Monday, August 17, 2015

Highway 1: So beautiful, so terrifying

This picture is misleading, as it shows the road with a shoulder, and a guardrail. Also misleading, that car is not a camper hugging the white line. 

Saturday, August 15, 2015

Fort something to Bragg about!

Fort Bragg is a nice blend of post-industrial coastal blight, with it's superfund waterfront behind chain link, and Ugly American beachresort destination. It has two bookstores and a video rental business. 
Used today to rest up. Got a room at the Oceanside Inn. The raspy man at the desk said the room smells. He offered to spray it for me.

Did laundry, dried out the tent, soaked from ocean mist, reupped at the grocery store and bought more fuel for my stove.
A couple years ago I visited my friend Brook in nearby Willits. He took me to this pizza place, where I ate this evening. Had a beer at a nearby tavern while waiting for the pizza. 49ers preseason was on TV, but the fella on the stool next to me said he was really a Green Bay fan. I kept my big mouth shut. 

Friday, August 14, 2015

Highway 1, you're the only one for meeeeee

Cyclists I've met talk about hard days. A broken chain, flats (mr q had two flats simultaneously), rain, heat, asshole motorists, asshole motorcyclists, running out of food. 

Back home hard days are different. They are actually hard.

No matter how far I pedal on a given day, over how many mountains, it's still one of the best days of my life.
After climbing the coastal range out of Legget, and climbing it's bastard cousin, Lil Legget, you suddenly leave the redwoods and hit the coast and this is what you see.
I took this pic a few minutes ago, a few steps from my tent. I rode into Westport and picked up food and beer and chatted with fellow cyclist Olivia, from Victoria, BC. She just went solo, as well, when her traveling companion of a month went back home. She was not far behind me when I hit the coast, and very generously shared some water with me.

Talked to six fellow cyclists today. The ones who commented on Eureka all said it was a weird place. It was. Although Crescent City felt like Cali in ways, with Eureka/Arcata, it was California all up in your grill. Shitty, broken, unfriendly California. It's like the East Coast, but so beautiful. Drama at the campground, and the family next to me cursed profusely at each other and their children. The only other time I have heard that much familial swearing was in 2000, waiting outside New York City Hall for the Yankees victory parade to begin. 

There were two men who were walking and towing trailers. They had big beards and smoked rollies and drank Cokes. I asked them where they were going. South is what they said. 
Here is Mr Q dealing with his first of two simultaneous flats.

Thursday, August 13, 2015

Tuesday, August 11, 2015

Babe the anatomically correct blue ox

Starting in Tillamook we heard about the damn Trees of Mystery in Klamath, so we went. I had been there before, and least once, and have a photo of me somewhere hugging Babe's blue balls. This time we actually paid and went in. 
Drury Scenic Parkway, south a ways, is stunningly beautiful, a highlight of the ride. Trees if Mystery was just a bunch of big old trees, like the kind in the groves along the parkway. It was fine. 
We rode the tram
We pointed at stuff
I love these things

Monday, August 10, 2015

Crescent City has some problems, is very beautiful

Crescent City isn't Port Orford weird, but it's weird. Kind of a way station for the transient human population who migrates Highway 101.

Speaking of which, yesterday, after leaving Humbug Mountain, we hung around a viewpoint for Sisters Rock, which was socked in by mist. Briefly we could see the outline, and it looked magnificent, so we waited an hour. The mist got thicker though, so we saddled up. As we pushed our bikes back onto the highway, we encountered a random woman, a bit road weary, pushing a baby carriage loaded with luggage. I asked her if she was ok. Seemed a natural enough question. 'Yes,' she said, a bit surprised by my inquiry.
At high tide this lighthouse becomes an island. 
What are these things? What do they do?
Lots of seals and pelicans.

The jetty was pretty much the only thing happening. 
Carpet diem, words to live by.


She my trap queen

Married to tha game

Brookings, bound for California

Five miles north of Gold Beach Mr Q broke a spoke. Hitched his trailer to my bike and pulled it into town. He missed a half day ride by taking a cab into Brookings. It was the toughest climbing day yet, something like 4,600 feet of elevation, but also the most beautiful beaches. It made me feel guilty that Mr Q couldn't be there, but I went for a quick swim in the surf. The best and worst half day to miss.

Bike shop here opens at 10 am. After that, short day to Crescent City. Sad to say goodbye to Oregon, and all of it's lux campgrounds. 

Sunday, August 9, 2015

We faced our devils

We saw a pair of vultures atop Seven Devils Road outside Coos Bay, the West Coast rite o'passage. Can't recall which of the Devils we saw the vultures, which is how it works when running with the Devil. He's a trickster! Think you're on the third Devil?

We held back our taunts until we were back safely on 101. Mr Q called it the Seven Smiles or the Seven Mehs. It was tough, but it wasn't memorable except for all the media hype. 

Trufflebutter verses, ranked, and the stupidest lyric from the stupidest song in all of history

Ranked from awesome to really great to great:

1-Lil Wayne
3-Nicki Minaj

'You can twerk it while in a split,
 you racking up them tips
Your body rock 
and your booty poppin',
 I'm proud to call you my bitch'

This stuff is so good

Thursday, August 6, 2015

It's hard work

Florence, Ore. 
Tomorrow we ride
It's not the hills, it's not the distance, it's the caaaars

Wednesday, August 5, 2015

Thank God for Lil Wayne and tailwinds

Just now, between Waldport and Yachats, a sofa sectional popped out of the back of the pickup truck carrying it down Highway 101. I turned to watch as it skidded past me then crossed the white line into the bike lane, in front of me, and came to a rest. It was white leather, very tasteful. 

The men driving the truck pulled over. They apologized as we pedaled past. One clutched his chest and said, 'That was unexpected!'

I'm going to quit taking pictures of all the beautiful vistas, each more beautiful than the last. What's the point? They all look the same: unbelievably gorgeous. 
Yesterday we rode about 55 miles from Lincoln City to Beachside, south of Waldport. Felt pretty tough. Then two girls arrived at the hiker/biker campsite and said they had just rode 92 miles. They were from Seattle. I asked them were in Seattle they lived. 'Capitol Hill,' one said, as if to say, 'The only neighborhood good enough for me to live in.'
You have to walk bikes across the Yaquina Bay Bridge in Newport. 
Walking tall, my man!
I love getting to the campsite and exploding my bags all over the place. This meal of ramen was delicious. 

Lincoln City, on the coast

Sunday, August 2, 2015

Coastal Rangers

Started pedaling at 6:45 a.m., back roads for the first 20 miles. 
Elevation gain of 3,500 feet, mostly climbing over the coastal range. 
Traffic was relentless. 
We took lots of breaks. 
Just outside of Tillamook and Mark flatted a tire. Just shy of 69 miles. Heading to Lincoln City tomorrow. 
Went to the cheese factory. It was packed, and worth it. 
This motel is going to be torn down in the next few months. The state wants to improve the highway interchange. So we went swimming, twice. 
At midnight tonight this bar will close forever. So much change is coming.