To Portland, Maine

The completion of my trip is officiated by wading into the Atlantic Ocean at Popham beach, a peninsula north of Freeport, and Portland, Maine. The last month of my bike trip has been incredibly diverse, although the scenery was some of the least diverse I have seen across the entire country. It was difficult to expect from one state to the next, but the endless green foliage became the constant and view-limiting surrounding. Beginning in eastern Texas, I entered the long-dreaded humidity. There seems to be an invisible line in Texas running directly through the Dallas-Fort Worth area. To the west was the dry, hot grass lands and to the east began a full month of unbearable humidity. Before Texas, I rode early and late in the day to escape the heat. Once I entered Texas, I had my first experience with 110F temperatures. This is the type of weather where anyone exercising outdoors runs the risk of heat stroke, so my biking schedule abruptly made a 12-hour switch. I began riding about an hour before sunset, around 7 to 8 pm, and would ride until 2 or 3am. From there, I would set up my tent under a tree or truck stop awning, and sleep, eat, rest, and read until the next night, when I would begin the night biking again. Night-riding was not a new practice for me. While commuting to and from school and work via bicycle during winter in Alaska, my day would begin long before the sun rose and continue long after it set. My bike has always been equipped with lights and reflectors, so during winter back home and during the summer nights in Texas, I had enough blinking red lights to be mistaken for an emergency vehicle. Continuing into Louisiana, Arkansas, and Mississippi, I alternated between night and day riding, getting as far as I could when I could. It wasn't until I reached Atlanta, Georgia and began heading north that I was able to switch back to day riding full time.

At the end of a long day in Alabama, I met Ruth and Marco, originally from the Netherlands, and now owners of the Route 2 Cafe in Blocton, AL. I stopped at their cafe for dinner and began talking about bikes and traveling. After dinner, Ruth invited me to stay on her couch for the night and the next day Marco sent me off with several sandwiches for lunch and dinner. Marco introduced me to a Dutch treat which is a sandwich with butter and chocolate sprinkles. It was the tastiest snacks I've ever had and is one of my favorites now!

I got to Atlanta a few days later and was able to visit Caleb, a friend from college who I hadn't seen in a couple years. It was fun to catch up and see a bit of the city. From Atlanta, I turned northeast and immediately got sick. Up until then, I had felt healthy and strong, but what ever stomach bug I caught made it difficult to make any distance. I rode about 100 miles that week as oppose to my regular 350 miles. One day when I was feeling well enough to make a break for the next town, I made the decision to ride about 20 miles on the side of the interstate. I made it about ten miles before I was pulled over by a cop car, given a written warning, and kicked off onto the winding, unnavigable back roads. South Carolina's road planning leaves a lot to be desired. I eventually made it to where I was heading, checked into a motel, and slept and drank tea for the next three days. I finally recovered enough to get back on the bike. I had planned on meeting my dad in Washington DC on the 1^st of September, but by the first, I only made it as far as Petersburg, Virginia. My dad rented a car and drove three hours south to pick me up. It was nice to get a ride and see some of the greenery go by a bit faster.

I spent four days in Washington DC with my dad wandering around the Smithsonian museums and memorials. I saw the White House, the Bill of Rights, the Constitution, and the Declaration of Independence. They were pretty cool pieces of US history to see. From Washing DC, Dad flew home and I hopped on a greyhound bus and rode to Worcester, Massachusetts. I had a one hour layover in Manhattan, so I did get a glimpse of the lights of New York at midnight. I would like to go back some day and do a bit of exploring. From Worcester, I rode to Nottingham, New Hampshire to visit Brandon, another friend from school, and his wife Meredith and their adorable kids. It was a two day ride from Worcester to Nottingham, and half way there I managed to find myself, for the third time since reaching the east coast, explaining myself to a police officer. I woke at 4am with a flashlight in my face and high beam cruiser lights silhouetting a police officer against the wall of my tent. Considering he got a three-second string of profanities screeching out of a tent in the backwoods of Massachusetts in the middle of the night, I'm not sure who got the bigger scare. He was just checking on me to see what I was doing there, but even after he left I couldn't get back to sleep. I got up and started biking a few hours later and was to Nottingham several hours earlier than expected. I stayed a couple nights in Nottingham, then was on my way with a parting gift from Brandon of a bottle of home brew hard cider. All set for the final leg of my trip.

