Hitting California

I started the day early to get back onto the 101 from the park as well as to start the day with another cooked breakfast. I asked some people at Port Orford where I should go. Griss’s is located on the actual port, nestled amongst the crab traps and fishing boats. I had eggs, bacon etc with a side of crab cocktail. All the $4 camp fees have been subsidizing these little luxuries.

I reached Gold Beach and took the “cyclist detour” only to find Chris pumping away ahead of me. We rode for about 3 km together as he struggled to keep up with me. Again, his lack of interest to converse led me to believe he wanted to be on his own. He made it to Humbug Park (which is where I wanted to arrive the previous day, but I had wasted time at breakfast and at the internet café). I left him behind me as I shot southbound faster than him.

Speaking of speed: I reached 73 km per hour while descending the mountain near Cape Sebastian. I heard many voices in my head (family and friends) telling me to pull on the brakes. Since I’m not wearing motorcycle gear, I shan’t be doing that again.

Brookings is the last city on the Oregon Coast. I arrived at 3 and felt I was just too close to California to stop there. I promised myself a night in a motel in Crescent City with internet access to rest properly and update photos etc.

Tomorrow I should reach Patricks Point, which is in the vicinity of the Redwood National Park. I may need longer rope to hitch up my hammock.

My first 150+ km ride

Chris left before I did, I knew he didn’t want to ride alongside me, mainly because I’ve been covering longer distances than him. He said he’ll see me at Bullard’s Beach Park or maybe elsewhere one our journey.
I stopped at North Bend for Breakfast at another spectacular eatery (on the corner of 101 and the road towards Charleston).

At Coos Bay I found an internet café, so I stopped to upload some photos and the previous day’s portion of this god awful blog. Just as I was done another cyclist, wearing an orange top, entered the place. He was from Holland. Funny cos I’m wearing a blue top…guess we’re both needing to represent our home nations.

Took some photos at Sunset Bay and checked out the seals and sea lions basking and fighting on the rocks. I’ll be seeing more near Big Sur, so I didn’t stick around too long. I had to decide: continue on the 101 or the “old 101”. I chose the latter, which meant I’d have to climb the Seven Devils. I made it to Bullard’s and of course, proceeded South.

I stopped at Langlois to grab something to eat at the only roadside eatery (you can't miss it, Langlois is only tmade up of three buildings. A sign over the deli counter stated “over 150,000 hot dogs served”. If you ever drive by here, it would be criminal not to stop and eat one – you won’t be disappointed.

Cape Blanco campground is 9 km off the 101 and located in a spectacular basin. When I passed a herd of elk, they stopped grazing and slowly advanced in my direction. I slowly took out my camera and managed to take a shot of them gracefully taking off as one unit, clearing over a fence and through the river.

The showers at Cape Blanco were bliss.

Wildlife count: more roadkill - elk and Peking raccoon

The Oregon Coast Should be a Wind Farm

After my well-rested night in the yurt I hit the road with the intent to have breakfast in Newport rather than cook my usual oatmeal (now with craisins and banana). As soon as I saw the Court House Café, I knew it was the place to fuel up.

Later on as I was being pushed by the wind, I realized I had cycled 48 km with hardly any effort. I wanted to stop at the Carl G Washburne Park but it was closed. This enticed me to call the Oregon Parks reservation line to confirm all the other parks I planned to stay in were open.

I arrived at the Umpqua Lighthouse park and approached the hiker/biker zone only to find another cyclist setting up camp. Chris gave me the impression of being ex-army, a sort of Oklahoma bomber type guy. I sensed I had invaded his privacy as he was giving me one word answers and not engaging in conversation. Eventually he warmed up and enquired about my Hennessey Hammock. He’ll be spending the next 5 weeks on the road towards Cabo San Lucas!
That night raccoons woke us up 3 times as they attempted to raid Chris’ food. Definitely not ex-army.

Somebody's Day 6, too

I was so miserable this morning that I quickly broke camp and took off without breakfast - rushing to locate a restaurant to treat myself to a proper fry-up. Again the mist was blocking the sun’s rays. I discovered earlier that Cape Look Out was in the middle of the US’s only rain forest. Who knew?

After a steep climb I found myself in the strangest landscape: sand dunes amongst fir trees…on top of a cliff. A retired Swiss couple flagged me down to ask me if I wanted a Coke (I later met them two more times).
After the sand dunes, I encountered my first hiker: a woman carrying a pack taller than she was. She too was on her 6th journey day (from Newport to Seattle).

I finally made it to Pacific City and had a wicked breakfast at the Pelican Pub and Brewery. I could have done with some of their award winning beer. This was also the second place I met the Swiss couple. They gave me a Lindt Cresta Classic chocolate bar, which they claimed was “special”.

