October 29, 2007 by Naomi.

The minute we left Mendocino, it rained constantly, something we had never experienced before on our bikes; we had always been quite convinced that the rain would stop (this was true for Alaska, Scotland, Washington and Oregon - some of the wettest places in the world!). Thursday was a hellish soggy nightmare with a ghastly headwind (and our slowest day of the trip). Friday was worse. Any coastal views were marred by the pervasive rain and fog.

One problem faced by the humble cyclist in a constant barrage of rain is reduced visibility (and not just because of the rain and fog). For those who don’t wear glasses, it is very difficult to keep your eyes open with rain stabbing into your eyes, and for four-eyed souls, despite protected eyeballs, droplets of rain obscure almost everything and a wobbling pool of water collects on the bottom rim, having a kind of ogling effect on your vision and therefore making you feel like your suffering from some sort of madness. (I daresay the cars driving past thought we were!) Another nasty dilemma we faced was whether to bother keeping waterproofs on - the fact that you sweat when you cycle means that you get wet anyway, the condensation builds up, and by the end of the day we were so utterly drenched on the inside and out, despite all the wicking, waterproof and breathable clothes we wear. I suppose getting water to move one way through clothes, but not the other, is a particularly challenging problem for the scientists…

And of course there is nothing pleasurable about being attired in dripping wet clothes for any length of time, especially a good 5 or 6 hours. Point Arena was supposedly a picturesque place, we saw little evidence of this but were lucky to dry out most of our stuff in the rather cheap but dirty motel room. The pitter-patter of rain which was once a comfort when you know you are warm inside, had become a nasty noise in the night, which woke us up and left us lying in our beds wallowing in a bleak sense of dread of the coming day. Indeed within three minutes of leaving the motel, there was water swimming in our shoes (despite ‘waterproof’ booties!), but all was not completely horrible because we had booked a room at Salt Point Lodge (not nearly as far as we’d originally planned) for the expensive price of $120, thinking it might be something like our lovely room at Mendocino.

But, no, as there’s a distinct lack of competition on this part of the coast – local residents fiercely object to too much tourist development in the area - this atrocious amount of money is an acceptable price to pay for a mediocre motel room with a broken TV and no phone. The measly ocean view and spa were not worth paying over double what we normally pay, and we won’t even talk about the very ordinary restaurant with its bland food and abysmal service.

The next morning, despite a bit of dreaded pitter-patter in the night, we were extremely relieved to find the sun gradually making its way up into the sky, revealing some of the most dramatic and exposed parts of Highway 1, with road cutting into the side of the hills, and nothing more than a sheer drop into the ocean to the west. These climbing roads, the dramatic switchbacks around the bridge at Russian Gulch and the incredible sand spit at Jenner left us breathless not only with the ascents, but with the marvellous views as well. It’s on days like these that you realise hauling your bike and a load of luggage across a whopping continent is just about worth it.

After an equally beautiful ride by a string of beaches from Jenner to Bodega Bay, the road took us inland (sadly leaving the coast, but happily it was a lot straighter and flatter), and we arrived in Petaluma at record speed. The Dollar Inn welcomed us with some offhand customer service, a graffitied but adequate room overlooking Highway 101 (now a major freeway) and free coffee and cable, all for the very reasonable price of 50 bucks.

We headed into Petaluma for brunch, being a very appropriate meal for a Sunday, and found the perfect place to eat it, outside but in the cool shade. While admiring our fellow diners’ excellent looking brunch dishes with hungry eyes, we were dismayed to find not a speck of breakfast on our menus. Brunch was served until 12:30, it was ten past, and on enquiring for a breakfast menu, were informed that brunch was no longer served. Having asked for coffee and tea, they didn’t think to inform us of this major discrepancy and feeling very disgruntled and British (we did not make much of a fuss), ordered a measly crab patty and chicken bacon sandwich instead. By the end of the meal, however, we had started up a lively conversation with some of our fellow diners, who were very admiring of our adventure – always a nice encouragement when on the road, especially when about to embark up a big hill in the hot sun. As the 101 was now a busy motorway, it did not allow bicycles and we had to make do with the usual much longer and hilly albeit very scenic route to Novato. We saw many other cyclists out for their Sunday jaunt (whizzing past us on super-lightweight bikes) and, despite having seen all sorts of roadkill all the way from Alaska, were quite disgusted by the quantity of dead raccoons, deer and frogs that littered these roads. The smell is pretty gruesome, I tell you, particularly so because as panting cyclists we had little choice but to breathe it in.

