Gualala to Jenner

Misty and I pulled into the tiny resort town of Jenner around 3:30 pm today, after having finished a cycling leg that we will never forget.  I am grateful that it was sunny and gorgeous, but I regret not having had enough energy to really relax and enjoy the ride.  The ride was characterized by much more traffic than we expected, no shoulder on the highway, several steep uphills on sections without guardrails, and multiple hairpin turns that were located at the bottom of hills.  As a guest in the guestbook wrote aptly, this was a "white-knuckled ride on a mountain goat trail" that we were happy to survive.

We rewarded ourselves at a local restaurant with raw oysters and a sumptuous meal, and that was the end of our day.  If you asked me right now, I don't know if  I'd be the first person to enthusiastically recommend cycling this part without lots of training and mental preparation.  That being said, we are on day 24 of cycling (30-6 days) as opposed to being fresh, as one fellow cyclist pointed out to us, so I think this opinion might be biased right now. 

I'm going to bed, since last night I slept rather fitfully after having a face-off with a raccoon who was about to plunder our panniers.  I remember coming back from the bathroom and shining my headlight on our bikes and having two little round reflections among the other reflections from our bikes and equipment.  I stared at the thing, stomped a few times on the ground to show that I meant business (even though I don't have claws), and then watched it try to hide.  I didn't go back into the tent until I was happy that it got my message, but even then I lay there listening to every little noise until I noticed the early birds started to chirp.  Sigh.  

Cailfornia Highs

It's is now three days that Misty and I have been cycling Hwy 1 that hugs the coastline.  Although cycling these hills demands a constant amount of focus, once I have a moment, I marvel at just how beautiful this land is.

It's hard to convey how a place can be beautiful.  Beauty in people or in an object can be easier to define but for a place it's the sum total of the impressions that come from all five of the senses.  Over the course of the last three days that I've been cycling the Shoreline Highway (as the 1 is known here), I see, smell, feel and hear things that are all pleasing.   I'm not even sure where to start, except that I can see why people would pay large sums of money to build their dream house on a piece of this land.  I feel pretty lucky to spend hours outdoors just noticing things about this area of California.  

Since we usually hit the road by 8 or 9 am and settle into a campsite by 6 or 7 pm, I watch the land change over the day.  I have the ocean on my right hand side, hills on my left hand side and the road always ahead of me.  Unlike Washington and northern Oregon, the trees are smaller here and the grasslands dominate.  When we set out in the morning, the water is a dark and lazy blue, the shadows from the trees are long and grey-green.  It's quiet and the smells are most pronounced in the morning.  As I cycle, whiffs of the ocean, of cows, of sweet grasses, eucalyptus, dead animals, or exhaust can greet me in any order.  As the sun rises, the wildflowers and the grasses start to light up red, orange, white, pale lilac, deep purple and yellow and so do the trees and the water, which start to catch my eye with bright deep greens and turquoises.  I can't help but stop on teeny patches of shoulder to catch these bright pure colours through my camera lens, even though there's the possibility that I might be holding up traffic.  By late afternoon, the light changes and the long grasses literally glow golden next to an ocean that is similarly shimmering silver as if it was made of mercury not water.  Sometimes the fog or the clouds start to roll in by early afternoon.  If it's cloudy, the sunlight peeks through and casts shadows of clouds that move beside me on the highway.  If it's fog, I see it rolling in like smoke from a fire, first little wisps that eventually thicken into a grey blanket that usually signals the end of a day for us.

To all this add the sensation of heat and cold and the force of the wind, changing constantly.  Up hills I feel the sun so keenly, especially on those parts of my face where the sunscreen is being washed off by the sweat, then on the downhill, the air chills me except when I pass through one small patch of warm air then pass back into the cool air.  In the morning the winds are quiet, but by two o'clock they start to whip up.  Completely capricious, I can both hate it and love it within the same 15 minute period.  I can feel the wind push against me as I'm struggling up a hill then as I round a bend it happens to push me up the last little bit of a hill.  I can feel it cool me down as I overheat under the sun, then it can chill me as I stop to grab just a couple pictures. 


Understandably in this place, the human presence appears to be humble.  Towns and homesteads are small but crafted with care, and seem to have a history that I unfortunately don't have time to listen to.  Little touches like random peace signs, or seashells plastered into walls, hint at a close relationship that the people who have chosen to live here have developed with this completely enchanting place.

the great ascent part 2 take 2

I vaguely remember trying to blog while lying in bed last night.  I saw this morning what I managed to type and laughed out loud.

I am very proud of myself.  We rode a 95 km section that I felt took a great deal of mental discipline to get through, and I am happy that we did since the California coastline is absolutely stunning.  Oregon was gorgeous, but with the sun shining every day on this section of the coastline and the warmer temperatures, the views we get definitely justify the pain of hill climbing.

Misty and I left Standish-Hickey Park early in the morning to conquer the much-maligned Leggett Hill which takes us to the highest point on the Pacific Coast Bike Trail at about 1930 ft.  The ascent was much gentler than a few of the hills we had done previously, and was challenging only because the road had so many bends it was difficult to see more than 50 meters ahead.  The climb I would have done faster had I not stopped for more than 30 minutes waiting uselessly for Misty.  I thought she was behind me but in fact she was already up the hill waiting for me according to a passing motorist that I flagged down.  Perfect.  The morning is starting well.   The descent was exhilarating since it's fun taking up the whole lane and riding my bike like what I imagine driving a race car would be like.  It was hard to keep the bike below 40 kph and predicting where the road went was anyone's guess.

After Leggett came the Rockport hill, a shorter but steeper climb right after the Leggett hill.  Already tired from the first climb, this one often beat cyclists off their bikes because it is a sustained steeper grade.  To get over this one, I flipped my iPhone on and started playing some dance music, thought of the Disney cartoon from the 1920s about the Little Engine that Could and just kept repeating "I think I can I think I can I think I can" and then occasionally looking down at my legs and thinking "oh Look!  They're still working!" to take my mind off the burn.   I also avoided looking up at the road ahead since it can be demotivating to look up and still see the road going up so I would know if the hill ended only when the pedaling got easier.

