In Progress

I am still writing my day to day adventures, but feel the need to stop publishing here. I'd like to do something a little bigger with this someday.

One Year Later: Day Seven

July 11--Sunday, rest day
Sunset Bay state park

Rode into the town of Charleston and uploaded pics to my blog. No phone service to speak of, so I waited until after lunch to phone JE. It was so good to hear his voice. I started to feel so very alone and fragile. What am I doing? I walked to Shore Acres and explored the seaside. It was serene and beautiful. I startled a deer in the underbrush.

When I got back to camp, I started fearing about my food supply. I rationed my dinner, saving as much I can for tomorrow when I need it most. No stores for more than 20 miles.

I have been very tearful tonight-very overwhelmed with this whole thing, and being so all alone; about last winter's events. I found my way to the showers when I saw a woman setting up her tent, alone. I stopped to help her and told her that I needed some cheer. She said she had firewood if I had the alcohol. Again on my way to the shower, I heard some one calling "Cyclist!" It was a woman I had met earlier in the restroom wanting to know if I would like a s'more. We talked for a long time. She is single, but she wanted kids. She adopted two little girls from China.

Presently the fog is so thick it comes down like rain in big splats on my tent. I'm not sure if it's a fog horn, or wind blowing over a hole in the rock and I'm very sleepy and a bit dizzy. Night.

1. Photographs to share and show.
2. People to talk to and encourage and be encouraged by
3. Heading to warmer climes
4. Hard cheese, salami, good bread and honey
5. A warm dry tent

July 11, 2011
Monday,
Balboa Island Marina

The ride into town was so much longer than I had remembered it to be. The rode was narrow and winding, passing through forest and farmland. That morning, I spent at the laundry mat. Clean laundry was such a fresh treat. It felt so good to smell good! My kit included two travel sized bottles of laundry soap. The Laundry mat was also home of the local library.

There was a restaurant across the street from the the laundry mat. The waitstaff seated me next to the window overlooking the bay and just kept my lemonade refilled. Most of the afternoon, I sat, so happy to be inside, out of the elements. A man sat on a high stool, playing his guitar and singing: lots of jazz, some James Taylor, quite a bit of original. His music added graciously to the welcoming ambiance of the place.

With a full belly, I set off for ‘home.’ The hiker biker site was empty of all my fellow cyclists. I gathered a few things and set out on foot to explore the peninsula. Paths meandered around the forests, though the underbrush and by the rocky cliffs overlooking the sea. Keeping the shore to the right, I walked a few miles to Shore Acres, a pretty place that was home to a logging barren, the US military and now to a state park. Some of the out buildings are still standing and well maintained, but the main home burned down. The formal gardens, complete with statuary and fountains were blooming meekly. There were several types of roses I’d never seen anywhere else, particularly a brown variety which smelled like chocolate.

On the way back, I spent some time along the shoreline. Interesting rock formations lined the water’s edge. I could hear sea lions in the distance. And ever present, was a deep, persistent bellow from the lighthouse. As I walked back to camp, I found huckleberries growing and ate all that were within my reach.

I met few people in my ambling that afternoon, but when I got back to camp, the place was a madhouse of people. As I walked back to my site, I saw a family gathering. Several of the men were unloading huge bags of oysters. I wanted so bad to ask to be part of their family reunion, but I was not feeling great emotionally.

There were a couple new tents set up in the hiker biker site, but no one was around yet. I spent a little while re organizing my things and made a pile I wanted to send home: my camera (I had no way to recharge the battery), rain pants, a full sized can opener (my tiny backpackers opener was fine), a map of Oregon, a dressy shirt, and eyeliner and mascara. Truth be known, I had brought nice cloths for church, but never actually found a church close enough to attend.

Dinner that night consisted of bread, cheese and salami. The honey was a rare and luxurious treat. On the way through the St John River flatland, there was a little set of shops. One of the shops was called something about hives and bees. I stopped. Like Pooh Bear, I am a sucker for honey. On one of the interior walls was a little cabinet. When opened, the cabinet door revealed a working beehive. The working bees stood on tip toe with wings beating fast trying to cool the comb. The store also sold jars of honey. I carried a pint jar of fire-land honey, wrapped in a small brown paper sack, well into California. It was a sad day when the honey ran out.

One of the most convenient things I took with me was a collapsible nylon grocery bag. It folded neatly in my pannier, and I could load it with everything I needed for my shower or doing dishes. It had handles so I could hang it from a doorknob or a hook. I loaded my bag with my shower kit, a change of newly cleaned clothes and flip-flops for the shower. I was freezing and needed to warm up. (A side note here: My lavalava was among the things that had been stolen on that first morning. It was a long strip of pure cotton batik that I could use as a towel, short dress or long skirt, carry-all, changing room, sheet, sunshade, spin dryer for hand washed laundry or produce, and/or shawl. Having been deprived of this very useful thing, I was forced to dry off with a 8x12 inch chamois cloth I had brought as a wash cloth. It worked well as both--for the entire month I was out there.)