On a much happier note, Petita Frost, a family friend of N’s from the Germany days back in the 70s, welcomed us in her lovely home, with a great big bath, one of the most delicious meals of the trip (lamb and mint sauce!!), lots of entertaining chat and good wine and a very comfortable bed indeed.

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October 25, 2007 by Naomi.

As we arrived in Eureka, the thick fog was only just lifiting to reveal the famous Carson Mansion, an over-the-top green Victorian edifice built by a logging magnate at the end of the 19th century, which has now been converted to an exclusive gentlemen’s club. Eureka, lovely town as it is, is also noted for its white-washed history. The original settlers of the town decimated the local native Wiyot tribe (first the women and children while the men were away on a hunt), drove the only person who kicked up a fuss about it out of town two weeks later and then denied it ever happened. Luckily all is not forgotten as a mural in memory of this morbid event is available for all to see (see photoblog 14th Oct).

On a cheerier note, the sun eventually came out to warm our way out of town, although we had trouble finding a lunch spot and possibly picked the worst of the trip, next to a stop sign (before returning to the traffic-infested 101 Highway) and we later realised within a couple of hundred feet of two dead racoons and another animal which we could not identify.

Our route gradually went inland and took us through the rather (too) pretty town of Scotia, which is entirely owned by the Pacific Lumber Company. Its perfect log houses and immaculate lawns made us feel like we were cycling through a David Lynch meets Stepford Wives film - very eerie stuff. The green valleys eventually gave way to the Avenue of the Giants - another fantastic and relatively traffic-free road through a forested area of massive redwood trees. Our destination, Red Crest, welcomed us with a wee cosy cabin and an unexpected hot tub where we soothed our aching limbs.

We woke up to the pitter-patter of raindrops outside, not a welcome sound by any means. As always we left with the hope that it would eventually stop - all the rain we’d experienced so far was ephemeral and gave us the opportunity to dry out. On cycling through our second ‘drive thru’ tree at Myers Flat, the rain had dissipated although we continued to get wet as water dripped through the redwood trees. The sun finally came out at Garberville, another uninspiring town with a lovely caf where we warmed up and dried out. The terrain immediately became more challenging with endless steep uphills. Just as we thought we were arriving at our destination, Confusion Hill, we were presented with a disappearing precipitous narrow road with lorries going in both directions with no room for humble cyclists, so we waited for lighter traffic before making our way to the top and finally arriving at our mediocre but warm lodgings in the woods.

More dreaded pitter patter woke us the following mornng and before embarking on our most challenging day of cycling in California so far, we had to visit Confusion Hill: ‘Is seeing believing?’, basically a shack built at a wonky angle on the side of the hill, where water supposedly flows upwards and gravity pulls in mysterious directions. As you can see from the photos, we were mightily impressed, especially as it meant procrastinating getting up California’s biggest coastal hill (just south of Leggett on Highway 1). According to cyclists’ legend, the climb is strewn with discarded panniers and defeated cyclists. Despite the incessant rain, we made it quite comfortably the top (2,000 feet) - at least the effort warms you up! The descent provided an excellent rest for our legs, especially as the rain stopped and the sun reappeared, all just in time for lunch at the Red Grove Picnic Area. Another steep but smaller hill took us over to the coast, where we delighted in a shoreline even more rugged than that in Oregon, which meant that it was very hilly indeed. An impressive sunset welcomed our weary selves in Fort Bragg where we found another fab bargain (40 bucks for two beds and all usual comforts!), and even found the energy to enjoy some live jazz at the toasty local caf.