The rest of the day we contended with more hills, but now these were short and steep and much more frequent.  In essence after the big ones we had to deal with a whole lot of small ones, and these were the ones that made me curse.  Thankfully, Misty noticed I was dying and asked me how I was cycling these and gave a few tips on how to handle the terrain with the least amount of energy.  It made a difference.  The multiple stops that both Misty and I made also helped because at every turn, every peak there was something beautiful to gawk at.

We pulled into Mendocino after 5.5 hours of cycling, happy to be done and looking forward to well-deserved rest day.  An inn at the top of a hill (surprise) was advertising vacancies, so we inquired and completely lucked out.  She had one room left, the suite with the king bed.  Usually about $300 a night, she gave it to us for half that for two nights!!!!   Complete with a deck and deck chairs, with space for us and our two bikes, and waffles included in breakfast, I landed in the lap of luxury and really can't imagine a more perfect ending to this epic day of cycling.

We have four to five days of cycling left before we pull into San Francisco.  Our journey this year will end there, mostly due to time constraints and because it doesn't appeal to me to continue by myself on the San Francisco to San Diego leg.  We will enjoy this coastline and spend time in the neighborhoods of San Francisco to finish this vacation.

the great ascent part 2

so tired
muscles tight

the great ascent part 1

June 23

Today we started climbing the section that makes most people sigh in apprehension. We're now 1100ft above sea level and going to rise above a few more peaks before hitting the coast. We thought we might be spared this leg of the journey by some miracle where a pickup truck was available for us at Garberville. Not so.

Resigned, we went on our way slowly but surely. At times this afternoon both Misty and I stopped to feel the tires and make sure they were not flat since we felt like we were pedaling hard and going nowhere. The landscape also deceives us into thinking that the road is flat when in fact it is gaining altitude. All I have to do now is work on convincing myself that this part is fun, and that it's a great experience which will lead to entertaining stories and great fitness. These hills will also be perfect for helping us cycle up and away from tsunamis. I am running out of positive justifications for this self-inflicted discomfort. :)

Legs don't lie

June 22

In solidarity with the locked out postal workers, my legs and Misty's legs decided to protest for a day of rest after six straight days of cycling. We pulled into Miranda at 12:30 pm since even pedaling on an apparently flat road felt like going uphill. We checked into a cottage, unloaded and walked around, talked photography, ate, hand-washed laundry, visited Kolbys woodworks next door, ate again, read novels, ate again and drank beer while watching CSI Las Vegas.

Tomorrow, we hit the hills because we have to. Misty describes the feeling she had about the challenge ahead as that exam you've heard about and dread, except that this is worse because it's a self-inflicted tribulation and there's nothing much you can do to prepare. While she explains this, I am eating the hottest plate of wings I have ever had to endure. I bring to her attention that if I can finish these painfully hot wings, I can ride up those hills tomorrow, and for the next three days after that. I also mention that the fire poo I will have will also be pretty painful. Through the tears in my eyes, I see her almost choking on her mouthful of water from laughing.

BTW, during dinner I overheard from the adjacent table a young American guy describing in great detail and bravado his army recruit physical exam. He got really lively when he got to the part where he was playing around with something that looked like a cross between a duck bill and a pistol. I stopped chewing so I could hear this story about his first meeting with a speculum, then quickly resumed chewing when he went on to talk about his rectal exam.

Janius Tsang

So Long Mariana

We said goodbye to Mariana this morning, as she's off on a Greyhound bus that will take her to San Fran for the rest of her vacation. We leave Marty as well, since he's finished his tour of the entire Pacific coast in Eureka. We're now a group of two proceeding onwards, and we are spending the night among the redwood trees in a campsite 8 km west of the famous Avenue of the Giants.

Although two of our friends have left, we find new ones at our campsite. Three dear graze about 25 meters away and glance curiously at me when I step into the port-a-potty. Several cute seedlings of poison oak sit 40 cm away from my tent, and we crashed the party that a scorpion was having when we put our food away in the bear-proof food cupboard. The party was pretty noisy, with Misty yelling "Geez! Janius you have to see thus scorpion over here playing dead!" There were thankfully no neighbors that complained about the noise level since we were the only ones camping there that night and mountain lions don't appreciate noise, so they stay away.

Going south

I'm at the end of my third day in California already and there are plenty of signs that we're moving south steadily. The rains have left us and only morning fogs remain. The temperature is rising and I need fleece garments less and less, while the sunscreen I need more and more. The coastal forests change and now giant redwoods grow instead of pine trees. I used to see lots of dark green and fewer colours, but now in northern california I see golden (literally) grasslands with a variety of colored wildflower patches marbled in.

The Mexican influence is evident now. Not only is Mexican food found in even the smallest convenience store, but I catch Spanish being spoken everywhere. The buildings used to be darker up in Oregon. Here you can see that buildings have been and are still being bleached by the sun.

I am relieved that I can worry less about staying warm and keeping dry. Now I have to start making sure I drink enough, that I don't get a sunburn and that I don't miss too many fruit stands. This is fabulous.

Janius Tsang

Forests, friends and fatigue

June 19, 2011

We've moved along, Mariana, Misty and I. We left Crescent City, Alston and Calvin, the ocean and the beaches. Now we're headed inland to see the coastal redwood forests for the next few days, including the famous Avenue of the Giants in Humboldt National Park. We are also moving into the infamous hilly section of Northern California, one that tests a cyclist's mettle. Today we got a taste of what both had to offer today, and I am happy they came together since one without the other would be definitely less memorable (well, I could do with less hill...)

