Let's call this the gritty middle bit...
Following on from our previous post about Days 1-5/17...
Day 6/17 North Bend, OR to Gold Beach, OR.
89 miles, 4,685 ft elevation.
When we were sat on the verandah in Moorea in French Polynesia, planning this cycling odyssey, we paused a moment to consider the distances involved. In particular, we were slightly wary of the plan for days 6-13, where we would go 794 miles without a rest day, and where the shortest day would be 75 miles.
But we reasoned that we had paced the journey well, with days 6,7,8 and 10 all under 90. We looked at the elevation involved also, and decided it was a challenging but achievable plan.
What we could not have anticipated, however, was the weather.
The first thing any research into this journey tells you, is that you must go North to South. That is the direction of the prevailing winds, and they really are consistent and predictable. They're driven by some of the biggest weather systems on the planet (ie the Pacific Ocean and currents), so you know what you're going to get.
Unless it's a freakish year, with a very late start to the summer, and with a cyclone gathering menacingly out to sea.
That cyclone loomed large in our weather app, and told us that days 6, 7 and at least half of 8, would be hard work. We just hoped it wouldn't be too hard.
The wind changed direction, bringing with it glum weather, with worse to follow. So day 6 was 89 miles in a headwind... but breakfast & lunch stops in Bandon and Port Orford were excellent (you'll have noticed by now that the quality of the food stop has a huge impact on morale!) There was a dilemma to be faced at lunch, where the spot we'd researched online turned out to be a deli, with fabulous food, but no indoor seating. Thankfully, the weather was still dry, albeit a little chilly (somewhere around 13 degrees), so we braved the cold in order to reap the rewards of an excellent smoothie, cake, and pulled pork sandwich with all the trimmings.
A local crow also took the opportunity, while we lingered inside ordering, to home in on the crisps Lisa had been carrying in the webbing of her saddle bag. Before either of us could do a Worzel Gummidge impression, it had sliced through the packaging and was liberally spreading the contents on the ground. We chalked that one up to experience, and gave the crow his due.
The coastline along here was also worthy of mention (even as the weather turned greyer and glummer), and in the same vein as our Day 3 Cannon Beach experience, with big outcrops of rock standing majestically off the shore. We made a couple of side trips just to get a good view, and with no more mechanical mishaps, there was plenty to be thankful for...
We arrived at our accommodation to be pleasantly surprised by the capacious and recently refurbished room, with views out over the bay. The 'sauna and hot tub' however, which we'd got very excited about in the last 20 miles, turned out not to have yet been refurbished. Given that only 2 of the 12 strip lights worked, it's likely the building had not been touched in any way since it had been built, some time in the 1970s.
Yet in that most British of fashions, once we'd walked in, we were determined to make the best of it. By the time we left, the hot tub was genuinely approaching warm, and the sauna a fair approximation of a hot summer's day.
We went to bed hoping that tomorrow's forecast was at least slightly melodramatic...
Day 7/17 Gold Beach, OR to Klamath, CA
74 miles, 4,245 ft elevation
...and at first, it seemed we might be in luck. There was a fine drizzle from the off, but we managed to get perhaps 10 miles out of town before the head- and crosswinds really kicked in. And we felt every one of the the 44 mph. At times we can't have been doing more than 9mph on the flat, and when the crosswind hit you on a bridge and swept your bike from under you, you really did feel for a moment like you'd be blown right away into the distance.
Thankfully we learned to deal with the forces of nature, and made resolute progress towards the salvation of our breakfast stop at Brookings, just on the California border.
When things are tough like this, you set yourself small, achievable goals in order to stay positive. Reach 1 hour. Find some shelter and have a snack. Reach 2 hours and get to a warm, indoor breakfast stop.
Alas, a few miles outside that breakfast stop, the heavens really opened, and suddenly we weren't just battling an invisible wind demon, we were also battling torrential rain, which reduced visibility as quickly as it did our spirits. Will's jacket seems a little more waterproof than Lisa's (although they're both designed only for light showers - which should have been sufficient in the normal run of things), and soon she was turning pale blue, and teeth chattering.
By sheer force of will we reached our planned breakfast cafe, only to find it was closed. On a Saturday.