I reached Portland, Maine shortly before noon on September 11, 2012, five months after starting out with my friend Molly from my sister Kari's back yard in Portland, Oregon. It seems so long ago, but somehow very recent. Traveling with the same bicycle, same tent and equipment, and even some of the same books has, in a way, frozen time. Maine looks similar to Oregon, and it is almost easy to forget how much distance is really between the two Portlands. I plan on riding along the coast back to Massachusetts, where I will visit one more friend, then fly out of Boston back to Alaska for the winter. I have a few ideas for the next trip, so over the next several months I will arrange and plan the details for the next leg of life.  

One in a Million

So... the response to my refusal to buy cigars for minors was a drive-by-two-pound soda to the head. To which, my response was a police report and crying on the lawn of the nearest Pizza Hut. The east coast has not been my favorite of places to bike through. The population density and the inability to find an un-urbanized area to camp had been frustrating and demoralizing. Up until today I had not met a single malicious person, only wonderful, generous, and interesting people everywhere from Oregon to North Carolina. Literally, one person in several million has gone out of their way to try to cause me harm. I can still live with odds like that.

I have covered a lot of distance since leaving Shreveport, LA. I finished crossing Louisiana, cut through a corner of Arkansas, rode straight across Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, and north through South Carolina. My first day in North Carolina has been memorable, but not fondly. It is times like now that I remember all the wonderful people who I have already met along the way: Jim the geologist who was in the camp site next to me at the Grand Canyon. Who better to cook dinner with at the Grand Canyon than a geologist? Louise and Michael, old friends of the family who gave me the opportunity to sit around, drink lime-aid, and read books in the sun for a week in New Mexico. The city workers who opened the community center for me to sleep in when it was 110 degrees in Arkansas. The man who gave me a ride to the store for parts to fix my tire in Mississippi. All my family members who I have visited along the way and a few members who I met for the first time. And everyone who has pulled over to offer help whenever I sat on the side of the road fixing a flat tire. There are so many good people who are willing to go out of their way, be late for appointments, and offer an incredible amount of trust to assist a stranger. I cannot believe that humanity as a whole is evil. I can only be so prepared to face the world. It is the “figuring-out-what-to-do-with-the-world-as-it-hurls-things-at-me-through-a-car-window” that makes an adventure worth while. It is the personal growth that will make me better as a person and the problem solving skills that can only develop for the better that I will look back at and rely on long after my bicycle is mounted to the wall of my future garage with bald tires and rusted out spokes. As life continues and I make plans for the future trips, one bad day won't mean a whole lot.

Bourbon Street

Two weeks in Shreveport, Louisiana, another week on the road, and a lot has happened. My cousin-in-law Cassie and I took a weekend trip to New Orleans by car and had a few adventures. We car-camped at an RV park in a part of town that was flooded by hurricane Katrina in 2005. There were still remnants of the wreckage scattered around town, but very little as most has been cleaned up or rebuilt. After taking a bus and a trolly into town, Cassie and I began walking around the French Quarter and we wandering into a small street that looked interesting. We were several blocks into it before we realized that we had wandered down Bourbon street. Historically, Bourbon street has been home to the upper class, brothels, then jazz. Today it is best described as a “tourist trap.” It was all excellent fun, but even when trying to avoid it, Cassie and I found it easy to get sucked back towards the lights and sounds of Bourbon street. Being a music major, I was looking forward to finding jazz in New Orleans. There were several bands playing in various pubs along the street. We found an '80's cover band, one ska-washboard band, and a three-piece blues group in a very crowded pub. The ska-washboard was the most interesting. I had never seen or heard a washboard solo before, but now I have rejuvenated respect for percussionists. I entered music as a percussionist, so I find myself overly critical of garage band drummers and tambourine players. At the pub with the ska-washboard band, we also had a drink called the “Turtle.” The ingredients are kept a secret, but internet chat forums suspect Everclear is the main ingredient and one drink was certainly enough for an evening on Bourbon street.

Public transportation in New Orleans is an adventure in itself. Cassie and I work early to get downtown so we had time to ride back to the RV park for showers and a jump in the pool before evening festivities in the French Quarter. After the trolly ride to the bus stop on the way back to the park, we had a 45 minute wait. Several people were gathering for the bus and not all of them were sober. A very drunk and mentally handicapped man was listening to his ipod and dancing between lanes in a four land highway. Drunk man #2, who had been doing his best to get the attention of a girl, decided to get drunk man #1 out of the street. In a few minutes they went from best buddies to not wanting to talk to each other anymore. Drunk guy #1 did a bit more dancing in the street then went inside the bus shelter and out of sight of most of the people waiting. Drunk guy #1 found Passed-Out-Drunk-Guy #3 and decided to steal his wallet, booze, and shoes. I didn't realize what drunk guy #1 did done until the bus came and people started laughing and saying “he took his shoes!” Drunk guy #3 was left in the bus shelter with turned out pockets and no shoes. Drunk guys #1 and #2 got on the bus with us and #2 eventually fell out a door and stumbled away. #1 stayed on the bus beyond our stop, but all the while, people on the bus were careful to not let anyone sit next to him and kept telling him to stop cussing.

On the way back downtown for dinner and drinks, Cassie and I were waiting by the tracks for the trolly to take us from the bus stop back to the French Quarter. Next to me was an older gentleman with a cane, who I would have guessed to be a school teacher or administrator. Within a few minutes he began talking with a younger guy and in the minutes before the trolly arrived, I overheard the better part of their conversation on price negotiations for the crack one was selling to the other. The teacher/administrator was very insistent on his price and seemed to have experience in heckling.

After our touristic fun on Bourbon street, Cassie and I drove back to Shreveport and the next morning on was back on the bike. Over the next several days I alternated between early morning, late night, and all night rides. Day temperatures were around 100 degrees Fahrenheit and impossible to bike in. I crossed into Arkansas, Mississippi, and here I am in Alabama. I cross into Georgia in a couple days and will head north from Atlanta. I think it will feel weird traveling in a new direction after so many miles of heading east.

Lots of things to do and see on the east coast! I can't wait.  

World of Water and Heat of the Day

I'll start this blog with some algebra.

Megan drinks two liters of water per day while biking through Oregon. (OW=2)

In California Megan drinks one more liter per day than in Oregon. (CW=OW+1)

In Arizona Megan drinks twice as much water as she did in California. (AW=2CW)

When Megan gets to Texas she carries an extra two liters of water because water is sometimes hard to find. (TW=AW+2)

By the time Megan reaches Dallas, TX, how many liters of water is she carrying per day?

OW=2

CW=OW+1=2+1 = 3

AW=2(CW)=2(3) = 6

TW=AW+2=6+2 = 8

Answer: 8 liters.

It's a lot of liquid.

Texas is big. But not as big as Alaska. And I have found the most diversity in attitudes in Texas than in any other state I've come cross thus far. More people have stopped and offered rides than all other states combined, but I have also gotten more flipped birds than all other states combined. I have found it best to ignore all honks instead of giving drivers the benefit of a doubt and waving.

The temperature has sky-rocketed since the beginning of July, so traveling during the day has become impossible. Biking early in the morning and late at night with a long siesta is the only way to get anywhere. In just a few hundred miles I've crossed from desert to dry grasslands to subtropical dry forests to subtropical moist forests to the Louisiana bayou. I would prefer to be dodging scorpions than alligators, but just a few more nights of camping before I am beyond the reach of animals that could potentially eat me.

I stopped in Addison and Rockwall, Texas, to visit family and am currently in Shreveport, Louisiana, visiting my cousin Jimmy, his wife Cassie, and their two babies. It has been a lot of fun catching up and meeting my new baby cousins for the first time.