More hills (one with a 4 km/ 2.5 mile slope on which I reached 58 km / 36 mph) and more stunning views. Bikers are giving me the horizontal peace sign salute reserved for their own. It is hard to look like a badass when the fabric you are wearing contains a percentage of lycra; hey at least I don’t look like a member of the Village People.
I found an internet café in Lincoln City and bumped into the Swiss couple as I approached it. I may need to look into obtaining a restraining order.

A couple of hours later I pulled into Beverly Beach State Park and paid $30 dollars for a yurt. I walked to the beach and reveled at the thought that in 4 more days I will reach California, and it will still only be half of the journey.

Wildlife count: 5 ospreys – dark birds with five-foot wingspans.

Stunning Coast

Here’s an example of how much Americans are dependant on their cars:


Fort Stevens has a couple of sightseeing spots including the relic of a ship, which ran aground in blah blah blah. Anyway, the sight is situated no more than 2 miles from the park’s entrance. Fair enough, some people might not want to walk that far so the park provides a road leading to a parking lot not 150 yards from the relic. Yet this shit happens, oh but they drink diet sodas…mind-boggling.

Shortly after my departure from the park, I was detoured towards the beach and came across a herd of elk grazing near the dunes. The road then meandered along the coastline, which is littered with mountainous rock formations resembling the location for the Goonies (which was probably filmed in Oregon). The Pacific here is very rough, however it retains a gem-like green hue as it swirls in and around its hidden rocks. Again, I tip my hat to all those mariners who literally braved this ocean.

I was making good time for Oswald West Park, so I decided to stop in Cannon Beach for lunch. As I exited the 101 I was treated to a steep incline, my speedometer read 55 km (34 mph). That was fun. I noticed a very active seafood restaurant so I stopped. As I was leaning my bike against the edifice, a man and his daughter approached me to let me know how surprised they were to see me maintain such speed without holding a wide mouthed, goggled eyed expression. Colin and Sophie were really cool lunch partners. Had I been doing this trip a week ago, he would have invited me on his boat. I’ll definitely call him the next time I’m in Portland. Sophie is going to break a lot of hearts when she starts high school next year.

I reached Oswald West Park and mingled with hippy day visitors and surfers. The beach was stunning, as was the hike down towards it. Unfortunately the campground was closed due to fallen trees. I really wanted to stay there.
Being the masochist I am, I continued towards the next campground, which was meant to be day 6’s destination. I kept going through decent looking towns offering motel rooms at good rates promising hot tubs, wi-fi etc. Eventually I was too close to justify staying in a motel; I also promised myself I would stay in a yurt.

The closer I got to Cape Look Out, the mistier it became. Eventually I arrived at 7, but due to the fog and mist, it was pretty much dark. Neither yurts nor cabins were available. Dismayed, I paid 4 dollars and set up the hammock amongst the skunk cabbage in the hiker/biker portion of the park.

It was so dark I could not see my hands in front of my face.

Wildlife count: a herd of elk

Oregon is brilliant

Ok, so I may have been a bit harsh with Washington. Perhaps I was still tired from my grueling first 3 days, legs getting used to strenuous exercise (the last time I rode a bike prior to this journey was October 2008), the lack of quaint towns but I do realize that I cut out a large portion of the coastal route due to the fact that I’m not on a motorized vehicle.

Anyway, a massive change occurred to the landscape as I proceeded south. The forests gave way to massive expanses of marshy lands as well as prairie fields containing dairy cows. The road had fewer hills against me however there were more cars and motorcyclists (probably the best way to travel these roads).

I was elated, perhaps it was the 18-degree cloudless day (I could finally wear shorts), the lessening pain I felt in my legs, or that I finally encountered another cyclist. He was heading the opposite way and going slightly up-hill. I was also making good time so I figured I could reach Oregon.

I stopped in Chinook (just before Astoria) for lunch and an espresso (what? Sono italiano). The woman at the trading post asked me about my trip. Noting that I was traveling alone, she also asked me if I had met any crazies on the road. “You’re fine on the coast, it’s the interior folk who can be strange”. That’s when I decided not to apologize for yesterday’s comments.

To get to Oregon I had to cross the Columbia River, which is fucking massive. Lewis and Clark had balls of steel to challenge such a turbulent river even though I suspect their native guides were really the ones you had to watch out for in a bar room brawl. I can’t remember how long it took me to ride across that infernal bridge, however 2 things amazed me: I finally saw Mt St Helens in the distance, the North West’s answer to Mt Fuji, and the seagulls cleverly utilizing the thermals off the bridge. These bastards were flying at my level, careening towards me without as much as a single wing beat.

