Gold Beach to Brookings

Saturday 13 June

Last night's pizza was huge so the doggie bag made a good chaff bag for breakfast the following morning. The pizza was washed down by the browish liquid from the coffee drip machine in the room so I was ready for the road nice and earlyish. By 10 I had left Gold Beach in my wake and headed out to Brookings via Pistol River and not a lot else. Not a lot else that is if you don't count the biggest climb of the trip so far followed up by a series of lesser climbs all the way to Brookings.

The bike gearing is playing up a bit because I suspect the cables are stretching so I pretended to be the knowledgeable bike mechanic and did a bit of 'tweaking', luckily I managed to get back a few of the gears I had lost. The reward for 300 vertical metres was a huge downhill for nearly 7 ks. Woo hoo! Today I am riding along the coast but in forests of many different kinds of conifers and oaks which cascade down the steep slope to the road then on to the cliffs over the ocean - very spectacular. I have lost count of the different kinds of wildflowers including many hued Rhododendrons and Irisis. At home the Patterson's Curse is the weed of choice, here it is the sweet pea. They are everywhere and like the Patterson's Curse, they are spectacular but try convincing the locals of that. Today must be also be a rest day for RV's because the traffic is fairly light. All good!

Spectacular scenery today with Arch Rock, Thunder Rock Cove and Natural Bridges Cove taking a lot of beating. This is a superb part of the coast, very rugged and breathtaking.

Thomas Creek Bridge soars across the creek at a height 358 feet, over 100 metres. If I don't stop stopping to take photos I will never get anywhere before dinner time.

Brookings appears up ahead and I find my home for the night - the Harris Beach State Park. This park is spectacular, set in soaring redwood trees with manicured lawns, screens of native shrubbery and is picture perfect. The price for this - $4 for a tent site including free showers and cheap washing facilities. I pitch my tent in a grove of trees with two others, all of us cyclists. The park ranger is giving a talk tonight on the various different types of Seals and Sea Lions that can be seen along the coast so wander up there with my bottle of wine and am treated to an excellent hour long presentation.

The town of Brookings is less than a Kilometre away so I cycle into town and track down an excellent seafood meal - scallops and of course clam chowder. I found a bike shop just before dinner and the mechanic did his magic on my gears for the princely sum of $10. Today was my last full day of riding in Oregon because the California border is only about 6 miles (less than 10 ks down the road).

Sunday 14 June

Who needs an alarm clock when, just above my flimsy abode, there is a bird convention happening. I swear that there must be a million of the things blissfully caroling away just above my head. As I emerge from my tent this is bourne out by the tell tale signs of their guano which, assisted by gravity, forms large patches on my formerly pristine tent. Fortunately the bike, sheltered by a picnic bench remains unblemished.

Who can guess what country we are in?

Fuelled by two very tasty cinnamon buckwheat pancakes and several cups of coffee I head out to Hgy 101 and California. Crossing the border into California is a bit daunting. I am asked to stop by no less than 4 uniformed blokes with buzz cuts and canons strapped to their hips. Y'all carrying any fruit. Feeling guilty for harbouring an innocent bag of nuts (with dried berries) in my bag I quickly and with shaking voice declare the nuts but deny giving succour to any potential terrorist apples or bananas. Y'all have a nice day now and willcum to Keliforniiiia. Deeply relieved I pedal off into the distance wondering what would have happened if I had been caught carrying contraband.

Prior to the border I had been cycling along Oceanview Drive, a quiet detour from the busy Highway 101, my last views of the Oregon coast were spectacular and viewed in almost total solitude. Was this a road or a wide bike path? I merge back with 101 for the short trip past my welcome party and then Oceanview Drive appears again so I spend the next 15 ks or so back in peaceful rural country with little or now traffic. Oceanview Drive is a misnomer though, there is no view of the ocean. Nevertheless the ride was enjoyable, the weather has warmed up and I am cycling in front of a 15 kph tailwind. Just before the little town of Smith River my newest friend Kell, sidled up to me and we have a pleasant chat about cycling and the beautiful countryside that we are in.

Fortunately Kell is not a a cycling evangelist but a 74 year old retiree from San Francisco. He is very fit and riding a bike that looks as if it would float away if his weight wasn't holding it down. He jokingly tells me that he gets on his bike when his long suffering wife needs a break and spends a fair bit of time cycling the coast and other regions around California. We share a cup of coffee and a chat while Shirley, the proprietor, cleans up around us. Apparently it is after closing time and her soaps are waiting for her. Oblivious to this Kell and I chew the fat so Shirl resigned to the fact that we have settled in for a while finally turns on the telly and watches Days or some other long drawn out soapie.

