"Good thing it was a short day."
I woke up at 7 am and was on the road by 8. I said goodbye to Mike, because he was planning to stay another hour or so in Bay Center, partaking of his ritual morning coffee. I don't drink coffee -- too many people desperately needing it in the morning indicates that it might not be such a good thing.
The ride was tough -- a bit chilly, a little bit of rain every now and then, and the odd headwind. My left knee (whose ligaments had been destroyed just one year ago) was starting to get very sore. Or, it might have been my upper calf muscle. I couldn't tell. I slogged through it, but the riding wasn't enjoyable.
I got to Long Beach at noon. It's a very stereotypical seaside town -- I felt like I'd walked onto a movie set. Brightly colored stores, lots of trinket shops, and plenty of old people in motor homes. I liked it.
I drove up and down the main street looking for a place to eat, and finally decided on "Dooger's Bar and Grill". Bad choice. Nothing specific -- it just wasn't particularly enjoyable.
I had already decided that I was treating myself to a motel tonight, so I went motel shopping. The cheapest turned out to be the Boulevard Motel. For $45 I got a TV, a shower that didn't run on quarters, and a mattress more than a half-inch thick. I was in heaven.
"I parked my stuff and went for a walk. This peninsula claims to have the world's longest beach, and I'm sure it is, but it's also damn boring. The ocean's too cold for swimming and there's not enough traffic to make people watching worthwhile. Kites are big though. Took a ride on a go-kart track -- fun, fun! Then back to the hotel. All in all, a boring town. Napped and watched TV.
For dinner I went to a local deep-fry joint for beef ribs and fries -- very yummy. Afterwards, I took my bike down to the movies and watched "Cable Guy". Boring. After that, it was off to the highlight of the night: Nick's West, an honest-to-goodness country bar. Yee haw!
"I've never been a country fan, but I'll grant it one thing: it appeals to all ages. Rock 'n roll has changed so much that you have to specify a decade when talking about it. But Country is just Country, and the place was filled with people from their 20's to their 60's. Although I just barely met the minimum-facial-hair requirement, I still felt pretty comfortable."
The place was pretty crowded, so I was forced to stand by myself in the middle of the bar, watching the band, and my feelings of comfort slowly started to wear off. I was out of my element, after all. Bike shoes, wool socks, shorts, and fleece pullover don't blend well among jeans and cowboy hats. I found a table and watched the ladies line dancing. It was a sight to see -- and very sexy! It reminded me of African tribal ceremonies where the members of the opposite sex line up and show off for the others. I didn't see any men line dancing.
I went to the bathroom and when I returned, found that my table had disappeared. Never one to make a fuss, I accepted it with a smile and resumed my post in the middle of the bar, trying to look natural. Yeah, right.
I noticed three women sitting at a table with the only the odd guy crowding around. After a while, an opening appeared and I actually worked up the nerve to talk to them! Wow!
"Tracy, Rebecca, and Sicily. Tracy left early so I don't know much about her. Sicily is an ex-cocaine addict with very little respect for authority. Loud, affectionate-friendly, knows everyone. A repeat felon, apparently. Really cute, too.
Rebecca is a waitress, with beautiful long red hair. I got to know her the best. We talked, played pool, and by the end of the evening we were good friends. Danced to one song. At closing it was raining, but nobody had a car (and I had my bike) so we walked back into town. Got wet. I walked the ladies to their residence (not too far from my motel) and met Rebecca's boyfriend, Mark. Mark is one of those genuinely stupid people. His first remark to Becky was that he was upset because she hadn't left out any pot for him."
Becky and I got along well, and were probably attracted to each other, but it was pretty clear that we had our differences. Becky actually seemed to have a smart head on her shoulders, but judging from boyfriend and lifestyle, it wasn't screwed on too tightly.
"Made it to Fort Canby -- a nice, easy ride of about 5 miles -- set up the tent, and it started to rain. So I'm stuck inside. But now the rain just stopped."
I was cruelly awakened at 6 am by some asshole walking around upstairs and moving furniture. So much for paying $45 for a good night's sleep. Despite the noise, I still managed to sleep until 9 or 10. I got up and had my third shower of the past 24 hours.
I packed my stuff and rode down to the local laundromat for a much-needed washing. From there it was a short jaunt down the road to Fort Canby, near Ilwaco, WA.
My plan was to waste the day away in Ilwaco, then head east to Vancouver, WA, to see some buddies from my old job. However, Becky was working the next day, and she had encouraged me to come see her. If it rained, I'd stick around for another rest day. Maybe.
As the name suggests, Fort Canby is an old military installation. It is right at the mouth of the Columbia River, and had all kinds of big guns during WWII. It now contains a Lewis and Clark museum.
