1st Days...

1st days of vacation are always transition days, especially when the first day is a Friday, a day which would normally be filled with all the minutiae of a busy work day. Instead, I'm cruising across Wyoming on a beautiful July day with cotton ball clouds hanging in a gloriously blue sky. I-80 out of Laramie is not very busy as we steer west headed for Utah, then Idaho and our night's destination, a tiny spot on the map called Mtn. Home. Some people find the drive across Wyoming dull and boring as the sage brush blends into a 360 degree horizon, which by noon will itself disappear into a shimmering haze of heat. But I love it, absolutely mesmerized by the wide open spaces. For a cubicle cowboy, which seems to be my current fate, getting out where I can see for 20, 50, sometimes even a hundred miles or more is a blessing.

This year my wife Sophie and I are bound for Oregon to bicycle down the coast on highway 101. One of my coworkers, Karla, had planted the seed for this trip on a cold and snowy Denver day. She had returned from a business trip where she had taken a couple of extra days to drive the California portion. From her description it sounded like heaven as I stared out the window at work watching the snow blowing sideways and anticipating yet another brutal commute home in a blizzard.

Zipping along at highway speeds I notice the occasional group of antelope grazing on the still lush prarrie grasses, waving luxuriously in a stiff southwest breeze thanks to an abundant winter snowfall. Way out on the distance the peaks still show snow up high. For the antelope life is good right now, though they seem completely oblivious to the roar of the endless parade of trucks and cars whizzing  by.

We've already passed our first pair of cross-country cyclists hugging the still generous shoulder of the highway heading towards Rawlins. I honk twice as we go by. The leader looks up, sees the bikes on top of our car and recognizes the friendly toot and raises his arm in a wave. Given the wind speed and direction they are in for a long and challenging day of cycling. I'm reasonably certain they wouldn't wish for it to be any other way. Like the majestic pronghorn, the world of the bicycle tourist shrinks to what immediately surrounds them. Unlike me, steering 2,000 pounds of steel and covering more than a mile a minute, the cyclist sees in perfect focus and clarity everything around them. For me the landscape flys by in a too-quickly gone blur. For them, moments last longer. For them the tar-filled cracks I don't even notice are a sensory adventure. They don't just see them, they experience them, not just by sight but also by smell, and by feel as their steed's twin tires squish through the heat-softened black goo. I envy them the connection with their surroundings, the rush of the increasingly hot wind that still provides a touch of coolness as it evaporates the sweat from the back of their jersey.  Not just the smell, but the taste of the air as they labor up one hill after another pulling oxygen into their labored lungs like kids slurping an ice cream at the county fair. Soon enough I'll set aside my metal behemoth and join them.

The End of the Road

The misty weather continues with us as we ride south. For those continuing beyond Crescent City and farther down the California coast the next campground is more than sixty miles distant. We worry about the chance of rain until it answers us with a steady light drizzle. Crossing into California, with the requisite pictures being taken at the state "Welcome!" sign, it feels very muggy, a precursor of the heat that awaits our fellow cyclists as they continue on their way south. The biggest surprise of this trip is how cold the coast of Oregon is especially with a strong wind chill and a cool damp mist thrown in for good measure. None of us, save for Chinook with his deep fur coat, was prepared for the cold and the next time I ride this area I'm making sure to bring the long johns and balaclava. So much for summer at the beach!

The riding today is perhaps the easiest of the whole trip with a whopping 200 feet of elevation gain by halfway down the route and then flats and slight downhills into Crescent City on the back roads. The recommended route along the coast predominantly has us riding on actual Highway 101, but whenever there is a secondary backroad the route veers off the busy highway. That's all well and good, especially because there is far less traffic on these old roads, but we have learned that the old road builders didn't try to mold the topography to their wishes, instead they just followed the contours of the landscape. To cyclists on these alternate routes this means you do a lot more climbing than on the newer version of 101 where the road engineers made good use of dynamite and bulldozers to flatten out the ups and downs to accommodate the faster highway speeds of today. While you see some six, seven, and occasionally eight percent grades on the newer road it's not unusual on the back roads to come flying down one hill and to see you now have to re-climb all the elevation you just lost at a ten to fifteen percent grade. By week two these abrupt 'rolling' rises and descents are starting to play havoc with overstressed and not so young legs and joints.

Knowing that it is the last day helps, and the closer we get to Crescent City the more it's like leading the horse to the barn - not much encouragement needed. The end of a ride like this is always bittersweet - the allure of sleeping in a bed, not being out in the cold all day, and allowing too-tired and sore body parts to recuperate is offset by knowing that tomorrow we won't be heading down the roadway, seeing what's just up ahead, right around the corner, just waiting to be discovered by three intrepid traveling companions - Chinook, Sophie, and me.

