Checking out the coast near Lincoln City, Oregon.
Sunday, July 8, 2007
Friday, July 6, 2007
He's hard core
Greetings from Tillamook! Our first day in Oregon had an 800-foot climb but some stunning views of the Pacific. Today we're hoping to set our own record for 75 miles in a day.
Here's a fun encounter we had last week:
On a ferry on our way to Port Townsend, we met a bright-eyed 21-year-old Catholic boy named Greg who is also riding down to San Diego. But we soon realized that he had completely outdone all of our attempts to become "hard core." Greg, for example, rode every day for the past month with 70 pounds worth of dumb bells in his bike bags (panniers). I rode with my panniers on my bike ... once. Not only was he better trained, he was also better packed. He has a topogrophical map book, a compasss (the geometry kind) and hunting spray that suppresses human scent. He couldn't believe that we hadn't brought our hatchets and fishing poles. But we were very grateful for his hatchet when he used it to help make us a fire at camp at the end of our first rainy rainy day. (His hatchet was made my Gerber. Just in case you were wondering, that's NOT the same people who make the baby food.) He was just going to have beef jerky for dinner that night, so we invited him to have burritos with us. Fire for burritos seemed like a fair exchange. He took off the next day for Portland, but we hope to meet up with him again...we could always use a little more hard core.
Here's a fun encounter we had last week:
On a ferry on our way to Port Townsend, we met a bright-eyed 21-year-old Catholic boy named Greg who is also riding down to San Diego. But we soon realized that he had completely outdone all of our attempts to become "hard core." Greg, for example, rode every day for the past month with 70 pounds worth of dumb bells in his bike bags (panniers). I rode with my panniers on my bike ... once. Not only was he better trained, he was also better packed. He has a topogrophical map book, a compasss (the geometry kind) and hunting spray that suppresses human scent. He couldn't believe that we hadn't brought our hatchets and fishing poles. But we were very grateful for his hatchet when he used it to help make us a fire at camp at the end of our first rainy rainy day. (His hatchet was made my Gerber. Just in case you were wondering, that's NOT the same people who make the baby food.) He was just going to have beef jerky for dinner that night, so we invited him to have burritos with us. Fire for burritos seemed like a fair exchange. He took off the next day for Portland, but we hope to meet up with him again...we could always use a little more hard core.
Thursday, July 5, 2007
We miss you, Amy!
We're starting the Oregon coast today. Yahoo!
Yesterday, some family friends met us at the end of a 4-mile bridge in Astoria, and yelled and screamed and took our picture as we made it acroos. We felt like super-stars. Then they whisked us off to their home for food, a warm bed and shower. Deluxe.
Two other memorable moments from that last few days:
- Camping on the lawn of an LDS church
- Being chased by a mean, vicious, terrifying three-legged dog.
Yesterday, some family friends met us at the end of a 4-mile bridge in Astoria, and yelled and screamed and took our picture as we made it acroos. We felt like super-stars. Then they whisked us off to their home for food, a warm bed and shower. Deluxe.
Two other memorable moments from that last few days:
- Camping on the lawn of an LDS church
- Being chased by a mean, vicious, terrifying three-legged dog.
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
Amy goes AWOL
So. It's not that I didn't believe people when they said it would be hard. Not at all. And the closer we got to it, and the more practicing and preparing I did, the more convinced I became that this was going to be tough and probably not one of my more enjoyable adventures. But that didn't keep me from wanting the experience of it. I didn't want to back out because it sounded like it might be tough.
What I didn't account for--and I'm not sure how much this would have affected my decision even if I had known--is that hills and mountains are mostly what comprise the trek. And my fear of speed and heights is not absolved by frequent descents on narrow-shoulder mountains, feeling the draft of trucks whizzing past me. I definitely knew that such situations would be part of the journey. I just didn't know it would be such an enormous part of it.
After five days of riding and an anxiety attack on Sunday night, I realized I didn't want to do this to myself anymore. There is no higher motive here, just the personal victory of having done it, and I don't value that more than my mental (and quite possibly physical) health (because honestly- what can you do to "look out for logging trucks" aside from not being on a bike in the first place?).
So I told Chris and Jen that I was thinking about getting on a bus or something. Chris suggested getting a SAG vehicle and we stopped at a library to look into options. Suddenly a vague idea became an immediate decision. Renting a car one-way for that long proved cost-prohibitive, but the bus and train were still options, and Chris's friend Amy was coming to meet us that night and could take me back to Seattle to catch some public transportation. Following a Dairy Queen Dinner, that's what happened.