I'm looking forward to Baton Rouge and New Orleans. As a music major, New Orleans has been on my list of places to visit for a very long time. I'll spend a few days exploring the city before turning north, aiming for New England.  

Arizona and New Mexico Deserts

Biking through the Arizona desert was pleasantly consistent. I knew what weather to expect, how much water to carry, and could find a place to camp each night. I counted a grand total of two clouds and had about 35 nose bleeds. The dryness in Arizona was interesting to deal with. I am a bit susceptible to bloody noses, so within the first day of two of arriving in Arizona, my sinuses dried out and blowing my nose became a 15-minute commitment. What fun.

I crossed the Navajo and Hopi Indian reservations and found that I prefer these stretches of road to the mass-franchised sections of route 66. Grocery, gas, and lodging prices on the reservations where all what the rest of the country should be. Reasonably low. I guess when the overhead cost of land rental or purchase is taken away, everyone benefits.

I made it to New Mexico and spent two nights and a day in Gallup, camping in an inexpensive RV park that had showers, a pool, a giant chess board, and free coffee. The heat was ridiculous, so I had trouble motivating myself to get going even after the nice break. I am a bit baffled by people who cross the country in RVs. They spend hours tucked inside the same four walls, never really seeing the scenery, and from my observations, hardly venturing out even when parked. I suppose it would be easy to stay within the luxury of air conditioning, refrigerated drinks on demand, and private facilities. My philosophy is that travel is intended to throw individuals into unfamiliar and at times uncomfortable situations so that they can grow familiar with the concept of ever-changing surroundings. On a bike, I feel I get the best of the unfamiliar and uncomfortable. In an RV, I paraphrase Molly: “...travel the country to visit the Wal-Mart parking lots.” Wahoo?

Once I got to Albuquerque, I stayed with Louise and Michael, friends of the family. It has been excellent to catch up and take a longer break after the desert. I have seen a few more clouds and even some rain and lighting in New Mexico. I crossed a fairly obvious natural barrier when leaving Arizona, which also happens to be the political border between the two states. New Mexico, albeit still dry, has considerably more humidity than Arizona. Not a single nose bleed yet! Jackie, Louise's daughter and I went on an overnight road trip to the Carlsbad Caverns in southern NM. The formations were surprisingly untouched considering the number of people who travel through the caverns each day. The park rangers at both the Grand Canyon and Carlsbad Caverns are very attentive to and informative for visitors. The stalagmites were incredibly huge and as Jackie put it, “Freud would die down here.”

I have spent the last few days biking around Albuquerque, reading, drinking iced water, and eating doughnuts. Stephanie Plum novels always make me crave doughnuts. And I'm withing biking distance of two doughnut shops! I should get on the road again before my bike begins to complain under my weight.

Heading east on route 66 for a couple hundred more miles, then will skirt the northern edge of Texas, aiming for Shreveport, Louisiana. Lets see how the mid west treats me.

On a back note:

While still in Cayucos, California, I got a worrisome e-mail from Molly, my biking partner with whom I rode the Oregon coast and northern California. A little over a month ago, after Molly had returned home to Oregon, she was visiting a friend in Washington, and got into a fairly nasty bicycle accident while riding an unfamiliar bike. Molly e-mailed me several days after the accident, after she was released from the hospital and at her mom's house in Portland. I was five days from Los Angeles at the time, so I hopped on my bike and covered the distance in three days. I left my bike and gear with family in LA and flew back to Portland to visit Molly. She was on the mend and will eventually recover, but she will not be riding a bicycle for a while. Her body was certainly not feeling the greatest, but the consensus is that the helmet that now resembles a shattered eggshell was nothing short of essential in preventing her head from feeling like her other unprotected body parts.

I spent a few days in Portland with Molly, my sister Kari and brother-in-law Elgin before flying back to LA and continuing south to San Diego.  

Grand Canyon

A bit short this time, but computer and internet time has been short over the past few weeks.

I have started about three blogs, but I have had difficulty describing southern California. I met some great individuals, I biked passed about 7 million people, and ended it all with a trip to the zoo in San Diego. The zoo part of southern California was awesome, but the 94 red lights that stopped me in LA were not so awesome.