Today the challenge of climbing high and long hills reached another level (no pun intended). Misty read, reread and checked her maps and books about today's hills south of Crescent City. The more info she has about her opponent, the better she feels. She knows the distance, the elevation gain, calculates the grade and tries to solicit other cyclists' perceived exertion on it and how it compares to other previously difficult climbs. On the other hand, I prefer to know the bare minimum, preferring the approach of just pedaling until the downhill or until my legs don't work any more, whichever comes first. After the sixth discussion, my previously cavalier attitude towards the hill was replaced by a bit of apprehension, which was a first.

In short, the next hour was spent climbing the 1200 ft hill with three peaks. That would have been enough of a feat, except we had another one shortly afterwards to do, this one up to 900 ft into the redwoods with two
peaks. I kept my motivation until I looked up at the last one, which rose straight up for what looked like an really long way. Ok fine, I can handle this. Except that the hill continued beyond the first bend, the second, the third, and then I stopped expecting that the hill actually ended. I think it was a good 45 minutes that I spent at 80% max heart rate. We are grateful that only the next two days of cycling are not supposed to be this difficult.

At the end of the day's interminable climbing, we had both friend and forests waiting for us. Marty from Phoenix was a super approachable and friendly guy who made such a good impression on Alston and Calvin that those two mentioned him to us. Being a solo cyclist heading the same way, we invited him to join our biker gang as we made our way to Eureka. He zipped right past us on the uphills. reminding us that it is possible to go up and not die from fatigue, and secondly that there were Redwood forestseyond waiting for us to explore.

Explore and marvel we did. Those trees are majestic beyond description. The forests where they thrive under protection from us teeny weeny little humans are special places, and I can only describe them as Nature's cathedrals. Those trees, decades to millennia old, tower over the roadway like pillars. The tallest ones have grown to about 100 m in height, which happens to be higher than Notre Dame de Paris which stands only 90 m high. The light filters through the leafy branches high off the ground painting delicate patterns of light like those you might see through the great rose windows of a stone cathedral. It's quiet there too, the moss, ferns, clover and poison oak forming a thick carpet at the feet of these giants. Wandering in was a completely breathtaking experience which made it easy for us to forget the fatigue in our bodies.

Made it

We made it across the state line today. We've reached the halfway point of the journey, since crossing California constitutes the greater part of the total distance. I now spot palm trees and eucalytus trees instead of pine trees. The leafiness of northern Oregon is giving way to more grasslands and pastures.

Now when people ask me where we are headed, I have to pause. I used to just reply California to the interested person, but now that we're in California, I have to now specify San Diego, or say something like "as far south as my legs can carry me." I can't believe I have biked to California already.

Appetite

It's common knowledge that cycle touring increases your appetite. I expected a moderate increase, but today I realized the extent of how much more I am eating these days. I am a bit frightened that I was able to pack in a three-egg omelette with a bowl of oatmeal this morning, even after the colossal steak I ate last night. This evening I had a couple of regular-sized burgers and several cups of mixed green salad. I suppose part of this appetite is from slight dehydration, but I never imagined that four hours of cycling every day could kick your body into a completely different gear. it's an interesting process watching your body change.

Flat or Free Friday?

I have had a crazy day.  A completely surreal day with random acts of kindness, luck, mishaps and people.  Last night I was so bursting with thoughts and impressions that I had a hard time convincing myself to go to bed instead of staying up and blogging. 

We were excited to finally cross the Californian border and were planning to ride 80-90 km and arrive at Crescent City.  We ended up staying in Brookings, OR just 7 miles shy of the border, not by choice.  We should have known the day was going to be funky when Misty announced that she had a rear flat tire as we pull out of the Nesika Beach RV Park at 7:30 am.  This is fairly minor stuff, so we took about a half-hour on the side of a quiet road to change the tire.  As we finish up, an older man with a carefully groomed white beard about 8 inches long and matching mustache, with a jogging suit pulls up on a bike.  He asks us if he can be of assistance since his wife had driven by earlier and called him about us.  He turns out to be a cyclist as well, and was planning his own tour in Utah.  We thank him since we have already changed the tire and were on our way. 

Misty and I resume our biking and meet Mariana for breakfast in Gold Beach.  As we arrive we notice that another bike with panniers is parked in front of the diner.   Cyclists on tour customarily greet each other and exchange stories and info about the upcoming route, so we were looking forward to small talk about the dreaded hilly cycling in Northern California.  We chatted briefly with this unnamed cyclist, found out that he's touring solo and started out with twice as much gear as he needed.  We laugh knowingly since big weight and big hills make cyclists unhappy.  We wish him luck on the rest of his journey and go back to making a difficult choice from the wide array of breakfast goodnesses.  The waitress takes our order and adds: "Ladies, you don't have to worry about the tab, that gentleman there paid for your breakfasts.  He's gone now, he told me not to say anything."  This brings a short silence to the table as the three of us digest this unexpected announcement.  We are feeling pretty lucky and it's not even 10 am yet.

Our cycling route is moderately difficult with several long hills to climb but at the same time, peppered with viewpoints and places to take a break.  It takes us 4 hours to go 50 km, and by 2 pm we realise that we still have another 30 to 40 km to cover before setting up camp.  A little hurried, we decide to take a late lunch in Brookings and set off for a good 2 hours of solid riding to Crescent City.  Entering the town, a roadside fruit stand selling California strawberries, peaches, apricots, cherries, etc... catches my eye.  I am stopped, getting ready to dismount and next thing I know my bike is tipping left, my  previous-free left foot was somehow firmly clipped back into the left pedal and SLAM I land on my left elbow and knee.  I am so talented that I have scraped off the exact scars from the last time I did that three weeks ago.  The vendor lady runs over in a complete panic screaming "Oh my God! Are you OK?  Do you need a Band-Aid? Oh my GOD, you're bleeding are you going to be OK?  Do you need a hand getting up? Oh you're up that's good, do you still need a hand? Oh look you're still bleeding!  Good thing I was there to help you up, are you going to be ok?"  Meanwhile I have quickly picked myself up, put water on my scrapes, and wiped the blood away and am trying to reassure the distraught vendor lady.  Misty is quietly observing and trying hard not to say "hey lady, it's ok.  She's a doctor and I'm a nurse, I think we can handle this."  Fifteen minutes later, carrying fragrant strawberries and peaches and nectarines, I painfully cycle into town, cursing my apparent lack of balance. 

