Part 6: Ocean, Sky, Freedom: West Coast Bicycle Adventure—Canada to Mexico—Whales and Depoe Bay

By Frosty Wooldridge

Part 6:  Conde McCollough bridge of art, place of many fish, art shops, mermaids and sailors.

“‘Patience is the angel’s answer. Down beneath these miles of snow—the ice is shifting, grinding, slicing, leveling, building, making a sierra here, a broad valley there, scooping out a Yosemite Valley, leveling off a plain, polishing boulders, marking rock ledges with the handwriting of God, making ready warm glades for grass and flowers, mountain slopes for majestic forests, homes for birds and breaking ground for beauty.” John Muir

(Sandi enjoying the bouquet of yard flowers in front of houses along the route.)

After eating a sumptuous waffle and oatmeal breakfast at the Hawk Creek Café, we lazed around the picnic tables on thick green grass to talk with other travelers.  One older couple came up, “We wish we were younger so we could do what you two are doing.”

“Gosh, you don’t look very old,” Sandi said.

“Gordon just hit 66 last month,” the wife said.

“Guess what,” said Sandi.  “We’re older than you!”

Gasp!

“No, you can’t be,” the husband said.

“Yes, we’re both senior citizens and older than you,” said Sandi.

“What’s your secret?” asked the lady.

I answered, “Drugs, sex and rock n roll!”

They about died laughing.

After two hours of talking to various folks from all over the country, we decided to pedal south.  We enjoyed a lovely stay in Neskowin with its abundant flowers, shops, great food and warm showers at the motel. 

We rolled over 300 to 400 foot mountain passes, which yielded tremendous views of the deep green Oregon wilderness.  Stunning clarity of Mother Nature.

What makes Oregon so green?  Answer: rain!  It started slow with sprinkles, then a steady drizzle until the heavens opened up with their version of Hurricane Katrina.

(On tour, we see interesting things along the way.  Somebody must feature the world’s largest so and so.)

We pulled on our rain gear to stay dry, but we perspired from the heat of pedaling so we still got wet.  We rode through rain and fog.  Our flags flapped and our red blinking lights let rear traffic know our location on the highway. We turned on our white LED blinking lights for oncoming traffic to keep them alert to our presence.  I wear a yellow rain jacket to make sure I’m seen.

Pedaling through the rain resembles slogging through the woods, walking through wet cement, sweating while you get drenched, enduring rain splashes in your face while you feel trapped in a moving shower stall.  We endured and persevered.  Soaking wet sucks!

One writer said, “Adventure is 20 percent discovery and 80 percent drudgery.”

That raises a question about the efficacy of bicycle adventure touring.  What about when you must pedal across the Great Plains of America for 1,000 miles?  Or, how about pedaling over 1,200 miles down the Atacama Desert in South America?  What about crossing the nearly 2,000 miles of the Nullarbor Plains across Australia in 110-degree daily heat?  How about pedaling through endless miles of the Amazon rainforest?   How about cranking up endless 8,000 to 12,000-foot passes on the “Spine of Rockies” on the Continental Divide in America? 

Since I’ve ridden those rides, yes, I verify that thousands of those miles around this planet mean enduring the ravages of repetition, nothingness and oblivion.  I can’t say it’s a party on two wheels.  I can’t say it’s enthralling or exciting.  At the same time, whether you climb mountains or scuba dive under the oceans or paraglide through emptiness of the biosphere—something pulls the human spirit onward.  It sure pulls me!  Such vigorous physical activity makes a human being know he or she lives—not merely exists.  “Pedaling Bliss” captivates every cell in my body.  I press down on the power stroke that frees me from the world’s troubles, anguish and pain.  I notice that my legs become my wings and that, I am forever flying just off the pavement to wherever the world takes me.

I love knowing I am alive.  I love knowing I can transport myself over extreme distances.  I love the emotional, mental and physical engagement of my senses.  Do you love something that “turns you on” in every cell of your body?  Good!  You know what I mean.  I don’t give a damn about the rain!  I pedal through it until I see a rainbow.

(Travel allows everyone to enjoy the history of areas they visit.)

We passed Fogarty Creek into Depoe Bay.  What a beautiful town!  What a fantastic bay to watch whales, seabirds and seals!   Big gray whales swim right into the deep waters of the bay.  To see one of them captures your entire emotional being.  When they exhale through their blowhole, a fountain of spray shoots 20 feet into the air.

“Look at that one,” said Sandi as she stood inside the National Park Service “Whale Watch” station on the edge of a cliff in Depoe Bay.

“Wow,” I said. 

A big gray smoothly broke the water for her breath of air and instantly vanished below the waves.   The ranger reported 87 sightings that day.  Some of them stay all summer because the food chain keeps them thriving.

(Seals resting on the rocks in Depoe Bay.)

Later, we ate lunch at the Sea Hag.  What’s so cool about dining at that ancient establishment?  Sailors from 100 years ago ate breakfast, lunch and dinners at the Sea Hag.  You can smell the past in the hardwood floors, doors and booths.  Just love it!

Back on the road, rain and fog prevailed. Nonetheless, a short distance out of town on Otter Creek, we saw a colony of seals sleeping on the rocks.  The whole area sports 200-foot cliffs, rugged rocks, ocean waves crashing everywhere and seabirds floating or flying.  Later, we stopped by the Devil’s Punch Bowl where the ocean pounded up into the lava rock on the seashore to create wild spray where it collided with sheer rock faces.

Along Route 101, we passed lighthouses from  the 1800s that kept frigate ships from smashing onto the rocks.  We pedaled past stunning beach formations with eternal waves crashing and smashing again and again onto the lava rocks in this region known as the “Ring of Fire” where Mt. St. Helens blew up in 1980.  

(Riding in the gray drizzle of an overcast, yucky day.)

After a long day of rain, mist, fog and yuck, we decided to hang it up in Newport, Oregon near one of the brilliant Conde McCollough bridges.  He designed and built them in the 1920s.  Riding over them feels like pedaling through art and history at the same time.  You rarely see such imaginative and creatively beautiful bridges anywhere in the world.

I’ll admit, this day tested us.  The rain caused a frown on Sandi’s face.  At the same time, I thought about that old guy telling me that adventure equates to 80 percent drudgery.  If I look back at the pictures and moments of this day, you know something, I’ll take the entire package of adventure any day.  As John Muir said, “We’re watching the handwriting of God.”  Not to mention His or Her  handiwork in action!

(Shops sell themes of sea monsters, mermaids and sailing ships.)

(Sandi riding along the vast Pacific Ocean.)

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Frosty Wooldridge
Golden, CO

Population-Immigration-Environmental specialist: speaker at colleges, civic clubs, high schools and conferences

Www.HowToLiveALifeOfAdventure.com

Www.frostywooldridge.com

Six continent world bicycle traveler

Speaker/writer/adventurer

Adventure book: How to Live a Life of Adventure: The Art of Exploring the World

Latest book:  How to Deal with 21st Century American Women: Co-creating a successful relationship

Frosty Wooldridge, six continent world bicycle traveler, Canada to Mexico summer 2014, 2,200 miles, 100,000 vertical feet of climbing: