a cheap place to stay in town. The woman that was checking out at the time, Carol, spoke up and said that there was a hostel in Rockaway Beach, just to the south, that had opened within the last month or so. Carol said that it would be about 8 more miles down the road to get to this hostel. She was driving a van, and offered to drive me and my gear the remaining distance to the hostel. At first I was reluctant to accept her generosity, mostly because I'm stubborn and wanted to tough it out on my own, but when she told me that in the waning daylight hours, many of the curves ahead would not be the safest, especially with the wet conditions, I threw my bike and bags in her van and we were off. She drove me out to the coast to show me the view of the climb I had just completed prior to pulling in at that grocery store, but the weather didn't allow any kind of view. I remember being at the top, wishing I could see down to the ocean.

Soon enough we had arrived at the Sea Haven hostel in Rockaway Beach. Maureen showed me to my sleeping quarters and explained how everything worked and where everything was. Regardless of price, this was the best place I have stayed (other than at private residences with friends). That being said, I paid about the same to stay here as I did for some campsites east of the Mississippi River, so the price was right, too. The rain outside was not helping my motivation on the road, so when Maureen told me that a group of cyclists had made reservations for the following night and suggested that I take a day off and wait for them so I have people to ride with, I decided that was a good idea. This was the first time I took a day off where I was not staying with friends. That evening I spoke with a man who was a photographer for NASA's jet propulsion laboratory.

I bummed around the whole next day. I read, walked on the beach, ate, and slept throughout the day. It was great. Eventually the cyclists started to show up, so I had plenty of people to chat with that evening. There were at least 8 other cyclists present in the hostel that evening. There was a group of older men that were traveling together that played cards most of the evening. It was entertaining to be on the sidelines for their conversation.

The next morning I got on the road relatively early. Around noon I was looking for a place to stop for a bite to eat and found a place with three loaded bicycles out front. I ended up joining them at their table: Scott, Scott, and Mark. When we left the restaurant, one of the Scotts and I pulled away from the other Scott and Mark. We pushed onward to eventually reach Newport, Oregon, where we found another hostel. This one was a little more expensive than the previous, but it certainly had a lot of character. There were books and literature references everywhere (including what I believe to be a quote from "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" above the toilet, reminding us to wash our hands). Scott and I had one other roommate for the night, and before we took off in the morning, he asked me about my ride. When I told him, he pulled out his wallet and contributed to the "Feed Neal Fund" with instructions to find a decent place to stay down the road.

Scott and I kept on rolling through the mist and rain to arrive at Honeyman Memorial State Park near Florence, OR, to camp for the night. Fortunately the rain let up long enough to get the tent set up. Since my tent is gigantic, there were a couple of times we both slept in it so we wouldn't have to pack up two wet tents in the morning.

There isn't a whole lot that stands out in my mind about the Florence area, other than purchasing better rain gear. It was not a small chunk of money that came from my wallet, but it was necessary. When we left the following day we were riding along some very large sand dunes. I'm sure they would have been much more impressive had it not been raining. I was crabby. When we got to the North Bend/Coos Bay area, the Adventure Cycling Association route that we had been following had us turn off of hwy 101 to go closer to the coast. Scott and I followed the route. As we were about to leave town, the sky opened up and it rained harder than it had in the past couple of days. It was discouraging, but we pressed on. It let up a bit as we turned onto 7 Devils Road. We should have known better than to take a road called 7 Devils. It was ridiculous. That was the steepest grade I've seen in a very long time. We found out after the fact that it is called 7 Devils because of the 7 very steep climbs. It was so hazy that we couldn't see more than a couple hundred feet in any direction, so if there was an impressive view to go along with all of the work we put into climbing, we did not get to experience it. The descent on the other side wasn't even worth it. we never really dropped. We just kept going up and down until we were back at sea level. We stopped at Bullards Beach State Park for the night. It is worth mentioning that state parks through Oregon and California were all $5 for cyclists.

The following morning we got on the road and had a pretty dry (but still overcast) day for the first time. My favorite part of the day was when we approached Humbug Mountain. It's not the biggest mountain I've ever seen, but the way we approached it made it look pretty impressive. That night we rolled in to Gold Beach, OR, and camped at the fairgrounds under their band shell. That evening the sun even poked through for a little bit. Just enough to get our hopes up. Scott was definitely the optimist. I figured that mother nature was just messing with us, and just wanted to give us a little taste of what we had been missing before dumping on us again. That night while we were in town we did laundry, which was sorely needed at that point. Everything was wet. It's pretty difficult to get motivated in the morning when you have to put on a wet jersey, socks, cycling shoes, and worst of all cycling shorts.