It's 4 pm when we finish lunch and resume biking.  We leave Brookings on the bike route, fighting a strong headwind.  I turn right onto the highway shoulder and I hear a loud BANG.  The bike starts shaking and shuddering, I brake and clip out.  I look behind to my rear wheel and the tire not only flat, it is in shreds.  My heart rate is up, because this doesn't look like a problem with a fast solution.  Flipping my bike upside down, I realise that the tire is completely destroyed and the rims are shaved down in several places from having skidded on the pavement.  To go on, I'll need a completely new rear wheel, but it is 4:30 pm, on a Friday, 8 km south of Brookings.  I heave a big sigh, and wish that the man with the bike tools we saw this morning would ride by somehow.

Being women of action and of common sense (heh), the three of us do our thing.  We manage to flag down a cyclist from Brookings, who gives the phone number of the bike shops in town so I can call them as soon as possible and organise a repair.  We flag down a truck who can bring me and my gear back to Brookings, where the folks at Escape Hatch Bike Shop are waiting.  I feel that the universe loves me in its strange way. 

The retired elderly gentleman who brought me back to Brookings was on his way to the hardware store when he saw us.  On his way back, he picked me up and I got to meet and share the front seat with his bull-like Shitsu named Mopsie.  During the ride, I told him I was living in Montreal, Canada.  He proceeds to exclaim: "I've been there!  I was there in 1952..." and tells me the story of how he met a really hot blonde transvesitite.  How some things don't change...He made sure that I was taken care of at the bike shop and gave me his business card as he left saying "send me a postcard from California!"

Bringing my bike into the shop area in the back, I stop in my tracks and exclaim "YOU!"  The gentleman with the long white beard from this morning was standing in front of me, with the same gleam of recognition in his eyes.  We laugh.  I introduce myself to Scott, and we proceed to trade bike stories.  He's been here since the morning building a new bike, and I told him what happened to me. 

The shop was busy in a lazy kind of way, so we spent the rest of the afternoon waiting.  Scott waits as well, as the manager Eric tries to figure out why the computer system has broken down.  Mariana and Misty have joined me by this point, and the four of us keep chatting.  It's looking more and more like we have to stay here overnight, since the guys at the shop have already stayed 1.5h past closing time to help us and the repairs can't be finished right away. 

Scott decides that he will stay in town.  He organises his accomodation and we girls discuss what we are going to do tonight.  He walks over to us and announces that he's got it all figured out.  He has found two rooms at the Best Western on the waterfront and it's on him.  Misty, Mariana and I look at each other dumbfounded.  What is this day?!!?  Despite our protests and offers to pay for our own room, he stands firm and explains his situation.  He does however, accept our offer to buy him dinner.  Misty and him leave on their bikes and Mariana and I grab a lift from the store manager Eric in his ancient diesel BMW.  The beast has 346000 miles on it and needs 10 minutes to warm up and definitely had character. 

I wanted steak and potatoes for dinner.  I polished off a fabulous 12 oz prime rib in the company of three fabulous people.  We listened to Scott tell us about his colourful history, his family and his upcoming trip.  This man's story could have been a movie, except that it was real.  Does art imitate life or the other way around?  His father was a Nazi, and his mother was a hidden Polish Jew.  He left home to join the Navy at an early age.  Having served for 4 years, he was ready to leave, but then got extended to serve in Vietnam, which he refused.  He was court-marshalled, and sentenced to 12 months of solitary confinement.  After four of those months, he was given another option.  Go to Vietnam and we will let you go afterwards.  There he was injured and send home, where he became a vocal anti-war protestor.  He married,had children and lived a hippie life for many years, coping with his disability.  The night went by fast. 

It was 11 pm by the time our heads hit the plush pillows in the room.  I fell asleep listening to the ocean waves, marvelling at the richness of life. 

merit Badges for cycle tourists

June 16

During the last few days of cycling in Oregon, I feel like I been initiated into the club of long-distance cyclists. Like a girl guide I feel like have a earned a few badges that show my increased experience. I can definitely claim the hill survival badge.

I earned that badge cycling the Seven Devils Road and Cape Arago. The guide book states that it's the steepest section of riding in Oregon, but worth it for the scenery. While Misty and Mariana did the sane thing and opted for a shorter and more direct route along the highway to our destination, I took a big breath and did it for the challenge. I chose not to read nor to remember the details of this section provided in the guide book. I figured that ignorance is somewhat blissful anyway and also because knowing how long and how steep the hill is doesn't make my legs stronger nor cause my bike to sprout wings. I only realized what I got into when I arrived at Charleston, the junction which leads to both the scenic and the challenging sections. On the right, I peered down to see a steep and long downhill towards the Cape. On my left, there was a steep rise up towards the Seven Devils road segment. Basically, I had to ride down to sea level, turn around, come up what I had gone down, then continue going upwards on an even steeper grade. Great.

I was stubbornly determined not to think negative thoughts during this ride. I did really well for the first third of the epic and despite struggling I was still upbeat. I had a rough idea that the Seven Devils Road was challenging because it consisted of a long steep first ascent, then two other shorter peaks. I did not know that after the first ascent there were multiple little sloping sections between the big steep sections that didn't make it into the altitude profile diagram. So the road went up, then down, and then up, then down again with each uphill requiring a solid sweaty effort. Whether or not you got relief from the burning quad and back muscles was unpredictable. Sometimes the crest came satisfyingly fast and other times the hill stretched on and on after multiple bends in the road. In short, I felt like the hill was misleading me, taunting me with the sweet relief of a flat or a downhill section. It was like waving a piece of chocolate in front of my face and letting me have some sometimes, maybe, possibly. I had to remind myself that hills are inanimate objects. I ended up with a strategy: look only far enough ahead to avoid collisions, notice that the bike was still moving despite multiple burning sensations in the back and legs, breathe deeply and play "Baby Love" by the Supremes as the internal soundtrack.

