Bike - Specialized Roubaix
Day's run: 67.8 miles
Total elapsed miles: 665.4
July 13, 1961 - Standish-Hickey S.P. - Anchor Bay
Got an 8:30 start after breakfast of Grape Nuts. Climbed over Coast Range - roads are uh-troshus, full of vertical and lateral curves and rough. Bought honey spread, loaf of sourdough bread and margarine in Ft. Bragg and lunched and dined on it (some left!). High fogginess and cool here. Replaced one spoke. NW tail winds should be with me from now on. Made 97 miles. Bought Raisin Bran for breakfasts to come. Am in private camp area in Anchor Bay. Sign says $1.50 per car. They haven't tried to make me pay yet.
Should camp at Stinson Beach S.P. tomorrow. About 15 miles from Golden Gate. Very mountainous route, they tell me.
P.S. Rear brake out of it. The cable slipped or was broken in mountains. Front one doing nicely. Maybe I will get it fixed in Frisco or just let it go 'til I get home.
Joined Sean for a breakfast burrito at 9:00 AM and got under way at about 9:40. Weather sunny but cool, breeze still favorable as we hit the freeway again. Bob joined us twice, once on the open road shortly after we stopped to talk to two heavily-laden German men, Stephan and a younger one, possibly his son, en route to Los Angeles. They wanted to know if it would be more advisable to continue south on 101 or to take Hwy 1 over to the coast. I suggested that if they were truly touring and not just eating up miles, then go to the coast. We did not see them again, so I don't know what they chose to do.
We caught up with Bob again at Leggett, where Hwy 1 begins, and topped up fluids. Sean and I took a little detour to see the famous drive-through redwood tree and photograph each other going through it. Then we hit the road in earnest, summiting the coast range at 1:45 and reveling in roughly 50 minutes of fast downhill work before hitting the last rise before the coast. After about 25 minutes, we were on top of it and in 10 more, back on the shores of the Pacific. The road is still full of vertical and lateeral curves, but no longer rough at all.
The next hour or so was of serious up-and-downhill work and then we pulled into the only country store on the coast before Fort Bragg, in a wide place in the road called Westport. There on the porch, resting and enjoying cool drinks and pizza, were three men already known to Sean from farther up the coast. Two were young middle-aged touring bike riders (both on Surleys, a very popular brand, from what I've seen) and the third, to my surprise, was a 18 year-old named Chandler, my surprise both because he was going down the coast from Seattle to San Diego on a four-foot long skateboard, with pack on back, and because the road repair traffic control man who I spoke to while waiting on 101 on approach to Crescent City had told me about him. Chandler told me he will be written up in "Cement Wave," a skateboarding magazine. I am not surprised about that part, at least.
Sean told Chandler he thought he was crazy. Chandler said he thought we were crazy. Sean countered, "But we're on bikes," to which Chandler replied, "But you guys are OLD!"
We pulled into Fort Bragg at about 5:30 and I found Bob in a comfortable room at the Best Western on the northern edge of town. Sean also checked in and we'll make space for him in the Jeep to drive to the eating, drinking and shopping venues a little bit south.
It's good to be on Rte 1 again. Part of the inspiration for my 1961 trip was a National Geographic article of that or an earlier year named "California's Wonderful One," memorable to this day for its deeply saturated Kodacolor prints of the great scenery that makes the route wonderful. The day's run also puts us at about the halfway point between the Oregon state line and San Francisco. This also came as a bit of a surprise to me because I have been working from detailed Adventure Cycling maps of sections of the coast only, not seeing the big picture. Also, getting over the coast range from Legget to the Pacific is a kind of watershed, in that it is physically the highest point on the whole route as well as some distance into the second, "downhill" portion of my ride. Day 11 is winding down; 9 to go.
Until tomorrow, in the neighborhood of Ft. Ross.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Day 10 - Eureka, CA - Garberville, CA
Day 10 Eureka, CA - Garberville, CA
Bike - Specialized Roubaix
Day's run - 68.2 miles
Total elapsed miles - 596.7
July 12, 1961 - Burlington to Standish-Hickey
Got started at ten-15 and hot by then. Bought quart of milk and Grape Nuts and rolls for breakfast. Broke another spoke and replaced it. Rode 'til one o'clock when it got too hot so stopped and spent three hours in and around the Eel River. Rode from three to six-thirty and am now camped in Standish-Hickey S.P. Mosquitoes pretty bad. Cooked chicken-rice soup for supper. Redwoods very pretty. Time for campfiire gathering. I am at the junction of Hwys 1 and 101. I get back to the cool coast tomorrow. Over 100 here today. Tentatively plan to get home Wednesday night. Made only 47 miles.
As in 1961, today was everything that yesterday wasn't: dry and fast. Launched at 12:05 after a visit to The Blue Ox, a still-functioning antique woodworking facility that, among other things, produces custom gingerbread, filigree work and wood gutters for Victorian restorations, including of the California State Capitol in Sacramento.
The breeze was fair and the roads (mostly US 101) gently rising to ascend the downward course of the valleys of the Eel River and its eastern branch. Made more miles in the first hour (14, including a couple of miles of stop-and-go in the city (of 26,128, not what I said in my last post) did in the first two-plus hours yesterday, and ended up in Garbersville, at the end of the day's run of 68.2 miles, at 5:30.
En route, at about 2:40, I overtook another solitary rider on a freeway bridge, and we ended up hanging and riding together until our arrival at Garbersville. Having checked into our motel, the Sherwood Forest (a better establishment than last night's, with a certain rustic charm) on my recommendation, he joined Bob and me for dinner of pasta in an establishment a minute's walk away (in G'ville, nothing is more than two minutes' walk away - in fact, the main street ends in a turn-around that shunts you back toward the freeway entrance). My riding companion, Sean Kelly, an early-forties, free-lance, high-end bike repairman from Denver, Colorado, is on his first multi-day ride. He shipped his Salsa adventure bike from Denver, along with trailer, to Astoria, flew to Portland, and bussed down to Astoria. After the first day or so, he lost the trailer, commissioning a bike shop to ship in home for him. We turned out to be a pretty good match, with his extra 35-40 pounds of bike and gear traded off against my 25 years, and plan to meet tomorrow for breakfast and to continue our ride over the 1800-foot crest of the Coast Range.
Sean is plugged in, ordering the delivery of a dinner to his girlfriend back in Denver on his PDA while partaking of pasta and salad with Bob and me. After he apparently fixed the shifting and skipping problem on my Giant Innova with a few twists of an adjustment screw and some liberal shots of WD-40 into the shifters and cables, I invited him for a nightcap at the Branding Iron Saloon, two minutes away from our lodging.
Will make reservations in Fort Ross, back on the coast, in the morning.
Three things come to mind as different from 50 years ago:
--The roads are a lot better, with far more vehicle-bicycle separation.
--There's a lot more awareness of the threat of tsunamis. Every lowlying coastal town displays signs warning of the hazard and advising when you have gained enough elevation to avoid it. There was a massive tsunami on the central Oregon coast in 1700, triggered by a Richter nine earthquake in the Cascadia subduction zone, and it could happen again any day. Crescent City, our overnight place the night before last, suffered damage and deaths both following the Good Friday Alaskan earthquake of 1964 and the March 2011 Japanese quake and tsunami.
--The population is much more diverse. In 1961, if it wasn't brown and white or salmon, it wasn't food. Now, there's a Mexican restaurant in every town and village, including Garbersville. Last night in Eureka, our Mexican restaurant server was Cambodian (she said there are four Cambodian families in Eureka) and we drove by a Pho house this morning while looking for a bike shop and a Bank of America.
Until tomorrow.
Bob
Bike - Specialized Roubaix
Day's run - 68.2 miles
Total elapsed miles - 596.7
July 12, 1961 - Burlington to Standish-Hickey
Got started at ten-15 and hot by then. Bought quart of milk and Grape Nuts and rolls for breakfast. Broke another spoke and replaced it. Rode 'til one o'clock when it got too hot so stopped and spent three hours in and around the Eel River. Rode from three to six-thirty and am now camped in Standish-Hickey S.P. Mosquitoes pretty bad. Cooked chicken-rice soup for supper. Redwoods very pretty. Time for campfiire gathering. I am at the junction of Hwys 1 and 101. I get back to the cool coast tomorrow. Over 100 here today. Tentatively plan to get home Wednesday night. Made only 47 miles.
As in 1961, today was everything that yesterday wasn't: dry and fast. Launched at 12:05 after a visit to The Blue Ox, a still-functioning antique woodworking facility that, among other things, produces custom gingerbread, filigree work and wood gutters for Victorian restorations, including of the California State Capitol in Sacramento.
The breeze was fair and the roads (mostly US 101) gently rising to ascend the downward course of the valleys of the Eel River and its eastern branch. Made more miles in the first hour (14, including a couple of miles of stop-and-go in the city (of 26,128, not what I said in my last post) did in the first two-plus hours yesterday, and ended up in Garbersville, at the end of the day's run of 68.2 miles, at 5:30.
En route, at about 2:40, I overtook another solitary rider on a freeway bridge, and we ended up hanging and riding together until our arrival at Garbersville. Having checked into our motel, the Sherwood Forest (a better establishment than last night's, with a certain rustic charm) on my recommendation, he joined Bob and me for dinner of pasta in an establishment a minute's walk away (in G'ville, nothing is more than two minutes' walk away - in fact, the main street ends in a turn-around that shunts you back toward the freeway entrance). My riding companion, Sean Kelly, an early-forties, free-lance, high-end bike repairman from Denver, Colorado, is on his first multi-day ride. He shipped his Salsa adventure bike from Denver, along with trailer, to Astoria, flew to Portland, and bussed down to Astoria. After the first day or so, he lost the trailer, commissioning a bike shop to ship in home for him. We turned out to be a pretty good match, with his extra 35-40 pounds of bike and gear traded off against my 25 years, and plan to meet tomorrow for breakfast and to continue our ride over the 1800-foot crest of the Coast Range.