Finally, after our coffee either evaporates or we unknowingly drink it, Kell and I part. He is over the horizon in next to no time leaving me to dawdle along smelling the roses. Back to 101 for another short stint then onto Lake Earl Drive for the final 14 miles into Crescent City during which I pass the State Penitentiary near Fort Dick (an interesting juxtaposition) where regularly spaced signs tell me not to stop for hitch-hikers and to roll up my windows. Having no room for the former and a dearth of the latter I increase my cadence and speed past Lake Earl.

Crescent City is a reasonable sized town with all the necessary shops and a great selection of restaurants. I stumble across an RV park that has 'tent sites' where, after selecting one of only two shaded sites I stumble round filling up gopher holes and smoothing the hills that used to be the holes. Finally with tent flushed clean of its little avian messages and erected I set out to explore the the town.

My restaurant of choice, seafood of course, nestles on a breakwater that stops the harbour from leaking out into the sea. There are a number of noisy sea lions sunning themselves on large pontoons put there for that purpose. They occasionally let out grunting sighs and slither into the water for a snack and after a turn around the harbour fly out of the water landing on their bellies on the pontoon or on some other poor unfortunate sea lion that was foolish enough to stay to close to the edge.

I earned my dinner tonight as the restaurant is three k's from the camp ground so the walk there and back was good for the appetite. Coincidentally, there is an excellent ice cream parlour on the way home. When I ordered my ice cream the person behind the counter excitedly said, 'you are an Australian aren't you?'. I replied in the affirmative, asking her how she knew because most people think I am a pom kiwi (for some strange reason). She said, 'oh no, I know you are an Australian because my children watch the Wiggles and you sound just like them'. Sigh! Where is my bright yellow skivvy?

Looking North from the edge of Crescent City, the rocks don't stop surfers from doing what they do.

Monday 15 June

Rest day today so there is time to wander around and look at the town. Washing done and all my house work finished I set out in search of breakfast, which I found not far from my abode. Finding a computer shop I convince the proprietor to download all my photos to a DVD for safety. An hour and $20 later I have checked my email, downloaded all my pics, done a few facebook essentials etc. With the disc safely posted to Deb for safe keeping I find a great little italian caf where I settle in for lunch. This place has a wonderful old bar that was the counter in the original restaurant in the town. The original was owned by the grandfather of the current proprietor so he is fiercely proud of it and his business. The food was pretty good as well.

The lighthouse on Battery Point is connected to the mainland by an isthmus which, in the manner of all good isthmuses, (or is that Isthmi?) is under water as the tide flows and is only exposed for short periods depending on the height of the tide. Just re-read that last para - d'uh! Alas every time I was there the Point was cut off so I didn't get to see the lighthouse. The coast is rugged here and the long breakwater provides a man made safe harbour for pleasure craft, fishing boats and the coastguard.

The next difficult choice for the day is, where do I have dinner. Fortunately or unfortunately, this is made easy, today is Monday and most places are closed but I did manage to find a place, obviously run by heathens who believed that the masses needed to be fed even on a belated day of rest. It was also fortunate that they knew how to cook. The food was excellent and the service was as good. I won't tell you what I had but I am sure you can guess.

Crescent City closes down on monday evening (and possibly every other evening as well) so there was nothing for it but to retire to the campground with the remains of my bottle of red and a good book. Life is so hard!

Coos Bay to Bandon and beyond

Thursday 11 June

Relaxed after my 'rest' day, a trailer full of lovely clean clothes and all my camping gear and with breakfast done and dusted, I head off into the fine misty rain heading for Bandon. Yep, rain! The clouds that have been ever present since leaving Eugene have finally decided to do their thing. The rain stayed with me for about an hour, just long enough to keep me cool while I climbed the 'hill from hell' or is that to hell. Yep it was, 'to hell' because after a short sharp downhill there was another climb. Ok so it was only 160 metres up but it was straight up and it happened three times in the space of 12 ks. Granny gear was the only way to go for the best part of two hours. Ok so I will stop complaining now.

My reward was a long slow downhill ride all the way from the bottom of the last roller coaster to Bandon where I had planned to stop for lunch. Over lunch I had a good look at the map and decided that the 80 - 100 k days were folly. At the rate I was going I would be at my destination about 4 days early and I was missing too much along the way. So, short lunch turned into long lunch and a search for a bed for the night. I found what was to be my cheapest motel on the Oregon Coast and one of the best.

Bandon is a wonderful town/city/village sitting on the south side of the Coquille River and by the Ocean. Originally the town was built on stumps set into the mud flats beside the river because the original settlers didn't want to cut down the trees that grew right to the river and the ocean. Then along came 'progress'. So many restaurants; so little time.

