Misty Oregon

After 12 days off, I was really ready to get back on the road; the achievement of completing the coast-to-coast had faded away and now I just wanted to get back on the bike for the sheer enjoyment of it. Unfortunately though I was running out of time, so for the first time I "cheated" loading the bike up into first a bus and then a train across Washington state to Kelso / Longview (how many times did that Greenday song go through my head) on the Columbia river at the border with Oregon.

Heading over the Columbia River into Oregon

Climbing over the bridge over the Columbia River, I was soon introduced to exactly what the next 1,750 miles were going to be like - up and down. As soon as I rolled down off the bridge, itself a small hill, I was confronted with another long uphill drag, into a headwind coming up the river valley. Train timings meant that I didn't set off up 5pm and the combination of hills and headwind meant there was no chance of me covering the 50 miles I had planned to get me into Astoria by nightfall. At about 7pm I stumbled across my first pair of riders, checking into the only hotel in town. Unfortunately, the motel was full and a brief chat with the owner brought no joy. With Astoria another 20 miles away and light fading fast I was once again in a spot of bother. So like any sensible human being I decided to get some dinner at the only place still open in town - the Gas Station. After cooking my own burger and eating yet another donut (American food staple) I decided to ride on to the next campsite about 8 miles up the road.

The west coast of the USA is blessed with numerous state or county owned campsites ranging from luxury retreats with cabins, RV hookups, flushing toilets and water, to basic campsites with no water and a long drop loo - the one I was aiming for was of course the later. Heading off into the darkness, my bike light only just made enough impression in the gloom for me to follow the white line at the side of the road. Fortunately by this time the logging traffic, a constant companion in the day, had disappeared, leaving the road to me, my bike and the odd car with glaring headlights that destroyed my night vision. At around 8pm, using the mile posts on the road, I found the road to the campsite leading deep into the forest exactly as described on the website.

Night falls just before a steep descent

Whilst trying to get my bearing in the pitch black, a truck pulls up and directs me up a steep hill to the camp. All the official camping spots are taken but I'm told to just pitch my tent on the grass "that's what cyclists normally do" - It seems I'm not alone in riding the coast. After a quick change of clothes (no showers or running water) I settle down next to the fire with some locals out camping for their last week of summer. The two couples had both worked in the logging industry and, like everybody I meet, proceed to tell me horror stories about cyclists getting sucked under lorries and how dangerous the roads are. Tragically, this does happen very occasionally, but largely the roads are safe and most drivers are courteous. After I'd had my fill of beer, adventure stories and tales of skunk attacks, I put myself to bed - a late night at about 10pm.

Astoria, something of a sleepy port in the morning mist

Next morning it was onto the coast which largely started at Astoria, an old port at the mouth of the Columbia River, the old harbour had burnt down a few times, the most recent fire damage could still be seen in burnt out warehouses precariously perched on stilts above the river mouth. A quick salmon hash breakfast was very good but at $15 kind of expensive too – welcome to healthy west coast eating, an excuse to charge a fortune! Headed out of town up 8^th street – if fact straight up, it felt like San Francisco had 10 years ago, so steep I lost control of my gearing and had to push the bike up the last ramp. I couldn't tell you how steep it was as my bike computer had already decided I was going too slowly to even bother recording any more.

On the road again alongside the misty Pacific

Sunset Beach, obviously not at sunset

Over the hill I hit the Oregon Coast Bike route, a signed route along the entire coast, the first thing I noticed was that everything had been done to help cyclists at major obstacles – the first, a narrow bridge, had a button to press that set lights flashing warning drivers that there was a bike on the bridge. Similar buttons were there to be pressed at each tunnel or bridge right down the coast to LA – a great idea to try to keep the big timber trucks and frail bikes from colliding. The road along the coast rolled up and down, but the North West wind at my back kept me rolling on. Lunch was gourmet hot dogs and local beer, all in a hardware store opposite the Haystacks at Cannon Beach, huge rock towers standing proud on the open beach. 

A rear clear view of the coast

After picking up a free guide to the Oregon Coast Cycle route, at least I knew when I was going to hit the big hills – I still had to get up them though and the miles over the Rockies certainly made these 1,000ft climbs feel a lot easier. At times the road here is blasted into the cliff, giving spectacular views of the steep pacific coastline – today the mist even cleared for most of the afternoon but closed in again just in time for my arrival at the Cape Lookout State Park campground, sadly at the bottom of the lookout climb rather than over the top. This did mean a swim was possible on the beach; my fellow cyclists, shivering under multiple layers and wooly hats, at the hiker/biker site thought I was crazy but it had to be done! The water was warmer than Vancouver, but not at all warm, put together with big waves, bigger rip currents and 15m visibility meant I lasted about 2 minutes before it was time to collect up my quarters and head for the coin operated shower block. Back at camp, I settled in for a good sleep in my tent amongst tall fir trees with waves crashing against the beach 50m away – best accommodation you could buy for $200 let alone the $5 I paid.