Sean is plugged in, ordering the delivery of a dinner to his girlfriend back in Denver on his PDA while partaking of pasta and salad with Bob and me. After he apparently fixed the shifting and skipping problem on my Giant Innova with a few twists of an adjustment screw and some liberal shots of WD-40 into the shifters and cables, I invited him for a nightcap at the Branding Iron Saloon, two minutes away from our lodging.
Will make reservations in Fort Ross, back on the coast, in the morning.
Three things come to mind as different from 50 years ago:
--The roads are a lot better, with far more vehicle-bicycle separation.
--There's a lot more awareness of the threat of tsunamis. Every lowlying coastal town displays signs warning of the hazard and advising when you have gained enough elevation to avoid it. There was a massive tsunami on the central Oregon coast in 1700, triggered by a Richter nine earthquake in the Cascadia subduction zone, and it could happen again any day. Crescent City, our overnight place the night before last, suffered damage and deaths both following the Good Friday Alaskan earthquake of 1964 and the March 2011 Japanese quake and tsunami.
--The population is much more diverse. In 1961, if it wasn't brown and white or salmon, it wasn't food. Now, there's a Mexican restaurant in every town and village, including Garbersville. Last night in Eureka, our Mexican restaurant server was Cambodian (she said there are four Cambodian families in Eureka) and we drove by a Pho house this morning while looking for a bike shop and a Bank of America.
Until tomorrow.
Bob
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Day 9 - Crescent City, CA - Eureka, CA
Day 9 - Crescent City, CA - Eureka, CA
Bike(s) First - Giant Innova - 37 miles
Second - Specialized Roubaix - 43.3 miles
Day's Run: 80.3 miles
Total elapsed miles - 528.5
July 11, 1961 - Slept in this morning and got a very late start at 11:00. Replaced yesterday's spoke in Orick and broke another 5 miles later. Made disgustingly slow time most of day. Fixed spoke in Trinidad (last one). Reached Eureka at 4:10 and was directed to P.O. where I got mail and $20.00. Haven't broken first one yet. Really made time from Eureka on up here to Burligton S.P.. Averaged 15 mph uphill. Got ride last few mies on a flatbed truck uphill. S.P. full again. Squatted in a burned-out tree stump. Made popcorn, went to campfire circle. Took sponge bath, washed out wool socks.
P.S. Bought ten spokes in Eureka. Hope tires last 250 miles to S.F.
I recall well that cheating uphill ride. An advanced-middle aged working couple, the female half of which decided I should be a Mountie and repeated her suggestion several times in a somewht strident voice several times during my time in the cab.
Made disgustingly slow time on June 28, 2011 as well, also getting of at 11:00, this time after a visit to the local commercial aquarium. The first leg, beginning just a couple of miles from the motel, ridden in a light rain, was on the Giant hybrid and took me over the second-highest summit of the ride, a headland of about 1,250 feet. Going up was a grind and coming down was harrowing, with the pavement being wet, the shoulder narrow, the white fog line likely slippery and trucks and motor homes nipping eagerly at my heels.
Made it in one piece, however, and caught up wth Bob in the burg of Klamath, where I replenished fluids and ate a couple of breakfast bars. Several more long but more gradual climbs later, all on the interstate, Bob and I met up again in Orick for lunch.
Met my only other rider of the day in the cafe, Robert, 56, northbound. Robert's clothes, Robert's bike-trailer rig and Robert's person had clearly been well-used. Not only did Robert have no fixed itinerary, he paid no attention to speeds and days' runs. I don't know if he was literally homeless or not, but he clearly spent a lot of his life sitting on his bike and sleeping on the ground. We had a pleasant chat at the luncheon counter.
After one more climb and partial descent on the interstate I turned off onto the Prairie Creek Redwoods scenic route. After a grueling 30-minute climb I was rewarded with a gentle six-mile downgrade through redwood forests - wet, cool, verdant, sweet-smelling, it was exactly what a primeval forest should look and feel like.
I took another alternate, "scenic" route off the interstate through Trinidad. The first four miles were all right - gently rolling, little traffic. But then the road literally began to break up, with stretches of gravel and eight-foot wide pavement on the edge of a sea cliff, all in a dismal North Coast drizzle. I eventually made my way back to Interstate 101, with its smooth pavement, gentle grades and wide, bike-friendly shoulders and made the last 20 uneventful and, admittedly, monotonous miles to the watefront town (12,000-plus population) of Eureka in about 80 minutes, finding Bob in our budget motel (where we reconfirmed you pretty much get what you pay for) at 8:00 P.M.
Got two clear reminders I've made it to California: the first scent and sight of eucalyptus trees; looking for local TV news and getting San Francico
Bike(s) First - Giant Innova - 37 miles
Second - Specialized Roubaix - 43.3 miles
Day's Run: 80.3 miles
Total elapsed miles - 528.5
July 11, 1961 - Slept in this morning and got a very late start at 11:00. Replaced yesterday's spoke in Orick and broke another 5 miles later. Made disgustingly slow time most of day. Fixed spoke in Trinidad (last one). Reached Eureka at 4:10 and was directed to P.O. where I got mail and $20.00. Haven't broken first one yet. Really made time from Eureka on up here to Burligton S.P.. Averaged 15 mph uphill. Got ride last few mies on a flatbed truck uphill. S.P. full again. Squatted in a burned-out tree stump. Made popcorn, went to campfire circle. Took sponge bath, washed out wool socks.
P.S. Bought ten spokes in Eureka. Hope tires last 250 miles to S.F.
I recall well that cheating uphill ride. An advanced-middle aged working couple, the female half of which decided I should be a Mountie and repeated her suggestion several times in a somewht strident voice several times during my time in the cab.
Made disgustingly slow time on June 28, 2011 as well, also getting of at 11:00, this time after a visit to the local commercial aquarium. The first leg, beginning just a couple of miles from the motel, ridden in a light rain, was on the Giant hybrid and took me over the second-highest summit of the ride, a headland of about 1,250 feet. Going up was a grind and coming down was harrowing, with the pavement being wet, the shoulder narrow, the white fog line likely slippery and trucks and motor homes nipping eagerly at my heels.
Made it in one piece, however, and caught up wth Bob in the burg of Klamath, where I replenished fluids and ate a couple of breakfast bars. Several more long but more gradual climbs later, all on the interstate, Bob and I met up again in Orick for lunch.
Met my only other rider of the day in the cafe, Robert, 56, northbound. Robert's clothes, Robert's bike-trailer rig and Robert's person had clearly been well-used. Not only did Robert have no fixed itinerary, he paid no attention to speeds and days' runs. I don't know if he was literally homeless or not, but he clearly spent a lot of his life sitting on his bike and sleeping on the ground. We had a pleasant chat at the luncheon counter.
After one more climb and partial descent on the interstate I turned off onto the Prairie Creek Redwoods scenic route. After a grueling 30-minute climb I was rewarded with a gentle six-mile downgrade through redwood forests - wet, cool, verdant, sweet-smelling, it was exactly what a primeval forest should look and feel like.
I took another alternate, "scenic" route off the interstate through Trinidad. The first four miles were all right - gently rolling, little traffic. But then the road literally began to break up, with stretches of gravel and eight-foot wide pavement on the edge of a sea cliff, all in a dismal North Coast drizzle. I eventually made my way back to Interstate 101, with its smooth pavement, gentle grades and wide, bike-friendly shoulders and made the last 20 uneventful and, admittedly, monotonous miles to the watefront town (12,000-plus population) of Eureka in about 80 minutes, finding Bob in our budget motel (where we reconfirmed you pretty much get what you pay for) at 8:00 P.M.
Got two clear reminders I've made it to California: the first scent and sight of eucalyptus trees; looking for local TV news and getting San Francico
Monday, June 27, 2011
Day 8 - Gold Beach, OR to Crescent City, CA
Bike - Specialized Roubaix
Day's run - 58 miles
Total elapsed miles - 448.2
Time in saddle - N/A
Average speed - N/A
July 10, 1961 - Humbug to Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park
Was windy at first then quit for good. Very mountainous coast along S. Oregon. Highway badly torn up in places. Bought pancakes for breakfast. Met same family with trailer about five times. Three spokes broken on hard side, two on easy side. Reached border at 2:50 P.S.T. Got caught in mountains south of Crescent City after dark trying to reach state park. Met people in trailer again who were fixing flat tire. They fed me and I gave them tire patch, then they brought me last six miles. Will reach Eureka in the morning. Made 113 miles!
Ah, to have the energy and endurance of a 16 year-old again! Made only 58 miles today. Coast is still mountainous (surprise, surprise) but the beginning miles, over the last of the Oregon coast's 800-foot plus-headlands, wasn't all that bad. Asphalt was so fresh that I had to wait for ten minutes at the summit with cars and trucks to get around a paving crew on the down leg, and the average grade was probably no more than three to four per cent. Coast road was rolling, but worst part of the day's ride was the southerly breeze, the harbinger of the low-pressure area that was moving ashore and bringing the rain that is now falling on Crescent City.
Met up with Bob once a few miles before Brookings for an energy-bar-and-fluids replenishment
and again in Brookings proper for a sit-down Mexican lunch.
Crossed the "border" into California at 1:45 - two states down, three quarters of the last one to go!
This time, Adventure Cycling's advice to leave 101 for alternate routes was sound. Not that 101 was that bad, even if they were working on the shoulders, but the alternates were smooth, flat and bucolic. The coastal plain widens here for the first time since Astoria, and is extensively farmed. Smith River, the only town between the border and Crescent City, is, it turns out, the lily capital of the northwest.
Rode past the entrance to level five, "supermax," Pelican Bay State prison, also a major contributor to the local economy. Already met two hotel admin staff who are related to prison employees.
Saw only two other riders today, just a little way north of Brookings. Older than those I have so far met , but equally heavily loaded, the couple spoke a foreign language - Swiss German, I suspect - and exhibited no interest in speaking with me, or perhaps lacked the ability to do so.
As I have no interest in riding in rain and against wind tomorrow morning, especially with the chain-slipping problem on the fendered hybrid, we plan to sleep in and perhaps visit the aquarium a couple miles north of our Best Western lodgings until the rain tapers off and the southerly breeze blows out.