On the watch for Jaws and Namu

Today is the last riding day of our trip down the Oregon coast. Tonight we'll be in Crescent City, CA. I woke up early this a.m. as Harris Beach has lots to see and explore and what better time to do it than at the crack of dawn. Chinook and I took a stroll down the "Marine Trail" which was a nice circuitous path down to the beach. Chinook, as always, led the way, sniffing at all the vegetation as he went. I've always wondered what it would be like to see the world through a pooches eyes, ears, and nostrils. That may never happen but I get to sample the experience vicariously through the fifty-five pounds of fur trotting ahead of me down the path. This morning there is some fog and light mist and it feels that we are the first creatures to ever set eyes on this part of the coast. As the trail meanders down to the surf ahead there is a 'sea stack', a huge hill of rock sticking up out of the ocean about twenty yards off shore. In it's middle is a triangular shaped crack approximately 15 yards wide and about the same in height. The crack goes completely through the sea stack and the ocean waves come right into the opening where they get compressed in the narrowed fissure. The net effect is that the pent up energy of the waves blows through the fissure expelling thousands of gallons of sea water onto the rocks we are approaching. Chinook is mesmerized and so am I as we both stand still taking in the show. I can't tell if the tide is coming in or going out, but the area at our feet is clearly underwater at high tide. I can only imagine the waves rolling into the area in front of us at high tide or when a storm front passes through. We continue down the trail that wraps around onto a sandy beach. Off shore the ocean looks peaceful and quiet and there are a couple of small boats half a mile offshore with kindred early risers already fishing for this day's catch. Last night, while I was in the campground cooking dinner Sophie and Chinook had come down to this same beach and saw a seal being washed to and fro in the waves at sunset. I've read that the riskiest time to be a marine mammal in the ocean is at sunrise or sunset as that is when the predators (my mind conjure up images of great white sharks big enough to swallow us whole) are most active. Looking at the water, which is not very clear and quite murky I can only imagine that for the hapless seal in the wrong place at the wrong time the only saving grace is that it would not see what was coming at it from the depths below. This morning, Chinook is happily oblivious to all of this as he runs into the surf belly deep before bounding back onto dry land. Signs along the Oregon coast ask beach visitors to report sightings of Killer Whales so as to track where they are. Fortunately we see neither Jaws nor Namu during our early morning foray. Then it's back up the hill to breakfast and then out on the road where the only things we have to worry about are logging trucks, inattentive RV drivers, and all sorts of local residents doing their best impression of small town Oregon rush hour.

Chinook Loves The Ocean

The daily distances we ride average around fifty miles with some days closer to sixty and others only thirty or thirty five. The weather these last couple of days has been spectacular (in other words sunny!) and when the weather's like that it's easier to put in some heavy duty miles. You also want to take advantage of the clear skies to see as much as you can because when the weather socks in you really can't see much at all. You'll be pedaling through the fog and hear the sound of the waves crashing on the beach or against the rocks, but you can't see them.

Today's route took us from Humbug State Park all the way down to Harris Beach State Park just north of the town of Brookings. The part of the coast is very scenic and the camera kept me busy every time we came around the next corner. Tomorrow we'll wrap up this ride in Crescent City, CA where we are renting a U-Haul truck to take us and our gear back to Astoria. For Sophie and I our legs are dictating that it's a good time to stop. Chinook, on the other hand, hasn't done anything more strenuous than decide which way to lay in his trailer as he watches the miles fly effortlessly by. We were not quite sure what he would make of the ocean, so I guess it's good to report that he seems to love it. He loves running up to the edge of the ocean as the waves recede and then racing ahead of the next incoming set of breakers as they rumble in. He's always been skittish around the water which we thought was part of his Siberian Husky-ness. For dogs bred to pull sleds over frozen tundra open water is a dangerous and potentially lethal trap to be avoided, but apparently the open ocean is different, at least for our pup. I think he'll actually miss it when we leave and it almost breaks my heart to realize that the chances of him again prancing and dancing in the shore break is relatively slim as our forays to the coast are so few and far between.

Humbug

The route from Honeyman State Park to our night's destination, Sunset Bay State Park, was for the most part several miles inland away from the coast with occasional meanders back to seaside communities. The faithful wind was again at our back, blowing us steadily down the highway. The route would have been ideal if it had ended in Coos Bay but the last 5-10 miles through Charleston were not the highlights of the trip, passing as they did through some fairly depressed neighborhoods. The hiker/biker sites at Sunset Bay were spartan to say the least, and the earlier arrivals told us they had found it full of trash which they had been nice enough to pick up.  I'd bypass this particular campground if I did this ride again. Still, it's a place to rest our head after some 55 miles of travel. We are looking at another long day in the saddle tomorrow as well with our destination being Humbug Mountain State Park.