This part isn't about the bike trip, but I will say what happened next for those who are curious. Amy insisted that the train station was too sketchy to stay in over night, but we struck out with nearby hotels, and the Best Western was $150 for the night, so I decided to just hang out at the Amtrak anyway. I set up a little area where I plugged my phone in, locked my bike to the seat, put my panniers in a duffle bag under my feet, and got in my sleeping bag, prepared to make it to the next morning in relative security. This continued to be my plan until 1:15, when a guy woke me up to tell me that the station closed at 10:30 but stayed open longer to wait for a train, but I couldn't stay there. They would re-open at 6:15.
I called my sister Angie who got a number for a nearby hostel and made sure there was a vacancy. I got a cab, lugged my bike and all my gear up 2 flights of stairs to the hostel, and a few minutes later entered a dark room with 3 bunk beds and clothing thrown around everywhere. I found an empty bed, threw some clothes off a ladder, and climbed up.
The next morning I got to the station with plenty of time, and the baggage guys were really nice about boxing my bike up for me (and it only cost $5 for the entire operation). I got on a train headed for Monterey, and 29 hours later we pulled into the Salinas station, where I was met by my friend Emily, her husband and new baby. So here I am.
I kind of feel like I am running away from running away. I feel bad for the people who were really excited to see me finish this for my own sake and who helped me in the process. I know this must seem strange but I don't regret it. I don't regret having had this to look forward to and prepare for. I don't wish that I had simply never planned for it just because it had the promise of an enormous challenge. But I also don't regret re-assessing the situation once I had experienced that level of anxiety and, honestly, terror, for several days straight, and with many more to go.
What I didn't account for--and I'm not sure how much this would have affected my decision even if I had known--is that hills and mountains are mostly what comprise the trek. And my fear of speed and heights is not absolved by frequent descents on narrow-shoulder mountains, feeling the draft of trucks whizzing past me. I definitely knew that such situations would be part of the journey. I just didn't know it would be such an enormous part of it.
After five days of riding and an anxiety attack on Sunday night, I realized I didn't want to do this to myself anymore. There is no higher motive here, just the personal victory of having done it, and I don't value that more than my mental (and quite possibly physical) health (because honestly- what can you do to "look out for logging trucks" aside from not being on a bike in the first place?).
So I told Chris and Jen that I was thinking about getting on a bus or something. Chris suggested getting a SAG vehicle and we stopped at a library to look into options. Suddenly a vague idea became an immediate decision. Renting a car one-way for that long proved cost-prohibitive, but the bus and train were still options, and Chris's friend Amy was coming to meet us that night and could take me back to Seattle to catch some public transportation. Following a Dairy Queen Dinner, that's what happened.
This part isn't about the bike trip, but I will say what happened next for those who are curious. Amy insisted that the train station was too sketchy to stay in over night, but we struck out with nearby hotels, and the Best Western was $150 for the night, so I decided to just hang out at the Amtrak anyway. I set up a little area where I plugged my phone in, locked my bike to the seat, put my panniers in a duffle bag under my feet, and got in my sleeping bag, prepared to make it to the next morning in relative security. This continued to be my plan until 1:15, when a guy woke me up to tell me that the station closed at 10:30 but stayed open longer to wait for a train, but I couldn't stay there. They would re-open at 6:15.
I called my sister Angie who got a number for a nearby hostel and made sure there was a vacancy. I got a cab, lugged my bike and all my gear up 2 flights of stairs to the hostel, and a few minutes later entered a dark room with 3 bunk beds and clothing thrown around everywhere. I found an empty bed, threw some clothes off a ladder, and climbed up.
The next morning I got to the station with plenty of time, and the baggage guys were really nice about boxing my bike up for me (and it only cost $5 for the entire operation). I got on a train headed for Monterey, and 29 hours later we pulled into the Salinas station, where I was met by my friend Emily, her husband and new baby. So here I am.
I kind of feel like I am running away from running away. I feel bad for the people who were really excited to see me finish this for my own sake and who helped me in the process. I know this must seem strange but I don't regret it. I don't regret having had this to look forward to and prepare for. I don't wish that I had simply never planned for it just because it had the promise of an enormous challenge. But I also don't regret re-assessing the situation once I had experienced that level of anxiety and, honestly, terror, for several days straight, and with many more to go.