After the brief, post-tent-setup rain, I went exploring. First, I walked to the top a bluff, following an overgrown trail. I got plenty wet from the water on the plants. The forest was beautiful: lush, green, and clean. Wildflowers were everywhere.
I discovered an old, overgrown staircase in the middle of the forest -- like a scene right out of Indiana Jones. At the top was a cliff with the foundation blocks for a gun placement.
"I stood at the top, wind blowing at me, and I felt very strong. It was a classic scene: hands raised in the air, cliff, wind -- I felt very powerful."
From there I hiked through more wet grass to the Lewis and Clark Interpretive Center. This is a very nicely done museum following their journey to the Pacific. I really enjoyed it. I was expecting a lot of flag waving, and got none.
People might think that cycling 1800 miles is amazing, or crazy, but that's nothing compared to Lewis and Clark. Imagine: no roads, flashlights, thermarests, gas stoves, or dehydrated veggies. Basically, they had a whole bunch of heavy stuff and their wits. One negative point, though: neither of them could spell.
After interpreting in the interpretive center, I continued my journey.
"I came upon a little sheltered cove that opened right onto the sea -- except the waves broke at the entrance to the cove so the water inside was calm. The walls of the cove were steep and green. Very lush. In the middle of the cove was an island jutting out of the water, covered in green moss and with two trees. The whole place was perfect.
This scene evoked different feelings in me, but they're hard to identify. The place was extremely beautiful, and I wanted to claim it at mine. I also wanted to have someone with me so we could claim it as ours. But instead, I sat on the small beach and rocks and thunk awhile."
From the pretty cove, I headed back to camp for dinner: pepperoni and smoked cheese on a bagel, with liberal amounts of liberated condiments. I had a feeling I was developing a cavity in the back-bottom-left of my teeth -- too many Jolly Rancher candies. I always had a good supply within arms reach while riding.
"After dinner, to Waikiki Beach -- actually, just across the meadow upon which I am camped. I watched the ocean for a very long time. I thought to myself: 'Don't the waves ever get tired? Why don't they shut off at night?' It's amazing that such a complex universe can come together to make something as simple as a wave. No waves, no erosion, no life. Somebody knew what he/she was doing."
I returned to my campsite to write in my journal and go to sleep. Fortunately, nature called first. I got out of my tent and right there, not 20 meters away, was a deer, chomping away on the grass. So that's what all those little black clumps of dirt were. I'd be careful where I was walking from now on.
"One of my complaints to the organizer of the little trip has been the lack of wildlife. I've seen birds, but you see birds everywhere. I've seen more roadkill squirrels and raccoons than real ones. I hope the quota gets bumped up for the rest of the trip. I'm tired of watching plants. They don't move!"
"Then it started to rain. 'No problem,' I thought."
It rained furiously last night, but my tent was up to the challenge. I actually slept rather well, and was up at 7:30. The forecaster in me said, "Cloudy with sunny periods."
Ha.
I rolled out of camp and into a nice light mist. Two minutes later it was a downpour. By the time I reached Ilwaco, 3 miles later, I was thoroughly drenched. I stopped in a café for a nice greasy breakfast and to wait out the rain. It worked! By the time I finished breakfast, we were back to a light mist. I left Ilwaco and after a few miles, crossed the bridge into Oregon.
My left leg was still sore, and showed no signs of improving, but was still okay for cycling. I stopped in Astoria to call my friends in Vancouver, to make sure they'd be around, then headed east. The rain continued, off and on, and there was a light headwind and a few hills. Overall, it was a nice ride, but wet.
By the time I got to Katsakanie, about halfway to Vancouver, WA, I was tired and didn't anticipate getting very dry inside my tent so I chickened out and got a hotel room. Only $40 this time, and a much nicer room. No HBO though. I had dinner at the motel's Mexican restaurant, then went back to the motel and watched TV for four hours.
"Bored. I don't like sitting around inside. What's become of me? I used to love sitting on the couch watching TV. Now I'm an active person or something."
"...it was such an eventful day."
I woke around 8:30 am, had two bagels, and hit the road. The day started with a nice, 3-mile long hill. No breaks, just up, up, up. Then coast a bit, then down, down, down. I had a little bit of rain on the down side, but that was it for the day.
After that, I settled in to a nice pleasant ride to Ranier, OR, about 12 miles into the day. I stopped for some tacos, then hopped on the Longview-Kelso bridge back to Washington State.
I had left the comforting security of the Pacific Coast trail, and its accompanying guidebook, well behind me. Now, I was unsure what to do. Should I hop on the I-5? I didn't see any signs banning bikes. I looked around for some secondary roads, but couldn't find any, so I took a chance and went for it.
