Monday, August 7th
So far Oregon has been little but gloom and grey skies. Meteorologically, these aren’t the most inspiring conditions, but they also seem to suit Northern Oregon – the way sun makes sense in Southern California.
I left cannon beach at 8, having woken at 6.30 after a mixed nights sleep. The focus of the morning was a climb to Neahkanie Mountain, at 1,661 feet, one of the highest points on the Oregon coast (according to the sign). To get there I’d ridden the 101, looking back over Cannon Beach at first, then later inland as I tried to hold my nerve as logging trucks passed my left shoulder and I passed through the first of 2 or 3 tunnels. Before entering the tunnel you can press a button which activates flashing lights letting drivers know you’re inside, if, hopefully, they’re looking. Then it’s a anxious fast pedal to meet the light at the other end.
At the top the view to the south was over Nehlaem bay, a long beach stretching off into distant fogs. I took a short break at the top then descended, initially stopping for a 20oz cup of the worst possible kind of gas station coffee, before breaking again at Rockaway beach. One of several towns on this stretch with names that seemed to reference New York. The road was flat and a stretch of train track ran alongside it, carrying tourists in an ornamental steam train up and down the coast for a short distance.
I felt lightheaded and exhausted – still slightly jetlagged and adjusting. I bought fried chicken and a bag of miniature tacos at another store, washed down with more coffee. My diet could only get better, but I hoped the warm calories would help me recover. I still felt dazed and lacking a little motivation – the towns were quite sad dreary places despite being perched right on the Pacific. Perhaps it was just the weather.
Tillamook was the next stop, a town famous for a cheese factory which sat on the outskirts. The final mile was nothing but Burger Kings, Subways and McDonalds. Though Tillamook itself seemed to have a little more charm, which was ruined a little but the trucks and lorries which ran right though the centre. I ate pizza at a place called Fat Dog (excellent – 9/10), picked up some supplies from Safeway, and left.
I departed the 101 at that point, for the first time in the day, taking a winding steep road up then down to Netarts bay. A woman taking out some trash said watch out for the bends. I stopped to get her to elaborate, a conversation which ended with ‘A lot of cyclists get nailed there. A LOT’. This put me on edge for the next half an hour. There was little to no shoulder, tight bends, and a decent amount of traffic. But happily I emerged at the water without being nailed.
Soon after I realised I had missed one of the apparent highlights of the day – lighthouse at Cape Mearees, known for its polished Parisian glass, and stunning views.
I’m not sure where I went wrong. The book I’m using, Bicycling the Pacific Coast, and the Adventure Cycling Route I’m also referencing don’t always overlap, and I must have missed a turn.
I realised this just three miles from the campsite. It was 4pm, relatively early but the standards I’d set last year, but feeling rather uninspired and a little drained I decided to stop and pulled into Cape Lookout state park, ending the day 10 miles shorter than I had been planning for.
It was jut six dollars to camp, they also charged my battery and light whilst I set up camp, showered and explored the huge length of shoreline – a spit of land which separated the sea from Netarts bay where I’d cycled along earlier.
Fog engulfed both the North and South horizons and it felt like you could walk into it indefinitely. The beach was scattered with people walking dogs, old fire rings, charred wood, and sea battered trees, all gently being swallowed by the evening gloom.
The ocean was loud, but comforting from a distance. I could hear it from my tent which i’d put up in a spot enclosed by a neat row of hedges next to a picnic table and a fire put. I was happy I’d stopped.
The campground was a busy little place. Around three other bikers were there when I arrived. A girl who’d been holed up there for two days after getting food sickness, a guy called Brian who had left Astoria at the same time as me, and another guy who was heading North and had a six pack of beer on his picnic table. It was nice to have some company – not even for the conversation, but just to look around and see other people go about their evening preparations as you do yours.
Again the sun didn’t really set, the grey just got darker and the fog got closer as the night drew in.