Sigh! I settled for lunch at 'Brewed Awakenings' where I was waylaid by the guy who owned the place. He had been to Australia in 2007 with whistle stops in Sydney and Melbourne and two weeks in Surfers Paradise. We had a great chat and he gave me some route advice about the next leg of the trip.

Dinner was one of those unforgettable meals; clam chowder (of course) and the best clam chowder of the trip so far, followed by mussels sauteed in sherry. God I love food! Well I had to walk that lot off so I took a long stroll around town looking at the lovely old victorian buildings and the remains of the old town.

Friday 12 June

Disaster! I decided to top up the air in the bike tyres and when I went to remove the pump the valve stem came out with it. This leaves a hole in the tube considerably bigger than an air molecule so all the little bleeders rushed out. OK, no big deal, I can change a tube! Well, getting the (rear) wheel off was a breeze gravity did most of the work, changing the tube etc was just as easy, now for the really easy part ... . Well let me tell you that getting the wheel back on and the brake cable back into the puller was just so much fun I spent two hours doing it. There was no way that brake cable was going back in the puller. Finally I had to disconnect the cable etc. Note to self:- do a PP maintenance course and take the bike along with me. When I got the whole thing back together and the wheel moving around without rubbing on the brake pad I was ready to chuck the whole rig into the river and find a bus.

Finally on my way to Port Orford. There is a god; the road was a gentle climb out of town for about ten miles followed by a long 10 mile down slope another gentle climb, more downhill, all this assisted by a lovely tail wind. Langlois and Denmark fell behind me in a flash and before you know it I am in Port Orford. I had planned to stay in here but there was a dearth of camping sites and almost no decent motels so I stopped momentarily, had some lunch looked at some of the local sites and soldiered on with Gold Beach firmly in my sights.

Just before Port Orford another cyclist pulled up beside me and settled in for a chat. Lawrence was travelling light but had come all the way from Seattle. After a while I asked him if he was camping or staying in motels. He told me that he was staying with family all the way. 'That's great', I replied, how lucky for you to have family all along the coast. 'All gods children are my family', came his reply. Oh no! Someone else about to set out to save me from hellfire and damnation. Is this the dreaded cycling evangelist? Lesson learned from Corvallis, I fell quiet and let Lawrence soliloquise, which he did for a short while till I think he realised that I was too far in the hellfire and damnation mire to be saved. With a bless you and a good luck Lawrence was off over the horizon. I suppose I can be thankful that he didn't lean over and try to kiss me on both cheeks.

Port Orford is home to Battle Rock which has a great story attached to it. The scenery was as good as you get along the Oregon Coast. The buildings were a bit weather worn though and there were no decent eateries. A shadow flashed from my right and Lawrence pedalled furiously out of a church driveway, dashed across the street and into another church yard. I guess Lawrence is a bit of a tart when it comes to which church he finds his family in. Hey maybe he is raiding poor boxes. He waved at me as he whizzed past just as I left town after my lunch and I heard a 'Jesus has indeed given us a glorious day', so there must have been some decent churches in town. Huey had turned out a great day, 20k tailwind, the sun had come out from behind its veil of cloud and fog and the road had enough potholes in it to allow me to hone my cycling skills. Praise the lord.

I digress however, the road out of Pt Orford and beyond the point of no return I spied a huge monolith rising out of the sea and into the heavens (to retain the biblical tone). This was one huge mountain and no road snaking around it's precipitous seaward flank. My legs turned to jelly, sorry Jell O, as I pondered the climb over this behemoth. Mt Humbug was, as it turned out, aptly named.

As I approached, the road sloped gently down hill and remained that way. For over half an hour I rode on a sloping to flat road under an arbour of oaks and birch trees, along two gurgling rivers until I emerged sometime later at beach level with a long straight run to Gold Beach. There was lots of oh'ing and ah'ing, many photographs. This was probably one of the most picturesque parts of my ride so far.

A long flat wide bridge delivered me into Gold Beach where my choice was, a motel in town with hot and cold running water and a huge soft bed or a wilderness camp ground up a 5 mile unsealed road and nothing but a pit dunny and cold (non potable water) and plenty of bugs. Tough choice but the motel won out so I settled in there and washed the grease from this morning's little mechanical marathon off my hands and face. Durning my post prandial stroll I was treated to a glorious pacific sunset.

Ahhhhh!

Captions:

Near Port Orford - flowers by he road.

Looking at the beach from the saddle of my bike about halfway up the first hill out of Coos Bay.

Some of the poles that supported the old town of Bandon.

Battle Rock at Port Orford.

Typical Beach vista with sea stack and many rocks.

Left - Looking at Humbug Mountain (ok so it wasn't really that big).

Right - Back at Humbug Mountain after I snuck past.

Bottom - Gold Beach Warf back to bridge.