Boxing up the Bikes

Yesterday we said goodbye to or bicycles, Lady Borealis (thanks for your help with that one, Amy) and Onward (Lyon's mantra throughout the trip). It was like dismembering our children, closing them up in boxes and telling them, "No, honey, you didn't do anything wrong." Okay, so it wasn't that dramatic, but it was sad!
First we had to find bike boxes, which we easily scored at Bobcat Bicycles. Dragging them back to the motel was another story. But we giggled as we tried to hold onto our 56 by 31 inch boxes, spinning in the wind and attempting to walk straight.
Back at the motel we separated out what we wanted to keep (clothes, toiletries, journals) and what we wanted to send back (tent, cook set, bike shorts). Then we loaded our bikes up with one pannier each, and even invented a way of attaching the boxes to the bikes, which involved bungees and balancing the boxes on a pedal, prohibiting any backwards motion.
We geared up for the 15 block walk to the nearest UPS store. I would never think to look for any other shipping providers because my uncle works for UPS and our family is loyal to brown. But after one block of trying to keep my bike in a straight line, I looked up and a FedEx store was staring me in the face. I easily caved. We stopped and packaged them up right there. Sorry uncle Frank! I'm weak!
In 15 minutes we'll walk to the Salinas Amtrak station and hop on the Coastal Starlight which will stick mostly to the coast so we get to see the scenery we are missing by not riding our bikes. We'll say goodbye to Steinbeck country. He's from Salinas so there's a museum and statutes around town. I picked up Cannery Row now that Lyon is finished, and was reading it in the window of a coffee shop yesterday. A man walked by with his dog and slowed, tapping the glass to get my attention. He pointed to his shirt and I saw that it had a quote by John Steinbeck on it, "I guess there can never be enough books." I smiled and gave him a thumbs up, he returned the gesture and kept walking.
On to L.A. Hina, here we come.

Big Sur

Our ride from Monterey to Big Sur seemed short. The weather was kind of overcast, but there were still some beautiful views of the rugged coastline. The hills were mostly tame with only one cape that swung in and around a cove, swooping low to sea level before climbing steeply back up. As soon as we left the small town of Carmel behind, we were already in Big Sur territory, which gets its name from a phrase in Spanish: el pais grande del sur. Big Sur is famous for being sort of wild and isolated. This section of Highway 1 was one of the first to be declared a National Scenic Byway. 

Along the way I passed a woman who had pulled over and was pacing nervously as she looked out over a field between the road and the coast. I was going slow enough on a steady uphill, that our eyes met and she felt she needed to share with me that a cow just over there was going into labor. "What?" I said, as I pulled over onto the dirt turnout. Sure enough, there was a large caramel-colored cow lying on her side with a bloated belly. Every once in a while, she would pick her head up and sort of roll her eyes before thumping heavily back onto the grass. The lady I was standing next to had grown up on a farm and seemed to know what stage the cow was in, contractions were close together. Eventually I left, knowing I didn't have all day to stand there and watch a cow give birth, but the woman stayed, saying she just wanted to make sure she was alright. "I've had 3 natural childbirths of my own..." she said, trailing off, not really making eye contact with me as she sent encouraging mental vibes over the fence to the cow.

Part way we met Thomas and Tim, two touring cyclists from Oakland, CA. They were just out for a week and had taken off without any maps or books or anything. They figured they could just following Hwy 1 the entire way. That worked for them, they said, until it was time to find a campsite, or when the highway turned to freeway and didn't allow bicycles any longer. Using our guide book, we directed them to the best place to stop, just before a large hill: Pfeiffer-Big Sur State Park, and there would be groceries in town just before the park. We parted ways and said, "See you there." It was clear that this park was a destination for lots of people. The hike and bike camping area was gigantic, but we still had to share a table and fire pit because they were all taken. And the next day while roaming the park looking for a shower and laundry, we realized just how big the park was with 200 plus campsites. The benefit of staying in a state park that also happens to be an international destination, was that there was a fancy lodge with a fire place and leather couches, a cafe and a restaurant. But we spent that first night hanging out with Thomas, Tim and 3 college kids also from the bay area who had decided to hop on their bikes, lash all the camping gear they owned to them, and head south. One of the kids, Fernando, road his single speed! "People said I couldn't do it," was his response to our incredulity, "so I had to." Apparently he was so used to riding a single speed (or "track bike" as this specific genre was called), that the hills were no problem. And his bike does have breaks (both of them), don't worry.

Tim and Thomas told us stories about life in Oakland, mostly involving cops, marijuana, a gun chase and living in "squats" with no running water and parts of the roof missing. These anecdotes sort of corroborated the craziness I'd been reading in a memoir I picked up by a local San Francisco author called, Everybody into the Pool. It was nice spending one of our last nights out surrounded by other young people who like riding their bikes. It was also a good excuse to finally go all out and buy marshmallows, Graham crackers and Hershey's chocolate. Oh, you know what happened next! (And no, for those of you who know about my marshmallow addiction, I did not throw up. Lyon kept an eye on me.)

The next day we felt strange not packing our tent up and getting a move on. Tim and Thomas took their time getting on the road, and talk of rain in the next few days didn't make me envy them. Stephanie was at the campsite as well. We've probably camped with her 4 or 5 times times over the trip, and Big Sur was her destination as well. As I mentioned in a previous blog entry, she'd ridden all the way across the country. So, seeing her pack up to get on a bus and head north was really sad. "Well," she said at some point late in the morning, "I'm going to head out," and she stood up from the picnic table. "Are you going for a ride?" I asked, not realizing how late it was, and thinking she'd want to go exploring before leaving the park. "No, I'm going to wait for the bus!" I gave her a big hug and wished her luck integrating back into the "real world." She'd been out since May. Then we all watched her with kind of pathetic sighs as she walked towards her bike.

That day we had planned to ride to the top of the hill just a couple miles south so we could really see Big Sur. But it turned out to be sort of a dreary day, and we knew the coastline would be covered in fog anyhow, so we didn't even go those last 2 miles to the top of the hill. Oh well, we didn't care. We were there. Instead, we went for a hike (in our bike shoes which made for awkward footing because of the metal cleats). From the Valley Viewpoint we could see the entire Big Sur valley, and even some of the Pacific in the distance.

We spent a lot of time reading our books, Lyon finishing up Cannery Row and me concluding Everybody into the Pool. Then for dinner we shared a can of chili before heading to the cozy lodge for glasses of wine and an appetizer of roasted cheese. The next day, we had no problem catching the bus in Big Sur and getting our bikes on the racks (thank goodness we didn't have to fight any other cyclists for rack space). As we headed north toward Monterey, retracing our route from a couple of days before, it started to rain. It was a tease to think that we were only 300 miles from Los Angeles. Just another week riding our bikes would get us there. But I think, as we peered out from the warm, dry bus at other cyclists riding through the rain, we were happy to be closing this chapter of our adventure. We'll continue coasting for a little while, just without our bicycles.

Final Fundraiser Update-SWEET!

At the time of my last fundraiser update from San Fransisco, we had raised about $755. That same day I sent around one last reminder via email, and incredibly, the next time I checked the fundraiser account, we had both met and surpassed our goal.

We have raised a grand total of $1,194.84 for Posada Esperanza. I can hardly describe how that feels. In the same way that we met our cycling goal by physically arriving in San Fransisco, and then went beyond that goal by cycling further south, we met our fundraising goal of $1,000 and then managed to raise a little more.

Of course, all we did was keep a blog and send out an email. It's really all of you who are responsible for such a succesfull fundraiser.

Thank you so much! Wahooo!!!!

Love,
Alice and Lyon

To Big Sur

I just want to say I have been loving our leisurly pace since leaving San Fransisco. The day we left Pigeon Point, for example, we didn't take off until 12:30, we had an hour long lunch in Davenport, and then arrived in Santa Cruz at 4pm in time for a beer and some nachos by the beach. We rode through some fog as the sun was setting and pulled into New Brighton State Beach campsite just after the last bit of light had disappeared from the sky. It's been great. And I feel good too. We haven't pushed much past 45 miles in a day, which is good because once we pass 50 my neck usually starts to hurt and bike riding for me stops being quite as fun.

At New Brighton we ran into Stephanie, a cyclist who had been traveling with her sister when we met her at the campsite on the Avenue of the Giants. Her sister had since flown home, back to NYC, and Stephanie had kept on riding, with Big Sur as her destination. Why not? She'd already put some 6,000 miles behind her since she'd started in D.C. Incredible.

