Saturday 5th August
I’ve spent well over the last 24 hours travelling. A combination of car, plane, and train to take me to Astoria, Oregon so I can begin a two week cycle tour down the Pacific Coast, finishing in San Francisco, around 900 miles and 16 days south.
It began with a flight from London to Oakland. After landing I waited nervously for the box containing my bike, 45 minutes later it was finally presented to me, dragged by two baggage handlers from some unknown room. The airport was small and had posters on the wall apologising for its inadequacies.
A short yet inexplicably expensive cab ride took me to Oakland Amtrak station. A modest building in a neighbourhood of warehouses, where friendly station staff helped me check in my baggage and made me feel at home again in America. With the bike and bag stowed I set out to find dinner, and soon found myself eating pizza in a jet lagged haze as the sun set, all washed it down with a large can of beer. I felt I could finally start to relax and look forward to the cycling I had ahead of me. But I wasn’t quite there yet.
I returned to the station at 9, crossing the tracks which mark the start of my path up to Portland. It was dark now, and the train was delayed by around an hour and a half. I sat impatiently in the waiting area, slowly falling asleep as I tried to calculate in my head how long I’d been awake for. At some point it arrived and after dragging my bike along the platform to a luggage carriage I clambered on to the large silver train in the dark and did my best to curl up on a seat which reclined a little but just short of enough to be comfortable. An armrest would have been a useful addition to create a barrier between me and the other person to my side who was having more success staying asleep.
I checked my watch several times during the night, a few hours of scattered sleep to the soundtrack of podcasts I’d been using to block out the pain of the seat and the baby perched on the chair in front of me.
I gave up on sleep at around 8 and spent most of the rest of my time on in the observation carriage which was located above the snack cafe and had large windows on three sides which looked out over the forests and lakes of California, then Oregon, as we very slowly made our way northwards. It was like travelling in a moving greenhouse. The route roughly followed the Highway 5 inland. Occasionally you’d get a glimpse of a long stretch stretch of road, a kayak heading down a river, or a lake with a couple of small fishing boats. Sometimes people waved.
On the map I recognised names from the road trip I’d taken this direction two years ago – Eugene, Klamath, Bend. The train was also familiar – i’d taken a similar one between Los Angeles and Austin, also in 2015.
Amtrak trains were a fascinating, and slightly strange, cross section of people. An Amish family, a guy glued to a laptop with a ‘Christ loves gamers’ sticker on the back, some hikers and backpackers, parents visiting children, and those who were just drifting between places.
Most of these people would strike up a conversation with you if you were sat near enough to listen. In America people tend to talk at you rather than with you, within minutes you’ll know their step sisters brothers name and that he was a firefighter in Southern California but now lives in the woods in Vermouth. It was simultaneously an endearing and irritating character trait – very much dependent on the person in question. But on a 17 hour hour train journey it was all entertainment.
The time passed easily. Watching the landscape roll by, eavesdropping on conversations, drinking coffee and eating doughnut holes. I stretched my legs at Klamath. The train was a long curving length of silver metal that I couldn’t see then end of. I hoped my bike was back there somewhere.
I ate a cup of noodles for lunch. The options either being pastries packaged in plastic wrappers, or cheese/bread combinations that were fired in a microwave for a minute then scooped into a cardboard tray where the swiftly conjealed.
I needed sleep but it was hard to come by. Sunlight pierced through trees and the train glowed. Eventually I retired back to the coach seating and lay across a double seat with my earphones in.
The train slowed as at last began it’s approach to Portland, crossing the river in a hazey early evening sun. It was warm outside when my feet finally touched down on the platform.
I stored my train at the station and walked briskly into the city, stopping at REI to pick up a couple of essentials, before checking into a hostel i’d booked for the evening.
After dropping my bags and taking a whirlwind shower, I headed out immediately to meet Nick – a good friend i’d made in Central America and hadn’t seen since. We shared a few beers and memories and called it a night. It was brief, sweet.
I desperately needed to go to bed, I also need to get out of it tomorrow.
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