As the previous day was so long, we decided to have a lazy day of laundry and cycle the very short distance of 10 miles to Mendocino, a much prettier town than Fort Bragg, and much pricier too. This meant we had lots of time to explore coastal views properly from Jughandle National Reserve and a walk on the beach at Caspar in the now rare sunshine. Despite balking at the prices we landed ourselves a fantastic little room with very nice furniture, forking out 110 for lack of anywhere else cheaper, and after snapping an excellent sunset from the Mendocino headlands, enjoyed an excellent meal at the McCallum House bar before a terrifying cycle back to our room in the pitch black night.

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October 20, 2007 by Naomi.

After sitting out the windy storm for a day in our most comfortable motel room (with massive king-size bed!), we were very chuffed to come out the following day and find the weather calm and foggy, but not raining! On leaving the motel, we immediately found ourselves cycling behind a friendly family (very unusual on 101), and wondered if this might be a snapshot of us in the future.

After conquering a couple of whopping hills, our appetites naturally grew as they always do and several sources assured us that there were plenty of national parks with picnic tables on this section of the 101. Alas, it was not quite so simple as many of them turned out to be merely viewpoints and the ones with picnic tables were either up or down nasty steep roads (time constraints often mean we cannot go wandering off our designated route for fear of wasting valuable cycling minutes to our anticipated destination) so we ended up sitting on the grass at the top of a cliff in the drizzling rain. A cup of coffee/tea in the afternoon was also elusive in the last Oregonian and strange town of Brookings as all cafes shut at the silly hour of 2, but all was not lost as we did find one open, but hiding down in the harbour.

Just as we crossed the border into California the skies immediately cleared (we paid dearly over the following week, however, for highlighting and revelling in this fact), and we cycled down some of the flattest roads we’d seen in a while across farmlands, admiring the animals and enjoying the sunshine as we went along. Despite its lovely location, however, Crescent City is a most unfortunate place, firstly because it suffered from the same earthquake in 1964 as Alaskan towns such as Valdez (do you remember when we were there? - see entry for Richardson Highway at beginning of August if your memory is failing you) and the resulting tsunamis devasted parts of the town. Secondly, its economy now largely relies on the Pelican Bay Maximum Security Penitentiary just north of town, ie lots of prison guards, police officers and plenty of unsavoury visitors. However, the Thai restaurant (which was unknown to our motel) across the road was excellent.

The following day was a very lucky day indeed, although we really didn’t feel like it as after our wonderful flat jaunt the day before, we were painfully aware that we had two whopping hills to get over, the first of which had no less than three summits. Not only this, on stopping to spend a penny at the side of the road at the viewpoint on the way up, N managed to step in someone else’s pound coin (to put it politely) which made a right mess of her cleats and pedals. Things immediately got better as the road we were climbing was under quite a mighty big job of roadworks. It had three lanes; two going up, and one going down. Two lanes going up usually mean very little shoulder for us hard done by cyclists and some vehicles on the road are very unwilling to share this space. Most reasonable drivers overtake in the outer lane, but there are several nutters whose only aim is to get to their destination as quickly as possible without any regard for anyone else and if this means over-taking a huge vehicle and two cyclists clinging desperately to the side of the road without falling in a ditch or down a steep precipice, creating a dangerous speed sandwich situation, then so be it. On this very lucky day there was only one lane for traffic going both ways, which meant there were lots of flaggers (who were very nice and encouraging to us indeed) stopping and guiding the traffic in both directions on a very windy steep hill, and we basically had our very own cycle lane to the top of the hill! And all this among our first big forest of redwood trees.

After the morning’s excitement and a cold lunch at a very mediocre spot after the descent, we posed for our first photos at the ‘drive-thru’ redwood tree at Klamath although I daresay our measly photos of a couple of bikes were not nearly as impressive as the mighty 4×4 that went ‘thru’ before us!

Our route then took us to the most impressive part of the day’s journey, down Newton B Drury Parkway, an amazing wooded highway with some of the most enormous redwoods to be found; there is even one imaginatively named ‘Big Tree’ which is a mighty 92.6 metres (304ft) tall and at its base 6.6 metres (21.6ft) in diameter. This most exciting day came to an end at the not so impressive town of Orick, which was quite a dump, but the people were very friendly and had an excellent sense of humour: the local theatre advertised ‘Milli Vanilli Live’, a band from the 80s notorious for miming rather than singing. The pie at the local caf was good, too!

It wasn’t too difficult to leave Orick, despite a nasty but somewhat expected bellyache for N. Our route took us through and around various lagoons and some narrow winding roads unfortunately shared with large lorries and massive RVs. An escape was found, however, at Patrick’s Point, a wonderful state park with excellent sea stacks and rocks jutting out into the sea. The weather cleared for some wonderful views over lunch at Wedding Rock. We then made our way to Trinidad and its picturesque lighthouse for more lovely views and even better tea and cake (the latter has become a very regular part of our diet!) The excellent route took us past the expansive Clam Beach where we finally had our first walk in the sand (never time when you’re on a bike!).

Camping in the sand was not on the cards though, so we made our way to Arcata, the second hippy hang-out of the journey where there were plenty more whiffy smells to be encountered by the wandering nose. Lots of entertainment kept us occupied on our day off - bars, bookshops, disgustingly healthy cafes, the absolutely fantastic healthfood supermarket, Wildberries, and even some live punk bluegrass (this is a type of music!), courtesy of Sly Fox helped us enjoy our stay, and all those greens mean we’re not going to suffer from any bouts of scurvy in the near future.

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October 13, 2007 by paulandnaomi.

Very bad weather, two very ghastly route options and, as always, being behind schedule meant it was a good opportunity to take advantage of Amtrak’s fine Seattle to Portland service. We boarded the train after the usual stress of boxing bikes and dragging panniers around the station, and, after a lengthy delay due to ‘police activity on the tracks’, were happy to watch the nasty weather from inside the train.

The rain was still pouring when we arrived in Portland and after an aimless trip around the less than savoury Burnside area looking for accommodation, we were very grateful to find our comfortable and dirt cheap motel in one of the funkiest parts of town. It was around the corner from an excellent ‘theatrepub’, where, unlike most establishments in the States, you could actually take booze into the cinema with you without all sorts of threatening signs and warnings (a real plus after not being able to drink beer while watching the Arctic Monkeys in Seattle!). Not only that, the film we went to see (Knocked Up) kept us thoroughly amused throughout (or maybe that was the beer laughing)! The following night, we were taken for a delicious meal and a lovely walk on the river by our family friends, Dolores and Rosemary, and caught up on a good 20 years worth of family news!

We absolutely loved Portland. It was very bicycle friendly with lots of organic and vintage shops to suit any unusual tastes. Delights included Powell Books, the biggest independent bookstore in the world, especially as their bikeracks outside were named after famous cycling books, cool bars like the Sandy Hut (otherwise known as the Handy Slut - very classy stuff!), and some choice places to eat (that didn’t have Caesar Salad on the menu, thank god!!). AND N finally found a pair of flattering cycling trousers - a mighty feat in itself, a vintage poker chip box for Paul’s birthday and her first decent legwax of the trip at the Waxon Spa, courtesy of Kristan. Not only this, there is no sales tax in Oregon so everything was thoroughly enjoyed at marginally cheaper prices! We did not want to leave…

But as always we had to. After a long hour in the post office sending home a load of stuff we didn’t need anymore, we bumped into fellow cyclist, Eric, who we’d originally met on the ferry from Salt Spring Island in Canada and made a vague plan to meet up later on that day. We got drenched a number of times as we set out and the cycle route took us up some of the most vertiginous streets in town. And town spread a long way out. There was little more to see than the strip malls of the Portland suburbs for many miles. We did venture into one of the stripmalls where Paul picked up a tax-free ipod (despite N’s protests to boycott), at which point we got accosted by several well-meaning but misinformed cycling-enthusiasts warning of the dangers of the Oregon coast at this time of year. Delayed once more, we again got soaked in the pissing rain and eventually arrived in McMinnville and our very cosy McMenamins Hotel Oregon in the dark. A few beers and a bottle of wine with Eric and an excellent night’s sleep soon cured us for our journey to the coast the following day.

However, once again it was a battle with the elements, this time with Eric for extra slipstreaming. For the first hour we were soaked with constant barrage of rain and headwinds in the freezing cold; luckily we warmed up with a cuppa in Sheridan and finally the sun came out in time for our arrival at the mighty Pacific Ocean. As soon as we leapt off our bikes to admire the pounding surf and the setting sun, we got our first introduction to the alternative west coast vibe. Eric had a very interesting chat with a fellow touring cyclist (travelling with little more than a tent and a sleeping bag in a plastic crate) who had spent most of the last week in jail for shoplifting as he’d run out of money to buy food, while we got accosted by Douglas Dewar proudly of ‘Scotch’ descent, who had a very keen interest in Israeli harvesting calendars, and felt obliged to explain their significance to us. Meanwhile the sun was setting and we had 12 miles left to go! We left Eric at a diner with his coffee and rapidly made our way to Depoe Bay with some difficulty as the scenery was so gorgeous we had to stop and take photos; so amazing, in fact, N got distracted and fell off her bike twice!

Once again, though, we learned that just because we were on a coastal road did not guarantee perpetual seaviews. We were very lucky to see the most one of the most scenic sections of the Oregon coast (from Lincoln City to Florence) in sunny weather and thoroughly enjoyed the views from Cape Foulweather (named by Captain Cook in a dreadful storm), Cape Perpetua, and of Heceta Head Lighthouse and the Oregon Coastal Dunes. The latter stretch for 40 miles but were only occasionally visible from the road - their presence was always noted, however, for the quadbikes constantly buzzing around on them. ATVs (all-terrain vehicles) were yet another type of vehicle to add to our repertoire of abbreviated and initialised American vehicles (on top of SUVs and RVs), and despite the unique, rare and endangered species to be found on these dunes, the popularity of quadbikes rules, the animals suffocate, the plants get crushed and everyone else has to tolerate the constant aggressive buzzing noises in an area which would otherwise be a realm of peace and quiet but for the waves crashing against the shore. Not only this, one of the visitor centres informed us that the ATVeer’s and their RV’s contribute nothing to the local economy as they brought all their food with them and only paid ATV dune license fees which go straight to the federal government. So we’re still wondering who benefits…

From Florence to Port Orford the road mostly follows a hilly corridor of trees behind the dunes with little to see. Adventurous moments presented themselves with the death-defying bridge into Coos Bay, one of the most dangerous parts of our journey. While most bridges with narrow shoulders have some kind of sign to warn of cyclists sharing the road, this bridge thoroughly discouraged any cyclist by advising them to walk bikes on the pavement, despite being too narrow for this purpose. As there was no other alternative, we precariously rode our bikes over the long bridge and hoped that the cross winds wouldn’t throw us into the endless stream of traffic inches from the pavement. However, the beach at Bandon was a rare highlight with some incredible rock formations (unfortunately, photos are marred by fog) and the road south from Port Orford more than made up for any lack of ‘vistas’. Cliffs, bluffs, seastacks, deserted beaches and, after a couple of days of grey skies and drizzle, the sun even managed to come out. Having bumped into Eric once again, on one of last stretches of the Oregon coast to Gold Beach we were warned by both the Park ranger and road workers (and the weather forecast) that we should be looking for somewhere to ‘hunker down’ as there was a big storm brewing out in the Pacific so we willingly took their advice and stopped in Gold Beach for a well-earned and much-needed rest day after 6 days of cycling, and 450 km from Portland.

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October 6, 2007 by paulandnaomi.

We celebrated N’s birthday by staying in some swankier-than-usual accommodation at the Harrison House Suites B&B, where we indulged in four-course gourmet breakfasts, a hot tub, very cushy furniture and an excellent (albeit cloudy) view of Friday Harbor. Festivities continued with some tasting of the local San Juan wines and a wee trip across the island to Roche Harbor on two mopeds and a ‘Scootcar’. The latter was so horrendously smelly to travel in, with petrol fumes engulfing the whole vehicle as it scuttled up the road, that Moira and Naomi were quite relieved when the ordeal was over and they could look forward to hopping back onto their normal bikes.