On our way south from Gold Beach we went through Samuel H. Boardman State Park, which had some amazing sights if you're willing to get off the bike or out of the car and walk 40 feet. I snapped a few pictures, but I think you all just need to go there sometime. As we crossed the border into California, I got my picture by the Oregon and California signs, and decreasing the number of states remaining to be pedaled through to 10. We made it as far south as Klamath, CA, where we found giant statues of Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox. We stopped for some pictures, then started calling campgrounds to compare prices, ending up at the Mystic Forest RV Park and Campground.

In the morning, just south of Klamath, we turned off of hwy 101 onto Newton B. Drury Scenic Highway. On this jaunt off the main highway Scott and I saw some of the biggest trees we'd ever seen. They were enormous. We stopped for a few pictures with the giants as we rode through. This was also the first day that we really had clear skies. Thanks for nothing, Oregon.

There were a few other places that the map instructed us to turn off of 101. My favorite for the day was called Trnidad Scenic Drive. Parts of it were pretty steep, parts of it were narrowed down to one lane, and parts of it were gravel, but it was definitely worth the work. It was a sheer drop off the side of the road down to the ocean for most of it. Scott and I had gotten split up for a bit during this stretch, but when we met back up, he had two more cyclists with him. The four of us hit the pedals pretty hard for the last stretch into Eureka, CA. At that point, Scott and I found an Indian food buffet. It was amazing. I stuffed myself stupid. I love Indian food. After that we found the cheapest hotel in town and used the money our hostel friend had given me to pay for it. There was a big food co-op across the street, so we did some grocery shopping and I found some more of the dehydrated re-fried beans that I've been eating. They also had a sale on Cliff bars, so I bought a dozen of those.

Scott and I discussed our plans for the next few days, and we decided to split up. He wanted to ride a section of the road called the Lost Coast. I was more looking at getting down to San Francisco to take some time off a little quicker, so I bypassed that part. Props to Scott for riding it; it's about 8,500 feet of climb in about 60 miles according to the Adventure Cycling Association maps. I took 101 out of town and eventually turn onto Avenue of the Giants. Again, a worth while turnoff to see some really huge trees, as well as to avoid some of the 101 traffic. I stopped to camp at Richardson Grove State Park, where I met several other cyclists. One was a man from Athens, GA. Oddly enough, I biked through Athens, GA a few months ago. They had better bike lanes than much of what I found out east. There was also a couple from Norway biking down the coast, and a man from Eugene that was working his way around the country to end up in Pennsylvania to see his family.

The next morning I took off in search of a place for breakfast and with the intentions of covering a lot of miles. Basil, the man from Athens, GA, had left before me. I caught up to him a little ways down the road, where he was taking a break with two of his friends that were choosing to find lodging each night instead of camp. We all ended up at the same market in Leggett, CA, for a food break. This ended up eating away my entire morning. They were fun people to talk to. The road past Leggett was the longest climb of my coastal ride, reaching just over 2,000 ft in elevation. Part way up I stopped to take a picture. As I mounted the bike to continue climbing, I noticed my rear tire was very low. As I took the wheel off, the Norwegian couple, Basil and his friends, the man from Eugene, and two more cyclists caught up to me and all pulled over, making an impromptu party on the side of the road. The two cyclists I had not met yet were Scott and Dan. At the moment they were riding unloaded because Dan's mother had come to SAG for them. The whole group of them trickled away while I was still fixing the tire. When I had the tire back on, I pumped hard to catch up to everyone.

I ended up passing all of the loaded cyclists and meeting Scott and Dan at the top of the hill, where they had pulled over to get a picture at the top of the climb. At that point, I decided to try to keep up with the two of them for a while. This proved quite difficult, as I was riding a 110 lb. bicycle (including gear and whatnot) compared to their presumably 18-23 lb. rides. At the top of the next big climb they had to wait a little for me, but after that I did alright at keeping up. They seemed somewhat impressed at my ability to keep up, but I don't think they really realized how much it was killing me to keep up. They said I was in the running for the nickname "Manimal" which had been reserved for a man in their cycling club with very large thighs. We knocked out some good miles in the afternoon, and when we got to Mendocino, Dan's mother had found a cottage with a hot tub for the night. They graciously offered me a spot on the floor and food for the evening and morning. It was an evening well spent, chatting with my new traveling companions.

The next morning we ate breakfast and hit the road relatively early. Scott and Dan had aspirations of pushing through some long miles, so we hit the road pretty fast in the morning and had about 50 miles done before noon. That's no easy task on the coast. Some of the grades get pretty steep. At one point, just south of Elk, CA, I was in my lowest gear and standing on my pedals. I can still say I have never had to get off my bike to push, but that one got close. Anyway, around lunch time I took a lengthier break than my fellow travelers and proceeded at my own pace. I was not in the same rush that they were. I was pretty excited about how well I had done keeping up with them for the last 24 hours.

