Monday, September 30, 2013

Border Crossing, Redwoods, and More Rain

The border was lined by shimmery green fields of what would soon be Easter lilies, completely unobvious except for the medium-sized 'Welcome to California!' sign. There seemed to be a bit of disagreement in just which border town was the “Easter Lily Capital of the World”...Brookings, OR, or tiny Smith River, CA. We left them to compete in peace, only stopping to gobble the fresh doughnuts from Brookings we had acquired that morning. In Crescent City, CA we stopped by the visitor center only to discover what we had suspected for some time: California has no cycling map! It was about this time that we realized just how spoiled rotten we had been by Oregon's DOT-produced coastal bike map, detailing distances, elevations, typical wind directions and more! No such luck in the Golden State.


The past week has been a blur, but here's a few reflections:
Despite the few torrential downpours we endured, Oregon treated us well. After spending the night in the Newport Travelodge last Sunday night, we got to experience a gray Monday afternoon touring the way many people choose to do: Supported! We wanted to keep biking, and our parents wanted to keep hanging out with us, so somebody suggested that we ride as far as we could while our parents carried our heavy panniers. It suddenly made so much sense, why people tour that way. You can go so far! You don't feel like you're actually might die on every incline! And, at the end, after we had biked 48 miles in just a few hours, we had a support team to cheer us on and tell us how impressive we were over and over again. Yes, they were our parents so they were pretty much required to do that. But it was so dang nice I think I might consider paying somebody to play that role sometime....sometime in the faraway future of course. I still treasure my touring independence :).

We spent one night in a campground just south of Florence. The next day we got a nice late start (our specialty), set off for a lovely day of hills and freshly layed asphalt, surprise sunshine and views of the expansive ocean. Then it got dark. We were dead-set on making it all the way to Bandon, as we had arranged our 2nd Warmshowers host of the trip. We were once again soaking wet, as some heavy showers rolled in around dusk. We ended up biking about 8 miles in the pitch black, which was terrifying and felt pretty stupid on our part. Cycling through the pitch black with only 6 tiny blinking lights to guide your way can make a person rather dizzy. I had to take a little time-out when we finally got off the highway, had a little cry, and regained true cycling composure for the last mile to the house. We were justified only by the fact that we were presented with our very own surfer chalet at the end of the day's 72 mile journey.

Brian was the name of our host, a self-proclaimed anti-bicyclist who only took people in for the “cultural experience” it gave his children, who were growing up in beautiful yet homogeneous Bandon, OR. His profile was part scary and part hilarious, detailing exactly the kinds of people he wasn't interested in: Americans, engineering students, people who weren't interested in babysitting or cooking delicious food. He preferred foreigners, especially couples. He didn't care much about “our story,” so we didn't talk it up. Instead, we made a fort with his two young children, whom he left us with promptly after meeting us. He turned out to be a really nice guy, and even though he was serious about hating bicycles, it was somehow in the most endearing way possible. The house we slept in was not his house, but rather a friend's foreclosed mansion that another friend was sort of squatting in. There was basically nothing in the house except a few surfboards and hundreds of old surfer magazines. The electricity worked, there was hot water and a bathtub, so the three of us fell into a hard sleep as the rain fell even harder on the roof above us.

We spent two more nights in Oregon, one in the Humbug State Park and one in a campground outside of Brookings. The next day we entered California, spent a night in Klamath and a day biking through the unfathomable beauty that is the Redwood forest. And now here I sit in Arcata, surrounded by espresso and beautiful earthy college students and housed by Ben's family friends Amy and Rees. Their hospitality has been amazing, especially considering we called them about half an hour before we showed up in Arcata, Ben not having seen them since he went backpacking with them 10 years ago! We were all very enthralled by beautiful Arcata, as well as a lazy day off. Today, back to biking, the 101, and whatever surprises Northern California has in store for these 3 travelers today.