The freeway was good. Very flat, nice tailwinds, and a huge shoulder. The only downsides were the stinky-noisy cars and having to dodge chunks of wood and tire in the shoulder. After an hour or so I arrived at Kalama and decided to try the side roads. My legal status as a cyclist on the freeway was in question, and I'm just too nice person to even consider bending the rules.
Mistake #1.
"The side roads went up and down hugely steep hills -- some of the worst I've ever seen. I actually had to get off the bike and push. These roads just kept going up and up and up into backroad land. Awful."
And man, it was hot!
After whizzing down from wherever the hell the road had taken me (going down the hills, I didn't mind so much), I stopped for lunch: a can of chili and a fresh salad. Yummy.
At this point, the side roads had actually become bearable again, so I decided to stick with them.
Mistake #2.
"The main road was under construction, which meant I had to take a detour -- back up into the hills. These ones were even worse. I had to get off and push, and at one point was pushing so slowly that the bike computer wouldn't even register it. Oh -- did I mention that it was very very extremely hot?"
I managed to get most of the way up into the hills, and that's when the real fun began.
"I'd just come up a hill and was kinda coasting along, trying to catch my breath. All of a sudden, these two dogs come running out of the house towards the road. 'No problem,' I think. 'There's a fence.' So I cast my gaze down the road and then I realize that the fence ends. Quite abruptly. Shit."
I gunned it and left the barking, growling dogs behind. My legs were shaking and my heart wouldn't stop pounding. Did I mention that it was really hot? Well then, let me add that I was just about out of water, too.
I kept following the stupid detour signs, out in the middle of nowhere, having no real idea where I was going and just praying that I could make it back to the highway. The road was mostly downhill now, thank God. I was zipping along at a nice clip when I passed another dog. One minute, he was sitting peacefully, calm as can be. Next minute, he bolted after me. I stood on my pedals and cranked as hard as I could. I was already going pretty fast, so I figured I'd leave him behind. Nope. This was one fast dog. He kept up with me (fortunately staying on the other side of the road) until a car passed between us and he lost interest. Now my legs were really shaking.
"Needless to say, I've now got dogs on the brain so I'm watching for the bastards. About half a mile down the road I see one, lying in his driveway, not tied up. I figured he was too close to the road for me to try to outrun, so I stopped.
He didn't notice me.
I made some whistling-type noises and he noticed me. Barky-growly all the way -- and not friendly barks. Mean, "get the fuck out of my territory before I eat you" barks.
I got off the bike and kept it between me and the dog, then backed away a bit. Eventually we established a closest distance at which I was allowed to stand, although he still growled at me every now and then.
I tried a few loud 'hellos' to see if someone was in the house, but to no avail. I bet they were in the house, watching and laughing their asses off. Ha ha. I'm scared. Very funny.
Fortunately, the dog was getting as tired as I was. He started to yawn between growls and eventually lay down in the middle of the road. I tried getting a little closer but he just stood up and started barking again.
So, it was time for the secret weapon. I got as close as I could, then tossed a Fig Newton onto the opposite shoulder. He turned to sniff, so I hopped on my bike and took off. He didn't care. He was eating the cookie."
I finally made it out of the hills and (hopefully) away from dog-land. In the process, I set a personal speed record: 45 mph (72 km/h). No problems with the bike, although I kept getting crap in my eyes. My sunglasses were broken. I stopped at a gas station just before the highway and refilled my water bottles. I talked to a policeman who was hanging out there, and he recommended pepper spray for the dogs. I also asked him about riding on the I-5, and he said, "I guess so..."
Great. I flew along at 18 mph with a great tailwind (my average is usually 11 or 12 mph). After a while I entered Vancouver, WA and passed a sign that seemed to indicate that bikes were not permitted on that stretch of highway. I figured it was only 3 miles until my turnoff, so I kept going.
Mistake #3.
"The shoulder got narrower and narrower, until it finally disappeared, and I was stuck on an uphill stretch between huge semis and cement blocks -- with zero -- nada -- none -- no room to ride. I was roadkill. I made it to the top of the hill, ducking and leaning way right whenever a truck passed. I heaved my bike over the top of the 3-foot blocks (70-lbs. worth of bike and gear) and continued on normal roads. I found Woolie's house without too much trouble."
Rudy, my other Vancouver-based friend, came over to Woolie's house and, along with Woolie's girlfriend Jacqueline, we had a nice leftovers-ish meal. Afterwards, Rudy and Woolie took me over to their offices at Claris. It's a nice place. Just being there made me want to get back to work. No matter how much I try to deny it, I'm a programmer. Must. Code. We played some Ping-Pong and laughed and farted a lot. It was just like old times.