Without fail, every time I truly needed a friend, I found one. The woman with the two daughters was truly inspiring with her stories and good nature. She buoyed me and fed me hot chocolate. In the end, I learned that I had recently walked past her house in Portland, just across the street from Tia’s work. She even knew my sister.

When I returned to the campfire of the woman camping alone, I was feeling so much better--and warmer. We talked and laughed about our husbands being home alone while we got to enjoy that beautiful night.

Eventually I made my way back to my tent. There were a few people there, including a couple of really young men who were sitting around a campfire talking.

One Year Later: Day Six

July 10, 2010
Sunset Beach SP, Oregon
Distance traveled today: 56.8 miles, Od: 3395, Average speed: 9.8 mph, Max speed: 30.1 mph, 5 hours 44 minutes

The fog is so heavy here, it hangs in the air and creates dew on the leaves which collect and fall like rain. I am sharing the hiker biker site with my Canadian friends of last night, a man and his daughter, another single female rider, and a single young man named Chris. He lost his job, spent half of his savings on the best bike he could afford, and left his house in Everett, Washington to take a ferry to Bremerton and begin his ride down the coast. I passed him today, just before one of the townships and thought he must be a local. He had a backpack strapped to his back rack and a strange contraption strapped to his back which held, of all things, a narrow couch cushion. He sleeps on a floating/pool air mattress in an orange plastic tube tent. He wears a heavy chain around his neck and camo army pants along with a camo skate helmet. He is the most excited about this trip of any of us.

Karen, the other female ride, seems really cool. She is really speedy and I think has inspired me to downsize my load.

Tomorrow is my day off. I am so excited. I just hope the weather clears out some. I’d love to see this view I have been told about. Most of today was riding through dune country; not often I could see the dunes here and there, but they are massive! But my view was obstructed by trees.

Miles flew by today! At Elbow lake, I saw hosts of osprey. So beautiful! They were chirping to each other. I crossed Smith River a few times and Coos Bay, once. I ate lunch at Umpqua Lighthouse, in the cold fog and bought bread at Winchester Bay at an awesome bakery. I think I could move to any small town anywhere if I learned how to really really bake. Not fancy, jut good and plentiful. People would come.

No phone convo with JE tonight. I have no service on my [mobile] phone. I love that sweet man. I wonder why I...


July 10, 2011

That last sentence dangles in my journal, unfinished. My train of thought, lost.

In the early hours, campgrounds are peaceful. That morning I woke before most of the camp and packed my gear, ate breakfast and left. My goal was to be on the road before those trucks and motor homes. Those first 40 miles went so quickly.

Fear is a tricky thing, sometimes it has no tangible cause. It can wrap itself around your brain and not leave room for rational thought. Those first few days, solo on the trail, I fought with that fear. It would well in my throat and cause me to gag. Standing by the road at Elbow Lake, watching those osprey dive and flap, I choked on my fear as I tried to swallow my bagel. Only my resolve to continue and knowing that others were out there on the road doing the same thing I was doing kept me moving forward. That is not entirely true. The thought of making a call for someone to come pick me up while I waited there, roadside was completely contrary to what I knew I was made of: I am made of stronger stuff than that. I could not return home with that failure forever hanging over me.

Just before Winchester stood that glorious little bakery. Outside the bakery, two women and a little girl sat, enjoying their lunch. They were sweetly curious and encouraging and made a brilliant recommendation for the cheesecake brownie. I also bought a loaf of rustic, free form bread, unsliced. Sliced bread does not travel well, it dries out, smashes and becomes something I'd rather not have to eat. But that large, heavy lump of bread lasted for days.

My tour around Winchester was quick. The marina was flooded with small boats and tourists. As I worked my way up the hill toward Umpqua Lighthouse, there was a crowded turn off to view sand dunes. The dunes were covered with people on ORVs and dirt bikes. I watched for a few moments, intrigued more by the conversations of the onlookers than the motorbikes. It seemed everywhere I went, the conversation was about hunting, fishing, lighthouse glass (from tourists), and motor sports. Even the girls in the bathrooms! Occasionally people talked about the weather: fog on the coast meant inland was hot.

My road wound in and around the wind swept hills. The coast was visible at times. There were so many bridges, all intricate and beautifully bespeaking the moment in history when they were conceived. Riding into Coo's Bay seemed to take forever, there was a huge side wind that swept up from the water. Within a few miles, the hot day turned cold and dense with fog. I rode the last dozen or so miles through fog wearing my warm layers and my lights.