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

Portland, Raccoons, the Ocean and a Rescue!

Hello, again! I'm terribly sorry it's taken me so long to post. First it was just laziness, but for the past few days I've had trouble finding internet in these adorable yet wifi-less Southern Oregon towns. I'm writing this from Port Orford, Oregon. Here are a couple of things I had to say about the events of the last 10 days or so...enjoy!

Out of Eden. I mean Portland.


         Ahh, Portland. I assume most of you are already aware of this fact, but I'm here to tell you that it's true. Portland. Loves. Bicycles. In Seattle, I felt like we were part of a club, riding our bikes around the city with throngs of commuter-cyclists. In Portland, we were part of a support group. The whole city is adorned with bicycle paraphernalia—like somehow bicycles figured out how to join the ranks of bacon and moustaches and have infiltrated every t-shirt, re-usable shopping bag, tattoo and cupcake you can shake a stick at.


All of this was much to our advantage as Ben and I tooled around Portland for a few days. We ate amazing food, got to spend time with a lot of great people (Heather! Katelyn! Jamison! And our awesome hosts, newlyweds Nick and Lauren Insalata!). We hung out in soaking pools and coffee shops and backyard barbeques and pretty much didn't feel like we were bike tourists at all. Finally, after 3 full days in the youth utopia that is Portland, we forced ourselves to leave.


On the way out of town, a man pushing a baby stroller down a residential street stopped us by shouting “Hey where are you guys headed?” We were pretty eager to get on the road, but he immediately offered us a billion useful things, including the highly coveted Oregon Coast Bike Map. He turned out to be super friendly and helpful, named Greg, and in possession of two lovely twin babies of unknown gender. As he looked for the map, the babies started to fuss and he handed me two matching baby bottles and told me to feed them. And that is how I found myself, aiming two baby bottles into a stranger's babies' mouths, still wearing a helmet on the streets of sunny Portland. Look to Ben's tumblr account for photographic evidence.




If we wanted to be this wet, why didn't we stay in Juneau? Or just take a week long shower?


         Outside of Portland we met up with Charlie Sallans, who will be joining us all the way to San Francisco, and perhaps beyond! He's a really great friend of mine from Evergreen, and we're super excited to have another team member along. The first night out of Portland we made it 50 miles and spent the night in a peaceful but deserted campground in the Tillamook forest. We had some pretty brutal hills that first day, some of the steepest grade I've ever experienced on a bicycle, much less a bicycle with nearly 100 pounds of gear.


The next day we finally made it to the Oregon coast. It took us about 50 miles, a major downpour, and about 5 rounds of Tillamook cheese factory samples, but we finally made it! We stayed the night at the Cape Lookout campground, which is beautiful and highly recommended, even though a stupid raccoon ate my beloved chocolate pretzels.


Now we've been on the coast for a few nights, and it has been truly wonderful. Tell me, what is it about the ocean, that makes every one of us want to rip off our shoes and run like the hounds of hell are chasing us, into the surf? That's exactly what I did the first chance I got. And it's obvious that it's not just Portland that loves bicycles. The whole state of Oregon feels pretty fondly about us. Since reaching the coast, we've been on a fully marked route with a usually broad shoulder. There are plentiful campgrounds with 5 dollar hiker/biker rates, and bike shops along the way have showers, internet, and really excited staff. They love us.


On Sunday morning we woke to some of the nastiest weather I can imagine for fall, and that includes Juneau. There were literal sheets of rain falling out of the sky at a pleasant 45 degree angle, coming directly from the south (the direction we were headed). All the other bicycle tourist friends we had met in Pacific City informed us that they had no intention of leaving our luxury RV campground (which included an indoor pool and hot tub). We really wanted to keep going, so, telling ourselves it “really wasn't that bad,” and “we're Alaskans, for godssake,” we headed out into the storm.


