Ken finally reaches the Oregon coast…
Ken's Blog
Reaching the Oregon coast
November 11th, 2011Bolt upright
November 11th, 2011There was nothing to be done. The single saddle securing bolt was stripped. No option but for Giles to ride on towards the coast standing on the pedals. Lincoln City lacked a bike shop so I’d suggested a hardware store might be worth a go. Send a photo and rough dimensions of the offending item to his wife Sara and see if she could source a selection of potential replacements.
It worked. For a while at least. Allowing us to reach the Oregon coast. If Giles had been less than enthusiastic about it, he’d been prepared to admit it was actually rather pleasant. Reminiscent, I thought, of the west coast of New Zealand’s South Island. Which I also loved.
Joined now by Sara and their young daughter, we’d agreed that all of us sharing would be just a bit "weird". Besides, I was keen I not to intrude into family time. We’d finished in the dark but Sara had already found a rather quaint motel in Sheridan for us. My room was plainly furnished, but generously provided for with piles of towels and a huge tub of coffee grounds.
Laundry taken care of, time then to consider progress and the plan for the next day. Video and photos to transfer from the cameras and then upload. Never one to miss an opportunity to make the most of being indoors.
Coast bound
November 10th, 2011Dispossessed in doorways. Just after eight but it was dark, cold and wet. Many already wrapped up in their sleeping bags. Quiet. Down the street a small piece of cleared ground, a few homeless sleeping under tarps. Volunteers in heavy waterproofs handing out soup and snacks, chatting jovially with those who’d fallen on hard times. A few police officers wandering about. Unconcerned. Peaceful.
Giles and I had headed over into Portland’s Chinatown. Finding a small restaurant. Decent meal, but authentic it was not. Blank looks at my efforts with Mandarin. Nihow. Shez-shez-nee. My insistence on chop sticks as well received.
Next morning Denny’s for breakfast. Then coast bound. Giles wanted to change his saddle first, and we’d be joined at some point by his wife Sara and their young daughter. I’d done the math and reckoned the art-of-the-possible was Sheridan, fifty miles away and thirty or so short of the Pacific at Lincoln City.
Up and downs
November 9th, 2011I’d joked that if we ended up pretty much where we’d started then he’d better sleep with one eye open. Lest he find himself sharing his bed with a porcupine. The burrowing type. Leaving Longview we’d inadvertently strayed from the Seattle-to-Portland – STP – cycle route. Missing the familiar, if slightly faded, ’STP’ silhouettes spray painted on the highways.
Unperturbed, we’d placed our faith in Google Maps to guide us towards Portland. Soon cursing it as it struggled up an increasingly tough gradient. Zig-zagging on the quiet road soon giving way to pushing. Damp now. Close on a thousand foot of climb.
Plunging descent returning us to better weather. Something, I suggested, that leaving the Van Allen belt would probably account for. Brief stop in a small cafe, as much for respite from the returning rain as lunch, then on towards Portland.
Dreary riding into the city. Cheap motels. One advertised for just twenty bucks. Fast food joints. Grey. Uninspiring. We’d have stopped for coffee but there wasn’t anywhere you’d want to.
Californication
November 5th, 2011Simple enough plan. We’d ride for the Californian border. South from West Seattle, through Washington State in the top left of the US. Two hundred miles or so to the north Oregon State city of Portland. Then west through the mountains to the Pacific ocean at Lincoln City. Weaving our way along the coast to California. One week. Roughly five hundred miles.
I’d be riding with old school friend Giles. Pleased to discover his wife Sara and their young daughter would be joining us at various points along the road. For in the US a week is a serious chunk of annual leave.
We’d be stopping in motels. Giles quite adamant there were no conceivable circumstances under which he’d camp. Rather admired his honesty. After all, the trip was meant to be enjoyable, a chance to catch up on what we’d both been up to for the last twenty years or so. Challenging – yes – but not a test of endurance, the sort of thing you only appreciate in retrospect.
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