Thinking the campground was in close proximity, I stopped at a convenience store to pick up a few things. As I stood waiting in line, a middle aged woman with crazy red hair and heavy eye make up gaupped up at me. She stared and stared until I asked if there was anything I could help her with. That seemed to give her license to let fly with horrified words of warning about the dangers of the road, strangers and cold weather. Her tirade lasted until I had finished buying my potato, onion and milk. I left quickly and got back the safety of the road. The last stop I made before camp, was at a fish shop, where I picked up a small tub of oysters for dinner. At camp, I turned them into oyster stew.

When I arrived at the small paddock that was to be my home for the next couple nights, there were several people already set up there. No space was dry, so I set up near some trees. But the trees were heavy with water and continuously dripped heavy drops on my tent. I moved a few feet into the middle of the clearing.

Each hiker biker site has picnic tables which are shared. I set up my little table cloth and camp kitchen and began cooking my dinner. Mid boil, my camp stove began sputtering and quickly died. I grabbed my back up can of camp gas, but the nozzle was bent and no fuel came out. The father of the father daughter combo I mentioned, offered his camp stove. I finished cooking my meal and shared it with my new friends. It was hot and nourishing.

My camp gas proved difficult to replace. It was not until I was in California for a couple days that I could replace it. That meant cold meals for a while, which was hard on the psyche during that cold bout of fog. A couple of my camp mates helped by loaning their stoves, but knowing how difficult gas is to come by, I would only boil water for tea.

One of the really cool things about cycle touring is the true sense of community that forms so quickly. People really watch out for each other. Whenever I could, I shared a meal, bread, tea. Others shared their stoves, mobile phones, money, tire tubes, know how, support. We all shared stories. The cycle touring world is kind of an amazing place.

That night, I woke and needed to use the loo. On my way back to my tent, I shone my flashlight into the paddock where I was camped. Everything was blazing with reflectors: bikes and wheels, tent lines and panniers. It was startling and beautiful. I stood smiling and wished for my camera.

One Year Later: Day Five

July 9 , 2010
Honeyman Memorial SP
60 miles

I woke feeling so much happier today. And strong. And ready to disco down the road. I started out for Honeyman and made it. It was so beautiful! The cliffs and forests are so amazing through those places. I'm wasted. I stopped at a friendly looking house and played catch with a blind dog. I talked with Paul, the owner. There was a lot of fog and a lot of really narrow shoulders. And a lot of big trucks and RVs. A little scary at times, but beautiful.

Favorites:
1. Waking happy and refreshed and ready to carry on
2. Haceta lighthouse
3. Yachets--such a cute little community!
4. Ona beach in the fog
5. Meeting new friends at the campground and sharing my meal (steamed cauliflower, red potatoes, with white sauce. They are from Canada and are doing the same thing I am.

July 9, 2011
The difference in my attitude was pronounced. I'd gone from scared and regretful to enthusiastically joyful.

As I set off on my road south, I had to cross the Newport bridge. It was fogged in but the fog was burning off. As I approached the bridge, the water below was covered with fog, while the top half of the bridge was exposed to a bright sky. There was quite a lot of traffic on the bridge, so I walked across on the sidewalk, rolling Little Red along beside me. Several placards celebrated the completion of the bridge and the construction teams who built it. Half way across, I looked down into the river. The sun shone through the mist and caused a bright circle midair. The circle was encapsulated by a faint rainbow, a macro version of those tiny rainbow circle refractions you get when you spray a hose, or look through a waterfall. It was beautiful. I looked again, standing on the bottom rail to peer down directly under me. There was another circle of light, brighter with a more defined rainbow. Protectively surrounded in the center of that light was my silhouette. I think it was God's way of letting me know I had His blessing in my travels.

It was still too early for most stores or the science museum to be open, so I rolled along for a bit before stopping at what was advertised as a bike shop. My tires felt a little low. There were several sales men outside, some helping customers, some hosing down motorcycles lined up around the perimeter. I waited for someone to offer help. And waited. And waited. Finally I approached one of the salesmen. He turned and walked inside, fervently ignoring me. That was my first experience with the pervasive anti-cyclist culture of south western Oregon.

There were several places that I should have spent a little more time exploring. Yachats is a tiny coastal village with graceful wooded hills and sweet bungalows. Signs coming into the town announced a festival on the weekend. But there were other things I really wanted to see that day, like Haceta Head lighthouse and Darlingtonia Botanical Wayside. Unfortunately, I was a few miles down the road before I realized I had passed Darlingtonia.

Riding on, I saw many beautiful thing. I passed many sweet old homes along the coast. There were a lot of wooded hills to climb, mostly small, but they would open up to some spectacular views of the Ocean. Most of my sightseeing was on or close to the road. Because I was alone, leaving my bike and wandering around wasn't a priority. I was still pretty new at this whole bike touring thing, and my main priority was making sure I got to my campsite before dark.