In 1961, I entertained myself by reading and vocalizing road signs backward, a totally useless skill I have kept alive to this day:
Pots rof snairtsedep
Tfel nrut no tfel worra ylno
Rewols ciffart peek thgir
Now I anagramize my first and last names, giving such results as:
Bret Rusatino
Rebus Orttina
and my favorite, Snout Rarebit
Hope to make it to, or just short of, Eureka tomorrow.
Until then,
Rustin Boater
Day's run - 58 miles
Total elapsed miles - 448.2
Time in saddle - N/A
Average speed - N/A
July 10, 1961 - Humbug to Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park
Was windy at first then quit for good. Very mountainous coast along S. Oregon. Highway badly torn up in places. Bought pancakes for breakfast. Met same family with trailer about five times. Three spokes broken on hard side, two on easy side. Reached border at 2:50 P.S.T. Got caught in mountains south of Crescent City after dark trying to reach state park. Met people in trailer again who were fixing flat tire. They fed me and I gave them tire patch, then they brought me last six miles. Will reach Eureka in the morning. Made 113 miles!
Ah, to have the energy and endurance of a 16 year-old again! Made only 58 miles today. Coast is still mountainous (surprise, surprise) but the beginning miles, over the last of the Oregon coast's 800-foot plus-headlands, wasn't all that bad. Asphalt was so fresh that I had to wait for ten minutes at the summit with cars and trucks to get around a paving crew on the down leg, and the average grade was probably no more than three to four per cent. Coast road was rolling, but worst part of the day's ride was the southerly breeze, the harbinger of the low-pressure area that was moving ashore and bringing the rain that is now falling on Crescent City.
Met up with Bob once a few miles before Brookings for an energy-bar-and-fluids replenishment
and again in Brookings proper for a sit-down Mexican lunch.
Crossed the "border" into California at 1:45 - two states down, three quarters of the last one to go!
This time, Adventure Cycling's advice to leave 101 for alternate routes was sound. Not that 101 was that bad, even if they were working on the shoulders, but the alternates were smooth, flat and bucolic. The coastal plain widens here for the first time since Astoria, and is extensively farmed. Smith River, the only town between the border and Crescent City, is, it turns out, the lily capital of the northwest.
Rode past the entrance to level five, "supermax," Pelican Bay State prison, also a major contributor to the local economy. Already met two hotel admin staff who are related to prison employees.
Saw only two other riders today, just a little way north of Brookings. Older than those I have so far met , but equally heavily loaded, the couple spoke a foreign language - Swiss German, I suspect - and exhibited no interest in speaking with me, or perhaps lacked the ability to do so.
As I have no interest in riding in rain and against wind tomorrow morning, especially with the chain-slipping problem on the fendered hybrid, we plan to sleep in and perhaps visit the aquarium a couple miles north of our Best Western lodgings until the rain tapers off and the southerly breeze blows out.
In 1961, I entertained myself by reading and vocalizing road signs backward, a totally useless skill I have kept alive to this day:
Pots rof snairtsedep
Tfel nrut no tfel worra ylno
Rewols ciffart peek thgir
Now I anagramize my first and last names, giving such results as:
Bret Rusatino
Rebus Orttina
and my favorite, Snout Rarebit
Hope to make it to, or just short of, Eureka tomorrow.
Until then,
Rustin Boater
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Day 7 - 10 miles north of Bandon to Gold Beach, OR
Bike - Specialized Roubaix
Miles ridden - 63.0
Total elapsed miles - 390.4
Time in saddle - N/A. Can't zeroize cycloputer
Average speed - ditto
July 9, 1961 - Florence, OR to Port Orford, OR
Got late start. Woman gave me two eggs and I cooked on their stove. Replaced spokes and changed tire. I hope I can buy one in Eureka. Front one wearing down. Wind still blowing. Fishing captain told me this is the second day of a seven-day nor'wester. Stopped in Coos Bay park and museum. On standard time here. Am camped in Humbug Mt. State Park six miles S. of Port Orford. Fine place and free for me. Had hot shower and (washed some clothes). Soup now cooling. Should reach California tomorrow. Made exactly 100 miles. A century!
About those spokes: I had bought my bike new the previous summer, but it was already pretty beaten up. In early March, 1961, a junior-year classmate, red-haired, freckeled Ralph, an "anything you can do I can do better" kind of guy, got wind of one of my weekend adventures and, assuring me he was up to the challenege, asked if he could join me on my next one. I suggested a day ride to the San Bernardino Mountains, about a 120-mile round trip. I said I would check with my parents if he could sleep over so we could get an early start, and all was arranged. We left well before dawn, flashlights on handlebars, and we were approaching Riverside at first light. Ralph, who was riding a nine-speed, three-speed, conversion street bike, said that he was having trouble keeping up, likely because his lubricating oil was freezing, and asked if he could ride my bike.
Accepting a lift in a pick-up, we finally reached the recreation area, but, finding it abandoned on this off-season weekend, quickly began our descent. A couple of hours later, as night was falling, we were rolling down the main street of Norco at about 30 miles per hour. I was on the left, Ralph on the right, when, suddenly, we saw the pavement narrow, in an hourglass pattern, and we were at a railroad grade crossing. Banking to the left, I stayed on pavement, but Ralph was doomed: I watched as the front wheel of my bike struck the near rail and crumpled, and as Ralph and my bike went airborne, doing a
full endo. Somehow, Ralph missed the far rail, and the bike, Ralph still in the saddle, landed on its rear wheel before falling on its side and coming to a rest.
Ralph, or his father, bought me a new front wheel, but balked at a new rear wheel or a new fork, which had been slightly bent to the left. We did not insist, instead trying to get the flat spot out of the rear wheel and retune it. However, we failed, and broken rear spokes, always on the more heavily-loaded right, derailleur, side, of the wheel, plagued me for the remaining lifespan of the bike.
The denouement of the crash story was even more interesting. The occupants of the police station just up the street from the grade crossing came to the rescue and took us in. Within minutes, however, they discovered that Ralph was a Missing Person. Sure that his parents would not approve of his accompanying me on my day ride to the San Berdoos, he had simply not told them of his intentions. The ride home with Ralph's father was memorable for its silence.
A great ride day. My growing seating discomfort apparently remedied by a saddle readjustement (tipping it forward a few degrees) and the wearing of two pairs of tights, I was a new man. Winds continued fresh and fair, the road gently rolling, and I made it from yesterday's end point to our first waypoint in a little over two hours. Bob met me there and we had a pleasant and informative visit to the Port Orford Lifeboat Museum before I partook of a light lunch at a Mexican cafe on 101.
The next two hours to our end point in Gold Beach were just as pleasant. Grades were manageable and I just took it easier, gearing down earlier and further and not worrying about keeping speeds up. The ride from where the highway curves inland from the coast and passes east of Humbug Mountain
was particularly rewarding. This stretch of coast was most unlike the area north of Florence. Far less traffic - a full minute could pass without my meeting or being passed by a vehicle, and while just as scenic, was both less daunting, less... intimidating, and less pretentious from the tourism point of view.
Met two other southbound riders after Humbug Mounain. Toma, originally from Bulgaria, and Adam, from Pittsburgh, PA. Like all other riders I've met, they were heavily-loaded, self-supporting, cruisers and had no fixed schedule. Adam planned to reach the Mexican border sometime this summer and Toma had to be in Las Vegas around the middle of August. They were also, like other riders, confused about where I was coming from - so lightly loaded - and where I was going, and I had to fill them in. Adam asked me what has changed most in the last 50 years. I said roads are far better but that there is about the same amount of traffic - just that before it was more cars pulling trailers, some campers, and nothing like today's RV's on the road. They, like me in 1961, were working hard at staying on budget by finding low- or no-coast campsites. Got their photo but can't upload just yet.
Pulled into the Motel Six just across the Rogue River (a great whitewater dory and jet boat venue) on final approach to Gold Beach at a little after 5:00 and, as agreed, Bob had already gotten a room. After a most enjoyable and highly therapeutic Jacuzzi we went for drinks and seafood (what else, pray tell?) at the Porthole, a minute two from our lodgings.
Tomorrow, by early afternoon (depending on my start time): California!!
Miles ridden - 63.0
Total elapsed miles - 390.4
Time in saddle - N/A. Can't zeroize cycloputer
Average speed - ditto
July 9, 1961 - Florence, OR to Port Orford, OR
Got late start. Woman gave me two eggs and I cooked on their stove. Replaced spokes and changed tire. I hope I can buy one in Eureka. Front one wearing down. Wind still blowing. Fishing captain told me this is the second day of a seven-day nor'wester. Stopped in Coos Bay park and museum. On standard time here. Am camped in Humbug Mt. State Park six miles S. of Port Orford. Fine place and free for me. Had hot shower and (washed some clothes). Soup now cooling. Should reach California tomorrow. Made exactly 100 miles. A century!
About those spokes: I had bought my bike new the previous summer, but it was already pretty beaten up. In early March, 1961, a junior-year classmate, red-haired, freckeled Ralph, an "anything you can do I can do better" kind of guy, got wind of one of my weekend adventures and, assuring me he was up to the challenege, asked if he could join me on my next one. I suggested a day ride to the San Bernardino Mountains, about a 120-mile round trip. I said I would check with my parents if he could sleep over so we could get an early start, and all was arranged. We left well before dawn, flashlights on handlebars, and we were approaching Riverside at first light. Ralph, who was riding a nine-speed, three-speed, conversion street bike, said that he was having trouble keeping up, likely because his lubricating oil was freezing, and asked if he could ride my bike.
Accepting a lift in a pick-up, we finally reached the recreation area, but, finding it abandoned on this off-season weekend, quickly began our descent. A couple of hours later, as night was falling, we were rolling down the main street of Norco at about 30 miles per hour. I was on the left, Ralph on the right, when, suddenly, we saw the pavement narrow, in an hourglass pattern, and we were at a railroad grade crossing. Banking to the left, I stayed on pavement, but Ralph was doomed: I watched as the front wheel of my bike struck the near rail and crumpled, and as Ralph and my bike went airborne, doing a
full endo. Somehow, Ralph missed the far rail, and the bike, Ralph still in the saddle, landed on its rear wheel before falling on its side and coming to a rest.