Yesterday should have been an easy 40 miles from Santa Cruz to Monterey, and as we started out, riding through strawberry fields that made the air smell like cotton candy, I was sure it would be. But we ended up facing some of the most fierce headwinds we've come across this entire trip. Just riding on flat terrain into the wind, I looked down at my spedometer, and I was going 6 miles an hour. The worst part though, was the dirt that the wind picked up in empty fields. We just turned our heads and rode through blocks of dirt blowing over the road. At the end of the day I wiped away a ring of dirt that had formed around my mouth, and my legs looked deceptively tan. But we made it, and were able to enjoy a 15 mile bike path from Seaside into Monterey, avoiding traffic the entire way.

Anyhow, today is our last day on our bicycles heading south. We are about 32 miles from Big Sur where we'll camp and then get up in the morning and ride our bikes up a steep, long climb for the famous view we've been hearing about. I can't imagine it being much more beautiful or impressive than anything else we've seen on this coast. But what do I know? I'll report back once I've seen it. This has been Lyon's goal from the very beginning while I skeptically didn't think we'd make it much further than San Fransisco. After two nights of camping in Big Sur we'll cycle back north to Monterey (where I'm writing from right now), and then take a bus to Salinas.

Then on to see Hina in L.A.! Bye, bye bicycles!

To Monterey

From our campsite we can see nearly our entire route for today. We're just going around the bay to Monterey. Here's a picture of where we're going. Time is almost up here in bicycle land.

Santa Cruz

We made it to Santa Cruz! Camping near by, them tomorrow to Monterey.

Finding Our Way to Pigeon Point

Leaving San Mateo was a little rough as we climbed around some steep hills in the hot sun through shade,less suburbia. And as we drew nearer to the bridge that crossed highway 92 towards what we thought looked like a bike path on google maps, we got quite a few looks from people who thought we were stupid, and some annoyed honks too. Though there were racing bikes speeding all around us (hopefully towards this magical bike path?), we were out of the land of loaded down touring bikes, miles and mountains away from highway 1. On the other side of the bridge, we saw a cyclist disappear around a corner and low and behold, he had hopped onto the bike path. Thank God! We left the traffic behind and rolled safely through dry, grassy hills around highway 92 and then up and over highway 280 on an impressive pedestrian bridge. It spit us out on Canada Road, and as we pondered what to do next (google said go right but or instincts said go left), an older English man in full cycling gear rolled up to us and started asking us questions about where we were headed. He gave us detailed directions about how to get over the mountains to the coast in safe cycling-friendly roads and as it turned out, our instincts were correct, we headed left. 'If you have all day,' the man said just before leaving us, ' you'll make it.' Oh we have all day, I thought.

The road that got us over the main ridge was barely wide enough for a car and a bicycle going one direction, and it was sure a slap in the face after 4 days of rest, we went up on that thing for over an hour, but we didn't regret going that way. There were more cyclists than cars and we were shaded by tall redwoods and observed by deer, both babies and bucks along the way. The down hill was dreamy. At points the road was no wider than a bike path, and we didn't pass a single car.

When we finally hit the coast, it was 6:15, and we still had 10 miles to go until Pigeon Point Lighthouse, which doubled as a hostel. I was determined to get there, so we hunkered down and kept riding, finally back on coastal highway 1. The only problem on our minds as the sun sank to our right, casting a red light over the Pacific, was that, despite having called the hostel numerous times, no one had answered. We were racing against time towards a place we were unsure would have a bed for us. Finally, when we saw a sign for the town of Pescadero and, knowing it would be pitch black in 5 minutes, we bailed. All day we had not seen a single campground or inn, and when we got to Pescadero, nothing changed. We decided to get dinner at the local historic tavern to think and see if the locals had any ideas.

The only idea our waitress had was for us to stay at this Swedish-style converted barn which probably cost $200 a night. We thanked her and proceeded to order our cream of green chilli soup, imagining ourselves sneaking onto someone's farmland and pitching our tent for the night.