This section finally ended and I hadn't burst into tears nor did I curse more than ten times. It was a success and the strategy has subsequently been applied in different settings with decent results. I really hope it carries me through northern California.

L'amour des plages

J'ai grandi parmi des montagnes et les prairies. Je n'avais jamais été très attirée par les mers et les océans, et j'avais toujours un peu peur de noyer dans les eaux cristallins et profonds. Cependant, depuis que j'ai passé plus de temps près de cet entité inconnu, je commence à succomber à son charme.

Quand je me trouve sur une plage pendant ce voyage, il y a quelque chose qui me rend calme. Je trouve ça un peu ironique car avec les vents qui souffle souvent très fort et les gros vagues qui battent sans cesse, c'est bruyant. C'est fort possible que c'est le rhythme régulier auquel je répond; le son, après un moment, me paraissent comme des doux respirations d'un grand entité sans forme.

Ça se peut aussi que c'est la sensation du sable dessous mes pieds nus. D'habitude on protège nos pieds du froid, du choc, des choses rudes ou perçantes, mais on n'a pas souvent l'occasion de laisser nos pieds se réveiller. J'adore recevoir des messages de mes pieds: "oui! c'est tellement agréable ce sable chaud entre mes orteils" ou "aie! C'est choquant cet eau frigide, mais je me sens rafraichi!" Mes orteils aiment recevoir le vent entre eux, car c'est rare de faire cela dehors chez nous.

Quoi que ça soit la raison, c'est la magie de passer du temps sur une plage du cote pacifique.

Janius Tsang

rock cliffs and sand dunes

The last three days have flown by. I've tried to keep up with putting my thoughts from the day into a post, but it's a real challenge to blog when it's warm and cozy in the sleeping bag and I'm on the verge of passing out after a good day's cycling.

Over the last few days, the terrain has gotten progressively more hilly. The places where we've stopped have given us beautiful views of the Pacific ocean since the route brings us up onto high, volcanic, black rock cliffs. We climb hard through cool forests and then emerge to see a lighthouse and and then look down to the churning deep blue ocean smashing up against rocks in wide curving coves and capes. Around here the rocks often have seals and sea lions who have claimed the places to sleep and sunbathe. At first there we could only spot one or two from the road, but moving further south, the groups have gotten huge. I can now hear them calling and barking before I can even see them. Just this morning at Cape Arago I was about 300 meters above a group of 50 animals, close enough to see their whiskers and teeth. From afar, they are really strange-looking creatures and sort of remind me of slugs, but up close they are comically maladroit. Awkward only until they get off the rocks and start swimming around in the powerful currents gracefully and effortlessly. Then I get a little envious at how warm they appear to be in the frigid water.

When we're not up above the ocean we're often next to it walking on beaches. While careening down the highway to Florence, you can see the pale yellow ribbon of the Oregon Sand Dunes Area stretching out along the coast for 65 km. Incidentally, while careening down the highway to Florence, you might, like us, also be stopped by a couple of photojournalists who are interviewing "interesting" people that they encounter while driving the highways of America. Their site is under construction but if you check under www.fullframeamerica.com you might find a little footage of Mariana, Misty and I answering questions about our trip standing in the rain. Anyway, the dunes run along the highway and rise up a good 10-15 m high. They are often hidden by forest but sometimes spill over onto the highway as they advance. They are beautiful but inexorable: even large pine trees are engulfed by their advance.

In this section, the dunes lead to the beach and so at the Siltcoos Dunes Overlook, we spent a couple hours just walking along the isolated beach. Just us, a couple of people and a group of hawks soaring on the strong winds. Walking barefoot on a beach is something that I think I am getting hooked on, since every time I see a beach now I feel compelled to take my shoes off and walk on it. I suppose there are worse habits.

Janius Tsang

Impossible feats

Yesterday at camp, we met a guy who cycled from the top of Washington state (Bellingham, WA) to our campground in Bullards Beach with a FIXED GEAR bike. He had two panniers, and NO BRAKES.

Misty looked at me and said: "I have to text Rob."
We then started giggling in amazement at how amazing an absurdly superhuman that was considering how much trouble we were having with our multiple gears. The giggling then just gave way to major laughing fits as we proceeded to imagine ourselves trying to perform such a feat.

Janius Tsang

coast+beaches does not = warm

The title of this post is not exactly the best title since it addresses only the last part of a completely fabulous cycling day in Oregon. However, I'll talk about that headline first because it's got a story associated with it.

It is somewhat hard to explain and my esteemed friends in earth sciences please help me here, but on the coast here it is FREEZING. The temperature hasn't risen above 20C and with the wind it feels like only 12-15C. That is not bikini weather. So after a great day of cycling, a super hot shower in one of the state park campgrounds near the beach is always a welcome event. I pack my stuff up, scurry to the showers and am greeted by a lady who had just finished her hot shower. "It's so great to have one of these, the hot showers feel so good." "Yeah, I am looking forward to mine" I reply.

I hop into the stall and really enjoy the thawing sensation in my hands and feet. I adjust the temperature by turning the cold water down. I adjust bit more, a bit more again and realize that the cold water tap is now actually off. I am hoping now that this is just temporary and keep the water on hoping for it to get hot again. It doesn't and then the bathroom suddenly gets really loud because I am swearing and laughing as I turn off the frigid shower water.

"Excuse me, excuse me ma'am!"
"yes?"
"uh, can you please turn on the hot water tap for the sinks to see if theres any hot water? this shower has run out of hot water!"
"there's hot water out of the shower next to you."
"oh wow, ok (omygodomygodomygod)" as I run from my shower stall into the other one.