Ralph, or his father, bought me a new front wheel, but balked at a new rear wheel or a new fork, which had been slightly bent to the left. We did not insist, instead trying to get the flat spot out of the rear wheel and retune it. However, we failed, and broken rear spokes, always on the more heavily-loaded right, derailleur, side, of the wheel, plagued me for the remaining lifespan of the bike.
The denouement of the crash story was even more interesting. The occupants of the police station just up the street from the grade crossing came to the rescue and took us in. Within minutes, however, they discovered that Ralph was a Missing Person. Sure that his parents would not approve of his accompanying me on my day ride to the San Berdoos, he had simply not told them of his intentions. The ride home with Ralph's father was memorable for its silence.
A great ride day. My growing seating discomfort apparently remedied by a saddle readjustement (tipping it forward a few degrees) and the wearing of two pairs of tights, I was a new man. Winds continued fresh and fair, the road gently rolling, and I made it from yesterday's end point to our first waypoint in a little over two hours. Bob met me there and we had a pleasant and informative visit to the Port Orford Lifeboat Museum before I partook of a light lunch at a Mexican cafe on 101.
The next two hours to our end point in Gold Beach were just as pleasant. Grades were manageable and I just took it easier, gearing down earlier and further and not worrying about keeping speeds up. The ride from where the highway curves inland from the coast and passes east of Humbug Mountain
was particularly rewarding. This stretch of coast was most unlike the area north of Florence. Far less traffic - a full minute could pass without my meeting or being passed by a vehicle, and while just as scenic, was both less daunting, less... intimidating, and less pretentious from the tourism point of view.
Met two other southbound riders after Humbug Mounain. Toma, originally from Bulgaria, and Adam, from Pittsburgh, PA. Like all other riders I've met, they were heavily-loaded, self-supporting, cruisers and had no fixed schedule. Adam planned to reach the Mexican border sometime this summer and Toma had to be in Las Vegas around the middle of August. They were also, like other riders, confused about where I was coming from - so lightly loaded - and where I was going, and I had to fill them in. Adam asked me what has changed most in the last 50 years. I said roads are far better but that there is about the same amount of traffic - just that before it was more cars pulling trailers, some campers, and nothing like today's RV's on the road. They, like me in 1961, were working hard at staying on budget by finding low- or no-coast campsites. Got their photo but can't upload just yet.
Pulled into the Motel Six just across the Rogue River (a great whitewater dory and jet boat venue) on final approach to Gold Beach at a little after 5:00 and, as agreed, Bob had already gotten a room. After a most enjoyable and highly therapeutic Jacuzzi we went for drinks and seafood (what else, pray tell?) at the Porthole, a minute two from our lodgings.
Tomorrow, by early afternoon (depending on my start time): California!!
Day 6 - Heceta Head tunnel to 10 miles N. of Bandon
Day 6 - June 25, 2011. Heceta Head tunnel to 10 miles N. of Bandon
Bike - Specialized Roubaix
Day's run - 76.4 miles
Average speed - 13.7 mph (zeroized cycloputer)
Time in saddle - 5:33:10
Total miles - 327.4
A long, hard day. Saddled up at about 10:00 and headed south. Got off the headland and hit some miles of flat land as far as Florence, when a long stretch of climbing and rolling hills began. Passed one rider - a single man in his 20s, en route to the Mexican border. Like every one else I've met, he's on a more relaxed schedule than I am - he left Vancouver on the 12th of June. Caught up with Bob in Reedsport and had lunch, then continued south on more friendly terrain as far as North Bend, which I reached somewhat before 4:00. Wind continues to provide a kick in the pants - according to my hand-held nautical anemometer, at one reading the wind was NW at 15 kts-plus. Met and pitied several northbound riders. I can't imagine why anyone would willingly ride south to north along this coast, at least not at this time of year.
In spite of its name, Hwy 101 is bike-friendly. Amply wide and smoothly paved, at least outside the towns, it has well-delineated shoulder bike lanes. Traffic was not a problem today, either. Very few trucks, a moderate number of cars, campers, motor homes and SUVs, and lots of motorcycles. Groups of six to twelve riders passed in one direction or the other every couple of minutes and our Coos Bay motel is hosting several heavy-set, Vietnam-era-aged, men and their wives, some in the required leather, with their Harley V-twins parked outside their doors.
Should you ever pass this way on a bicycle, do not fall for Adventure Cycling and the Oregon DOT's signage suggestions that you leave 101 and head south on the Scenic Route, via the coastal fishing town of Charleston. You make a several hundred-foot climb onto a ridge as you leave Charleston and the only scenes over the next 16-plus miles are of the winding, twisting, rising and falling, coarse asphalt ahead of you. Bob had gone ahead to find no "room at the inn" in Bandon and we had to return to Coos Bay to find overpriced but comfortable lodging.
Should you ever pass this way, I suggest dinner at La Costa, an unpretentious Mexican/Peruvian
restaurant well to the west of 101, at the corner of Broadway and Newmarket.
#1: Dipping the wheel in Oak Harbor, WA, June 20:
#2: Megler-Astoria Bridge, in far background (duplicated below)
#3: Aunt Vivian, Cousin Jackie, Shelton, WA, June 21
#4: Arch Cape tunnel, OR, June 23
#5: Oretown start, June 24
#3:
We plan to phone ahead tomorrow morning for reservations in Gold Beach, 70 miles to the south. We're about 40 miles ahead of my rough, theoretical itinerary. I hope I can stay on schedule. Today was a challenge.
Bike - Specialized Roubaix
Day's run - 76.4 miles
Average speed - 13.7 mph (zeroized cycloputer)
Time in saddle - 5:33:10
Total miles - 327.4
A long, hard day. Saddled up at about 10:00 and headed south. Got off the headland and hit some miles of flat land as far as Florence, when a long stretch of climbing and rolling hills began. Passed one rider - a single man in his 20s, en route to the Mexican border. Like every one else I've met, he's on a more relaxed schedule than I am - he left Vancouver on the 12th of June. Caught up with Bob in Reedsport and had lunch, then continued south on more friendly terrain as far as North Bend, which I reached somewhat before 4:00. Wind continues to provide a kick in the pants - according to my hand-held nautical anemometer, at one reading the wind was NW at 15 kts-plus. Met and pitied several northbound riders. I can't imagine why anyone would willingly ride south to north along this coast, at least not at this time of year.
In spite of its name, Hwy 101 is bike-friendly. Amply wide and smoothly paved, at least outside the towns, it has well-delineated shoulder bike lanes. Traffic was not a problem today, either. Very few trucks, a moderate number of cars, campers, motor homes and SUVs, and lots of motorcycles. Groups of six to twelve riders passed in one direction or the other every couple of minutes and our Coos Bay motel is hosting several heavy-set, Vietnam-era-aged, men and their wives, some in the required leather, with their Harley V-twins parked outside their doors.
Should you ever pass this way on a bicycle, do not fall for Adventure Cycling and the Oregon DOT's signage suggestions that you leave 101 and head south on the Scenic Route, via the coastal fishing town of Charleston. You make a several hundred-foot climb onto a ridge as you leave Charleston and the only scenes over the next 16-plus miles are of the winding, twisting, rising and falling, coarse asphalt ahead of you. Bob had gone ahead to find no "room at the inn" in Bandon and we had to return to Coos Bay to find overpriced but comfortable lodging.
Should you ever pass this way, I suggest dinner at La Costa, an unpretentious Mexican/Peruvian
restaurant well to the west of 101, at the corner of Broadway and Newmarket.
#1: Dipping the wheel in Oak Harbor, WA, June 20:
#2: Megler-Astoria Bridge, in far background (duplicated below)
#3: Aunt Vivian, Cousin Jackie, Shelton, WA, June 21
#4: Arch Cape tunnel, OR, June 23
#5: Oretown start, June 24
#3:
We plan to phone ahead tomorrow morning for reservations in Gold Beach, 70 miles to the south. We're about 40 miles ahead of my rough, theoretical itinerary. I hope I can stay on schedule. Today was a challenge.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Day 5 - Oretown, OR to Heceta Head tunnel
Day 5 - 24 June, 2011 - Oretown, OR - Heceta Head tunnel, OR
Bike - Specialized Roubaix
Day's run 77 miles - total elapsed miles, 328
Average - not available; unable to zero out cycloputer
July 8, 1961 - Cooked rice for breakfast, left camp at 9:15. Made real good time all day. Hit real hard mountains near Otis. Offered ride but refused when I found I was 1/2 mile from top. North wind is fab, you louse*. Passed Sea Lion Cave. Pulled into Honeyman State Park near Florence. Full up - no pay. Am squatting between two other camps. Neighbors feeding me like a king. Sirloin steak, potatoes, vegetables, etc. I need it. Rode 117 miles. Got to get home before tires wear out (haha).
*Fabulous. A Dad'ism. My father, a Jack of many trades, finished his naval career as a Senior Chief Journalist. An inveterate wordsmith, he was a lifelong letter-to-the editor writer and a pubslished poet and novelist.
I seem to have gotten fed a lot. I don't recall any of my hosts showing much interest in how old I was or how I kept in touch with my parents, or even if I had any. Earlier on this day, while I was lying on my back on a roadside-rest picnic table recovering from a hard climb, a distinguished-looking senior citizen regarded me for half a minute, reached into his pocket, withdrew a fifty-cent piece and pressed it into my hand.
Bob and I left Seal Rock around 9:00, had a solid breakfast in Newport, got the Jeep's oil changed and arrived at yesterday's end point at 11:30. After a photo opportunity (some of which will be uploaded and attached when I find and buy the camera-computer connector I forgot to pack), headed south again at 11:40. First climb, over a seaward-pointing ridge - two slow miles up and two fast miles down - wasn't so bad. You hit your rhythm and tell yourself this, too, will end, and it does, before you know it. From there, over the next three hours, the northwest wind, as well as the traffic, built. As for the wind, it makes all the difference in the world. If I were condemned to ride south to north, I would abandon or kill myself. As for traffic, as long as it stays to the left of the bike lane or shoulder divider line, it really doesn't bother me. In fact, it's especially gratifying to overtake in the towns the cars and trucks that passed you on the road in.