Delaying the inevitable, we went next door to the bar. Sure enough, a woman i'd run into in the bathroom (we bonded because her hair was a mess from her walk on the beach earlier and mine was a mess from riding my bike 40 miles) asked us a little more about our bike trip. And eventually the question of ' where are you staying tonight' came up. We admitted that we didn't know. For the first time on our trip it was after dark and we didn't know where we were sleeping. Evangeline, as we later learned was her name, called the bartender over and said, ' hey, these kids rode their bikes from Seattle. Where should they sleep tonight?' The bartender, whose hair and mustache were gray, but whose speech pattern was like that of a young surfer dude, scrunched his face in thought. Butano State Park was 5 miles that way, or if we went down stage road we'd probably find empty farm land, but there were really no hotels. When I mentioned that Pigeon Point Lighthouse had been our original destination, his face lit up as if he'd forgotten about that option. 'That place is cool!' He said. 'And they have a hot tub!' We told them we hadn't been able to get through so we didn't know if there was vacancy. ' call them one more time' he directed. Lyon did, and he got through. The message: plenty of beds, be here by 10. Evangeline went to consult with her husband at the other end of the bar and came back and said, 'Okay, I want to help.' It turned out they had a gigantic diesel dodge truck parked outside, so she and her husband Jim, an avid mountain biker from Colorado, drove us to the light house in time for us to grab the hot tub key and soak our bodies in the ocean-side jacuzzi before an early bedtime.

Thank you Jim and Evangeline! I'm so glad this morning I got to wake up in a bed instead of on a farm next to someone's cow.

Back on the road

On our bikes again and it is sunny and hot! Imagine our disbelief when we came across this water oasis. Hoping to make it to pigeon point lighthouse today. Thank you, jesse for getting us on our fet this morning.

Fundraiser Update

For those who've been wondering, so far we have raised $755.45 for Posada Esperanza and it has been so exciting and satisfying to watch this generous pot grow (wow, now that I'm in California that phrase just sounded wrong, but you know what I mean).

We'll be cycling for another week, down to Big Sur and then back up to Salinas. From there, we'll ship our bikes back to Texas and hop on a train to Los Angeles.

So the phones are still open if you've been meaning to donate. Who knows, we might just meet our goal of $1,000 (that's a dollar for every mile between Seattle and San Francisco!).

Whatever happens, we think this whole thing has been a success, thank you for all your support (be it a donation, an encouraging note, a bed to sleep on or a hug).

Love,
Alice and Lyon

San fran pics

Being in San Fran

I have to admit that on our ride Friday into San Fransisco, I was really excited. I smiled outright and waived my hand in the air at first sighting of the Golden Gate Bridge, prompting a confused cyclist coming from the other direction to wave back at me, clearly not wanting to be rude if he indeed knew me.

The ride over the bridge was a bit confusing since we ended up on the side that was closed and had to maneuver our way back through a tunnel that went under the highway and cross some convoluted intersections to get to the other side. But the sun was shining and we didn't have to ride over with traffic, pedaling for our lives or anything dramatic like that. There was a nice section for pedestrians and cyclists and we pulled over every once in a while to look over the bridge at Alcatraz and the city skyline. Lyon was able to point out Coit tower and indicated that our hostel was just on the other side of it. He has stayed there twice, once with his friend Chris on a road trip and once with his brother Sam. Also, it's "fleet week" here in San Fransisco, and these jets were looping around the bay in perfect synchronization, and flying straight up and then doing nose dives and flips and things-which was really incredible.

Our first night we took advantage of the free dinner at the hostel, but really only met one other person among hundreds in the dining hall because all we could do was eat our food and stare at the table. Technically, we shouldn't have been that tired because we'd had a short day-just 25 miles. But it was like the entire month had come crashing down on us and we were beat. Still, we half-heartedly joined in on the pub crawl sponsored by the hostel. I couldn't help but think of the yearly zombie crawl that happens around Halloween in downtown Northampton (and probably other cities too), because I felt like a mindless zombie, unable to really socialize with my peers, only capable of following our hostess around from one block to the next. But it was good to be out for a short while. We watched the Giants lose at a sports bar, and stuck around for a couple of songs from a local rockabilly band, and then headed back to the hostel for our first sleep in a bed in seven nights (not before having two slices of pizza because we are still on a very regimented food schedule which requires ample pigging out).

Since then we have just been getting used to being around large numbers of people again. We put our bikes away yesterday and walked everywhere, but today got them out for getting around town, though we found that we still had to walk quite a bit with all the insane hills. On every block there were kids running down steep hills on the sidewalk yelling and pretending they couldn't stop. We biked to H&M and purchased some essentials. Lyon bought JEANS, which made him feel more normal since all he has are bike shorts and windbreakers (which really don't go with his western-style "normal person" shirt). Tomorrow we are going to mail a few things back to Texas. We're sending our rain pants since we're not expecting rain south of here in the next week, but we're keeping our rain coats because are not stupid. I think we'll lose the tarp too. We bought it in Raymond, WA during a rainy spell and it was really good to us for a while, but now it's just weighing us down.