The closer I got the the dunes area (and the weekend), the more giant motor homes passed me, most hauling trucks and or trailers with Off Road Vehicles. Remember that anti-cyclist attitude I mentioned earlier? Most of those giant vehicles didn't move over to allow room for me on the road. Large trucks would pass, revving their engines to cloud me with exhaust. Some hit their horns a half mile behind me and held it there for half a mile after they passed me--speeding up and not giving me room on the road. There were a few close calls and some terrifying moments.

At the Fred Myer in Florence, I met a woman who was coming out to put her groceries in her panniers. She asked me how motorists at my home treated cyclists and how I got them to respect me. What could I say? Most of the people where I live do not own ORVs. I think I said something lame about there being laws to protect cyclists' rights. She lives in an area where those laws are not respected and people on bicycles represent a mindset of anti-car/ORV--thereby cyclists were enemies, less than human and an obstruction to fun. Despite all of that, this leg of the journey was incredibly lovely.

The road into the Lighthouse was long and winding. As I dropped in, I remember thinking that I really didn't want to have to ride back out of that. But it was well worth it. I parked my bike at the trail head and walked up the mile and a half trail. Haceta Head Lighthouse is a beautiful place. There is a guesthouse/bed and breakfast attached to it. They had vacancy that night and I cannot tell you how tempting it was...

When I got to my campsite, a hiker/biker site set in the big trees at Honeyman State Park, I set up my tent and got showered. As I began to prep my dinner, the neighboring camp came over and invited me to have a beer with them. After I made dinner, I took my dinner over and ate with them. This was the first time I met Guil and Véronique, a French Canadian couple from Montreal. We leap-frogged each other the entire rest of the trip, and became good friends.

When I finally went back to my tent that night, I was satisfied and exhausted. Sleep is sweet for the truly tired.

One year later: Day four

July 8, 2010
Newport, Or

We breakfasted at the hotel and headed south on the 101. There was a lot of fog to give us obsurd views of the coast. It just got really good! Whale Cove was beautiful.

We continued to be exhausted, though and hills were really tough. I think I need a day to relax and rest.

I’m staying in a cheap motel in Newport, where Matt and Tia dropped me off. From now on I am a single rider making an epic journey--more than a thousand miles to go. When I was checking in, I was a wreck, so many emotions. I feel thrown to the Grace of God and Humankind. It’s really overwhelming. I need to find myself again-the me that has been scattered along the roadsides for so long; the one that is happy, peppy, fun, helpful and loving. The people at the front desk here remind me of my parents--there is a lot of comfort in that which I did not expect.

1. As we left the hotel this morning, Tia asked if we should abandon plans and go sit in the hot tub and sauna.
2. This is my trip, I choose where I go, how far I go, and what I do. I need to rely on Heavenly Father for input.


July 8, 2011

It was a fun ride that day. Parts of the trail were unexpectedly on part of the old 101 highway that had newly been dedicated to bicycle and one way tourist traffic. To the left, was a steep hill where we could occasionally see and hear the cars race by on the highway. To the right, was a steep downward slope, heavy with trees; but every so often you could look out to the sublimely fogged ocean. There were

only a few cars on the road. Our hearts were light, we sang and joked.

Our path paralleled the ocean, with brief interludes inland. In the lowlands, the fog opened just enough to get a glimpse of the rugged coastline. Sometimes we saw houses built in impossible places. One house in particular caught my imagination it was perched on an outcropping above a hole in the rock. Waves hit the hole in the rock frequently, creating a loud clap. It made me wonder if the original

builders of the house knew about the sound and needed to live near it, or if they were unaware or couldn't hear it at all.

As we were crossing a bridge, we saw a sweet waterfall, invisible if we had been in a car. As we stopped to look, we saw a family, pulled over on one of the scenic pullouts. They were taking a photo of my sister and I. We spoke briefly with them and exchanged addresses. When I finally got home, a small package of several photos and a sweet note had arrived weeks before. Human kindness!

One of the hot spots on the Oregon coast, it the Devil’s punch bowl. We stopped there and had lunch. The place was crazy with people and tour buses.

We made the long haul to the top of Cape Foulweather, locked our bikes and walked to the lookout point. The sky was clear and beautiful, but the sea was completely shrouded over. A stiff onshore flow created a cool place to watch seagulls wind surf. The lighthouse was beautiful, with it's red roof.

As we were returning to our bikes, a woman asked us where we were headed. When we told her, she looked smitten with the adventure bug. Her enthusiasm was contagious. Poor Tia, this was her last day. She had asked her boss to allow her a month to complete the tour with me. "Do you know what would happen if you left this place for a month." he asked. She told him that in that case, they needed to talk about a raise. She got more of a raise than she would would have expected.