Had a great burger in a non-chain establishment in Depoe Bay and pushed on to a state park near Bob's cousin Jean's. Called and told Bob I though I was good for two more hours and 27 miles and asked him to meet me at 6:00 just before the Heceta Head tunnel.
Passed the same pair of riders twice, once between Newport and Seal Rock and again, after my phone and bathroom break, on the beautiful, relatively new bridge that spans Alsea waters on the approach to Waldport. We stopped and chatted a few minutes. They, a man of maybe 40 and another in his 20's, were heavily laden and on a less ambitious schedule than mine, having left Vancouver, BC well over a week ago and not planning to arrive in San Diego until about 23 June. Just after Yachats (pronounced YaHATS, locals tell me), and as I was beginning to think seriously about the upcoming 450-foot climb to round Cape Perpetua, I was overtaken by 19 year-old Alex, a Seattlite off-and-on college student on his way south on a voyage of undetermined destination or duration, on a well-packed hybrid. Pleasant, animated and possessed of considerable charm, he was a welcome companion on the next 20 miles of low-traffic, scenic and rugged coast - the prettiest and most difficult part of Oregon, Alex quoted a volunteer bike service-center worker back in Yachats as saying. Thanks to the inspiration of each other's company and a by-now extremely fresh (as we mariners like to understate) afternoon northwesterly, we literally sailed over Cape Perpetua and burned up the remaining 18 or so miles before my rendevous-with-Bob point in not much over an hour. The only thing that disturbed me about his company was his insistence on riding to the left of the white line, in the traffic lane, so we could visit as we rode.
If the wind holds I hope to make 80 or so miles again tomorrrow.
Tot morgen
Bob
Bike - Specialized Roubaix
Day's run 77 miles - total elapsed miles, 328
Average - not available; unable to zero out cycloputer
July 8, 1961 - Cooked rice for breakfast, left camp at 9:15. Made real good time all day. Hit real hard mountains near Otis. Offered ride but refused when I found I was 1/2 mile from top. North wind is fab, you louse*. Passed Sea Lion Cave. Pulled into Honeyman State Park near Florence. Full up - no pay. Am squatting between two other camps. Neighbors feeding me like a king. Sirloin steak, potatoes, vegetables, etc. I need it. Rode 117 miles. Got to get home before tires wear out (haha).
*Fabulous. A Dad'ism. My father, a Jack of many trades, finished his naval career as a Senior Chief Journalist. An inveterate wordsmith, he was a lifelong letter-to-the editor writer and a pubslished poet and novelist.
I seem to have gotten fed a lot. I don't recall any of my hosts showing much interest in how old I was or how I kept in touch with my parents, or even if I had any. Earlier on this day, while I was lying on my back on a roadside-rest picnic table recovering from a hard climb, a distinguished-looking senior citizen regarded me for half a minute, reached into his pocket, withdrew a fifty-cent piece and pressed it into my hand.
Bob and I left Seal Rock around 9:00, had a solid breakfast in Newport, got the Jeep's oil changed and arrived at yesterday's end point at 11:30. After a photo opportunity (some of which will be uploaded and attached when I find and buy the camera-computer connector I forgot to pack), headed south again at 11:40. First climb, over a seaward-pointing ridge - two slow miles up and two fast miles down - wasn't so bad. You hit your rhythm and tell yourself this, too, will end, and it does, before you know it. From there, over the next three hours, the northwest wind, as well as the traffic, built. As for the wind, it makes all the difference in the world. If I were condemned to ride south to north, I would abandon or kill myself. As for traffic, as long as it stays to the left of the bike lane or shoulder divider line, it really doesn't bother me. In fact, it's especially gratifying to overtake in the towns the cars and trucks that passed you on the road in.
Had a great burger in a non-chain establishment in Depoe Bay and pushed on to a state park near Bob's cousin Jean's. Called and told Bob I though I was good for two more hours and 27 miles and asked him to meet me at 6:00 just before the Heceta Head tunnel.
Passed the same pair of riders twice, once between Newport and Seal Rock and again, after my phone and bathroom break, on the beautiful, relatively new bridge that spans Alsea waters on the approach to Waldport. We stopped and chatted a few minutes. They, a man of maybe 40 and another in his 20's, were heavily laden and on a less ambitious schedule than mine, having left Vancouver, BC well over a week ago and not planning to arrive in San Diego until about 23 June. Just after Yachats (pronounced YaHATS, locals tell me), and as I was beginning to think seriously about the upcoming 450-foot climb to round Cape Perpetua, I was overtaken by 19 year-old Alex, a Seattlite off-and-on college student on his way south on a voyage of undetermined destination or duration, on a well-packed hybrid. Pleasant, animated and possessed of considerable charm, he was a welcome companion on the next 20 miles of low-traffic, scenic and rugged coast - the prettiest and most difficult part of Oregon, Alex quoted a volunteer bike service-center worker back in Yachats as saying. Thanks to the inspiration of each other's company and a by-now extremely fresh (as we mariners like to understate) afternoon northwesterly, we literally sailed over Cape Perpetua and burned up the remaining 18 or so miles before my rendevous-with-Bob point in not much over an hour. The only thing that disturbed me about his company was his insistence on riding to the left of the white line, in the traffic lane, so we could visit as we rode.
If the wind holds I hope to make 80 or so miles again tomorrrow.
Tot morgen
Bob
Day 4 - Cannon Beach to Oretown
Day4 - Cannon Beach - Oretown
71.0 miles
Bikes - first 40 miles, Giant Innova
second 31.0 miles, Specialized Roubaix
Time in saddle - about 5:30
Total elapsed miles: 251
July 7, 1961 - Got late start. Bought breakfast in Ilwaco. Pancakes.
Reached Megler at 10:00.
Caught ferry just right! Paid 25 cents.
Hills along coast very hard. Looked like rain for a while but cleared up. Almost stopped at Oswald West State Park but pushed on 36 miles more. Rode 86 miles today for an average of 100 for 2 days. May be home in two weeks yet. Camped in roadside rest area four miles south of Tillamook at 8:45.
P.S.: Changed spoke. Bought extras in Tillamook. Man gave me tea, pie, coffee. Some boys with their supervisor from McLaren School for Boys just brought me a plate of food, sandwich and Kool Aid which, naturally,I accepted.
Just cooked popcorn.
I don't know exactly when the Megler-Astoria ferry was replaced by the existing bridge. However, according to the "50 years Ago" column in the local paper we read this morning, they were drilling core samples for the footings for the bridge, so it must date from the early-mid sixties.
The man who gave me tea, pie and coffee was the owner of the one bike shop in town, He invited me into his kitchen after selling me my spokes. I wasn't able to determine if Tillamook's one bike shop now, Drake's, descended from the 1961 one. We couldn't find it and they didn't answer their phone. In later years McLaren School For Boys morphed into the Oregon state youth reformatory system. Seemed like decent enough boys. They invited me to play chicken-fight with them.
June 23, 2011: We spent the night in a Shilo Inn in Seaside and drove back down to Cannon Beach to look for bike shop, Found one, Mike's, just opening, who agreed to have a look at the Giant's drive chain and do the needful while we waited. Ninety minutes, $120, a new chain, cassette and center chain ring later we still had mysterious skipping and slipping in the second and third-highest gears on the rear sprocket, but as we were burning daylight I said I would work around it and began my ride in an intermittent drizzle.
Those hills along the coast are still very hard. After going through the Arch Cape tunnel - a slightly scary experience in spite of the flashing of rider-activate warning lights, the climb began in earnest. Afteer about the first 600 vertical feet (think eight or so consecutive Campground Hills), you get a downhill, then you do it again until you reach 800 feet and the Oswald West State Park overlook, providing a spectacular view down the coast. It is no longer a camping park.
After three grueling hours I finally caught up with Bob in Tillamook, where we had a sandwich at the Tillamook Cheese works, now a major tourist attraction. Some miles before the town I had overtaken three other southbound riders, a young man I'll call Blackbeard, who said he was "local," a 20-something woman laded with serious gear, and a man of about the same age, also heavily laden, and towing a one-wheel trailer. One of them was riding all the way to San Diego, the other only as far as Santa Barbara.
As the rain had long before stopped and the land flattened out, I switched to my Specialized, and with a steady breeze at my back, headed south on 101. By doing so I was also taking bike shop Mike's route advice and bypassing what would have been the second, and even more vertical, 800-foot headland of the day.
Several miles south of T'mook, as the highway began to rise, I saw a group of riders resting on the shoulder. As I got nearer I recognized Blackbeard and company. As I slowed and asked the obligatory, "Are you all right?", Blackbeard took a long draw on a stick of Oregon's best, exhaled, passed it on to the young woman and assured me things were cool.
After a relatively fast and comfortable 30 miles I rendevous'ed with Bob at 6:00 at a rest stop a little south of the crossroads of Oretown. We drove the 51 miles to Seal Rock and the lovely seaview home of Bob's cousin Jean and her husband Charlie. I had not seen Jean since Bob and I were still young, but did not get to renew my acquaintance with Charlie. Although retired from the U.S. Forest Service, he still works on an on-call basis managing firefighting crews around the country, this time combatting a blaze in Georgia's Okefenooke. We enjoyed an excellent, healthy, carb-rich dinner of Jean's tortilla soup and a good Oregon Chardonnay.
Tomorrow morning, Bob will shuttle me back north to today's end point and return to Seal Rock to spend the day woth Cousin Jean. I will ride the 51 miles back south and add another 20 or so before calling Bob to pick me up. I'm looking forward to another pleasant and restful evening and night chez Jean.
d
71.0 miles
Bikes - first 40 miles, Giant Innova
second 31.0 miles, Specialized Roubaix
Time in saddle - about 5:30
Total elapsed miles: 251
July 7, 1961 - Got late start. Bought breakfast in Ilwaco. Pancakes.