Today was really good and my legs are starting to feel more normal when I go to stand up after sitting for a long stint. Lyon got to see old friends, Cody and Ross at a restaurant in touristy Fisherman's Warf. Both Cody and Ross work there, and they treated us to some delectable appetizers, entrees, desserts and beer. We sat chatting with my friend Jesse who moved to San Fransisco from Northampton about 8 months ago. He looked tan and happy. He admitted he finally felt settled in after a rough adjustment. It's not easy leaving little Noho!

Then we got to see Rabiha, also from Western Mass, and it felt so good to practice our social skills again catch up. We walked around and grabbed a coffee. I think seeing friends helped make us feel like we are really here.

Tomorrow we tourist it up with a boat ride to Alcatraz!

Pics

San Fransisco

Look! We made it! There's a crazy air show going on too, planes doing tricks and twirls over the bay. We are here!

Point Reyes National Seashore

One more panorama...

Pics

1,001

Today we woke up in Bodega Dunes State Park. We took our time sipping coffee at our sandy campsite, and then actually showering.

It's 1:45 and we've only gone 10 miles. We had to stop and celebrate that we've gone 1,001 miles with burgers and a milkshake!

So that's what's going on currently. We are going 40 miles today, and then getting up tomorrow and riding the 25 miles to San Fransisco.

Yesterday was one of my favorite days. The first part of the day we bought a pint of Ben and Jerry's (chubby hubby if you must know), and put it in our food pannier. It was our reward waiting to be devoured after going another 15 miles. We enjoyed every creamy bite at the top of a hill in Fort Russ park, and we agreed that we could have each eaten our own pint-no problem.

After stopping for ice cream, the roads got narrow, rough and steep. It wound through farmland, over cattle guards, and past a group of firemen performing a controlled burn over the dry, grassy land. Then, for a while we left the cows behind, and the road wound up and up, it would turn a corner and continue to go up, up, up. We were so close to carefully creeping oncoming cars that sometimes, when I noticed a driver craning his or her neck to look incredulously at the crazy cyclists, I would smile at them, just to confuse them more. Yes! I'm enjoying myself, beleive it or not!

It was sunny, but cool, and I felt good (no weird neck, back or knee pains), and the Pacific looked so green, and the roads so winding, I felt like we were in France.

We are thinking of continuing in after San Fransisco.

Fundraiser check-in soon. Cell service is a luxury out here.

Aggg!!!

Back on the coast

Lyon here. We are in Fort Bragg celebrating our third week on the road- back on the coast after our journey through the redwoods. The night before last, we camped under the giant trees for the last time. The camp ground had warm showers which, besides having to battle an enormous spider and use up a bunch of quarters, was a welcome experience. They also had a little store where we got supplies (including a six pack of beer which we split.) The next morning the weather was gorgeous - warm and sunny and perfectly still. We were feeling a bit lethargic and a little apprehensive of the climb we were looking at for that day, so we hung out at the store for a while before hitting the road. The climb that day would bring us up Leggett "Hill" (elev. 2000 ft.) -actually the most feared and respected climb on the whole Pacific Coastal Route. The climb itself was actually pretty nice - besides having to negotiate the narrow shoulder and the sheer length of the climb. The traffic was actually mostly courteous and the grade was not too steep. As we flew down the other side, we soon realized we were not in the pleasant, temperate climate that we enjoyed on the other side of the hill. The temperature had dropped at least ten degrees and the air was thick with fog. Reaching the bottom, we began to smell the salty air and we knew we had returned to the Pacific Coast. After passing the ghost town of Rockport (literally - there were weeds growing chest high on the fence to the old school house), we were faced with another climb of about 800 feet. This one took us by surprise a bit more- the grade was steeper than the first, and it seemed to just keep on climbing. We were pretty spent and had earlier decided on a short day, so we set up camp in Westport, on the beach. As I brushed my teeth before bed I looked up and saw an amazing array of stars complete with the milky way clearly stretching across the middle of the sky. The sound of the surf lulled us both to sleep for the first time in a while.