This trip was charmed. The way was clear and smooth going.

Most of the afternoon was beautiful and sunny. We made our way down to the old marina area and found clam chowder and salad at Mo's. It felt to good to eat hot soup! We ordered double desserts: peanut butter cream pie and marrion berry cobbler ala mode.

Tia's beau, Matt, drove in and we loaded all our gear and bicycles into the back of his truck. It was bitter sweet to see Matt at that point. I'm always glad to see him, but was so sad that he would be taking Tia back home, thereby leaving me alone.

Looking back, it's a bit funny how distressed I was. That night, Tia and Matt dropped me off at a really sketchy motel, near the bridge. It was one of the cheapest motels in town, but it was pretty clean.

The couple at the front desk were in their sixties or early seventies. The door into their apartment was open and allowed me to see into their lives. Knickknacks were scattered around the living area. An old, floral couch hosted a sweet, old spaniel. When I told the couple that I wasn't expecting anyone else and to not give out any more keys to my room, the man looked ,e directly in the eyes and told me not to worry, that they would watch out for me. There was a lot of comfort in those words.

The door to my room looked very much like my door at home, an inexpensive foam core door, with a push button lock. The chain bolt looked like it had been kicked open and was broken. Later that night, I pushed Little Red in front of the door to stand guard. If anyone were to come in, they'd have to get past Little Red first!

Sleep was a difficult to find. I had been to the Russian arctic on my own, I had lived in Australia, moved from Washington to Utah with $500 in the bank, survived neglect and a bout with homelessness as a child and here I was, about to do something that both exhilarated and terrified me, and I couldn't stop crying. I don't think I have ever prayed so hard in my entire life.

John said a prayer with me over the phone. I wrote a few scattered thoughts in my tiny travel journal and put my head on my pillow. It took a while, but eventually, exhaustion took over and I slept soundly and undisturbed.

One Year Later: Day Three

Wednesday, July 7, 2010 Lincoln City, OR
About 35 miles today

We began the day thinking we would be riding about 60 miles. However we met with some excessive hot weather, a couple thousand foot climbs, and exhaustion. The first climb out of Cape Lookout was a doozie! It went from a small valley forest to treed sand dunes--2.7 miles later. We traveled through rolling dunes and rolling farmlands. At one point, my bike computer read 107 degrees, but then the road would swing into a shaded valley and we would freeze!

I discovered music to be a huge motivator and relief at the base of that first hill. I plugged into my music and blasted up it so fast the pack of Boy Scouts couldn't catch me.

The second thousand foot climb, was so much harder, it was so blooming hot! We stopped several times for water and to try to cool down. I'm not a big fan of pushing myself beyond limits. That is why we stopped in Lincoln City in 85 degree weather, for a bagel and a soda (and to recharge our phones). When we went outside and discovered a huge bank of fog had rolled in, and that the temp dropped 20 degrees and a huge head wind. When I spotted a sign for the Nordic Hotel with a spa and a sauna, I pulled Tia back and we set up camp there (here) for the night. We went to dine at maxwells-- yum. Good comfort food and pleasant service. What a treat!

My favorite things of today:
1. Foxgloves all along the roadsides
2. Long horn steer on the sand dunes
3. Summits--and the downhill
4. A room on the ocean
5. A kind supportive husband who thought spending $120 on a room was a good idea. I love him! He is my heart.

July 7, 2011
As I sit at the beach, here in Southern California, reading my journal and guidebook, the scenes from those days of my tour down the coast are remarkably clear.

That morning, I woke and studied my guidebook. No matter how many times I looked at it, those upcoming hills were inevitable. Breakfast was a great time to relax and plan for the day. Generally we ate 5-6 times a day. Once in the morning before we packed up, once at ten (if I waited until 10:30, I would melt down in a heap of sugarless frustration). We would stop for a noon meal, usually eat bread, cheese and fruit. An afternoon snack and dinner when we got to camp.

Jimmy came to say goodbye before he left. The day was clear and beautiful. The trees provided a nice cover as we set off up our first thousand foot climb of the day.

That was the day that I learned the meaning of the word 'cape.' A cape is a solitary high place along the coast, a perfect place for a lighthouse, but a strenuous place to cycle. The days ahead had many capes to pass over, but that first challenge was my initiation. At the bottom of the hill, a large group of kids was gathering with their leader. They were all wearing bright orange T-shirts and had the telltale gear of the cycle tourist strapped onto their bikes.