I spent a lot of time contemplating my travels beyond San Diego and I could write an entire blog on my internal dialogue, but in short, I decided to turn east and travel for a while within the lower 48. I took a train from San Diego to Flagstaff, Arizona, to avoid a vary large and very hot desert. From there I rode to the Grand Canyon! I spent a couple days at the South Rim (south side of the canyon), acclimating to the elevation (7000ft) and heat (high 80's and very dry). On the morning of the third day in the park I woke at 3am, packed my camp, parked my bike on a rack, and by 4:13am I was hiking down the South Kaibab Trail to the bottom of the canyon. By the time the sun rose at 5:11am it was about 75 degrees. After three hours of downhill hiking it was almost 90 degrees. I set up camp at the bottom of the canyon and spent most of the 110-degree day completely submerged in the cool and clear Bright Angel creek. After the sun went down I slept on the picnic bench under the open sky, watching bats and stars fly overhead. I woke up again at 3am and began hiking back up to the rim by 3:30. It is incredible how fast the temperature rises in the canyon as the sun rises. I began early enough to miss the hottest part of the day and the Bright Angel Trail hike back up wound through deep valleys, so I was not in direction sunlight until the last hour of the five and half hour hike. The hike as a whole was great. I'd like to raft the Colorado river at some point. Seeing the entire canyon from the bottom would be a unique experience.

After leaving the park I rode a different highway back to Flagstaff began planning the next several stops as I head east along Route 66.

Turning East

The biggest news is that I have officially changed my mind: I am heading towards the east coast instead of south. I still want to see Mexico, but it will have to be another day when I won't need to tiptoe around the cartels and...such. I am planning on seeing the Grand Canyon, a few caves, visiting family and friends, and having a blast with whatever else I end up doing.

South of Salinas I biked through strong wind gusts that almost knocked me off my trusty steed a time or two. For the most part it was at my back or blowing in from the sea, which was a lot better for the cliff-side venture than wind coming down off the hills. A couple days south, in Cayucos, CA, I stayed with some good friends of Marci's. While I was there I got an e-mail from Molly, my friend who biked the Oregon coast and into northern California with me, saying that she had had a bike accident and got pretty banged up. The helmet saved her head and she will recover, but I was pretty worried, so I pedaled down to Los Angeles over the next couple days and hopped on a plane back to Portland to visit, play scrabble, and eat cookies with Molly. I stayed in Portland for a few days, then flew back to LA. While vising the city of Angels, I stayed with some distant relatives and finally met my second-cousin-once-removed Kevin, with whom I've been pen pans for several years. It was fun to finally talk with him in person.

Biking through and getting out of LA was a nightmare. Navigating was pretty easy, but the sheer size and the 92 red stop lights started bugging me after about six hours. My goal was to make it to San Clemente, about 65 miles south, before dark, but I didn't make it.

The New Dinosaur

A lot has happened in the past few weeks. After arriving at my great uncle Robert and great aunt Meredy's house in Red Bluff, my legs swelled up and were stiffer than they've ever been in my life. Resting for a few days was wonderful, but with every step I was expecting my thighs to cramp up or for my legs to fail my completely. After about three days of waddling, stretching, and downing ibuprofen, I got ready for the two-day ride to my cousin Sean and his wife Marci's house in Grass Valley. The night before leaving my uncle offered to drive me over 100 miles across the state to save me the trip and to visit his son and son's family in the process. Once again, admitting that I am in no way a biking purist, a ride sounded excellent and would most definitely prevent my legs from instantly swelling up again.

Once at Sean and Marci's house I got to meet my new nine-month-old second cousin and visit with my four-year-old second cousin who I hadn't seen in two years. He's certainly grown! Sean and his neighbor Chris took me on an excellent mountain bike ride not far from their houses. It felt great to be back on a bike and especially great to not be carrying my 50+ lbs of gear. I'm still working on cutting down the weight, but I'm at the point where trimming back may risk dumping equipment that is potentially essential. ie. tools, clothing, spare gas. I suppose a few extra pounds of equipment can't be all that terrible to cart around.