Astoria was the sort of town I had imagined it to be: quaint, with many original buildings. I almost stayed in a motel there so that I could explore it at night. I decided to proceed towards Fort Stevens Park.

They charged me $4 dollars entrance fee. I had the entire hiker/biker lot to myself and the showers were free, private, clean, and with endless hot water! You know what else elates me? The entire Oregon coast has plenty more State parks, just like this one.

Wildlife count: more eagles (I should stop counting them), 1 very dead possum

Hicksville

Hmm not much to say on day 3 apart from how much I’m really looking forward to leaving Washington. There’s so much ravaged forest a person can take, also I’d rather ride near the coast instead of climbing the hills of the interior encountering possible locations for Deliverance2. In all seriousness, it's been nice, but zig-zagging south should only be done with a motorcycle.

The towns I encountered were: Ocean City (a lazy summer surfing spot – every other house/trailer has a Sasquatch carving on their lawn and/or sells firewood), Hoquiam (a depressing lumber town sprawling with mouth breathers) Aberdeen (a bigger version of Hoquiam), Raymond (I stopped only to ask if South Bend had a motel) and finally South Bend.

If you are in the area, I suggest staying in South Bend; It’s the “Oyster Capital of the World”. I found that hard to believe, especially after the experience in BC. I guffawed at the sign until I came into view of an oyster shell hill (with accompanying bitter aroma). Let me reiterate: one of the oyster shell hills dotted along the Willapa River. I peeked at its shores and recognized the tell tale signs of oyster beds. A river otter peeked back at me before slipping under the murky waters. I knew what I was going to have for dinner.

this is what an oyster shell hill looks like

Because I cycled like a lunatic these last 3 days, I decided to treat myself to a motel room. I checked into the Seaquest Motel, had a 20-minute bath then headed off to the roadside BBQ joint for some oysters and a burger. You can’t miss the place; it has one of those BBQ smoker ovens, kind of like a large rusted propane tank spewing smoke from a flue. To be honest, the oysters in BC were better…

Wildlife count: 1 dead deer, 1 live deer, more eagles, 1 river otter

East and west barely south

The next morning I had breakfast (coffee and oatmeal with apple, banana, powdered milk and a crushed chocolate chip cookie), packed up and hit the road by 10 am. My destination Pacific Beach State Park that I had miscalculated at being 107 km - I ended up cycling around 155.

The 101 hits the Pacific Ocean at Ruby Beach. From there, it proceeds south to Queets then heads East for 45 km before heading south again (to avoid the Quinault Indian Reservation).

In order to reach Pacific Beach, I had to take an old highway off the 101 through the bottom end of the reservation. After 20kms or so I noticed a black shape on the side of the road and immediately stopped. It was a black bear. Since I was downwind and not in a car, it had not smelt nor heard me. I wasn’t about to turn back – not after cycling over 100km, besides goddamit, I’m a Homo sapiens and all creatures must bow before us. I shouted once, only to have his attention focused onto me. I shouted a second time…no reaction. I shouted again while waving my arms…he kept staring. At this point I figured he was getting ready to charge at me but finally, when I cupped my hands and shouted – he took off into the bush. Not 3 minutes later, a woman in a pick up truck coming from the opposite direction stopped to advise me of another bear further up the road. As I proceeded, I whistled at top volume various tunes including Popeye the Sailorman.

Pacific Beach was a pretty cool town. Many businesses look shut down, but this could still be the low season. I had 3 pieces of fried chicken, a bottle of water and a root beer for $4.80. I also took a 6-minute shower for a dollar. Luxury.

Wildlife count: 1 black bear

Entered the U.S of A.

The fools, they let me in. Come on, how suspicious does a bearded man traveling with brand new gear look? Maybe if I had a tan… Anyway, I’m finally on the move.

The best part of Port Angeles was seeing a pod of dolphins diving in unison just before the ferry docked. I found the 101 and headed west towards Lake Sutherland and Lake Crescent, both of a turquoise blue I have yet to see in a Canadian lake. The road was in excellent condition and the shoulder was, at times, as wide as the normal lane. It took some getting used to being passed at high speed by logging trucks – they’re even faster when unloaded with logs.

15kms after Lake Crescent I noticed a “cycle trail to 101” detour which according to my map would have brought me directly to Forks avoiding Sappho and Beaver. Unfortunately, one of the forks did not indicate Forks, so I ended up just before Beaver (guess I didn’t shave much off the mileage), an extremely small town, with a large wooden beaver – not worth taking a photo. Oh yeah, Forks ain’t nuthin’ to write home about except that most businesses have posters claiming how they love Twilight which was filmed there.

