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!!