Being an avid biker and sports masseur, Chris offered me a sports massage which I did not have to think twice about. By that time the swelling in my legs was almost completely gone, but a small, painful twinge in my left elbow was still there. Chris helped iron out kinks and cramps and my next days on the road were especially smooth. Thanks Chris!

My jaunt to California's interior was purposed around visiting all my family in the area. Conveniently, they all lived fairly close to each other so it has been a very fun couple weeks of visitation and biking. While I Grass Valley I was contacted by my great aunt June, who was driving from her home in Salinas to her soon-to-be permanent residence at Lake Tahoe. Since she'd be driving past Grass Valley she invited me up to Tahoe to visit, help unload boxes, and open the house after its winter with no dwellers. I stayed in Tahoe for a few days, enjoying the sun, lake, and an abundance of spiders and their webs. I jumped in the lake exactly once. It was a bit colder than the Bering Sea, so even with a wet suit I could barely get myself to go more than waist deep. I dunked twice then ran for tea and a hot shower.

Marci picked me up from Tahoe on a Friday so I could do a few minor bike and equipment repairs before continuing onto to visit Tara, my next cousin in Folsom. Sean joined me on the ~50 mile day-ride and filmed parts of the ride with his helmet-mounted camera. Afterward Sean put together a pretty cool video with film clips of the ride. The video is posted on the Nomadic Gnome facebook page at www.facebook.com/nomadicgnome.

Visiting with Tara and her family was also a lot of fun. The new family pet, a very small, orange kitten who had a habit of being underfoot and overactive provided days of entertainment. After Folsom, I headed towards the coast. A two day ride put me in Vallejo. One ferry ride later and I was in down town San Francisco! I immediately biked up to the Golden Gate bridge, did a u-turn and decided that the Bay bridge was much cooler.

While in the city I met two of the coolest people ever! Matthew and Amanda were introduced to me through a mutual friend and they invited me in to stay on their couch for a couple nights while I explored the city in the day. Matt and I talked about my communication and navigation strategies and in the end he set me up with a cell phone with internet and a web cam for Google and Skype chat. I'm a bit technology-slow, but I am learning how the phone works and I had a successful Skype chat with my sister and another friend last night, so there is hope for me yet! When it came time to leave the city, Matt drove me 25+ miles to Half Moon Bay to avoid a few hills and highways. From there I continued biking south.

That night I nearly maced a herd of deer. I have spent quite a bit of time around undulates, but never realized how creepy they sound in the dark. Grinding teeth and gurgling stomachs make them sound like monsters in the night. With bear spray and flash light in hand I ventured out of the tent, but never actually saw them. Sneaky, little creatures.

On my way to Salinas, I got a bit turned around, (but with the help of Matt's phone I knew where I was!) My detour took me through a town called Watsonville. While biking through the main part of town I crossed the path of a man on a road bike named Dino (pronounced Dee-no). Dino gave me a tour of his home town and rode with me several miles back to the highway. While riding we talked about biking, technology, and the main street of Watsonville, which had been recently plastered with several blocks of fast-food franchise restaurants. I told Dino about my own technological deficiencies and he called me a “New Dinosaur.” -Not old enough to be completely foreign to computers and cell phones, but not young enough have it as part of my public education. Because of geographical location and age, I slipped through the younger years of life in the wave immediately preceding the rage of cell phones and laptops.

I made it to Salinas where I once again, met up with my great aunt June. We went for a drive down the coast yesterday and ate at the Vantana restaurant. Today we went to the Monterey Bay aquarium. It's definitely worth seeing if anyone gets the opportunity!

Seven Devils

I've kept a journal since I was 11 years old. Its varied from a strict “write every day” regiment to a “write when I'm not studying, which is almost never” schedule. The part I love most about reading old journals is reading parts that I don't necessarily remember. Even on this trip, I've forgotten things as recently as a week ago, but can relive them through my recorded evening rants. My favorite thus far has been my own description of the climb out of Coos Bay, Oregon, called “Seven Devils,” which were just what a biker would expect them to be. “They sucked. Somewhere around the 7^th devil I was about ready to lay down and piss myself.” I seem to have already forgotten about the near laps in bladder control. Better times were certainly to come.