I got my shower, and I figured that I should hurry up since the hot water supply wasn't likely to last. As I finish my shower, I hear a loud "OOOoo!! oh my that's a shock!" two stalls down. I chuckle sympathetically.

Anyway, I am still alive. The day was still fabulous since it was easy cycling with a tailwind along stunning shorelines bathed in sunshine and flowers and greenery.

Our first stop was at the Cape Foulweather viewpoint which happily had good weather. We lunched at the Yaquina Head lighthouse, climbed up inside it and saw the huge prisms that magnify the lonely light from its core. We had our first encounter with sea lions and seals, watching them from above sunbathing on the warm black volcanic rocks of the coastline in this region. Looking up slightly, huge flocks of sea birds nest on rock islands with steep sea cliffs. The many years of nesting made the black islands look like cans of white paint had been poured over them.

Cycling was smooth as we cruised over modern bridges, looking occasionally to the west to watch the sky change colors. We lounged around in the sun eating saltwater taffy of unknown flavors, then sat around a smoky but warm campfire chatting with another cyclist from Austin, TX named Jacob. He's trying to get to San Fran as well, except he's planning to stay there.

I told misty and mariana as we set up our tents: "I'm so happy I think I feel like I'm high."

And then there were three

Today we had to say bye to Leah and Nick. Leah's knee wasn't cooperating and it would have been folly for her to go on. However, through the magic of modern telecommunications, they will stay in contact and hopefully give us previews of stuff we must not miss. They also promised not to drive by us while we cycle hilly Northern California and wave. I am sad to see them go as they have been really fun to have as cycling buddies as well as examples for how you can eat healthy while camping. I wish them a great vacation and to Leah a speedy and full recovery.

Janius Tsang

highway connaisseur

Having ridden on various types of roads over the past 11 days, I've noticed some small changes in me. I have emotional responses that vary with the width of the shoulder, the grade of the hill, and the quality of pavement on a highway. I visually inspect the road in front for sparkles, gravel patches, and obstacles. I am attuned to the various whirrings of motor vehicle types approaching from behind. I have become a highway connoisseur.

Highway connoisseurs get excited and breathe a sigh of relief when a road is smooth, flat, well-paved roads with wide shoulders and little traffic. They also groan in dread when looking at a uphill with no shoulder, coarse and potholed with high RV traffic. Sometimes, a complicated shoulder presents an interesting challenge. For example, it can be fun trying to ride within a three-inch ribbon of high-grade asphalt on the narrow shoulder of a secondary highway that has been paved several times. The asphalt is layered unevenly, such that sometimes a ribbon of smooth stuff peeks out between two layers of coarser asphalt of different vintages. The challenge is to stay within this ribbon. Other highway qualities such as sparkliness, graveliness and sandiness can also be commented on. Gravelliness means you have to maintain your speed and your hands on the handlebars. Sparkliness on a highway indicates the possibility of a glass sharpness that bike tires aren't compatible with. Sand on the shoulder means get off the bike or ride in the car lane because riding in sand patches likely lands you in trouble. Like a real connoisseur I have opinions and tastes and am getting picky about the highways I want to ride on.

Janius Tsang

On the road again

Trying to describe the last two days seems a bit daunting to me. I feel it is a bit like having to do the impossible task of describing a great movie in three lines. Nonetheless, I'll try my best.

The Oregon coast is visually stunning. Even more noteworthy though, are the smells that are starting to get my attention. Perhaps it's the progressively (albeit slowly) warmer weather or maybe I am sensitized to it because I'm always breathing deeply. Whatever the reason, I love being surprised by smells such as the saltiness of ocean air. The soft sweetness of grass and wildflowers heated by sunshine. The damp fresh smell of forests. The sharp, concentrated salty odor of fishmongers. The deluciously characteristic smell of fresh oysters pan-fried. Caramelized sugar smells from the local candy store. Ripe nectarine perfume coming from a bin in Safeway. It's so wonderful to have the time to listen closely to what your senses are telling you.

Our route follows the US 101, which brings us to many quaint seaside resort and vacation towns. We stopped at Cannon Beach yesterday night, one of such towns. The villages usually are centered around a main street, with several cafes, restaurants, and often stores selling knick knacks often antiques, but ranging from lawn flamingoes to surf gear or outdoor gear. So many of the establishments were decorated with the owner's heart and soul, making it even more charming. As we rode further south, I realized that the highway often ran alongside railroad tracks. There used to be a train that ran along this coastal scenic route but is no longer in service. Perhaps someday it might be revived to help weary cyclists bypass the hillier sections of the Oregonian coast. ;)

speaking of weary cyclists, i am falling asleep after a day of several big climbs...

Janius Tsang

note to drivers

A plea: if ever you are driving a car and you are sharing a narrow tunnel with a very narrow shoulder with a fully-loaded cyclist, please DO NOT ever think that honking at them is an intelligent idea. We can already hear your loud engine sound reverberating and amplifying through the tunnel. We are aware that there is not too much space in a tunnel. We are aware that if we wipe out we might be spread on the tunnel wall like jam on toast. We are pedaling as fast as our little legs can handle, and I can assure you that we are feeling somewhere between worried and terrified, which would be the opposite of relaxed.
If you honk, it is about 50 times louder for the cyclist and then on top of that another 120 times louder in the tunnel. We are likely to freak like deer, brake and end up causing more problems. So a little room, a little time and a little understanding is all we usually need even if we do take up the whole lane. I promise most of us aren't doing that for jollies.
This rant is in response to the dude who honked at us while we were trying to dash uphill through the Cape Arch Tunnel in Oregon. After startling two of us with the honking, my friend ahead of me braked and looked like she was going to get off her bike. Next thing I know I have tipped over and hit the side of the tunnel and my friend has done the same but she's fallen right into the middle of the traffic lane. I run out to grab her in case traffic doesn't stop but thankfully she gets up and we haul her bike up as quick as we can. Thank goodness of the big rig truck driver saw this happen and had the presence of mind to stop and block oncoming traffic off until we got back on our bikes.
As for mister motorist, as he exited the tunnel he slowed down enough to shout something to my friends who were already out of the tunnel. "Your friends fell in the tunnel" he shouts, as he drives away...
Janius Tsang

