Day 6
A slow morning. The legs needed it. A dense fog had rolled in over the Cape, and we made a morning excursion to the 'interpretive center' to learn all the Cape had to offer. Lewis and Clark had finished thier westward journey here, and we read excerpts from thier journals of their last days on the Columbia, in dugout canoes, through a fierce November storm to reach the sandy Pacific beaches of the Cape. Truly epic.
The fog wouldn't clear, but it was time to head out. We loaded up with the whole shebang today and said our goodbyes to moms. Happy to have them along for this leg of the journey, but very glad to be beginning the tour in ernest. There is something far more thrilling about being autonomous and under your own power.
Of course, we couldn't turn down all the tasty food from moms, so we were heavier than we should've been, and hopefully will be again... far too much food to reasonably cary through all these towns. How much does it all weigh? Don't ask, 'cause I don't know. Would rather not know the number and just take it knowing that it has to come. There were of course some last minute debates: to take or not to take? Eventually, these were resolved and we beheld our steeds:
We exited the park and rolled back through Ilwaco, looking charming but empty.
Next, Chinook:
Some folks enjoying the view of 101 from their lawn chairs on this overcast day hollared at us: "where ya goin!?" "Mexico!" "You're crazy!" The usual conversation...
Soon after, 'we passed the site of 'Station Camp' where Lewis and Clark had Wintered after reaching the Ocean. We didn't stay long because there was something looming in the horizon: The Astoria bridge.
I had been warned of this bridge by another southbound tourist at the REI in Seattle before even leaving: 'its long, narrow, windy, and the last bit's a doosie.'
It was all of those things. 4 miles long, about 2 feet between cars and columbia, lots of debris, consistent side wind, and a 400 foot climb up the last cantilever through-truss (the tall part the big boats go under). We sent it, and whipped down over the other side into Astoria, where we caught our breath in a parking lot. "Holy crap" says Lluc, "that was the craziest thing we've done yet!"
Astoria is the biggest town we've been in yet and probably the biggest for a while, so we had some errands to run. Some bar tape for me from a bike store to plush up that handlebar (when you hold it for 8 hours a day, you want it to be good. Especially when you start to loose feeling in your fingers). For lluc, his "personal hell," the AT&T store for phone troubles. We split, took care of business, and were back to it in a short time.
As of the Oregon border, we are now officially on the Adventure Cycling Association Pacific Coast route. And happy to be. It'a fun to make your own route (as we did down the penninsula) but ACA's shortcuts and detours tend to work a lot better than mine... We were reminded of this the first road we took, which diverted us from 101 into the Lewis and Clark river valley; a quiet road, winding through marshes and farms and mashy farms all the way to some hills just East of Seaside. We ascended and cruised down the hill all the way into downtown Seaside.
Because of our late start and errands, it was already late, nearly 6:45, and we were planning on heading on to Canon Beach, so we found a bench to rest and snack in before the last 10 miles or so. Lluc lamented, "I wish someone would jst let us camp in their yard." Just then, a fellow in a black sweatshirt and rainboots saw us and said "Where the f^@% are you guys from?" We started chatting, and almost immediately he offers "you're welcome to camp in my yard if you need a place." Hell... Canon Beach can wait... we took him up. We followed him to "the Bridge Tender" (a bar in the old control house of a small bridge) where he introduced us to his friends. And gave us loose directions to his house. "Christmas lights all over. You can't miss it." He wasn't lying. And we were pleasantly surprised to find a garage bar waiting for us.
His pals came over and pretty soon there was a barbeque going. We insisted we sleep in our tents. He insisted we shower. Deal.
Turns out we were very lucky to meet the man (they call him Mo). He's a fisherman. 'Assistant to the regional manager' on a boat called "The Engineer." A Seasider his whole life. We tell him about the cause we're raising money for, curious to hear his thoughts. The reaction was understandable: "why can't you just ride your bikes to Mexico and that's it?" Valid. We tell him it's an issue we're passionate about, and thought we could do something about it. "You want to do something about the Ocean: be on observer on a boat. Be a counter. Make sure they're doing what they're supposed to. *whispers* 'cause we don't." He agreed many fisheries on the West Coast were overfished, regulation has a lot to do with how fishermen like himself do business. But when we asked him what he thought was the most pressing issue for the ocean, he said without hesitation: plastics. "I drive my truck down the boach in Seaside a couple times and month and fill the entire bed with plastic every time. It's endless." He had even instituted on his boat reusable water bottles, so the fishermen stopped throwing thier plastic ones overboard when they were through, as well as a collection of bait wrapping, which often went overboard as well. We talked of the culture, of the people who eat seafood, if they really care where it comes from, and the people who catch it; if they really care where it goes.
The discussion was impassioned (albeit, lubricated), but remained friendly. In the morning, Lluc and I discussed how good it was to actually speak to fisherman and residents on the ocean, to educate ourselves on their perspectives. If anything, we may have come on too strong explaining ourselves. These guys were kind, and I could very well see some other ocean folk not being so open and cool-headed. If anything, I'm reminded that ocean issues are not as abstract and expansive as the sea; they are real, and happening in real towns to real people. Thanks Mo.
