Astoria Revisited

Although not quite up to the task as I was still feeling rotten from my soaking a few days before, I decided to make the most of the sunny day and get out on the road. I consumed my Super8 Motel breakfast which consists of a lot of packaged items with sell by dates a long way into the future and in the process reluctantly created a reasonable amount of land fill!



The ride was great, rolling pine clad hills and lakes surrounded by multi million dollar properties. There were also fleeting glimpses of the snow capped Olympic mountains beyond the Hood Canal.



I also spotted a few cyclists today, John & Jess, young east coasters heading out of Seattle on the first day of their tour to San Francisco. John’s bike was sporting a natty pair of rear panniers, made from plastic cat litter boxes, he bought his but there’s Instructions here on how to make your own. No doubt I’ll bump into the two of them again on route.



I arrived in Shelton WA for a late lunch, I found the Route 66 diner and was greeted by an attentive, attractive waitress, who was very smitten with my netbook! I went for the usual burger option, although the diner has two menu’s, one of which is Thai food. The Thai owner walked over for a chat and was asking about my bike and where I was heading.



The next customers he walked up to had overheard some of our conversation and were asking the owner to confirm what they thought they’d heard. I wandered over and  introduced myself and told them more about ShelterBox, the charity I support and where my journey had taken me. Before they left there was a photo call with the manager and the couple, who turned out to be John & Diane Komen. I asked the waitress for my bill and she said there wasn’t one, John and Diane had paid it! It was another one of those moments of generosity from strangers that have punctuated the whole of my trip through America and have blown me away each time!



The riding so far has been quite easy, nice wide quiet roads, small towns, the odd stupidly steep hill and reasonable polite drivers;. all in all a pleasant trip to get to the coast!

The evenings stop over was to be a hostel in Elma, run by Linda and her husband as a part time hobby, along with an 18 hole Frisbee golf course in the garden, the hostel was home from home as it was literally their home! I had the bunk room to myself for not much more than the price of a camp site.



Linda advised me that the Rusty Tractor a mile down the road was the place for a good feed, so off I pedalled.

Full of brash baseball cap wearing country boys and loud obnoxious kids, the clientele left something to be desired, but the menu was certainly a cacophony of items, including a variety of meals based on Yak meat! I was tempted, but having not seen a Yak on my entire journey across America I felt there might be air mile issues for my conscience to contend with, it’s a long way to Mongolia!



I went for the enchiladas and an amber ale, both hitting the spot. I slept well at the hostel even though my cold was getting worse. Linda headed off to her day job as a school teacher and left me to lock her house up; very trusting people!



The next day was more pleasant rural riding with the large city of Centralia WA to negotiate my way across on route to the Lewis and Clark State Park. During the afternoon Mount St Helens kept poking her snow capped peak over the tree line and even from 30 miles away it looked like a big mountain and being an active volcano I just hopped it wasn’t planning to repeat it’s catastrophic 1980 eruption anytime now!

I stopped at a Safeway about 20 miles from the camp site and purchased one of their yummy fresh chill bean soups for dinner. Safeways in the UK are quite a dull supermarket, but in the US they are more akin to a Sainsburys, plus they always have a Starbucks concession inside with free WiFi and power sockets!



I arrived at the lovely State Park deep in the forest and got there only hiker\biker site, the camp host informed me there were two other cyclists a few pitches away but he couldn’t quite place their accents. He thought they might be Australian like me….. I didn’t bother arguing! The couple weren’t Aussies after all but from Newcastle in the UK and were both riding brand new Thorn bikes with lots of shiny kit on board. I think we were both surprised to find fellow Brits in the middle of the woods far off the tourist trail.



The couple, Claire and David where a few days in to their tour having flown into Seattle from the UK. They were heading on the same route as me with plans to go on into Mexico and Guatemala. Their trip had an interesting slant to it; Claire runs a coffee business in Newcastle and with Seattle and the west coast being famous for it’s coffee drinking she was using it as a good business research trip, not only that, but the trip down into Guatemala was primarily to visit the coffee plantations who supply the beans from which her companies coffee is made.

