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.
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.
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