Redwood pics

Avenue of the Giants

After spending nearly two days riding on the shoulder of a part of 101 that had turned to freeway, I would have taken any alternate route, just for a break from the constant hum of fast-moving traffic, for a break from crossing  freeway on and off ramps. It's legal to ride these things, we have ample shoulders, and there are plenty of other cyclists doing it, but it just doesn't feel good.

With such a mythical sounding name like Avenue of the Giants, I was sort of worried that this scenic route would be just as busy as 101, with tourist. But it wasn't. It was a peaceful winding road, lined by towering redwoods that sometimes opened up to fields with organic farms where you could buy fresh fall produce.

This morning we had 15 or 20 more miles on the road, and now we've stopped for a lunch of salami, sourdough bread, Tillamook cheese, an apple and yogurt.

Yesterday we went 60 miles from Arcata to Burlington campsite in Weott, which is right off the road. We felt small pitching our tent and small sitting at our picnic table. All around us loomed trees that were thousands of years old.

Onward. We have a 2,000 foot climb ahead of us.

Coffee in Fortuna

Trees of Mystery

Yes, we did that! Gondola through the red woods -totally hokey.

Today we stay at a campsite just past Weott.

Crossing in into California

The last stretch through Oregon was so foggy, that if there was an ocean next to us, we couldn't tell. We put on our bright jackets, clicked on our lights and pushed on. We rode over the highest bridge in Oregon (Thomas Creek Bridge) and even hiked out on a little trail to the view point to try and see what we'd just crossed. Through the fog we saw a little.

We stopped to eat bagels, salami and cheese on the roadside in Brookings, the last stop in Oregon. And it was funny, when we cruised into Northern California, it really felt different, like we were in California! There was farmland around us, and mountains in the distance and the name of the county we were in was Spanish, "del norte." We passed lots of school buses on the back roads we took into Crescent City, and little kids would hop off and begin their walk down a lane to a farm house. How rural and sweet of them!

As we turned one corner, we saw a cop car pulled over, and someone next to the cop car bending over a bicycle to get something. As we got closer we saw the tell tale wide-brimmed hat. The orange flag labeled, "x-treme" was rolled up, but we knew it was there. We slowed to a stop to wave at the crazy kid we had camped with 5 our 6 days before, and he looked up, happy to see us. "You okay?" We called. "I got robbed", was his response. He assured us he was alright, and we didn't get any of the story at all as he unloaded his bike into the car so the cop with him could give him a ride. Where, I'm not sure. So the next 15 miles for me consisted of inventing what on earth could have happened to him, and whether it could happen to us. Paranoid, cute rural California became hostile-out-to-get-you isolated back roads of California.

But we found a delicious burger joint, and once we hit the 60 mile mark, a campsite fell into or laps. We met a nice cyclist named Paul, and after I decided he wasn't going to murder and rob us, we had a nice time around his campfire sharing stories.

Today we have two large hills ahead and also the red woods to see, so we don't expect to go very far. The avenue of the giants is a couple of days ahead.

Welcome to california!

Signs from home

Groceries

This is what we are eating.

Day O' Rest

So, shortly after my last post, lyon and I decided to give our bodies a break and not ride at all. We paid for another night in the motel, and have been walking around this little town. We found a great book store, and both bought little paper backs. We have found that we miss reading things with our eyes (we've been listening to audio books only). We also enjoy the sensation of walking. Tomorrow we'll try to put some miles behind us.

We are happy to be taking a break.

Sunset Bay to Cape Blanco Pics

Cape Blanco

That same Seven Devils Road day got much better. We stopped for lunch in an adorable town called Bandon and had bad mexican food and then we had good esspresso. I talked to my mom and she said surely we must have gone nearly 500 miles, and I told her I thought we were at like 480 or something. Turned out, when I got back to my bike, we had gone 509. So somewhere on that horrible road, we passed the 500-mile mark. We high-fived each other, and then climbed on our bikes.

The second half of the day took us through relatively flat farm land, a welcome break from the constantly dramatic Oregon coast. We rode past llamas, sheep, cows, through teeny weeny towns (my favorite being Denmark), and the road was fairly quiet. The miles flew by. As we turned onto the small, two lane country road that would take us the five miles into Cape Blanco State Park, Lyon and I pulled up next to each other and rode side by side, something we don't get to do very often. The road was quiet, it was dusk, and as we turned a corner and coasted down a hill past the park's welcome sign, the land opened up and we could see for miles. Then, the farmland and the sixes river, dropped off into the ocean, scenery that looked out of place against fields, fences, horses and a little country home in the distance. The view at the top of the bluff at the end of the cape was the most striking we've seen yet.  We made camp and took our time leaving in the morning. We explored the park without our bikes loaded down (such a treat for us) and toured an old pioneer home, misleadingly called the Hughes Home. Once I got over the fact that we were not at some little-know isolated mansion of Howard Hughes' it was pretty cool.