It was a good days ride through to Cathlamet WA on the Columbia river, apart from a vicious head wind for 20 miles as I cycled west along the river valley.



Earlier in the day I passed a building that is probably on a feminists hit list. The lovely old wooden barn had had it’s old advertising slogans repainted, but since they were originally painted times have changed and I somehow feel that Dr Pierces Women's Tonic for Weak Women would sell very well on the supermarket shelves today! There’s an interesting article about Dr Pierce here by Evan Ratliff.

I cycled on, passing through an area with numerous small farms dotted along quiet rural roads; in the distance there was the bang of a gun and I passed it off as hunters in the woods. As I turned the next corner I could see a truck parked a short way off the road  with two men near the rear of it.



Getting closer the bizarre scene came to light, the truck was a mobile slaughter vehicle with two men busy working away with sharp knives butchering a pig. I stopped and the banter immediately started to flow, the two butchers ridiculing me about Mad Cow disease and I them about cutting up a pig only 30’ feet from it's brothers and sisters!



The guys were real comedians and even offered to let me have a go at butchery; I refused and watched as the pigs intestines rolled out casting my mind back to a BLT I had eaten a few days before!



I explained that back in the UK pigs are dispatched with high voltage prongs to the head; The younger butcher piped up, “Prongs??? you should know we all have guns out here in the US, I just stuck a bullet through its head!” That explained the shot I had heard!

It was quite weird watching the pig being cut up by the side of the road; I didn’t feel at all squeamish and actual marvelled at the skill of the butchers wielding their razor sharp knives and pulling various offal from inside the carcass of the beast.

As I said my good byes and started cycling away the older butcher pitched in, “Talkin a guns…. Bret's a handy shot, but he prefers a moving target, we’ll wait till you get to that barn over yonder before we open fire!”

I nervously laughed and pedalled off fast, my butt cheeks gripping my saddle a little tighter as I passed the barn!



At Cathlamet WA I arrived at a Marina on the Columbia river, the place was busy as it was labour day weekend, a US annual holiday to celebrate the economic and social achievements of workers. 


I managed to get a tent pitch for $14 on a patch of grass close to the mariner and it wasn’t long before I was providing light entertainment for the yacht crews, unpacking my beast of burden and setting up my tent. Their curiosity got the better of them and it wasn’t long before a yacht owner wandered over to ask the usual questions, where ya headin, where ya from etc!




After a chat about my journey the chap said for me to join them for a beer once I had set up camp; never one to refuse a free beer I strolled along the jetty and got introduced to the various boat owners and their crew \ families. Beers started flowing and various nibbles where coming my way as I stood regaling the audience with tales of daring endeavour on the high seas of cycling!


I could have quite easily got inebriated for free, but the site of David and Claire putting up their tent next to mine gave me an excuse to head back to terra firmer and wish the salty sea dogs adieu, but not before grabbing a free beer to go!


David and Clare had also been to the grocers before arriving at the mariner so I was handed another beer. Unfortunately we had missed the days Grande Chilli Cook Off competition on the mariner so had to resort to some gastronomic delete rustled up on the camp cooker.


My menu consisted of zip lock omelette; break eggs in zip lock bag, mash up, zip the bag up, lower into simmering water until cooked, tip onto bread, eat, this was followed up by a tin of macaroni cheese!




The showers at the marina where great so it was nice to have a good scrub up before heading on to the coast and my former Trans Am finishing point of Astoria OR.




The only barrier to getting to our destination was the Columbia river which we crossed via a bridge to Puget Island and then a ferry to the far shore. The ferries run every hour and we arrived with 20 minutes to spare until the next one. Waiting at the “Wait here for Ferry” line painted on the road. 