Reached Megler at 10:00.
Caught ferry just right! Paid 25 cents.
Hills along coast very hard. Looked like rain for a while but cleared up. Almost stopped at Oswald West State Park but pushed on 36 miles more. Rode 86 miles today for an average of 100 for 2 days. May be home in two weeks yet. Camped in roadside rest area four miles south of Tillamook at 8:45.
P.S.: Changed spoke. Bought extras in Tillamook. Man gave me tea, pie, coffee. Some boys with their supervisor from McLaren School for Boys just brought me a plate of food, sandwich and Kool Aid which, naturally,I accepted.
Just cooked popcorn.
I don't know exactly when the Megler-Astoria ferry was replaced by the existing bridge. However, according to the "50 years Ago" column in the local paper we read this morning, they were drilling core samples for the footings for the bridge, so it must date from the early-mid sixties.
The man who gave me tea, pie and coffee was the owner of the one bike shop in town, He invited me into his kitchen after selling me my spokes. I wasn't able to determine if Tillamook's one bike shop now, Drake's, descended from the 1961 one. We couldn't find it and they didn't answer their phone. In later years McLaren School For Boys morphed into the Oregon state youth reformatory system. Seemed like decent enough boys. They invited me to play chicken-fight with them.
June 23, 2011: We spent the night in a Shilo Inn in Seaside and drove back down to Cannon Beach to look for bike shop, Found one, Mike's, just opening, who agreed to have a look at the Giant's drive chain and do the needful while we waited. Ninety minutes, $120, a new chain, cassette and center chain ring later we still had mysterious skipping and slipping in the second and third-highest gears on the rear sprocket, but as we were burning daylight I said I would work around it and began my ride in an intermittent drizzle.
Those hills along the coast are still very hard. After going through the Arch Cape tunnel - a slightly scary experience in spite of the flashing of rider-activate warning lights, the climb began in earnest. Afteer about the first 600 vertical feet (think eight or so consecutive Campground Hills), you get a downhill, then you do it again until you reach 800 feet and the Oswald West State Park overlook, providing a spectacular view down the coast. It is no longer a camping park.
After three grueling hours I finally caught up with Bob in Tillamook, where we had a sandwich at the Tillamook Cheese works, now a major tourist attraction. Some miles before the town I had overtaken three other southbound riders, a young man I'll call Blackbeard, who said he was "local," a 20-something woman laded with serious gear, and a man of about the same age, also heavily laden, and towing a one-wheel trailer. One of them was riding all the way to San Diego, the other only as far as Santa Barbara.
As the rain had long before stopped and the land flattened out, I switched to my Specialized, and with a steady breeze at my back, headed south on 101. By doing so I was also taking bike shop Mike's route advice and bypassing what would have been the second, and even more vertical, 800-foot headland of the day.
Several miles south of T'mook, as the highway began to rise, I saw a group of riders resting on the shoulder. As I got nearer I recognized Blackbeard and company. As I slowed and asked the obligatory, "Are you all right?", Blackbeard took a long draw on a stick of Oregon's best, exhaled, passed it on to the young woman and assured me things were cool.
After a relatively fast and comfortable 30 miles I rendevous'ed with Bob at 6:00 at a rest stop a little south of the crossroads of Oretown. We drove the 51 miles to Seal Rock and the lovely seaview home of Bob's cousin Jean and her husband Charlie. I had not seen Jean since Bob and I were still young, but did not get to renew my acquaintance with Charlie. Although retired from the U.S. Forest Service, he still works on an on-call basis managing firefighting crews around the country, this time combatting a blaze in Georgia's Okefenooke. We enjoyed an excellent, healthy, carb-rich dinner of Jean's tortilla soup and a good Oregon Chardonnay.
Tomorrow morning, Bob will shuttle me back north to today's end point and return to Seal Rock to spend the day woth Cousin Jean. I will ride the 51 miles back south and add another 20 or so before calling Bob to pick me up. I'm looking forward to another pleasant and restful evening and night chez Jean.
d
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Day 3
Day 3 - 10 miles S of South Bend, WA to Cannon Beach, OR
Mileage - 54.8 Total elapsed mileage - 180.0 Saddle Time - about 3:50 Average Speed - about 15 mph
(cycloputer on Bike 2 does not show elapsed time or average speed - it does show 100ths of miles, though, which are encouraging to watch as they click off - every three pedal strokes each, on average)
Left from yesterday's end point at 11:15 AM and rendezvous'ed with Bob just short of the Columbia River bridge to Astoria at 1:30. Rendezvous point was Dismal Niche, a cove where Lewis and Clark took refuge from a violent and lengthy Columbia River-mouth storm in November 1804, on final approach to their wintering-over place. Drove over the bridge to Astoria where we (at least I) enjoyed a carb-rich lunch in an Italian restaurant on the main street of the old town, followed by a visit to the Columbia River Museum, an excellent venue for local-maritime-history buffs. Remounted at 3:45 and headed west, then south, on 101, favored by a NW wind, arriving at Cannon Beach at 5:45 after a moderate climb over the shoulder of the first of the many headlands than lie between me and northern California, more than 300 miles to the south.
Indeed, according to the countour legend on the Adventure Cycling map series for the Oregon leg of this ride, which looks something like a seisomograph printout for a Richter 8.9, between here and the California state line are more ascents and descents than I can count, including three of around 800 feet, one of 600 feet, seven of around 400 feet and about a dozen lower ones. If today's was typical, however, shoulders are wide and smooth and grades are manageable. And every ascent is guaranteed to be followed by a speedy and cooling descent!
Eating anough to keep my energy up, but not exaggeratring, and drinking a littrle wine with dinner. Don't know if I'll lose any weight on this ride, but I'll certainly not gain any. Ran the numbers once: if you take all the miles I've ridden in the last 17 years, convert them to minutes at an average of four minutes to the mile, multiply by about 13 calories burned per minute at 15 mph, that divide than number by 3,500, which is about the number of calories in a pound of body weight gained or lost, if I had consumed what I consumed but had not ridden at all, I would weight more than 800 pounds!
Bike #2:
Make and model: ca. 1992 Giant Innova hybrid.
Weight - about 27 pounds.
Gear - same as bike #1
Gearing and other equipment - 21-speed, triple elliptical chainring. One-piece Scott aero handlebars, giving me many hand-position options.
Tires: 700x35 Bontragers, at 75psi. Much softer ride than on Specialized Roubaix, and more resistant to punctures from shoulder debris..
One problem, though: when I picked my bikes up from Barry after a pre-ride check and service, I thought I heard him say the Giant "needed a new chain and cassette." Apparently, what he said was "needs," because it slips in almost all gear selections, if only while I'm starting from a dead stop. The first bike shop I come to, I'm going to see if they will do the job while we wait.
All for today. Hasta manana and about 70 miles down the road.
Bob
Mileage - 54.8 Total elapsed mileage - 180.0 Saddle Time - about 3:50 Average Speed - about 15 mph
(cycloputer on Bike 2 does not show elapsed time or average speed - it does show 100ths of miles, though, which are encouraging to watch as they click off - every three pedal strokes each, on average)
Left from yesterday's end point at 11:15 AM and rendezvous'ed with Bob just short of the Columbia River bridge to Astoria at 1:30. Rendezvous point was Dismal Niche, a cove where Lewis and Clark took refuge from a violent and lengthy Columbia River-mouth storm in November 1804, on final approach to their wintering-over place. Drove over the bridge to Astoria where we (at least I) enjoyed a carb-rich lunch in an Italian restaurant on the main street of the old town, followed by a visit to the Columbia River Museum, an excellent venue for local-maritime-history buffs. Remounted at 3:45 and headed west, then south, on 101, favored by a NW wind, arriving at Cannon Beach at 5:45 after a moderate climb over the shoulder of the first of the many headlands than lie between me and northern California, more than 300 miles to the south.
Indeed, according to the countour legend on the Adventure Cycling map series for the Oregon leg of this ride, which looks something like a seisomograph printout for a Richter 8.9, between here and the California state line are more ascents and descents than I can count, including three of around 800 feet, one of 600 feet, seven of around 400 feet and about a dozen lower ones. If today's was typical, however, shoulders are wide and smooth and grades are manageable. And every ascent is guaranteed to be followed by a speedy and cooling descent!
Eating anough to keep my energy up, but not exaggeratring, and drinking a littrle wine with dinner. Don't know if I'll lose any weight on this ride, but I'll certainly not gain any. Ran the numbers once: if you take all the miles I've ridden in the last 17 years, convert them to minutes at an average of four minutes to the mile, multiply by about 13 calories burned per minute at 15 mph, that divide than number by 3,500, which is about the number of calories in a pound of body weight gained or lost, if I had consumed what I consumed but had not ridden at all, I would weight more than 800 pounds!
Bike #2:
Make and model: ca. 1992 Giant Innova hybrid.
Weight - about 27 pounds.
Gear - same as bike #1
Gearing and other equipment - 21-speed, triple elliptical chainring. One-piece Scott aero handlebars, giving me many hand-position options.
Tires: 700x35 Bontragers, at 75psi. Much softer ride than on Specialized Roubaix, and more resistant to punctures from shoulder debris..
One problem, though: when I picked my bikes up from Barry after a pre-ride check and service, I thought I heard him say the Giant "needed a new chain and cassette." Apparently, what he said was "needs," because it slips in almost all gear selections, if only while I'm starting from a dead stop. The first bike shop I come to, I'm going to see if they will do the job while we wait.
All for today. Hasta manana and about 70 miles down the road.
Bob
Day 2
Shelton, WA to 10 miles south of South Bend, WA.
74.2 miles Total elapsed miles 125.5 5:22 hrs saddle time Average speed 13.8 mph
July 4, 1961: Spent most of day at Kenneth's. Went into Bremerton late afternoon and spent night at G-Ma's (Paternal, that is).
July 5, 1961: Went to Shelton with Jack (uncle, husband of my father's kid sister Vivian) at noon. Raining all morning. Spent pleasant afternoon with Cruickshank family.