Alternative

We left Portland yesterday afternoon and even today I was fleetingly tempted to take one of the highway exits back towards that city. Even though I only spent about 36 hours in the city center, I walked away totally impressed with how very eclectic and modern a city it is. Somewhat of a hidden gem, a home for alternatives, outcasts, and variety.
Friday night while I was just taking it easy in the university-run hotel, Portland greeted my friends with a parade of clowns in the downtown area. It was part of the Portland Rose festival, whose numerous food stands, carnival rides, and corporate booths were spread out along the entire waterfront area. The mix of people there reminded me a little of the summertime bustle in the old port in Montreal with two currents of people mingling. Wandering families and tourists meander while tons of fit-looking people on bikes or in jogging shoes weave in and out among them.
The next morning I wandered out and basically was struck by the following things: 1. there was no garbage ANYWHERE 2. garbage and recycling bins were emptied and were super well designed. 3. The architecture was a mix of modern and colonial, all clean and new 4. the urban planning!!!! Not only do they bike lanes plus trams plus buses alongside cars, they even have skate routes (boards and roller)!!! 5. Even the water fountains were alternative, consisting of four individual fountains on a pedestal so that four people could drink at once. 6. outdoor international food stalls that take up entire city blocks where you can find a Thai, Indian, Scottish, vegan, fish and chips, smoothies, Portuguese and sushi in a row. 7. coffee shops are more frequently available than water fountains. There is much to like in downtown Portland.
My favorite thing about Portland has to be the variety of people who are not mainstream. The lady who made and sold me my tie-die dress who also works as a diving instructor in Hawaii. The woman with a princess tiara glued to her bike helmet. The tattooed man with the black knitted tuque with a side view of a skull knitted on both sides separated by a fluffy black wool fringe like a Mohawk down the middle of his head. The busker band that used construction pylons as mikes. The perfect Polish matron with long platinum blond curls framing a face protected by a thick shield of make-up serving misty a healthy dose of sausage, pierogis, potatoes, onions and baconbits. The collections of And it goes on. Even the faux-riche and rich folks were out and about enjoying the sunshine in downtown Portland.
I have no clue why but we all got stuck with a single song for this portion of our journey (and probably for the rest of the trip). Misty can't stop humming Don't Stop Believin' by none other than Journey. We found the greatest hits CD in a used CD shop, christened our rental car player with it on the way back to Astoria, and now we're cursing the fact that we left the lyrics in the car. None of us can get past the first four lines of the first verse, so we just keep singing the chorus...
Janius Tsang

discarded objects part 1

As I had mentioned earlier, cycle touring puts you close to the road. Since we started I have noticed discarded objects left forlornly on the highway shoulder. I wonder how they got there in the first place and also wonder what will happen to them eventually.

Three spoons, four bungee cords, a few large nuts and bolts from heavy machinery, and a sock are in my mental catalogue so far. I am still trying to come up with an explanation for the high proportion of spoons on the road, while trying not to think about what machinery might be malfunctioning because some critical part is lying on the shoulder I just biked over.

Janius Tsang

Astoria and Portlandia

Another fabulous day for cycling brought us from Washington to Oregon. Under clear blue skies, with a breeze, Saturday traffic and a brunch including fresh pan-fried oysters, we cycled to the 525 km mark in Astoria, OR. We entered somewhat triumphantly since getting into town involved cycling a narrow four mile bridge with a significant uphill climb at the end. Cruising downhill into town was such a relief.

After dropping off our bikes at Bikes & Beyond (which is now my favorite bike shop in the world right now because they helped us get to Portland), we tried to locate a car rental place. The plan was to spend a rest day in Portland because the dream of the nineties is alive in Portland (Ref: search YouTube for video) and it us supposed to be one of the most bike and public transit-friendly cities in North America. We succeeded with a great deal of help, luck and persistence.

Misty and I walked from the bike shop to the rental place located 45 mins away to discover that they closed three hours ago. Even the neighboring café which was supposed to be open until 3 pm was closed early leaving us with no car AND no place to pee. Misty was sunburned as well and in our crabbiness we swore never to take a motorist's estimates of distances to and from places unless they indicate that they have walked or cycled said distance. With no car, sore feet and somewhat defeated spirits we consoled ourselves with thoughts of ice cream. Emotional eating is always on the list of solutions.

Having plunked ourselves down at a table in a café we get a text message from the other three people saying that they had magically figured out how to get a car and that they would be there to pick us up soon. Apparently the fine lads at the bike shop found a Toyota dealership that was kind enough to offer up a demo vehicle (that functions) for rent. We were going to make it to Portland after all.

From the little I have seen so far, the rumors are true. Public transit is free within the city center zone and it's frequent and hi-tech. Our hotel is run by the Portland State University and includes breakfast, pool, new fitness gym, free wifi and our rooms have balconies. All available at a cheaper rate than the Econolodge.

I am looking forward to getting to know this place more tomorrow.

Janius Tsang

gourmet

Tonight's dinner marked a special occasion even though it was never intended to. We made it to the Pacific Coast and to the destination highway US 101. At the campground picnic table, there was a seafood basket courtesy of a nearby restaurant, sautéed asparagus with feta cheese, and a huge mixed greens, carrot, bean and raisin salad. Blueberries, cherries and white wine were supposed to follow as the dessert but we couldn't resist and ate them all while cooking.