Tia and I played leap frog with this group for the first ten minutes, I pulled over and plugged into my music. Jesus Built my Hot-rod, an upbeat and moving song that got me pedaling hard. At the time, I had a dread of hills, they were there for getting over and causing suffering to cyclists. I never imagined that eventually I would come to love hills because they let me look around and enjoy the place I was at a little bit longer. Well, at least I did not dread them.

As we climbed, the flora changed from dense forest to vast dunes. Leeward and windward. Our road led through many small neighborhoods and towns. One house had a managerie of laser cut steel badges on it's fence. Each badge was in the shape of an Oregon lighthouse. We stopped there and devoured a Clif bar and jerky. That was the day I learned about 10 o'clock breakfast. Through the fence and trees, we could see glimpses of the great Pacific ocean and decided that house would be a fantastic place to settle down.

Just past Neskowin, the road divides and allows you an opportunity to avoid some of the heavier traffic of highway 101. The side road is a much longer way, so we to decided to skip that and stay with 101. That ended up being a mistake. The highway was loud and fast and hot, the only shade was far off the road. Parts of the shoulder were not safe for cyclists. Multiple times, we had to pull over to cool off.

As we pulled into the outskirts of Lincoln City, we were relieved to be able to get something cold to drink and cool down. There was a sweet little cafe bakery along the road with free wifi. We spent a good couple hours there next to the shaded window.

We were surprised to see the fog and cold, damp wind. We stood by our bikes, reassessing the map and the distance we still needed to travel to get to our next campground at Beverly State Beach.

Part of our travel kits were all about warm, comfortable clothing for the end of the trail. Things like fleeces and fleece pants, thick socks and wind breakers. Before we continued our journey, that day, we put of every warm a piece of clothing we had. Tia was still freezing. We also turned on our bicycle lights

She had determined to just plow through it and get there as fast as she could. But the fog was so thick, I watched my sister disappear into the fog. Trying to catchup to a determined Tia, was not easy. As I pushed into the wind, I spotted a sign. All I saw on that sign were the words sauna and inn. I pedaled harder and passed another sign for the Nordic Inn. I had to get us there. I was practically screaming her name before she heard me and stopped. We had passed the inn a mile before. She was as eager about the sauna as I was.

Our room was clean and comfortable. When we opened the drapes, we overlooked the beach. A pea soup fog shrouded, beautiful beach. We could not change into our swimwear fast enough (mostly because we were shivering so hard). We forced ourselves to get up to temp in the swimming pool before we hit the sauna.

When I lived in the arctic in Russia, the water had been off in my apartment for weeks and the radiator in my bedroom had dried up. One day Tatiana Ivanova told me we were going to rent a private bath with her family. Spring was around the corner and the snow pack was finally starting to melt, but during my three months there, I had not been warm. The private bath had a small swimming pool tiled in brown subway tile, a bank of showers and the hottest wooden sauna I'd ever experienced. It was so lovely and warm. For the first time in months I felt clean.

The sauna at the inn was on par with my Russian sauna. I had been able to shower daily, but the road grime was pervasive. We scrubbed and scrubbed until we were hot and pink. In our bathroom sink, we scrubbed our cycling shorts and jerseys. The water turned a hideous murky brown. Then hung them out to dry with the heat blasting in our room.

The hotel clerk gave us the heads up about Maxwell's. It was a really great small town joint with an older, loyal clientele. Our waitress had probably been working there for twenty years and knew how to treat wayfaring souls. She had our hot chocolate out to us in seconds. There were photos on the menu, and one showed a whole roasted chicken and fries. Could anything have been more perfect? We asked to split the order and when it came it was as if it were meant to be that way-complete with garnish. It was devoured, quickly.

One of the best things about touring by bike is how amazing everything tastes. You work so hard for it! And you earn it! There is no guilt.

We wandered through the little streets discussing how grateful we were to be out there and to have been able to stop and get warm. As we talked, we passed a house with a picket fence painstakingly striped in red, white, and blue. An eagle and unfurling flag were painted on the side of the house. "It takes all kinds, I guess."

I was anxious to talk to my Johne. Because recharging my phone took so much time, it was rarely ever fully recharged and I was always so aware of my battery life. My phone was a vital connection to my world. I used it as my camera, my computer, my city map, my phone. Texting eventually became a great way to share with my friends and family. My phone even helped me meet people, when I was out of charge and had to ask people in motor homes if they would mind sharing their power. But to have the luxury of being able to charge my phone all night, meant I could finally have a conversation longer than a few minutes with my sweet husband. I slept well that night.