Biking fifty miles per day has been my goal since leaving Portland. Yesterday I set my current record at 75 miles. It was about a week ago that Molly and I had a few tough days when we didn't even come close to the daily 50. The climb out of Coos Bay (“Seven Devils”) took several hours and with most of day gone, we arrived in Bandon, Oregon. I'd arranged a couch surfing host (www.couchsurfing.org) in Port Orford, but at that point we still had another 30 miles to go. As it turned out, our host Kathy, was in Bandon for the day. With a stroke of luck, Molly and I (not being purists) got a ride to Port Orford with our host. We had a lovely time with Kathy and were even able to take a sauna! The dry heat felt great on my sunburned back. The next day we left Port Orford with the intention of getting to Brookings, Oregon. We made it about 25 miles before the headwind got the better of us and we camped in the beach grass just outside Gold Beach, another coastal town. It began to rain in the evening and continued to rain all night. And all the next day. Without much sleep, we “woke” with a very wet tent, wet sleeping bags, wet sleeping pads, and an top of everything, we pitched our tent in the sand. Yuck. We made it a grand total of 15 miles in the wind and rain before we sucked it up and called Doug and Claudia (old friends from Alaska who spend the winters in Oregon) and asked for a ride to their home just south of Brookings. I was feeling a little down for making such poor mileage in the previous days, but once again, a warm shower, food, and a few hours of mindless television cured everything.

Molly stayed with me through a portion of the redwood forest then from Arcada, California, she hopped on a grey hound bus (which I hear was an adventure in itself) and headed back to Portland. It was a lot of fun traveling with Molly and I'll miss her company and our ice cream dates!

About 25 miles down the coast from Arcada, I turned onto California highway 36 going east. Less than a mile up the road a truck driver pulled along side me and said through the open window, “You know this road is terrible, right.” Great. I'd read and heard about the mountains, but I'm skeptical on anyone's word unless they have details to back it up. All the details I'd found to that point said that it was a long windy, mountainous road with little traffic. It sounded pretty easy-going. The mountain part should have been a little more emphasized. The first night in the foothills I camped at the bottom of a very large hill with a sign that read “10% grade next 2 miles.” It went on for much longer than two miles. The next morning was mountain after mountain. There were a few down-hill parts which I savored as much as possible. But there was one particular peak that kept going and going. It was a hot and sunny day, so I eventually tied a bandana to the shoulder straps of my shirt to keep my back from burning again. The best part about an uphill is that there is always a downhill. After peaking at 4077ft, I felt like Superman with my bandana cape flying behind as I dropped 500 feet on the back face. My ears even popped on the way down.

In the third and final day of mountains I passed through a town called Platina. After getting into a conversation with the shop keeper of the only store in town, she pointed out the front windows with her arms at a 90 degree angle and said, “The city limits are there and there.” As far as I could figure, the entire population of Platina consists of the shop keeper, her husband, the postmaster, and 18 Russian Orthodox monks in the St. Herman of Alaska monastery. The last 25 miles into Red Bluff were almost entirely downhill. It was a very good day on the bike.  

First Week-US

Molly and I left my sister Kari's back yard in Portland on the morning of April 11^th. We only biked as far as the Rose District on the east side of the river before catching the train to Hillsboro, where we started the actual trip. Two days later we met two guys on bikes headed to San Francisco who also started in Portland, but decided to bike out through the suburbs and regretted every turn of it. Molly and I were glad for our decision to cheat the first few miles.

The first day on the road was fairly uneventful. It took a good day or two to figure out a better way to balance my load. We climbed the hills towards Tillamook and camped around the 1586-foot marker at the summit. The climb was not the funnest thing I've ever done, but we found a quite place to camp that night and were able to get a good nights' sleep and dry out our clothes from the constant drizzle.