My camp in the forest within earshot of the Pacific 

Generally on this trip I'm riding further and longer than everybody, but occasionally I meet somebody who makes me feel like I'm taking the easy option; tonight he was an older, diminutive, gritty but softly spoken Welsh guy. After quitting work he'd set out to ride from Alaska to Tierra Del Fuego – he didn't know exactly how long it was going to take, but looked like he'd take everything in his stride.

I saw lots of Elk signs, but no elk at all

I woke up at dawn, which had been getting a lot later every day. The weak sun only just managed to penetrate the fog, and not enough to see past any of the trees in the campground. Nobody was up and all you could hear was the surf gently rolling into the beach 50m away – you'd have to trek out onto the wet sound to actually see it though. The narrow road up to Cape Lookout twisted and turned, but there was no traffic this early in the morning. As for the lookout itself, it must have been named on a very different day – visibility at the top was about 20m, the only thing you could see was a gaping hole where the sea was making noises below. Riding on down the hill, I didn't have to pedal for 2 or 3 miles and then pulled in at Sandlake for a coffee, another donut and a chat with the locals surrounded by 4 dogs who wanted to share my breakfast. After breakfast it was on through Pacific City, Neskowin (for 2^nd breakfast) and Lincoln City, all fairly built up towns on the 101. A couple of detours onto old highway 101 reveal winding country lanes either hugging the coast or inland under the coastal forest. 

You can just about see the beauty of the coast

Shouldn't be taking photos in the tunnel

Passing Otter point, I'm reminded of the friends at my water polo club I left behind in London; I take a quick photo that I'll send onto them. The mist lifted enough to make stopping at the numerous state park viewpoints worthwhile, craggy bags and blowholes abound but I'll have to wait for another day to see a view along the coast. At one I meet an English couple from Muswell Hill, London cycling with a guitar. It's always funny how you can come so far only to meet people from around the corner.

Fortunately the wind was at my back through most of Oregon

Another long lonely climb into the mist

The Oregon coast is holiday country, meaning once again I'm no novelty to the locals who in general seem a polite but unfriendly bunch. Fellow campers eye me with suspicion rather than intrigue and it's harder to strike up a conversation with anybody that's not a fellow cyclist. Camping that night I was alone on a hiker biker site in the forest with only a warm tuna sandwich for company, at least I'd get a good long sleep. After the company I shared in Vancouver, I felt lonely and vowed to camp close to towns, where at least I could ride into a bar for Dinner and a drink, even if it did mess up my schedule.

Just before I tumbled down to the road

The misty dawn slipped back to 6:20am today, the days are getting a lot shorter. Just south of Florence, the 101 passes through an expansive area of sand dunes. Spotting 2 bikes pulled over beside the road I jump off and find a path up into the dunes. 2 beaming girls come tumbling down the sandy slope from the dunes; they're headed south to San Diego and are in no rush. In fact their trailer and panniers seem to carry more beer than touring kit, they're great fun and I wish I was on their kind of schedule, unfortunately the US government only gives me 90 days to get out, to get another 90 I'd have had to present myself for a grilling at the US Embassy in London, part with $150and hope they liked me. Once the girls ride on I sprint up the hill to the dunes, revealing a scene reminiscent of Tunisia's desert. I tramp up dunes just so I can tumble down the other side, giggling to myself as I go. 15 minutes later, the loneliness of last night is forgotten, at least for the moment.

Big Pacific breakers form stunning coastal scenery

Back on the bike, I ride on through Winchester Bay, a fishing port and massive RV park by the ocean. The local lighthouse has a museum that describes how the area was settled several times in the early 1800s, each time the town was washed away in heavy storms and in calmer weather the river's sandbar claimed too many ships. Eventually the trade moved elsewhere and the Umqua River became the sleepy place it still is. Stop at the whale viewing platform to stare into the mist, it may be the whale season but that's no help when you can't see for the mist. I roll on through Coos Bay and across the narrow, 1-mile-long Coos Bay Bridge, even with a "cyclist on the bridge" button to press it's a hair raising experience as trucks thunder past without giving me an inch of space! On the other side I duck into a bike shop, my bottom bracket's been playing up again and I think after 5,000 miles it's had its time. Sure enough, I have to spend $50 replacing it – it's amazing what you wear out dragging 135kg+ across a continent.