Now, after a difficult ride yesterday, we are in Gold Beach at a motel, recharging. Today we will spend the night at the last campsite before California.

Lyon's dirty leg

Seven Devils Road

Just road down seven devils road, which turned to dirt and plunged so far after we climbed so high that we found ourselvs in foggy, forested territory, cold, with a hill ahead and unsure of weather we were on the right road at all. I freaked out a little at the thought of only getting deeper down this road that might not lead anywhere. Lyon saved the day by asking a passing car (one out of 3 that passed us the entire 13 miles) where the heck this road went. When the guys in the car informed us that paved road and a downhill was ahead and that it would indeed lead to route 30, we sighed releived and continued pushing our bikes by foot in better spirits but still cursing all seven devils.

We made it 57 miles yesterday to sunset bay state park where, yes, we did watch the sun set. It was beautiful. There was a bride there getting here picture taken. We almost stopped in North Bend last night after meeting a nice man named Buck, who offered to let us stay at his house. He, as he put it, had a soft spot for anyone on two wheels. We would have taken him up on his offer had it not ben such a pretty day, and had our mission for the day not been pulling us both to keep moving. This feeling of needing to put miles behind us is something we both feel. We are not behind. If anything, we are ahead of schedule, but there's an urgency to keep moving and meet or goal for the day, which is why it kills us when we can't. Today we've gone 25, and we've gotten past all of our big hills for the day, so we are hoping to make the 25 to cape blanco. In the morning we'll tour the Hughs home.

Maybe we will go further than 18 miles today

So yesterday was miserable until we made the decision not to try and go further. Ithink we had so much fun riding in the sun the day before that we were extra devastated by the cold, the wind and the rain. We also met some strange people at our campsite including a man traveling by large tricycle with his dog. He had a big white beard and a large belly that stuck out of his half ripped shirt. He had his propane stove running INSIDE his tent to dry out his jacket and the second thing  he asked us was did we have any pot. He also talked to us the entire time we were setting up or tent, ruining any plans we had to go watch the sun set. He also claimed to have a world record for riding to Alaska on his lawn mower. Later this wacky kid showed up and he was riding without a helmet, just a wide brimmed hat. He did have an orange flag sticking up at the back of his bike, which was good. He said he noticed people looking at him funny so he taped"X-TREME" with black electrical tape to the flag. Just in case that wasn't clear I guess. 

We did stop at a nice homey place in florence where lyon ordered a burger and I ordered german sausage with hashbrowns and eggs over medium. The waitress/owner told us to stay as long as we liked to get warm and she even say down to chat and ask us questions. We told get about our lovely day the day before when we saw a whale, and climbed Cape Foulweather and Cape Perpetua. She said her "love," as she called him, who had since passed away, used to be a ranger at Cape Perpetua and one of the last things he did was hike up and down the cape with her and his sister at his side, knowing how sick he was.
Three days later he died, but everyone felt so relieved that he'd gotten to take that hike one last time because it was what he wanted.

Today's weather is supposed to be better. It's 7am and my phone is is actually getting service from this campsite, so once I post, I'll wake lyon and we'll go. Right now we are in jesse m honeyman state park and we'd like to get 54 miles today. We'll be riding through the Oregon Dunes National Recreation Area.

Love you all

Lyon's dirty hands

Beautiful ride yesterday... not so nice today

Lyon here - Yesterday we rode from Lincoln city to the carl g washburn state park, 65 miles altogether. Even though we were really tired, the last part was amazing. South of Yachats, rt. 101 traces the contour of the uninhabited coastline through a long stretch of rocky capes, sandy beaches and steeply dropping creeks. We saw waterfalls and sea birds like gulls and pelicans. (The other day we saw a blue heron). But today, so far, has been cold and rainy. I was pretty miserable when we came to this little diner outside Florence. But, now after having a hamburger and some apple pie, I feel way better. We'll let you know how far we get today...