All of this yumminess under a clear blue sky. What a fabulous way to end a completely perfect day of cycling. I can definitely do more days like this, and perhaps probably convince myself to endure a couple more days like yesterday if it means I get more days like today.

Janius Tsang

Day 6

Today the first real test of our commitment as cyclotourists came. I can now brag that I managed to stay positive and pleasant even though I had to cycle through several bone-chilling episodes of heavy rain this morning. In fact, the weather was so fickle it could have been diagnosed with bordeline personality disorder. From torrential downpour to bright sunshine within the same hour, it was pretty impossible to predict anything except for the fact that I was going to get wet. Again.

Misty and I thought that we had outrun the storms by starting out at 7:16 am. We felt pretty smug when 15 minutes after we sat down at the diner in Montesano, WA, the rain started its hammering outside. It stopped after 30 minutes and to my delight it looked like it was beginning to clear up with sunshine lighting up the street. However after another 45 minutes the rain returned so we did other stuff such as order another coffee, play with dice, or go to a chiropractor.

Two hours pass and we finally return to riding except that on the on ramp two of the girls get flat tires within 15 minutes of each other from the fine shards of glass strewn across the highway shoulder. Thankfully the rain held off at the time, but resumed the minute the tires were back on the bike.

The rain usually started with a few heralding drops and gives me a small hope that it will just stay that way, but of course it gets stronger and stronger until all I can see is blurry patches of grey through my sunglasses. We can't stop or else we risk cooling down and freezing, so we keep pedaling. To see, I have to shake my head to see if I can dislodge raindrops off my sunglasses, somewhat like a dog. At the same time I've hunched like a turtle retreating into its shell, trying to keep all rain out of my collar. After five minutes of this, I can't help but laugh out loud because I recall that I put myself up to this in a completely voluntary fashion. In fact, it was even supposed to be a great idea... :)

The forecast promises beautiful weather tomorrow. I am looking forward to it.

Noteworthies

Already in two days, so many little moments I haven't had time to write about, so quickly:

Cycling allows you to get up close with a place. It doesn't matter that you are passing through, it matters that you going slowly enough to notice and take in things that would otherwise have passed by in an insignificant flash if you were in a car. Small towns with a single shop and one motel become real. Random people at a cafe become the person who invited you to sit at their campfire the night before. A cashier becomes the person who goes to make up your motel room. Isolated little convenience stores become an oasis to warm up and dry off after a torrential downpour. So far my favorite stops have been Lilliwaup and Coupeville, WA.

It also makes you approachable to be on a bike, we've met a few interesting folks over the past few days. Just this afternoon a random woman stopped us to ask if she could use our cellphone. She seemed pretty distraught and was walking on the road without her shoes. I handed her my new phone and unknowingly activated speakerphone before giving it to her. It made us unwilling eavesdroppers on her phone call. We heard her call for help from her friends, that she needed to be picked up right away and that she no longer had shoes. She hung up and handed back the phone, thanked us and started down the road in her socked feet. Somewhat uneasy, we continued on our way but not before we left her with a pair of flip flops from our panniers.

Finally, on a bike you not just see, but you get to digest the landscape and scenery around you. You get to be a part of it rather than be apart from it. Washington is aglow now with little yellow flowers that carpet both sides of the highway. Rhododendron bushes are in full bloom among the thick green forests. The Olympic mountains have been looming to our left, the Hood Canal with its ocean smells to our right. They quietly become travel companions rather than inert visual impressions.

Janius Tsang

L'autoroute

Voyager en vélo donne une expérience complètement différent de celle en voiture. Avant cet voyage, je n'ai jamais été sur une autoroute sans être derrière une pare-brise. À l'extérieure, c'est un autre monde, même s'il parait identique à l'oeil.

Ayant passé plusieurs heures partageant les auroroutes côté à côté avec des voitures et des camions, j'ai remarqué le suivant:

1) les gros objets en métal bougeant à haute vitesse sont TRÈS BRUYANTS. Sur les autoroutes secondaires où on parcourt il y passent assez de voitures et camions, et parce qu'ils passent sans cesse, le bruit est presque continuel. Pour un bref moment j'ai pensé meme de mettre des bouchons dans l'oreille pour diminuer un peu la cacophonie des roues et moteurs mais ça me paraissait un peu dangereux. Je me suis mis alors à essayer d'identifier le type de voiture qui entrain d'approcher en écoutant le son qui la précède. Je ne suis pas encore assez bonne mais j'ai l'impression que j'ameliorai bientôt.

2) C'est difficile de choisir les lettres qui peuvent bien décrire le bruit des voitures à haute vitesse. J'ai passé au moins deux heures à réfléchir sur cette question. Les voitures, selon moi, font euuuuuuffffffouaahhhhhhhh, tandis que les camions font heuuuuushouuiiiiiboffffeuuuufssssss, mais encore j'aurai besoin de réfléchir et travailler un peu plus là-dessus.

3) les conducteurs sont très courtois envers les cyclistes ici, car la majorité des voitures qui nous passe vont virer pour nous donner de l'espace. Il y a parmi eux quelques-uns qui nous saluent avec un poli claxonnement. C'est génial d'être considéré comme une autre type de véhicule qui a aussi droit de rouler sur une autoroute. Cet attitude me met un petit plus à l'aise dans ce milieu d'autoroute qui est un peu étrange et nouveau pour moi.

Janius Tsang

Life on the road

It's the end of day five tonight, and we are settling into a rhythm. Days start when we wake up after getting enough sleep. We pack up, eat a little, and get on the bikes to look for coffee. This is never a difficult task in Washington state since espresso signs are about as common as stop signs. We hit the road for a couple of hours and break for lunch, usually picnic-n-potluck style. We pick up again and go for a few more hours and by 6-7 pm we are looking to pitch camp. With bikes, this is also a surprisingly simple task. We eat dinner, go explore a bit, get ready for bed and by sunset we are snuggled up in our sleeping bags, resting for the next day's adventures.

Janius Tsang