When the weather cleared the number of photo stops increased

7 Devils conquered!

Stop for lunch at Yeong's on the recommendation of the bike shop, it's famed for its burger, strange given the name, and the ½ lb mozzarella burger doesn't let me down. This was one of the best burgers of my trip and I've been largely fuelled on the things, especially in the mid-west. Despite being told not to bother, I can't resist 7 Devil's road along near Cape Agata. Winding through the misty coastal forest, the road climbs to 7 short, sharp summits. At no point could you see the sea, but you could always hear it and I'm certain I got sprayed by the crashing waves at several points, despite being about 350 ft above the water. Each summit was marked on the road and it was awesome to count them down – little things make a big difference on a long ride.

Sunset at Bullards Beach

Camping at Bullards Beach I'm surrounded by fellow cyclists but still decide to roll into town for a fish supper. Just as I'm about to head home, a lazy eyed guy, Dave, drags me into McPharlin's with the offer of a free beer – after the loneliness of the last couple of nights how can I refuse. 4 free beers later I know Dave's been an investment banker, farmer and carpenter – that his girlfriend's a little crazy, and has maybe had a few too many drinks. This was confirmed when she got cut off at the bar, and escorted home just before the band started. 

Trouble in a bottle

It's Saturday of Bandon's Cranberry Festival and I'm in the only party bar in town. The band's good so I stop a while longer and people watch. It's an eclectic bunch: fat golfers buying drinks for the local beauty, dressed to the 9s in 6" heels; heavy, hairy bikers dominate the corner, wealthy, well dressed families and a particularly dapper pair of guys drinking cocktails by the bar. As the beers flow, helped by a bottle of curiously tasty 9% "Total Domination IPA" I get chatting to all sorts and the night rolls on. After closing down the bar I roll back to the campground, 3 miles back up the road, at 2:30am, I've had all the company , and beer, I need for week but I'll pay for it.

New Age Cranberry Farming 

Finally I find some local Beauties

Tough morning, tough day, the only camper left when I rise at 8:30 is a cool skateboarder; he's riding a longboard north, into the wind, to Portland. Yesterday he'd done 53 miles – hardcore! Of course being a skateboarder he's totally chilled about the whole thing, you have to like the guy, living the dream. I only ride out at 10am and hit Bandon in the middle of the Cranberry parade. I stop and watch a curious collection of antique tractors, local celebs, beauty queens, high school sports teams and any other local enterprise pass by. 

Bandon Beach - stunning even on a hangover

Arch Rock

Today is hard riding, the roads are no harder but my head & body is more sore from last night than from any of the 4,500 miles I ridden so far. The scenery is stunning but I struggle to take it in, my head is just a dull ball of pain and at one point I fall into a mass panic after I think I left my phone 12 miles back at my lunch stop. Of course I find it a minute later, slipped to the bottom of my bar bag, but I'd been worried long enough to add to my cold sweats. I finally roll into Harris beach, 94 miles later, at 7pm as night falls. The hiker/biker site is full but I don't want to chat and head straight out for food. My fuzzy head decides Chinese is the best option and doesn't even change its mind when I find a guy throwing up in the "restroom" when I went to wash my hands. Suffice to say the dinner was terrible, so much so that I didn't even finish it and, though I didn't throw up, it went straight through me.

Leaving Oregon's stunning coast behind

In the morning I wake up totally refreshed. Oregon's not quite ready to let me go yet, I stop to do my washing and fix the brakes on my bike that have worn out completely. An older guy collapses by the wash block 10m away from me and I run over to help his wife and call 911 to rush an ambulance to the campground. After a nervy half hour, the guy is looking much better, but still struggling to feel his fingers. With a history of heart problems, his holiday will be put on hold for a day or two as he heads to the hospital for tests but he'll be OK.

More rivers to cross on the way into California

As I ride on to the Redwoods of California I've plenty to look back on and learn from Oregon:

• Riding at night can be scary
• Beautiful coast is useless if you can't see it for the mist
• I miss the good company of friends
• I'm not 18 anymore, big nights drinking hurt the next day
• American drivers are never as bad as people tell you they are
• Oregon is lumpy at 21,500 ft of climbing but small coastal hills are nothing compared to the Rockies
• When the guide suggests a week to 10 days' riding for 450 miles, you can do it in 4 and a bit
• My bike's just about done after 4,500 miles and I'll need to look after it carefully
• Dirty Chinese food is not good cycling fuel – big greasy burgers are much better
• Long distance skateboarders deserve more respect than long distance cyclists

Another stunning bay, surrounded by rock cliffs and steep hills

Thanks to all those who have already sponsored me and contributed to the North Staffs Adventure Playground - I'm hoping to hit 1000 pounds so please donate using the following link:

http://www.justgiving.com/BigRedOnABike