Okay, so it was that bad. I can say for sure that it was the worst weather I've ever ridden in, because why would I have ever chosen to go for a bicycle ride in weather that bad? The rain was kind of a given, though it was the kind of rain that made you struggle to keep your eyes open it was so bad. But the wind caught me off guard—so off guard in fact, at one point it knocked me straight into a ditch! I'm pretty sure people thought we were insane. We thought we were insane. I had to force myself to not think of what being in a hot tub would be like, or a sleeping bag, or really anywhere more pleasant than our current situation.


We persevered for about 22 miles, when the most glorious thing appeared. A diner. The Otis Cafe. Practically weeping with relief, Charlie, Ben and I dragged our sopping selves into the miniature old-school diner, shocking all the other patrons as we soaked our chair cushions and stripped our wet socks off under the table. Everything was wet. We were freezing cold. I used my coffee cup as a sort of hot water bottle, drinking half of it every 10 minutes just so the waitress would come and re-fill it.


Let's face it. It was one of the moments that makes even an adventurous 25-year-old woman whimper, “I want my mom!” We were still about 30 miles from Newport, where we hoped to make it that night. I honestly didn't think I could muster the strength to get my wet frozen body to bike even out of the parking lot.


And then, in one of those rare, get-out-of-jail-free card moments in life, who should arrive but my own mother! My mom, savior goddess that she is, just so happened to be cruising down the Oregon coast in her Roadtrek on her way to a camping trip in Baja, but hoping to meet up with us for a night or two on the way. The timing could not have been more perfect. She met us about an hour later at the Otis cafe, paid for our meal, crammed all three of our bicycles and all our gear in her fancy Roadtrek (most likely not its intended purpose) and drove us the 30 miles to Newport. So yes, we cheated again. But let me tell you, it was worth it. We ended up getting a cheap hotel room which we transformed into a hurricane disaster zone with all our wet gear, taking thebestshowersever, and eventually meeting up with Ben's parents Bob and Bonnie who drove over from Idaho for a couple nights!


Moral of the story? It sucks to be wet and cold, but it's almost worth it just to get that feeling of beyond-words-bliss to be finally warm, overcaffeinated and safe in your mama's camper van. I know that won't always be the end of the story, but I'll always remember how dang good it felt when it was.

Friday, September 13, 2013

Life is Like a Bicycle

Yesterday morning, Ben and I loaded up our bicycles and started the day's easy revolutions by weaving through the fog-capped streets of downtown Seattle. We were joined by a healthy support team of Seattle's morning bicycle commuter community, but they eventually broke off one by one until it was just Ben and myself and our way too loaded down bikes. An hour or so later, when all our bike commuter friends were wiping the sweat of their brows, sitting down to a cup of coffee and their day jobs, Ben and I were still actively sweating, still actively biking, and trying without much success to navigate the strange industrial districts of South Seattle.

We eventually celebrated the success of discovering the Green River trail in Tukwila, which eventually morphed into the Interurban trail, both delightful off-road asphalt trails which led us over train tracks, behind factories, and eventually spit us out in the little-known town of Pacific, WA. For the rest of the day we had a devil of a time figuring out how to get from the end of the bike trail to Tacoma--turns out the back roads of the I-5 corridor are not especially friendly to two little cyclists from Alaska armed with the not-extremely-helpful google maps (walking directions) and some confusing bike maps.

But, we made it! To Tacoma, that is. And then we did something that would cause bicycle touring purists to go red in the face: we rode a bus. From Tacoma to Olympia. We were tired, hungry and hot (yesterday the Pac-NW saw temperatures in the 80s and 90s), and the bus was cheap, easy and had a bike rack. We didn't even feel bad! No sir.

 Something about having already biked across the country in a (relatively) pure way makes us not as strict this time around. You might even look at our trip thus far and call us "lazy." We've already stopped and taken days off in Friday Harbor, La Conner, Seattle and now Olympia! But then, that's what this trip is all about. Seeing old friends, taking time to smell the roses, and eventually, with some luck and perhaps a bit more discipline, we'll get to where we're going.