Iris's Coast Coast Sound Track

Okkervil River - Lost Coastlines
Devil Knows You're Dead - Delta Spirit
End of the line -- Traveling Wilburys
The Road -- Frank Turner
Walkabout -- Atlas Sound
Allouette -- Tallest Trees
So Much Beauty in Dirt -- Modest Mouse
In comes the light -- Kate Maki
The Cave -- Mumford and Sons
Change of Time -- Josh Ritter
Sun Children -- Nickodemus
I Will Live On Islands -- Josh Rouse
the sound -- Human Highway
Swim untill You can't see Land -- Frightened Rabbit
1000 miles 1000 deaths -- Voager one
Wild flowers -- Tom Petty
With arms outstreached -- Rilo Kiley
Bonjuor -- Rachid Taha
Let's Talk Dirty in Hawaian -- Those Darlins

One year later: Day Two

July 6, 2010 Tuesday
Cape Lookout Oregon

I'm not sure of our actual mileage today. We rode from Nehalum Bay to Manzanita to Tillamook- stopped for a heat break and continued to Netarts, to Cape Lookout.

We woke early to get going early. We noticed our bike shorts, jerseys, my gloves, and my towel were still wet from the night before. My bright idea was to hang them over some trees in the sun to expedite the drying time. We ate breakfast and started to pack up. Tia noticed all our clothes were missing. I packed up while she ran around asking people if anyone knew anything. After a couple hours, nothing turned up, so we left and headed back to the police station in Manzanita.

Today was hard, not just because I was riding in a spare jersey and a pair of boxer cycling unders that gape in the back, but because it really pulls a number on you to be the victim of theft. Everyone seems to have done it, and if not--they want to! It was easy to think: "because someone did this to me, I'm going to (blank) to you." Weird.

Riding was quite difficult. We stopped frequently We had lunch at Manhattan Beach. I had a close call with one of those logging trucks just before Tillamook. I had no shoulder and he was 2 feet from me on the left. My right was a guard rail and a cliff. Afterward tears sprang to my eyes and a huge knot formed in my throat. My body was shaking.

Tia and I stopped in Tillamook for a few hours to pass the hottest part of the day. We charged our phones, had strawberry frappuccinos and sat in the AC then continued on. We bought oysters as we rode out of town. The kid gave Tia greater than a baker's dozen and free ice, to boot!

Life got easier when we got to camp. We are situated overlooking the Great Pacific Ocean. We dined on raw oysters, collards and mashed potatoes and bread and cheese. We talked with a kind Kiwi called Jimmy and then had hot showers. Things take so much longer when we camp.

1. Foreigners who visit America to remind me how beautiful it is.
2. Raw oysters. I had no idea!
3. Hot tea in the morning
4. Police chiefs with a sense of humor
5. John as mission control


July 6, 2011 Wednesday

Waking up that morning, I grabbed my guidebook. Tia was still sleeping. Each and every morning, before I did anything else, I would grab my book and study the days path. It was an obsession. There was a definite fear of making a wrong turn but also concern that I didn't pass anything I really wanted to see.

That first morning, I was giddy with anticipation. Tia is anything but a morning person, so my first order of business outside the tent, was to heat water for her instant coffee. Next ,was poaching some eggs for breakfast. Soon, Tia was up and hungry for breakfast.

Our campsite was in an area with a lot of trees. The noisy neighbor from the night before, was camped perhaps 20 feet from our site. We didn’t worry much about our morning noise, unconcerned about whether or not we woke the bastard. His snoring let us know, he wasn’t about to be woken up, either. We finished breakfast and started to pack up. That was when we realized our laundry hadn’t dried and hung them on trees in a clearing next to the bathrooms...

We were frantic to find our clothes. That was such a dreadful feeling. Our neighbor’s snores had ceased and our suspicions of him grew rapidly. Our thought was that in all of our packing and milling about, we did not notice our neighbor walk out of his tent in search of the bathrooms. I didn’t know about highway men at that point; the men who ride the byways of the U.S. with nothing but a bike and a tent. They are everywhere, and are opportunists. To have 2 new pairs of cycling shorts and a really nice new pair of cycling gloves must have seemed a Godsend, if indeed it was him that swiped them.

While I finished packing, Tia dug through the nearby garbage cans, talked to anyone passing by and ventured into the RV area to see if anyone saw anything. Eventually we gave up. Part of our incentive to give up was our wrong thinking that Visa would cover our stolen gear on their Theft Protection Refund. Bike shorts are not cheap, mine were around $100. The Visa Theft program requires a police report (and for your article to have been left in a secured location).

When we got to the police station, there was an odd sign on the door. We knocked and the Police Chief answered. We told him our situation and he made a police report. We joked and talked with him for a while and finally had the guts to ask about the sign on his door. “Where did you see that?” he asked looking surprised and almost embarrassed. We pointed to the open door behind him. He turned red, looked amused and removed the sign from the door. He didn’t explain the joke, but told us to steer clear of the local government officials. Apparently we had fallen into an inside joke.