*Sidenote* we found this up and down the coast: days of operation are utterly random, and follow no perceptible norm.
Senses of humour were already way beyond reach, and so it was not without some choice language that we soldiered on another couple of blocks to find a Starbucks, located in another Safeway (as per day 1).
We didn't know it at the time, but this was our ultimate test, and we would pass it.
When you think of coffee shops, you think of cosy, warm places, with an array of pastries and cakes which tantalise your taste buds whilst the aroma of rich coffee comforts you. You're warmed emotionally and physically, from the outside and the inside.
When you think of supermarkets, you think of a barn. Invariably, the air conditioning will be turned up way too high - there must be some market researcher somewhere responsible for this: 'cold people buy more food, and spend less time in the shop'.
Lisa was already wet through, no thanks to her non-functional rain-jacket, and so cold that she scooted off to the toilets to change into a fresh set of clothes - some of which was non-cyclewear. She had no other shoes or socks to hand though, so simply marched back and forth in her sopping socks.
While she dried off, Will gulped down tea in a vain effort to counter the air-con effect, and chatted to another cyclist named Scott, who had taken similar refuge. He was in his 60s, and on his way to Humboldt County, CA. He was planning on catching the bus. The weather was the worst he'd seen in years - plus, he warned us, the road on the other side of Crescent City was lethal. No sane cyclist would take it. No shoulder to speak of as you climbed a monumental hill, with a constant stream of traffic which would elbow past you whether there was room or not.
Our ears pricked up. The bus was calling. But it turned out the bus left in 4 hours time, and would get us perhaps another 35 miles down the road. It wasn't enough.
Will's teeth were now chattering, and there seemed to be nothing for it but to soldier on. He had at least managed to identify another breakfast stop option, a few blocks down.
With the least enthusiasm either of us have ever mustered for cycling, we got back on our bikes in the downpour, and made it to this third option.
It was open.
And it was the cafe of dreams.
To be fair, we were both pretty much delirious by this point, so we may in reality have sat on a bench outside, sipping imaginary coffees. But it felt like nirvana.
We ate a stack of pancakes, warmed ourselves right through (thank you toilet hand-driers everywhere!), drank some coffee, and got chatting to another friendly cyclist (Logan, a San Franciscan cycling from Portland back to his home), and another friendly lady who simply offered us her business card, said she used to cycle, and that if we got into any sort of trouble in the next few hundred miles, we should call her and she'd be there. Really - the kindness of strangers on this trip has been incredible. Humbling.
Logan was, very sensibly, opting to stay put today. He had a flexible schedule. We envied him that. But there was something very rejuvenating in simply eating and drinking hot things, in a friendly, sociable setting, and forgetting about our ordeal for a while.
Logan also gave us a couple of recommendations for cake stops further down the coast.
It may have been our imaginations, but the weather seemed to have mellowed as we stepped back out into the street to resume our journey. We made some good progress, and even managed a smile as we passed the California state sign. The sun always shines in California. Everyone knows that.
Even a puncture in Will's rear tyre a few miles further on didn't really dampen our spirits. The rain and wind had definitely relented.
But it came back. Oh, it came back. We pushed on to Crescent City, where AGAIN, the selected lunch stop turned out to be closed: this one simply didn't exist anymore - a victim of COVID 19. We asked a stranger in a shop, and ended up in a rock bar on a Saturday afternoon, eating excellent burgers and knocking back a third caffeinated drink in our efforts to stay energised, as the pools of water collected under our seats. No-one in there quite knew what to make of us - but they let us do our thing and depart. As we paid, the waitress was sure to add to Scott's earlier warning: the road ahead was treacherous. Abandon hope all ye who enter.
Fate was definitely trying to tell us something. The rain was lashing down worse than ever as we left our lunch stop, and trudged on a couple of blocks to pick up some supplies for our evening meal (we were self-catering in an RV tonight). While Will paid at the checkout, Lisa was approached by another cyclist who had chosen to end his journey in Crescent City, and suggested we do the same. There was a church/community hall nearby which was taking in waifs and strays like us. It had warm showers.
I wish I could say that we were stout of heart, or at least determined - but the reality is probably just that we were so cold and wet and tired that we couldn't think straight. All we could think to do was keep going.