Chatting away about all and sundry we watched as the ferry pulled away without us on board, we shot down the ferry ramp to see the skipper just shrugging as he piloted the ferry out into the vast Columbia river.




An hour later he returned and we were waiting, this time at the base of the ramp! He laughed and said “So your coming aboard this time then?”, “We where waiting at the Wait Here for Ferry sign” I retorted. A bit of sarcastic banter went back and forth, but the skipper was our only way across the Columbia river and we didn't want to piss him off!




The next few hours were spent on a fast road into Astoria with a coffee stop and a bit of business research for Clare half way.


I got into Astoria to find the town buzzing with a huge Sunday market, loads of great food, crafts etc, hung out for a while and then headed on to Seaside OR.


It was strange being back on this section of coast where I had finished my Trans Am less than a month ago, I headed for the Hostel and decided it was time for a day off the bike. As a bonus Tony my riding partner for the first part of the Trans Am came over from Portland for the day, it was great to catch up with him and nice to feel my first week back on the road had gone so well.

The sunset as I reach the Pacific coast.

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Back in the USA

In the immortal words of the Beatles, “I’m back in the US, back in the US, back in the USSR…A”, er well you know what I mean!
After my three weeks of R&R on Vancouver Island it was strange cycling a loaded touring bike again, but I shouldn’t have worried it was just like riding a bike!

I said good bye to the lovely Moreland family who had put up with me turning their spare bedroom into a bomb site and in return rewarded me with fine food, good company and some great kayaking and camping trips. I had a frothy coffee at my favourite coffee shack in Mill Bay and then headed down to the first of my two ferry rides of the day.




Sitting up on the top of the ferry relaxing in the sun I watched as the cars drove onboard and was horrified when a doddery old couple drove their Nissan into my bike, pinning it to the side of the ship. My yell of “Oi what the flip do you think your doing” fell on deaf ears (genuinely deaf ears, the guy had a hearing aid!). On closer inspection the wing of the car had luckily hit my clothing pannier, but my bike was jammed solid. On explaining to the couple what they had done I just got a dumb stare and a “We’d better reverse a bit then”, “No shit Sherlock” I muttered. A bent frame on day one would have been a bit of a bad start to my new adventure, luckily nothing was damaged.



Getting to the harbour town of Sidney I sussed out the ferry port and cycled into town to explore. In keeping with their almost namesake, Sydney Australia, Sidney BC Canada have built their own mini opera house on the quay side, not quite as grandiose, but an impressive structure non the less!

After wandering around Sidney I headed back to the Ferry port to get on the Anacortes ferry that would drop me on the American Island of San Juan at Friday Harbour.

Compared to the Washington DC immigration official, this one was far from friendly and asked me a lot of questions trying to catch me out, eventually, but almost reluctantly letting me back in the country. I forgot to tell him about the intercontinental ballistic missile stuck down my seat tube!



Whilst waiting for the ferry I got chatting to Ewan and Helen a great couple from Vancouver, originally Glasgow and Portsmouth, they where on a short cycling tour out to the islands and back via the Cascade mountains. They had booked a camp site on San Juan and being a slacker I hadn’t, with limited camping on the island my plan of just turning up and getting a pitch was looking doubtful. They kindly offered to share their pitch with me but I said I’d try my first option of going to the Lakedale Resort and seeing what was available. Luckily I got the last available biker \ hiker pitch deep in the woods by a lake and was soon cooking up a fine boil in the bag rice concoction with a generous sprinkling of dehydrated veg, yum!



I popped in to the camp shop for some odds and sods and got talking to the delightful 60 something lady working there. I could tell I was back in the USA as the dulcet English accent was picked up upon straight away.

But rather than the usually questions, the lady looked at me in a school teacher sort of way and said “Your pronunciation is beautiful, so rare to hear such eloquent use of words in today's text and email society”, I was a bit taken aback, blushed a bit and waffled on a bit more trying to use as many big words that I could think of!