At Bogachiel Park, I was greeted by an RV-ing couple who took pity on me and insisted I accept: 1 cup of hot soup, 1 cup of tea, 1 trail mix, 1 cranberry juice, 1 sectioned orange. And there I was all ready to use my kick ass stove. I set up my hammock underneath a wooden roof structure so that I wouldn’t need to use the fly. It didn’t faze me at all when it rained later that night.

Wildlife count: pod of dolphins, more than 6 eagles, 1 dead coyote

All Packed and Ready to Go

I like Victoria more than Vancouver. Then again, my experience here has been more of a sightseer and punter of outdoor equipment. I guess what’s most appealing of this intimate city is its laidback and creative atmosphere. Like most urban centers though, there are great looking buildings and downright hideous ones – I’m talking about the 70’s cement block style kind. Oh well, this is British Columbia after all. Be that as it may, the Nazis can’t be blamed for these eyesores.

I finally had a chance to test some of my gear. Heather and Jocelyn drove me up to Clayoquot Sound for a two-day jaunt. We camped at Bella Marina campsite the first night and at Toquart Forestry Rec Site the next night. The first site was luxurious as it had bathrooms with hot showers (1$ for 2 minutes – fascists), access to a wonderful beach, proximity to Tofino etc. Nice, but not a true camping experience. The second (more Spartaaaan) site was located closer to Ucluelet and slightly off the beaten track. When the supervisor approached us to collect the camping fee, he announced that the Red tide warning had been officially lifted over a month ago, and that if one were to walk along the beach, one would find a variety of shellfish, oysters in particular.

By definition, they were the freshest oysters we had ever eaten and I doubt I can ever surpass that gastronomic experience; if I ever do, I’ll probably be somewhere in Valhalla.


The Olympic Mountain range, appearing as a rather intimidating wall, is visible from Victoria. I’m assuming the plumes of white smoke indicate Port Angeles, my entry point into the US. From there I head West approx. 80km to Bogachiel State Park. To get there I will pass through the towns of Sappho and Beaver. Can’t wait to take pictures...

Down on Victoria

You must consider weight distribution when packing your saddlebags. Luckily I had done most of the packing the night before my early morning departure. Time constraints aren’t fun when trying to get things into your bags; things don’t fit or sit the same way they do with a normal suitcase. At any rate, I managed to grab something to eat and was on my way towards the Mayne ferry landing for the 7:20 to Swartz Bay.

There was another cyclist (a commuter rather than tourist) who made a positive comment about front suspension frames. He was pianist living on Mayne heading for Salt Spring Island for supplies, I think. I was too thrilled about continuing my journey to pay much attention to details (I’ll be more careful in future). That and I couldn’t help replaying the scene in Blazing Saddles when Mel Brooks is dressed like an Indian chief. Poor quality clip for all you heathen who don't know what I'm talking about.

The Lochside Trail is a cycle path, which runs from Swartz Bay to Victoria. 30 km of flat (mostly) paved road for cyclists and pedestrians only (the sound you just heard was the collective inguinal discharge from all the keen cyclists reading this) and the only form of apartheid I support: cars out of cyclists’ way and vice-versa. I managed to cover the 30 km in about 2 hours without putting much effort, so my over packing concern was more of a lack of fitness rather than anything else. I’m still going to forward some things to LA by mail.

Victoria so far has impressed me with its very laid back feel and less modern architecture. I may even prefer Victoria to Vancouver…I’ve got over a week to get a feel for it and confirm this assessment.

Heather, my camping consultant, and I have been to a couple of shops in search of gear. I’m thinking of using a hammock + bivouac set up. It’ll be faster to set up than a tent and more comfortable to sleep on, also, it can double as a lounge chair. I'll be testing it in Tofino.

And He's Off

Oh, by the way I’ve actually started the trip. Unfortunately there hasn’t been too much time to type my progression due to the lack of Internet access but mostly because I’ve been enjoying the outdoors.

Not one pedal stroke and I’ve cheated already, but it wasn’t completely my fault. Cherrill invited me to Mayne Island for the weekend so we loaded our bikes onto her car and drove to Tsawwassen ferry terminal.

From Mayne’s ferry landing we cycled to Cherrill’s mom’s house: a short 8 km hilly ride. It was then I realized I was over packed (I have yet to buy a tent and sleeping bag). On a more positive note, Cherrill can now say she rode a portion of Vancouver-LA; an “I survived Van-LA” t-shirt will be sent her way.

Mayne Island was fantastic. On the same day I witnessed bald eagles play fighting and hunting, otters and seals swimming not 15 feet away, and the stereotypical landscape one conjures when thinking of Canada. The locals were very accommodating, so much so that we were invited to a bonfire in the middle of nowhere.

Standing under the starry sky, framed by fir tree silhouettes, licked by the fire’s heat, I finally captured B.C.’s essence: the nature, the friendly people. Good times.