And so we pedalled up that 5 mile hill, into the giant redwoods, in the driving rain. There was indeed no shoulder. But one of the two uphill lanes had been coned off to traffic for some roadworks which were yet to happen. It was perfectly navigable for a bike, and so we had a whole lane all to ourselves.
What traffic did come past us that afternoon was courteous and considerate, and as the last few miles disappeared, we both began to celebrate. We had made it.
We collapsed into our RV for the night, used up all the hot water in the shower, put on some laundry, had a nap, then woke up to cook some pasta, before going back to sleep. We would see how we felt in the morning - and hoped that the weather would now improve.
Day 8/17 Klamath, CA to Ferndale, CA
88 miles, 3,904 ft elevation
The morning arose drizzling, and Will soon encountered his first major niggle of the trip - a tight calf which shot pain up his leg. The day was punctuated with stretching stops to manage it. But the wind seemed to have abated somewhat, and we were cautiously optimistic as we sallied forth once more.
Our first highlight of the day was due to be a scenic detour off the 101, on the Newton B Drury parkway, through giant redwoods. As we reached the turn though, a big sign declared the road closed, while a tree behind it, strewn across almost the whole road, backed up this claim.
However, we had picked up some valuable lessons already on this trip – one being learned from Anthony, our cycle saviour from Pacific City: roads are seldom closed to cycles.
We judged that this sole tree was the cause of the closed road, and we headed onward. 10 miles of traffic-free open road ensued, with nothing but the sounds of the forest for company. This is where they filmed the battle of Endor in Return of the Jedi. And it felt otherworldly.
I won’t go so far to say we welcomed the rain/mist – but it certainly heightened the atmosphere, and we were feeling reasonably chipper as we finally left our private road, stopping briefly to watch some elk grazing casually in the meadow beside us.
But then, away from the forest, the wind and rain picked up again. By the time we reached the visitor centre at Orick – our designated breakfast stop – we were both frozen and soaked through again. The centre was slightly warmer than a supermarket – but only slightly. We must have cut pretty miserable figures, wandering aimlessly between exhibits, trying to take an interest whilst stamping our feet and eating the remnants of last night’s cold pasta.
Soon we were back on the road again.
The rain did lift as the morning progressed, but the wind did not. We stopped at Arcata for pizza, where the cheery owner lifted our spirits a little, and then went onwards to our final destination, in Ferndale.
Lisa didn’t know about this one. Will had a penchant for planning surprises, and particularly for booking fun hotels. This one was a doozy. Ferndale is famous for being a town frozen in time. All its buildings are original American Victorian gothic, and Will had booked us a night at the Gingerbread Mansion B&B).
So it was very satisfying to watch Lisa’s face as we pulled up at the address, and she realised this was where we were staying. The surprises continued in the room, with a roll-top bath (just the thing for weary limbs), followed by afternoon tea with cheese, biscuits, cakes, cold cuts, fruit and wine all on offer. We then wandered a couple of blocks over, to the Victorian Inn for dinner, which was excellent and gargantuan, in a similarly spectacular setting.
The only thing Will couldn’t arrange was more time. We went to bed rejuvenated but wishing we could spend longer there. We will be back!
Day 9/17 Ferndale, CA to Fort Bragg, CA
122 miles, 8,497 ft elevation
The Gingerbread Mansion laid on a cracking cooked breakfast for us, to send us on our way well-fuelled. We would need it. Today was a long one: the second longest, in fact (by all of 3 miles), and the hilliest. We set off in a cloud, managing to get wet again without really encountering any rain. However, it soon burned off, and the day turned to sunshine. That was the last we’d see of rain. We hit some steep hills, before the main excitement of the day: The Avenue of the Giants.
We’d already cycled through a couple of redwood forests – they pretty much extend in a band south from the Oregon border. But several people had assured us that this was the unmissable one.
And they were right.
For a start, it was enormous. 30 miles of non-stop trees the size of a house. And lying so
close to the road you could reach out and touch them. The road weaved beautifully around them, never getting boring, always unfolding to reveal another spectacular view. We lost count of the number of times we exclaimed in sheer amazement at the sights we were given. And the traffic was once again very light. We pretty much had the place to ourselves.