July 6, 1961: Shelton to Ilwaco, Wn. First real day of the trip. Vivian packed me a lunch and I was off at 8:45, Made good time most of day. Had two hours of hard rain. Only feet got wet. Lunch in Raymond. Camped on beach at Ilwaco after searching for 90 minutes for "Fort Canby State Park." Supper was 15 cents' worth of grapes. Mosquitos ruined the night. Light sprinkles. Will buy breakfast this morn. Rode 115 miles.
A long, rather hard day. As in 1961, we drove to Shelton. Vivian (Jack passed away in 2003) was expecting us and we spent about a hour reminiscing, comparing photos, drinkng coffee and enjoying Poulsbo pastry. Vivian is well, as was the one daugher, Jackie, who joined us for a while. I believe I last saw Vivian in the late 1990s, and Jackie and I agreed we last met when I traveled to Poulsbo with my daughter Devon sometime in the 1980s.
Mounted up on the Specialized at 12:15 and pointed the front wheel south. Weather nice - low-mid 80s, little humidity, sunny. Roads mixed - two-lane with shoulder of varying width, often of very coarse asphalt. One several-mile stretch of freeway, which wasn't really bad - the shoulder is about 15 feet wide, clean and separated from the roadway by a rumble strip. And those semis roaring by at 70mph bring a great draft with them.
Rendezvous'ed with Bob for the first time in Elma a little before 2:00, watered up, replenished my power bar supply and took two Endurolytes.
Ride got more interesting as the temperature (and the elevation) rose. Either my memory has weakened over the last 50 years, the road has been re-routed or the mountains have grown, but I spent more time grinding slowly uphill than I recall doing in 1961.
Rendezvous'ed the second time at 5:00 in Raymond, wolfed down two DQ chili/cheese dogs and decided to add 15 miles to the day's run. First half was into a stiff afternoon sea breeze, second half again hilly, but it put me 15 miles ahead of my planned itinerary.
As there was no decent lodging in Raymond or South Bend, we motored down to Long Beach and checked into the Rodeway Inn. Long Beach is Washington's only Pacific beach resort town, but the OB in summer it ain't. We certainly did not need to email ahead for reservations, and finding a restaurant that stayed open past 8:00 PM was a problem.
AM Wednesday, June 22: Had a rough night. Slept poorly in spite of fatigue, suffered one massive thigh cramp. Today should be easier than yesterday. Flat or close to it all the way to Seaside, Oregon. Prevailing winds are west clocking to NW as the day advances. We'll drive back north to yesterday's end point and plan to rendezvous at the north end of the magnificently arched bridge spanning the Columbia to Astoria, Oregon. I do not plan to ride over it, even if it is permitted and possible to do so.
2011 bike #1:
Make and model: 2010 Specialized Roubaix road bike.
Weight: Bike - about 18 pounds
Gear - about one pound in seat bag, one pound in handlebar bag
Gearing: nine-speed Sram Red cassette and shifter, double chain ring with very small inside ring, providing wide range
Seat: after-market Selle San Marco Infiniti, men's
Until this evening, likely from Cannon Beach, Oregon.
--Bob
74.2 miles Total elapsed miles 125.5 5:22 hrs saddle time Average speed 13.8 mph
July 4, 1961: Spent most of day at Kenneth's. Went into Bremerton late afternoon and spent night at G-Ma's (Paternal, that is).
July 5, 1961: Went to Shelton with Jack (uncle, husband of my father's kid sister Vivian) at noon. Raining all morning. Spent pleasant afternoon with Cruickshank family.
July 6, 1961: Shelton to Ilwaco, Wn. First real day of the trip. Vivian packed me a lunch and I was off at 8:45, Made good time most of day. Had two hours of hard rain. Only feet got wet. Lunch in Raymond. Camped on beach at Ilwaco after searching for 90 minutes for "Fort Canby State Park." Supper was 15 cents' worth of grapes. Mosquitos ruined the night. Light sprinkles. Will buy breakfast this morn. Rode 115 miles.
A long, rather hard day. As in 1961, we drove to Shelton. Vivian (Jack passed away in 2003) was expecting us and we spent about a hour reminiscing, comparing photos, drinkng coffee and enjoying Poulsbo pastry. Vivian is well, as was the one daugher, Jackie, who joined us for a while. I believe I last saw Vivian in the late 1990s, and Jackie and I agreed we last met when I traveled to Poulsbo with my daughter Devon sometime in the 1980s.
Mounted up on the Specialized at 12:15 and pointed the front wheel south. Weather nice - low-mid 80s, little humidity, sunny. Roads mixed - two-lane with shoulder of varying width, often of very coarse asphalt. One several-mile stretch of freeway, which wasn't really bad - the shoulder is about 15 feet wide, clean and separated from the roadway by a rumble strip. And those semis roaring by at 70mph bring a great draft with them.
Rendezvous'ed with Bob for the first time in Elma a little before 2:00, watered up, replenished my power bar supply and took two Endurolytes.
Ride got more interesting as the temperature (and the elevation) rose. Either my memory has weakened over the last 50 years, the road has been re-routed or the mountains have grown, but I spent more time grinding slowly uphill than I recall doing in 1961.
Rendezvous'ed the second time at 5:00 in Raymond, wolfed down two DQ chili/cheese dogs and decided to add 15 miles to the day's run. First half was into a stiff afternoon sea breeze, second half again hilly, but it put me 15 miles ahead of my planned itinerary.
As there was no decent lodging in Raymond or South Bend, we motored down to Long Beach and checked into the Rodeway Inn. Long Beach is Washington's only Pacific beach resort town, but the OB in summer it ain't. We certainly did not need to email ahead for reservations, and finding a restaurant that stayed open past 8:00 PM was a problem.
AM Wednesday, June 22: Had a rough night. Slept poorly in spite of fatigue, suffered one massive thigh cramp. Today should be easier than yesterday. Flat or close to it all the way to Seaside, Oregon. Prevailing winds are west clocking to NW as the day advances. We'll drive back north to yesterday's end point and plan to rendezvous at the north end of the magnificently arched bridge spanning the Columbia to Astoria, Oregon. I do not plan to ride over it, even if it is permitted and possible to do so.
2011 bike #1:
Make and model: 2010 Specialized Roubaix road bike.
Weight: Bike - about 18 pounds
Gear - about one pound in seat bag, one pound in handlebar bag
Gearing: nine-speed Sram Red cassette and shifter, double chain ring with very small inside ring, providing wide range
Seat: after-market Selle San Marco Infiniti, men's
Until this evening, likely from Cannon Beach, Oregon.
--Bob
Monday, June 20, 2011
Day 1
July 3, 1961 - Left Chips's at 3:00. Caught ferries just right. Had heck of a time finding Kenneth's. Finally got in at 10:00.
Chips was my best friend in Oak Harbor from 5th through 7th grade. I found him in 2006, still managing the oldest grocery store in town, and had a pleasant visit. We exchanged Christmas cards through 2010 and I wrote him in early June saying I was coming back to OH and would like to have him see me off again (he refuses to own a computer). He did not answer my letter and I got a "no longer in service" message when I called on the 19th. When we got to OH this morning we found that the town had been Walmarted and Walgreened since my last visit and that Chips's old store was now a Dollar General. An era had ended.
Kenneth was my uncle, my father's kid brother. At about a quarter to ten I finally got up the nerve to knock on a rural door, and the pleasant occupant not only knew Uncle Kenneth - he was their mail carrier - but drove me and my rig there.
June 20, 2011 - Oak Harbor to Poulsbo. 51.3 miles on Specialized Roubaix. Dipped my front wheel in Oak Harbor at 10:40 AM and began the ride. Got to the ferry landing at 12:00. Bob caught up a quarter hour later and we got in line for the 1:30 sailing to Port Towsend. (There's only one ferry now, consolidating the previous routes). We had a pleasant crossing to a pleasant, historic and classic boat-oriented town (my kinda place!) but tarried not at all before heading south. Bob and I rendezvous'ed again a little before 4:00 at the west end of the Hood Canal bridge and linked up for the last time in Poulsbo at about 5:00. Found suitable and comfortable lodging and Bob relaxed and phoned home while I paid a call on first cousin Brian Austin (Kenneth's son - Kenneth died in the early 2000s) and his wife Gerrie. Brian is recovering from draconian but - so far - successful treatment for T-cell lymphoma and Gerrie is coping as best she can with partial hemiplegia from an operation gone bad some years ago. We had a good one-hour visit catching up on our respective situations and those of our families, then I returned to the hotel to make my evening call (East coast time evening, that is) to Lynda and fetch Bob for dinner at an informal but good seafood place on the waterfront.
Poulsbo has grown from a muddy backwater oyster-canning port of 3,000 souls to a bustling car- and boat-tourist destination of 9,000 in the last 50 years. Taking advantage of its Norwegian heritage and atmosphere and its day-cruising proximity to Bremerton and Seattle, it has made itself into a great place to visit and a great place to live. Just ask Brian and Gerrie!
My 1961 bike:
Make and model: Schwinn Continental, ten speed
Weight: ca. 36 pounds, stripped.
Gear: on rear rack, about eight pounds
on my back, in a woven hickory Ojibwa-style pack basket: about 25 pounds
Seat: leather, Brooks-type, ridden wet and thus molded into a rear end-fitting ridge
New price: $100
Condition: Not good. Wrecked the previous winter and indifferently repaired (more on this later)
Chips was my best friend in Oak Harbor from 5th through 7th grade. I found him in 2006, still managing the oldest grocery store in town, and had a pleasant visit. We exchanged Christmas cards through 2010 and I wrote him in early June saying I was coming back to OH and would like to have him see me off again (he refuses to own a computer). He did not answer my letter and I got a "no longer in service" message when I called on the 19th. When we got to OH this morning we found that the town had been Walmarted and Walgreened since my last visit and that Chips's old store was now a Dollar General. An era had ended.
Kenneth was my uncle, my father's kid brother. At about a quarter to ten I finally got up the nerve to knock on a rural door, and the pleasant occupant not only knew Uncle Kenneth - he was their mail carrier - but drove me and my rig there.