Seattle Update
(note: this was written on Sunday night via my cell phone, sent to my dad, who then sent it back to me. so it's a little dated and a little choppy. Anyway...)
Right now it's after 11pm and we're kind of wondering what we've gotten ourselves into. You'd think that in seattle of all places we would have been able to find an internet cafe, but no luck. And the library is closed today. So our visions of regular and frequent updates are slowly fading. I'm definitely going through withdrawls.
The trail has been tough. Lots of ups. Lots of downs. Very few flats, unless you count jen's flat tire. I do ok on the uphills but going down still freaks me out. Jen and chris arent inhibited like that but its still just taxing on all of us. We are staying with some friends of jen right now which has been really nice. I dont know if i could
actually live here though. Too many blasted hills.
Right now it's after 11pm and we're kind of wondering what we've gotten ourselves into. You'd think that in seattle of all places we would have been able to find an internet cafe, but no luck. And the library is closed today. So our visions of regular and frequent updates are slowly fading. I'm definitely going through withdrawls.
The trail has been tough. Lots of ups. Lots of downs. Very few flats, unless you count jen's flat tire. I do ok on the uphills but going down still freaks me out. Jen and chris arent inhibited like that but its still just taxing on all of us. We are staying with some friends of jen right now which has been really nice. I dont know if i could
actually live here though. Too many blasted hills.
Monday, July 2, 2007
Slow and Sporadic
Our apologies for the lack of updates! Our biggest challenge of the trip so far has been getting in enough miles in a day, so internet breaks haven't been an option yet. But we're getting stronger and we're trying to elminate some of the incidents that have required us to stop pedalling, such as:
- Someone runs over a rock and thinks part of their bike has fallen off, so we stop and look for the mystery piece.
- People ask for our autographs or ask to take our picture. (Well, when three 12-year-old boys stopped us in the middle of their little farming town, I offered them our autographs, and they were thrilled.)
- Stop to read the map. Then some kind-hearted soul usually stops and asks us if we need help. One woman even led us for miles in her VW Bug all the way to a grocery store.
- A pannier gets loose and falls off.
- The road turns into a freeway and we have to use a Swiss army knife to cut our way through thorny bushes to get up onto a side road.
- Chris can't remember the words of the third verse to "Yellow Submarine" so stops to ask Amy.
- After a break, Jen clips in and then falls over from a complete stop. Then we wait for her to stop hurting.
- Catch our breathe and celebrate at the top of a hill. (It's WAY hillier than we expected. I'm in my lowest gear more than a dozen times a day.)
- Stop to get out our super-dork-reflective-vests and bike lights because we're still 10 miles from our campsite and it's completely dark. The first night we didn't pully into camp until 11pm.
- Put on rain gear. Rain destroyed us on day 4. The mud spraying up into our faces (except for Chris - he has fenders) wasn't as bad as the soggy socks and shoes.
- Stop to ake a picture of the stunning views of Puget Sound.
- Jen and Amy stop because they are shaking and faint from lack of nutrients because they ate wheat thins for dinner the night before. They try to down some energy goo down before gagging.
- Someone runs over a rock and thinks part of their bike has fallen off, so we stop and look for the mystery piece.
- People ask for our autographs or ask to take our picture. (Well, when three 12-year-old boys stopped us in the middle of their little farming town, I offered them our autographs, and they were thrilled.)
- Stop to read the map. Then some kind-hearted soul usually stops and asks us if we need help. One woman even led us for miles in her VW Bug all the way to a grocery store.
- A pannier gets loose and falls off.
- The road turns into a freeway and we have to use a Swiss army knife to cut our way through thorny bushes to get up onto a side road.
- Chris can't remember the words of the third verse to "Yellow Submarine" so stops to ask Amy.
- After a break, Jen clips in and then falls over from a complete stop. Then we wait for her to stop hurting.
- Catch our breathe and celebrate at the top of a hill. (It's WAY hillier than we expected. I'm in my lowest gear more than a dozen times a day.)
- Stop to get out our super-dork-reflective-vests and bike lights because we're still 10 miles from our campsite and it's completely dark. The first night we didn't pully into camp until 11pm.
- Put on rain gear. Rain destroyed us on day 4. The mud spraying up into our faces (except for Chris - he has fenders) wasn't as bad as the soggy socks and shoes.
- Stop to ake a picture of the stunning views of Puget Sound.
- Jen and Amy stop because they are shaking and faint from lack of nutrients because they ate wheat thins for dinner the night before. They try to down some energy goo down before gagging.
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