After the send-off we’d had at our B&B, second breakfast was a perfunctory affair, held in the sunshine – yes, SUNSHINE! – in a patch of grass surrounded by redwoods. Good enough for us!
A stretch of highway riding (never particularly enjoyable: even if the traffic is respectful, which it almost always is, it’s a noisy place to be, with little chance of a view, and the ever-present risk of cycling over something sharp and puncture-causing) eventually got us to lunch. The weather was so different to the previous few days that we both had smoothies instead of coffees. We needed to cool down. That was a nice feeling.
The challenge today really came after lunch. We’d pretty much selected the last possible stop on the route for our lunch stop, but nonetheless ahead of us lay a good 60 miles of road – half of the entire day’s ride. It would be a long slog.
We climbed incrementally out of the redwoods, to around 1,000ft, without really noticing. Then we hit a 4 mile hill with 1,200ft of elevation. We noticed that. Bizarrely, that really didn’t seem to be the toughest bit of the day.
The climb was through a forest, and the road was windy and scenic. Best of all, we were finally returning to the coast after a day or so away from it (since leaving Eureka, shortly after our lunch stop the day before).
And the coast was at sea-level. Lisa is a world-class descender (seriously), and Will has learned how to stay at least within sight of her – so the next 30 minutes, descending through 2,000ft of equally windy, scenic forest road, were a lot of fun.
We caught up with a couple of cars who felt the need to pull over to let us by, as they were holding us up. I think we both clocked speeds around 47mph…
And then, suddenly we emerged from forest to ocean. There was the Californian Pacific before us, endless and dramatic. We pulled over, took a couple of photos, drank the last of our water, and ate the last of our food. We still had 20 miles to go, and we were both now pretty tired and a little saddle-sore. Yet it felt almost as if the scenery was part of our support team, lifting our spirits and encouraging us to just keep going that little bit longer.
Somehow, we made it to our motel in time to clean ourselves up, and step back out onto the beach to enjoy the sunset and a bite to eat. Sleep came easy that night.
Day 10/17 Fort Bragg, CA to Fort Ross, CA
85 miles, 4,869 ft elevation
We had sold today to ourselves as a recovery day, of sorts. I’m not sure we entirely bought it – but it was shorter than yesterday. The down side of getting to the spectacular central Californian coast, however, was that we had to climb up and down, up and down every one of those coves, inlets, and cliffs. It turned out to be a tougher day than we had anticipated. Perhaps it was cumulative fatigue setting in – but every climb just seemed a little harder. This was where we encountered the steepest of all the hills on the coast. It only lasted 0.75 miles, but it gave us everything it had in that distance. At one right-handed hairpin (ie the inside turn), we had that classic moment where the front wheel lifts off as you try to pull yourself up. The bike computer read 16% for that moment – the whole hill averaged 10%. We rewarded ourselves with a picnic 2nd breakfast at the top of that climb, with eagles soaring around us, a convenient tree stump for a back rest, and another spectacular ocean view for company.
A little further on we had to navigate round a couple of deer who were minding their own business in the middle of the road. They seemed to have worked out that we’d come off worse than them in a collision. Our lunch stop was at Gualala, and felt suitably Californian, with elaborate salads followed by enormous helpings of pie. Then we headed next door to the supermarket to pick up BBQ veg (we were jonesing for some healthy food after a succession of burgers and fries and pizzas for lunches and dinners), which we stuffed into Will’s already-full pannier. When we finally stopped at our accommodation a couple of hours later, we could barely lift that pannier. It must have been 12kg by that point if it was a gram, with corn, sausages, potatoes, and asparagus all piled in there. But it was totally worth it. The BBQ was every bit as good as we’d hoped, and the guy at Fort Ross Lodge couldn’t do enough for us. He found us some kindling, and put our laundry on for us, while we made straight for the hot tub and sauna. In stark contrast to the Gold Beach experience, this hot tub was well-maintained, outside, and toasty-warm. We sat in there with a beer in hand, watching the sun set over the cliffs, and feeling like we were finally getting some proper ‘active recovery’ work in. Despite all the aches and pains, everything felt a bit more manageable that evening.