June 20, 2011 - Oak Harbor to Poulsbo. 51.3 miles on Specialized Roubaix. Dipped my front wheel in Oak Harbor at 10:40 AM and began the ride. Got to the ferry landing at 12:00. Bob caught up a quarter hour later and we got in line for the 1:30 sailing to Port Towsend. (There's only one ferry now, consolidating the previous routes). We had a pleasant crossing to a pleasant, historic and classic boat-oriented town (my kinda place!) but tarried not at all before heading south. Bob and I rendezvous'ed again a little before 4:00 at the west end of the Hood Canal bridge and linked up for the last time in Poulsbo at about 5:00. Found suitable and comfortable lodging and Bob relaxed and phoned home while I paid a call on first cousin Brian Austin (Kenneth's son - Kenneth died in the early 2000s) and his wife Gerrie. Brian is recovering from draconian but - so far - successful treatment for T-cell lymphoma and Gerrie is coping as best she can with partial hemiplegia from an operation gone bad some years ago. We had a good one-hour visit catching up on our respective situations and those of our families, then I returned to the hotel to make my evening call (East coast time evening, that is) to Lynda and fetch Bob for dinner at an informal but good seafood place on the waterfront.
Poulsbo has grown from a muddy backwater oyster-canning port of 3,000 souls to a bustling car- and boat-tourist destination of 9,000 in the last 50 years. Taking advantage of its Norwegian heritage and atmosphere and its day-cruising proximity to Bremerton and Seattle, it has made itself into a great place to visit and a great place to live. Just ask Brian and Gerrie!
My 1961 bike:
Make and model: Schwinn Continental, ten speed
Weight: ca. 36 pounds, stripped.
Gear: on rear rack, about eight pounds
on my back, in a woven hickory Ojibwa-style pack basket: about 25 pounds
Seat: leather, Brooks-type, ridden wet and thus molded into a rear end-fitting ridge
New price: $100
Condition: Not good. Wrecked the previous winter and indifferently repaired (more on this later)
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Arrival in Washington
June 19, 2011 - Arrived in Washington after an epic motor journey from Williamsburg via Nashville and took a room in Everett, about 90 minutes' drive from tomorrow's start point.
As our route took us within visitng distance of the family burial ground in Elmira, Missouri, NE of Kansas City, on Friday, we stopped and I laid flowers on my parents' and, appropriately, maternal grandparents' graves in the well-kept, very small-town, cemetery. We finished that day in Sioux City, Iowa, at 10:00 PM after two long detours occasioned by the closure of I-29 by Missouri River floodwaters (the most water since 1917 and sufficient to cover Nebraska, Iowa, Kansas and Missouri with six inches of water).
The rest of the trip was long and scenic but uneventful.
Old friend and support-driver-to-be Bob Vanderspek and I caught up on old times, solved several of America's political and economic problems and listened to two books on CD while appreciating the impressively enginered I-90 from Rapid City, SD, to Seattle, WA.
Capping the adventure was a brief visit Saturday afternoon to the Little Bighorn battlefield, between Garryowen and Crow Agency, in SE Montana.
Looking forward to dinner in the cafe across the street, a good, long, night's sleep (been getting up at 0530), and getting back in the saddle before noon tomorrow. Watch this space for the next 19-20 days!
As our route took us within visitng distance of the family burial ground in Elmira, Missouri, NE of Kansas City, on Friday, we stopped and I laid flowers on my parents' and, appropriately, maternal grandparents' graves in the well-kept, very small-town, cemetery. We finished that day in Sioux City, Iowa, at 10:00 PM after two long detours occasioned by the closure of I-29 by Missouri River floodwaters (the most water since 1917 and sufficient to cover Nebraska, Iowa, Kansas and Missouri with six inches of water).
The rest of the trip was long and scenic but uneventful.
Old friend and support-driver-to-be Bob Vanderspek and I caught up on old times, solved several of America's political and economic problems and listened to two books on CD while appreciating the impressively enginered I-90 from Rapid City, SD, to Seattle, WA.
Capping the adventure was a brief visit Saturday afternoon to the Little Bighorn battlefield, between Garryowen and Crow Agency, in SE Montana.
Looking forward to dinner in the cafe across the street, a good, long, night's sleep (been getting up at 0530), and getting back in the saddle before noon tomorrow. Watch this space for the next 19-20 days!
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Comments on photos
Forwarding photos from 1961, of the author, and a cartoon sketch from the same era. The photo of me and Schwinn Continental, with bike facing to my left, was taken in front of our Long Beach home. Judging from my relatively low body mass index, I suspect it was taken at ride's end. The other photo may have been taken at the house of one of my uncles in Washington in the first days of the ride. The cartoon is apocryphal. I might have drawn it myself, but I'm not sure. It could have been done by a friend with slightly better drawing skills than I have. It clearly refers to one of the several solo trips I made to the Mojave Desert in the winter between my buying the bike and the summer of '61. If the caption is illegible, it reads, "The Phantom Cyclist, or two months on the wheel."
Monday, June 13, 2011
First entry, 1961
I had lived in Oak Harbor from 1954-57, moved to Hawaii, living there from 1957-late 1958, when we moved to Long Beach, CA. I bought my ten-speed Schwinn Continental in the summer of 1960 and had probably ridden it close to 1,000 miles by the following summer, when I told my parents I wanted to take advantage of transport back to Oak Harbor and ride home. They readily agreed (believe it or not - I'm sometimes not sure I do) and I got a ride north from Long Beach to Lee Vining, California with my father's sister, Mildred, and her husband Chuck, who had spent a few days visting us in Long Beach, and were heading home to Sparks, Nevada. From Lee Vining, I would cross Yosemite via Tioga Pas and link up with my maternal grandparents, camping in Yosemite Valley with their trailer, and ride with them north to Oak Harbor. By some miracle, after 50 years and more moves than I can recall, my manuscript journal of the trip, except for several pages between the following entry and my departure from Oak Harbor, written in blue ballpoint of 4x6-inch sheets of complimentary Union Pacific Railroad stationery, survives:
Saturday (last one in June, 1961): Desert very hot. Had lunch in Lone Pine. Mildred, Chuck offered to take me to Lee Vining. "Not out of out way." Started up pass, found that it was better carying pack on back... I am now camped in a... meadow at the base of the real upgrade, six miles from Lee Vining. I waded through a quarter mile of knee-deep grass and I set up camp on the bank of a small river. It is a rod across and waist deep with a sandy and gravelly bottom. It is not rapid here and I am hidden from the road by bushes. I'm not in the park yet; I'm in Inyo National Forest. It is quite warm and light now at 8:30. Trout are breaking and I have lighted a smudge to drive away occasional gnats and mosquitoes. Tomorrow I will get over the pass one way or another and blissfuly consume my extra day. A trout fisherman just came up. A man can share his solitude. What more could there be in life?"
I in fact made it over 11,000-plus-foot Tioga Pass, accepting a ride in a pick-up the last half of the way, and arrived in Tuolumne Meadows by late afternoon. I locked my bike to a post, lashed my sleeping bag to the top of that pack, and hiked a couple of miles down the Tuolumne River and made camp. Before long a small group of 20-something hikers came along, stopped to chat and invited me to go with them to their rented cabin a little way up a branch stream. Did so, got fed and was given a bunk for the night. The next day I finished my ride across the park, reaching Yosemite Valley in the afternoon and locating my grandparents' camp. The following day, or possibly the next, we continued on our way to Washington, my bike in the trailer and me in the back seat of the Chevy.
Next post: June 20, 2011
July 3, 1961
Saturday (last one in June, 1961): Desert very hot. Had lunch in Lone Pine. Mildred, Chuck offered to take me to Lee Vining. "Not out of out way." Started up pass, found that it was better carying pack on back... I am now camped in a... meadow at the base of the real upgrade, six miles from Lee Vining. I waded through a quarter mile of knee-deep grass and I set up camp on the bank of a small river. It is a rod across and waist deep with a sandy and gravelly bottom. It is not rapid here and I am hidden from the road by bushes. I'm not in the park yet; I'm in Inyo National Forest. It is quite warm and light now at 8:30. Trout are breaking and I have lighted a smudge to drive away occasional gnats and mosquitoes. Tomorrow I will get over the pass one way or another and blissfuly consume my extra day. A trout fisherman just came up. A man can share his solitude. What more could there be in life?"
I in fact made it over 11,000-plus-foot Tioga Pass, accepting a ride in a pick-up the last half of the way, and arrived in Tuolumne Meadows by late afternoon. I locked my bike to a post, lashed my sleeping bag to the top of that pack, and hiked a couple of miles down the Tuolumne River and made camp. Before long a small group of 20-something hikers came along, stopped to chat and invited me to go with them to their rented cabin a little way up a branch stream. Did so, got fed and was given a bunk for the night. The next day I finished my ride across the park, reaching Yosemite Valley in the afternoon and locating my grandparents' camp. The following day, or possibly the next, we continued on our way to Washington, my bike in the trailer and me in the back seat of the Chevy.
Next post: June 20, 2011
July 3, 1961
Thursday, June 9, 2011
The Half-Century Ride
In the summer of 1961, at the age of 16 years, six and a half months I bicycled alone down the West Coast, from Oak Harbor, Washington to my family home in Long Beach, California.
In the summer of 2011, at the age of 66 years, six and a half months, I'm going to do it again, leaving from Oak Harbor on June 20 and planning/hoping to arrive in Long Beach on the 9th or 10th of July.
In 1961 I did it with a sleeping bag and a mess kit. In 2011, I'll do it with a support vehicle and a credit card.
Follow my progress on this blog, starting June 20.
In the summer of 2011, at the age of 66 years, six and a half months, I'm going to do it again, leaving from Oak Harbor on June 20 and planning/hoping to arrive in Long Beach on the 9th or 10th of July.
In 1961 I did it with a sleeping bag and a mess kit. In 2011, I'll do it with a support vehicle and a credit card.
Follow my progress on this blog, starting June 20.
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