Down the road a ways I stopped at a convenience store near Fort Ross. As I sat on the curb outside, snacking, a man in a wetsuit walked up and asked me about my ride. I told him what I was doing and where I planned on camping that night. He told me that he and some friends were celebrating a birthday near there and that I was welcome to join. He and his companions insisted that I throw my bike in the back of the truck, and in hind sight, I appreciate the ride up the hill. As we approached the climb up to the house, there was a sign reading "18% Grade Next 2 Miles". Holy crap.

They were wearing wetsuits because I met them on their way in from fishing from their kayaks and diving for abalone. I had never heard of abalone before this. Apparently it is a delicacy. Wikipedia calls abalone a large sea snail. Anyway, we arrived at the house and hung out while fish and abalone were cleaned and prepared. One of the guests raises duck for several restaurants and brought some to contribute. Not only did I have shelter and engaging conversation for the evening, but I ate like a king!

There were far too many names to try to match with faces, but I do remember Eric, the host. Once it came out that I got my bachelors degree in Bible/Religion/Philosophy, that seemed to take over the conversation for the rest of the evening. It was very entertaining, but a bit frustrating when Eric tried to put me on the spot as the truth source on all questions about Christianity because of my major. For a while we were caught up on language, failing to clearly distinguish atheism and agnosticism. Eric defined himself as an atheist, but at the end of the night I think I'd call him more of a pantheistic agnostic, but hey, we're probably just splitting hairs here. At one point I mentioned that many Mennonites really dig four part harmony. I shouldn't have done that. Eric was then convinced that we needed to find three more people to join me in forming a quartet for some evening entertainment. Thank God that didn't happen. There was a fantastic sunset over the ocean, visible from the deck. I tried to take a picture, but sunsets are hard to convey through a picture.

In the morning I was well fed yet again before hitting the road en route to San Francisco. As I left their house (they referred to it as Sea View) I dropped and climbed a few times on top of the ridge before reaching a sign warning me of the impending downward slope, again 18% for the next two miles. Climbing up would have been pretty awful, but descending with a loaded touring bike was frightening. I must have burned up half of my break pads on that one hill. At the top it felt like I was approaching the initial drop of an advanced ski slope. After making it to the bottom of that, I kept going downhill into Russian Gulch. It wasn't the steepest gulch I had ridden through on the coast, but this was probably the most windy road I had been on along the coast.

It was a nice ride along the coast towards Bodega Bay, where I turned inland for a ways. On this stretch of the road I started to get a little nervous because I saw that traffic was backed up for several miles. It was kind of funny to cruise past miles and miles of cars, nearly stopped on the road. There had been a fire at the top of the hill, so the fire engines were blocking one lane, making traffic take turns. There was a lot of traffic trying to get through. When I got to the other side of the single lane section, I stopped several times to cars that were waving to me to tell them what was causing the holdup. They were grateful, but I think I ended up descending the hill slower than I had climbed it. I pedaled on further towards San Francisco and reached Samuel P. Taylor State Park, where I set up camp for the night.

In the morning I got up and took off towards the Golden Gate Bridge. It wasn't a long ride to get there, and it was great to arrive on a clear day, so I could actually see the bridge. I was worried I'd get there on an overcast day. The pedestrian walkway was very crowded, but navigable. Once I got across the bridge, I took the quickest route to Jenna's house that my GPS could give me. I don't like wandering around hilly places with lots of stop signs with a loaded bicycle. It's kind of tiring. Apparently I completely missed Golden Gate Park. I'll have to check that out later today, as I enjoy a day or so off the bike.

From here I'll be heading into the desert. I'm going to cross the Sierras, basically following hwy 50, into Nevada where I will actually be on hwy 50 through the whole state. Apparently hwy 50 has been called "America's Loneliest Highway". I think the longest stretch between services is about 84 miles. I'll have a few other lengthy stretches, but that's the big one, near the Nevada/Utah border. We'll see how that all goes. The good news is that I shouldn't get rained on any time soon! This last large gap between blog posts was mostly because there was so much to do along the coast. This next lull in activity on my blog will be due to no internet services, I'm guessing. I'll try to get something typed up as I ride so that if I do happen to come across a library or something along the way, I have something ready to post. I can't imagine that there will be much to do in the evenings in my tent in the middle of a desert. Strangely enough, I'm looking forward to it. I'm not sure what that means.