Sea Lions and Vistas

Friday the sun woke us up. It was nice to see old Sol for the first time in several days. We knew as soon as we saw her that we had to make the most of a beautiful day so we quickly ate breakfast and headed out on the road. The campground where we had spent the night was the nicest thus far and we actually had the entire hiker/biker campground all to ourselves. Set in the midst of luxuriant tall trees dappled with light shining through the canopy, it really was a beautiful spot. Oregon State Parks deserve a tip of the hat as they really  know how to run a campground. The showers have nice hot water and are generally immaculately clean and the nice thing about the hiker/biker sites is that bikers and hikers will never be turned away. That's not always the case; in Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons we saw hiker/biker sites being used by motorcyclists and we heard from some cyclists that they had been turned away because the hiker/biker sites were full. That never happened to us, but it's nice to know that in Oregon you are guaranteed a site no matter how long a day you've had or how late at night you're rolling in to camp.

Friday's goals are to enjoy the sunshine, see the " world's largest sea caves" just north of Florence and then spend the night at Honeyman Memorial State Park. We've put in enough miles in the last several days that we are slightly ahead of schedule, so today is a relatively short 20 miles or so. As a cycle tourist, knowing that I have 'miles to go before I sleep' (I don't know if Robert Frost was a cyclist, but much of his poetry seems to fit) it's often difficult to stop to see the myriad roadside attractions that entice folks in vehicles to stop and stretch their legs and lighten their wallets. Every minute stopped is a minute added to riding at the end of the day when you are really tired so whatever touristy things we do stop for had better be worth the time. The 'Sea Lion Caves' are certainly worth taking a sojourn from pedaling. As we were there many of our cycling brethren pulled over and took a quick gander and then continued riding. Sophie had read about this place and convinced me to stop. The main building is at the top of another one of endless climbs and houses your typical gift shop. $12 gets one adult ticket and a trip down an elevator some 200 feet back to sea level ( I was thinking that we should have loaded the bikes on the elevator at the start of the climb and paid $12 for a ride up to the top, not the other way around). Once at the bottom you really are in a gigantic sea cave. The first thing that hits you upon exiting the elevator is a pungent smell that seems only slightly familiar and turns out to be an aromatic blend of sea lion (Stellar sea lions to be precise) and sea bird guano. I've often observed that where there is a fresh scent of guano in the air the guano makers can't be too far distant and I was not disappointed. Rounding a corner inside the cave you come to an overlook from where you see several dozen sea lions lounging on the rocks inside the cave while ocean waves sweep in through the cave entrance. The guide at the bottom indicates that through summer and fall the cave is home to sometimes several hundred sea lions at a time. When in the cave it sure sounds like it as sea lions are not especially quiet creatures. At times it's hard to hear someone talking over their incessant roar. The cave has been around for hundreds, if not thousands of years, with sea lions longtime residents but humans only more recently discovering it. If you're ever by this neck of the woods, commit to stopping as it's really something to see. The cherry on top is that you also get fantastic views of the Heceta Head lighthouse to the north and miles of rolling surf and sandy beaches to the south.

'Coons and other nocturnal diversions

Thursday turns out to be the best day of the ride so far, at least once we had escaped South Beach where we had spent Wednesday night waging a battle of wits, and coming out on the losing end, with some very determined, very skilled, and apparently well- practiced raccoons. They started at about 1:30 in the a.m. trying to get into our bike trailers. They have very good paws that act like miniature hands and they could reach into the tiniest openings to grab anything within reach. We lost a couple of pouches of instant oatmeal, but we got some great 'coon shots with the camera so I guess it was a fair deal after all. Thankfully, as far as I know, the raccoons didn't also have cameras or they'd have pictures of some crazy guy running around in the middle of the night in his underwear harrassing God's innocent creatures.

In the morning it was drizzly and looked like rain was on the way so we were a little somber pulling out. After a couple of miles we actually turned on our bike tail lights to make sure cars could see us through the increasing fog. I haven't talked much about the wind, but thus far it's been an ever-present companion sometimes gently nudging us down the highway, other times literally pushing us up small hills like we had a hand on our backs helping us climb. It never seems to let up, but mercifully for us it's always from the same direction - north/ northwest. Some of the gift shops along the way have anemometers and they seem to register anywhere from 15-20 mph steady. The recommended direction of travel is from north to south specifically because of the winds this time of year, but every day we pass a couple of intrepid cyclists pounding along northward into the wind. Good luck to them! For now, this being our first trip on this route we're more than content for the wind-assist as we make our way south.