The next morning was an hour of curving downhill straight into Tillamook. Molly and I stopped at the Tillamook cheese factory and watched the cheese assembly line from the viewing deck. It's pretty mesmerizing to watch hundreds of blocks of cheese being cut, packaged, and checked before being set out for their 60-day to two-year fermentations. Molly bought squeaky cheese and I bought a couple of ice cream cones and we were back on the road after our snack. We made it to Neskowin that night. Molly's family has a cabin that is shared and used by who ever is heading that direction. We were especially glad to have a place to stay that night. About ten miles short of the cabin it began to get dark and the rain poured harder than anything I had ever seen before. It stung out eyes and the only way to stay on the road was to double-check its location as the head lights of each car went by. At some point we'd completely given up trying to stay remotely dry. We got to the cabin around 9:30pm and as Murphy would have it, the key didn't work. After about 15 or 20 minutes of fumbling with the lock, I was voted the one to pull off the bulkier of my soaking layers and climb through a 10”x16” window. The hot shower, hot noodles, wine and Tillamook squeaky cheese made it very much worth the few moments of cold rain on bare skin. Instead of sleeping in beds, Molly and I slept in the giant overstuffed easy chairs in front of the heater. It was hard to get up and going the next morning.

Day three brought us through Otis, where we ate at the famous Otis Cafe' and Newport where we ate “Mo's famous clam chowder.” We set up camp just outside Newport and were pleasantly surprised to see that the national park camp sites are equipped with showers and tent platforms.

The fourth day was gorgeous. Hot, sunny, scenic, and we even met another coastal biker. We passed through the first tunnel of the trip and that was probably one of the scariest 90 seconds in recent memory. Echos off the rocks made even a hybrid sound like a multi-ton semi truck. The actual semi's were practically deafening. Dark, narrow, and loud made it hard to ride straight into the rock wall. We survived and will be a bit readier for the next tunnel encounter. We made it to Florence and found another well-equipped camp ground to set up camp.

Day five began sunny and ended very wet. The last several miles into North Bend and Coos Bay poured rain and seemed to be the only area so far that did not have a convenient camping site. After asking around for a hostel or campsite, knocking on a church door, and just about asking a cop to take us to jail for three hots and cot, we found an inexpensive motel. We were soaking wet, fairly cold, a little depressed from the rain, and much in need of hugs. We felt a little better after pulling our bikes in out of the rain and getting something to eat.

We are only a few days from the California border and are getting very close to the red wood forest, which we've been excited to see for quite a while.

Hoping for better weather tomorrow.  

Getting Ready

 I leave Nome in a little less than a week and in slightly less than two weeks my friend Molly and I will be on highway 6, heading towards to Oregon coast. It was Molly's fault for the whole bike trip idea. Some time late last year Molly invited me to bike the Oregon coast with her in April of this year. I had planned on being finished with school by then, so I said yes. About ten seconds later I decided that I really wanted to visit Peru. And the Panama Canal. And Argentina. And I wanted to bike there. And why not?

I've spent probably more homework time than I should have searching the internet for other bikers who have taken the same or similar routes. The Pan-American highway is well traveled by bikers and very few of them have negative things to say about people they meet or the places they go. I met a biker two and a half years ago as he passed through Fairbanks on the second leg of his three-part round-the-world bike trip. Matthew Blake biked from his home in London to Southeast Asia, flew to LA, and bussed and hitch-hiked to Alaska, where he biked from Dead Horse to Ushuaia, Argentina. We've kept in touch with Matthew and while planning my bike trip, I asked him a lot of questions about his. Matthew told me, “You'll do fine.” That's good enough for me.

I finished the final part of my college degree last week in Fairbanks, and now I am in full adventure mode. I've given up on small, loose pieces of papers and have moved to an 11x18-inch sketch book for writing out lists, diagrams, maps, and brainstorms. Almost everything on my lists has been scratched out and one of my final duties in Nome is to track down a bike box that I can use to ship my bicycle half way across the continent to give my self a cheating start from the lower 48. The tentative departure date from Portland is the 10^th of April. The date is entirely dependent on weather and preparedness.