The fog wouldn't clear, but it was time to head out. We loaded up with the whole shebang today and said our goodbyes to moms. Happy to have them along for this leg of the journey, but very glad to be beginning the tour in ernest. There is something far more thrilling about being autonomous and under your own power.
Of course, we couldn't turn down all the tasty food from moms, so we were heavier than we should've been, and hopefully will be again... far too much food to reasonably cary through all these towns. How much does it all weigh? Don't ask, 'cause I don't know. Would rather not know the number and just take it knowing that it has to come. There were of course some last minute debates: to take or not to take? Eventually, these were resolved and we beheld our steeds:
We exited the park and rolled back through Ilwaco, looking charming but empty.
Next, Chinook:
Some folks enjoying the view of 101 from their lawn chairs on this overcast day hollared at us: "where ya goin!?" "Mexico!" "You're crazy!" The usual conversation...
Soon after, 'we passed the site of 'Station Camp' where Lewis and Clark had Wintered after reaching the Ocean. We didn't stay long because there was something looming in the horizon: The Astoria bridge.
I had been warned of this bridge by another southbound tourist at the REI in Seattle before even leaving: 'its long, narrow, windy, and the last bit's a doosie.'
It was all of those things. 4 miles long, about 2 feet between cars and columbia, lots of debris, consistent side wind, and a 400 foot climb up the last cantilever through-truss (the tall part the big boats go under). We sent it, and whipped down over the other side into Astoria, where we caught our breath in a parking lot. "Holy crap" says Lluc, "that was the craziest thing we've done yet!"
Astoria is the biggest town we've been in yet and probably the biggest for a while, so we had some errands to run. Some bar tape for me from a bike store to plush up that handlebar (when you hold it for 8 hours a day, you want it to be good. Especially when you start to loose feeling in your fingers). For lluc, his "personal hell," the AT&T store for phone troubles. We split, took care of business, and were back to it in a short time.
As of the Oregon border, we are now officially on the Adventure Cycling Association Pacific Coast route. And happy to be. It'a fun to make your own route (as we did down the penninsula) but ACA's shortcuts and detours tend to work a lot better than mine... We were reminded of this the first road we took, which diverted us from 101 into the Lewis and Clark river valley; a quiet road, winding through marshes and farms and mashy farms all the way to some hills just East of Seaside. We ascended and cruised down the hill all the way into downtown Seaside.
Because of our late start and errands, it was already late, nearly 6:45, and we were planning on heading on to Canon Beach, so we found a bench to rest and snack in before the last 10 miles or so. Lluc lamented, "I wish someone would jst let us camp in their yard." Just then, a fellow in a black sweatshirt and rainboots saw us and said "Where the f^@% are you guys from?" We started chatting, and almost immediately he offers "you're welcome to camp in my yard if you need a place." Hell... Canon Beach can wait... we took him up. We followed him to "the Bridge Tender" (a bar in the old control house of a small bridge) where he introduced us to his friends. And gave us loose directions to his house. "Christmas lights all over. You can't miss it." He wasn't lying. And we were pleasantly surprised to find a garage bar waiting for us.
His pals came over and pretty soon there was a barbeque going. We insisted we sleep in our tents. He insisted we shower. Deal.
Turns out we were very lucky to meet the man (they call him Mo). He's a fisherman. 'Assistant to the regional manager' on a boat called "The Engineer." A Seasider his whole life. We tell him about the cause we're raising money for, curious to hear his thoughts. The reaction was understandable: "why can't you just ride your bikes to Mexico and that's it?" Valid. We tell him it's an issue we're passionate about, and thought we could do something about it. "You want to do something about the Ocean: be on observer on a boat. Be a counter. Make sure they're doing what they're supposed to. *whispers* 'cause we don't." He agreed many fisheries on the West Coast were overfished, regulation has a lot to do with how fishermen like himself do business. But when we asked him what he thought was the most pressing issue for the ocean, he said without hesitation: plastics. "I drive my truck down the boach in Seaside a couple times and month and fill the entire bed with plastic every time. It's endless." He had even instituted on his boat reusable water bottles, so the fishermen stopped throwing thier plastic ones overboard when they were through, as well as a collection of bait wrapping, which often went overboard as well. We talked of the culture, of the people who eat seafood, if they really care where it comes from, and the people who catch it; if they really care where it goes.
The discussion was impassioned (albeit, lubricated), but remained friendly. In the morning, Lluc and I discussed how good it was to actually speak to fisherman and residents on the ocean, to educate ourselves on their perspectives. If anything, we may have come on too strong explaining ourselves. These guys were kind, and I could very well see some other ocean folk not being so open and cool-headed. If anything, I'm reminded that ocean issues are not as abstract and expansive as the sea; they are real, and happening in real towns to real people. Thanks Mo.
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