As Tia and I rode, we traveled through areas she was very familiar with. One year, my sisters and I stayed in a little cottage at Rockway Beach. Back then it was windy and cold, but on that bike tour, it was clear and beautiful.

Every town we arrived in, we asked about a bike shop, seeking to replace at least our padded bike shorts. We had a lot of long, bumpy rides ahead of us, and our hinies were in need of a bit of comfort. The guide book mentioned a few different bike shops in Tillamook, so we were in a bit of a hurry to get there.

The road was windy and narrow. We often shared it with tourist traffic and the occasional logging truck. Of the two, I would generally prefer to share a road with a big rig. They are manned by professional drivers, who have some practice steering clear of the crazies out there on bicycles. Generally, tourist have what I call, vacation brain; which means that they have a mindset that nothing bad can happen because they are on vacation, so they switch off the cautionary part of their brain (which makes them really fun to be around when not behind the wheel of a motorized vehicle).

Tia was in the lead and had just come out of a very tight curve that I was in the middle of when a logging truck rolled by me, close. As I said earlier, just two feet away. I clung to my handlebars, praying that I would be able to maintain my balance. With the guardrail on the right, and my panniers much wider than I was accustomed, I was fearful that if I hit the guard rail, I would be deflected into the massive truck. One trailer full of logs passed by, with chains dangling and bark flying. With any big rig hauling two trailers, there is a vortex of wind between the two trailers that would just love to suck a cyclist to her doom. It was a terrifying moment, and then the second trailer passed spitting bark that burst apart when it hit the ground. The shoulder opened back up just past the guardrail, and Tia was pedalling safely there. I watched as the truck swerved around her, giving her ample room. She stopped, for some reason, and looked back at me. I had made my way to the end of the rail and stood sobbing. That had truly been one of the most terrifying moments of my life, but I had survived. The driver simply had not seen me.

Tillamook has claim to my heart for no other reason than their fine cheese. However, getting into town that day, we were hot, dehydrated and distressed. We chased down each address for bike shops. When we arrived at each, we discovered that, well, there were no bike shops in Tillamook. Two had closed down years previous, and the last cycle shop standing was more about motorized bikes than bicycles and the sporting goods store was entirely about hunting and fishing.

Tia was fraying at the edges. We were both overheated and frustrated. I steered us into the Fred Myer and sat us down at the Starbucks, where we recharged our phones, updated our blogs and drank cold beverages. Eventually, we went shopping and Tia bought a new pair of stretchy shorts--unpadded, but still better than the non-stretch pants she had been wearing all day.

It was still hot when we left, but felt like we needed to get back on the road. There are only so many hours suitable for cycling in the day and we still had a fair way to go.

The ride from that point on was pleasant, the hills were much gentler than the previous day and the viewpoints were amazingly beautiful with view of the ocean and Netarts Bay. It made us hungry for seafood, and we had a small feast riding in Tia’s handlebar cooler.

Netarts is a tiny town consisting of a marina and a couple tiny markets. But they had food and chocolate milk, that was all I cared about.

When we got into camp, we met a couple who were bike-packing down the coast for their honeymoon/anniversary trip. They had left their kids with Grandma and Grandpa for a few days and were finally living their dream. It seemed the whole hiker/biker camp came to greet us. The sweet couple, a few guys cycling together, and Jimmy--the aforementioned New Zealander.

Jimmy had been on the road for a month or so, working his way up from San Diego. He had great stories of his adventures and the people he had met along his journey. Jimmy had that feel of a person who had come to peace with the hardships of travel on a bicycle and was just happy to be there. Jimmy was making his way north, to cut across Oregon and Idaho, through Yellowstone and up to Glacier and Banff. His one fear was bears.

Traveling alone takes a toll on you emotionally. It gets so lonely out there and to find people who are willing to listen and interested in your story is a dream come true. Sometimes the guy at the checkout counter gets far more customer than he bargained for.

That night, Jimmy had a transfixed audience. He came over as we were fixing dinner and slurping down the most decadent little tiny oysters. We talked for a while as Tia and I prepped greens. We were both so hungry that we wrung our hands when we ate, unable to chew fast enough. Most of the time on the road, food was not offered to other cyclists--it was just too precious to let go. Jimmy brought over a beer and drank while we frantically ate. When we told Jimmy of our stolen gear, he was properly disgusted. Our camp was set up in a tiny clearing among the roots of old growth forest. Sunlight filtered through the trees and the mist from the ocean made things ethereal.

At one point, I left to go make a call home to my sweet JE. It was so good to hear his voice. He soothes my soul.

We talked until the sun was down and we were nodding and exhausted. Tia and I made our way down to the shower area, about a quarter mile away. It was dark through the trees, but when we came to a clearing near the beach, the sky opened up to reveal a sky bright with stars.

Clean and dry, we climbed into our tent and slept like the dead.