We left San Juan Island in thick fog and Anacortes on Fidalgo Island did not have much better weather to offer. However, we did have the opportunity to cross Deception Pass (a strait, not a mountain pass thankfully!) and its bridge connecting the three islands: Fidalgo, the tiny Pass Island and Whidbey Island. Our wise decision to walk bikes along the pavement instead of cycling the very narrow bridge (and therefore holding up all the impatient traffic) turned out to be rather a palaver when the pavement also became so narrow the panniers had to be squeezed through the post and the railing!

An easy cycle, clearer weather and a lovely sunset welcomed us into Coupeville. The pretty centre of town was clearly not happening so we headed off to the Tyee Motel and Pub where we met a variety of characters over the course of the evening. Our first encounter was with Mickey who seemed particularly interested in Moira’ conversation. He’d obviously been in the bar for a while, with his wife of course, and encouraged Paul and Tim to take on the local pool hustlers. Ryan was in Coupeville with his brother for a custody court hearing for his kids (he was 22!). On hearing that Naomi was English, he enquired if that was in France. Indeed he admitted to suffering from the deficiencies of the American education system. Paul and Tim remained on the pool table until the end of the night and retired reigning champions of Coupeville, more down to their competitors’ inebriation than anything else!

Whidbey Island is a very strange shape with lots of different geographical and weather features, as we discovered the next day.
With the sun shining down, a deserted straight road led to Fort Casey and Crockett Lake, a designated tsunami danger area with lots of houses built right on little more than a sandbar separating the sea and the lake (the mind boggles at insurance premiums!). We zigzagged our way back and forth across the island which became very hilly, and through the intermittent fog until we hit Greenbank Farm for yet another well-timed and delicious lunch. Most delightful was the Loganberry Pie. The main road finally took us to Clinton where we said goodbye to our final island and ferried over to the US mainland at Mukilteo, where we enjoyed Janet and John’s (our friend, Monika’s mother and step-father) kind hospitality and the excellent view from their wonderful house overlooking Puget Sound, Whidbey Island AND the Olympic Mountains!

Of course, the next morning we couldn’t see a thing out the window. The thick fog later subsided revealing a gunmetal grey sky as we made our way through Seattle’s suburbs to the much further than anticipated town of Woodinville, where, after a whopping hill into a very wooded neighbourhood, we were treated to more generous hospitality on the part of Tim and Paul’s cousin Sue and her husband Rick. The route into downtown Seattle was far leafier and more pleasant than expected following the Sammamish River Trail and the Burke-Gilman Trail around Lake Washington while trying to spot Bill Gates’ massive house on the opposite shores, unfortunately without success.

We managed to hit downtown Seattle without getting wet, and checked into the 1950s style Moore Hotel in the centre. After getting thoroughly distracted in REI (Recreational Equipment Inc), we found ourselves very hungry back on the streets. Desperation led us to a lively bar with loud music where an Asian type menu was an offer - bars and restaurants in the States seem to have merged into one thing these days. Any chance of conversation was totally quashed when Mr DJ hit the decks and we ate our food between two pumping throbbing speakers blaring house music. However, there was lots of eye candy and excellent people-watching to keep us all entertained.

The next day we met up with Leann (Monika’s sister, Janet and John’s daughter) and her fiancee JP for a good look round the sights and shops of Seattle. Highlights included a fantastic shop called Lucy where N bought a whole new set of clothes she only just managed to squeeze into her panniers, Tim bought a camera and Paul started thinking about buying an Ipod (a sin in N’s book, whose first and only experience with an Ipod was thoroughly disappointing) but decided at the time to stick to a couple of beers instead which served as good preparation for the Arctic Monkeys gig that evening. At which we heard more British accents in one place than we had since we’d left the UK! While Tim and Paul bopped to the beats, Naomi watched from the balcony (where she could actually see something) and Moira wisely went to see the Martha Graham Dance Group instead.

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October 5, 2007 by Naomi.

Apologies for the delay in updating the blog but Paul and I are suffering from a spot of writer’s block, which is not helped by having to cycle over 100km a day! Currently on the Oregon coast. Watch this space for more details, shortly (but not too soon!)…

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