Tuesday October 11, 2005:
29.7 miles from Devil's Lake State Park - Lincoln City, Or - to South Beach State Park - Newport, OR.
Woke up to a crystal blue sky after three days of continuous rainfall. After a breakfast of granola with pecans, walnuts and honey washed down with black coffee I loaded my gear and made the short trip into Lincoln City in search of a bike shop for fresh brake pads. Visions of yesterday's screaming descent of 704 feet at 40 miles per hour down Cascade Head in the driving rain with no rear brakes were still screaming through my head as I peddled cautiously through town looking for a bike shop to set my mind at ease. No luck and still no rear brakes.
Heading slowly south towards Newport - relying upon faith in the gods of sustainable travel alone - I decided to press onward. Not thirty seconds after rejoining Highway 101 my fortunes were reversed after meeting Matt, touring from Madison, WI, Pete, an Oregon native riding down the coast, and The Kid Karl, all the way from Saskatchewan - all on their way south, all on bicycle, and all good people. Over muffins and coffee we patched up my brakes and told stories from the road. It was decided on the spot that I would join their ranks and head south to Newport into the sun with the wind at our backs.
Wednesday October 12, 2005
50.6 miles from South Beach State Park - Newport, OR - to Honeyman State Park - Florence, OR.
Riding along the coast lined with grassy dunes sculpted by the winds I expected at the end of the ride to find Old St. Peter waiting by his pearly gates off of Highway 101 at the entrance to Honeyman State Park. The 50.6 miles of coast from Newport to Florence were a cyclist's dream as every bend in the road offered a vista more beautiful than the last. By the day's end my camera had become cluttered with countless shots of the rugged Oregon coastline, all looking strikingly similar, yet unique in their own timeless beauty and grace. Tall stacks of volcanic basalt soared above the sandy beaches giving shelter to thousands of sea birds seeking solace from the crashing waves tugging at the roots of haggard old spruce trees hanging on for dear life, bent eastward by the ever present winds howling off of the Pacific Ocean. Witnessing this symphony of nature's splendor it became easy to forget the broken spokes, punctured inner tubes and cold sleepless nights offered in exchange for the ride of a lifetime.
Thursday October 13, 2005
54.9 miles from Honeyman State Park - Florence, OR to Sunset Bay State Park - Charleston, OR.
Slept well last night after a big meal - pasta with feta, tomato, spinach and garlic - and a bottle of cheap California Syrah shared around the campfire telling stories about close calls with logging trucks and RVs with my newfound southbound comrades. Got a late start on the morning as the sunlight was already peering through my tent when I finally mustered up the initiative to pack my gear and make a cup of coffee on the camp stove. Walking through the towering firs lined with delicate shrouds of moss of the hiker/biker camp I made my way to the hot showers - my first in Oregon - and lingered in the steaming hot water long enough to turn my fingertips to prunes and compose the day's journal entry in my head before returning to camp. The boys were out of their tents, stretching, preparing oatmeal, and tuning their bikes for the day's long ride.
Friday October 14, 2005
Day off at Sunset Bay State Park with a 31 mile round trip ride to and from Coos Bay, OR.
The morning was spent exploring the trails of Cape Arago with the Kid Karl. We made our way trough some thick bush trails to an sandy beach enclosed on both sides by towering walls of rock along the cape to watch the waves of the incoming tide. Again, it was difficult to refrain from taking a picture of every wave crashing against the cathedral of basalt enclosing the beach. Making our way back to the campsite we passed a colony of fat, lucky sea lions wasting their mornings away on the sun-drenched rocks as well as chain gang of only slightly less fat, and considerably less lucky Oregon State penitentiary inmates wasting away their own mornings laboring slowly - yet not so slowly as to be considered a malingerer - on a ditch as the waves continued their work on the rocky coast.
My rear tire was flat by this point - a recurring problem that has provided me with much frustration of late - so we rode into Charleston to change the tube and top off the air at a gas station. The weather was changing and the morning's sunshine was being replaced by howling southerly winds that made the trip into Coos Bay quite challenging. Adding to the challenge of riding into gale-force headwinds I was heckled for the first time on my journey by the driver of an SUV adorned with jingo ribbons screaming "fag" out the window as I peddled up the long hill into town. I could not determine why my riding a bicycle - perhaps an affront to her precious, wasteful autocentric society - would alter my sexual preference. Welcome to Coos Bay. In town I scarfed down some enchiladas at the local Mexican joint, hit up the library for some free internet access, picked up some groceries and, of course, another inner tube for my next flat tire.
The skies opened up as Karl and I peddled as fast as we could, racing the incoming storm along the hilly road back to camp. As an act of bravado, or perhaps foolishness, we picked up some fresh Albacore, oysters, and Ranier beers at the wharf in Charleston as the sheets of rain pounded against our faces with little thought given to how we were to eat out bountiful feast devoid of shelter. In the pouring rain we strung up a 3 by 6 tarp between our overturned bicycles next to a roaring fire of dry spruce logs where we feasted on raw salty oysters and wood grilled tuna washed down with ice cold beers, not knowing what tomorrow would bring.
Saturday October 15, 2005
20.8 miles from Sunset Bay State Park - Coos Bay, OR - to Bullards Beach State Park -Bandon, OR.
Awoke to gentle rain strumming on the roof of my tent not knowing if the howling winds would subside enough to ride. I wanted desperately to ride on, to leave behind the driving rains, pesky raccoons, and omnipresent redneckery of Coos Bay. Pete, the newly-married cyclist from Oregon who had been with us since Lincoln City, announced that he was quitting his tour. The rain and wind had gotten the best of him, and with a long face he loaded his gear into his wife's car and headed back to his life in Portland. I said good bye and silently packed up my gear looking forward to better days ahead.
The morning ride was rough, up a steep series of hills to a crest road overlooking miles of evergreen forest and logging camps. My spirt was replentished by the fast ride through misty rain and the rolling hills of the Oregon wilderness, and I was graced with that evanescent feeling of the limitless freedom of youth while gliding along waiting to see what the next corner would bring.
Sunday October 16, 2005
30 miles from Bullard Beach State Park - Bandon, OR - to Humbug Mountain State Park - Port Orford, OR.
The morning was cool and damp and I began to realize that my time in Oregon was drawing to an end. By noon the sun was glowing overhead and the winds at our back as we pushed down the highway amidst the parade of RVs pulling SUVs looking for a better place to watch their satalite TVs down America's last coast.
The ride was magical this day, as 101 winded along the coast past cape after cape of rugged coast, capped at the end of the day by a fat, orange setting sun over the crashing waves of the beautiful Pacific Ocean.
Spinning my way through the crest of the day's last climb with the Kid flying down the hill before me, arms raised over his head in a "V" at 45 miles per hour, I was forced to convince myself that what I was experiencing was truly real. And I was saddled with a sense of responsibility to always remember - cherish, and never take for granted - these moments of triumph and excitement, adventure and fear.
Watching the sun set, fat and orange, over the arching back of Highway 101 into the crashing waves of the Pacific I was faced with the idea that this journey, as with all in life, would some day find its end.