Today, we're resting and enjoying Olympia, my old stomping grounds. We stayed last night with my dear friend Anna Bunk, got beers at my favorite bar Skep & Skein with my friend Nathan, and even enjoyed late night hot dogs at Jake's. This morning we met up with friend Charlie at Sage's for smoked salmon egg benedicts. Oh, Olympia. After so much time in Alaska, I've forgotten that places could be like this! People are young, friendly and covered in all manner of feathers, vintage glasses, and child-like tattoos. I've already been asked what my sign is, at least twice. We tell people we're biking to New Orleans and people smile and nod and compliment us on our life choices, not always the case. *Sigh*. Being here is like being in an adult kindergarten--everyone wants to play, eat good food all the time and help each other. If only there were ways to make a living in this dreamland.

Alas! The way of a traveler, and a bicycle tourist, is to be constantly moving forward. I saw a quote somewhere that said 'life is like a bicycle--you have to keep your balance, you must keep moving..." So, tomorrow, we head out into the wild abyss of Southwestern Washington. Next resting place: Portland, where there are sure to be more attractive tattooed people, good beer, and great food. Until then, happy trails.

Sunday, September 8, 2013

Back on Bicycles

"Let's Ride!" said the hipster bicycle-themed temporary tattoo I presented to Ben Friday morning, his 27th birthday, as well as the morning we arrived in Bellingham, WA. The 3 day ferry ride from Juneau proved to be a most excellent way to travel. We staked out our homestead on the partially covered solarium top deck, spreading out our sleeping bags on lawn chairs amongst all the other travelers. I spent the 3 days on the ferry taking naps, watching the texture of the water and mountains change, and people watching sometimes actually talking with fellow travelers, other times just wondering about them.

 Contained public traveling is interesting in that everyone is more or less going to and from the same places, but everyone is on a different journey. Some people were leaving a summer job with heavy pockets and dirty fingernails, others were moving away from their beloved homeland, some were just getting out of Alaska for a couple months of sun before the long winter, while others were bright-eyed tourists, cheering at porpoises and whales breaching off the stern of the boat. And then there's Ben and me.

We're just begun our second velocipedal adventure. Was it just too much fun last time, when we biked across the northern states all the way to New York City? Did we discover that it's just the best way to get to know a place, its landscape, and its random diners? Did we forget just how grueling and sweaty those steep hill climbs and 100 degree days could get? YES!! The answer is yes. So, because we are equal parts eager, adventurous, crazy, and couldn't really think of anything better to do this fall, we are back on bicycles.

This time around we're biking from Bellingham, WA all the way to New Orleans, LA by way of Los Angeles, CA. We're planning on taking our time, visiting people, and exploring the beautiful corners of this country from the West Coast to the Southwest to the South. Thus far we have biked about 40 miles, from the Bellingham ferry terminal to the Anacortes ferry terminal. We spent Friday and Saturday night out at Friday Harbor on San Juan Island, with my endlessly wonderful friends, Meagan and Lincoln Gable. We slept on their sailboat, cruised around the harbors, hiked on Orcas Island, and swam in a lake. Friday Harbor is basically the cutest town I have ever seen, and it was rather difficult to convince ourselves not to stay amongst the coffee shops, farmer's market, marina cafes, and bicycle friendly roads of San Juan Island. But, alas, the road is calling.

Now we are in La Conner, WA, spending time with Billie and Lauren, Ben's aunt and uncle. They're wonderful hosts and it's also difficult to not let myself just curl up in a cat-nap ball on the sunbaked porch, eating fresh tomatoes and peas and whatever other wonderful treasures their garden holds. But. Must. Keep. Biking. Next destination: Seattle. Although it might take us a couple days to get there. Please follow along! Here's to more (relatively) easy revolutions. Cheers!