I didn’t have the nerve to tell her that up to an hour before reaching the island of San Juan I had been calling it San Jew Anne not San Wharn! Well I didn’t do Spanish at school did I!

I slept well on my newly purchased lilo like air bed and the next day headed off for a loop of the island, it was pretty easy going as I left most of my gear back at the camp site, deciding to stay two nights on San Juan and leave for Orcas Island early on the third day and heading out to Anacortes later that same day.



My first stop on the San Juan loop was Roche Harbour, a “Hollywood On Sea” sort of place, with tanned portly retired businessmen with there comparatively young siliconised, bejewelled, ladies carrying toy dogs and Gucci handbags. The array of yachts and gin palaces in the harbour was a formidable sight and the place just reeked of $$$$.




I cycled on to English Camp, the former garrison of the British during the farcical Pig War between the Americans and the English, disputing the boundary between Canada and the United States. It lasted from 1859 to 1871 and only one shot was fired and that killed a pig!

My next stop was at a small coastal country park where I thought a fireworks display was in progress. A dozen or so people were stood on the cliff edge whooping and cheering, I cycled up to see what was happening and watched a pod of Killer Whales swimming passed, some with young, some breaching out of the water. It was one of those jaw dropping moments that you know no photo or description will do justice.



I stopped at a few more headlands along the coast and watched other Orcas swimming by, not something I’ll ever forget!




I headed back across the island for a late lunch in Friday Harbour before returning to the camp site. It was only a thirty mile day, but I got to see lots of history and wildlife and could see why San Juan is such a popular place.

I broke camp and pedalled the five miles back into Friday Harbour. With an hour to kill before my ferry to Orcas Island I went for a slap up breakfast and a wifi session in the cafe.



I went to board the ferry with about 20 or so other cyclists all of whom seemed to be part of organised island cycling tours. One party was a Scout group who had been touring for five days, their leader Ron, an avid cyclist got chatting to me about my travels and introduced me to the Scouts, we also had a photo shoot with me lined up with the Scouts. What it is to have celebrity status!



I arrived on Orcas and set off for a five hour tour before my next ferry arrived. Orcas like San Juan is a very pretty island with a good mix of forest, arable land, secluded coves and drift wood covered beeches. It also has Moran State Park and the 2409’ Mount Constitution with it’s 4.7 mile stupidly steep climb.

I made it up to a scenic look out point that provided amazing views of the islands below, but a bid for the summit would have meant me missing the ferry so I turned back and enjoyed the steep switchbacks to the lake below!



I made it to the ferry with 10 minutes to spare and enjoyed the scenic trip to Anacortes on Fidalgo Island, passing more of the San Juan Island chain on route. It had been a long day and I cycled the last 10 miles to the Deception Pass State Park to camp for the night.

Unlike the many other passes I’ve blogged about, this one isn’t on a mountain, but rather a narrow sea passage through a steep rocky gorge spanned by two large arched steel bridges. The tide races through the pass at break neck speed and small boats rocket through from the Straight of Juan De Fuca (had problems pronouncing that too!) to Skagit Bay.



The other side of the bridge on Whidbey Island was the Cranberry Lake campground where I set up camp in the secluded hiker biker pitches. It wasn’t long before I was dosing off when suddenly I started to get cramp in my left calf muscle, the pain was excruciating, then it moved up to my thigh, double agony. I tried to stretch my leg out but I was in my sleeping bag and inside a tiny tent, then the same happened on the other leg. All four main leg muscles cramping up and I was unable to fight it, after 10 minutes most of the pain had gone and I eventually got to sleep.



I woke the next day to the sound of heavy drumming rain on the tent, I tried to put off the inevitable but eventually crawled out and started packing. Before I set off I was already soaked through, my Event jacket not keeping the water out like it used to. The riding was dismal probably the worst rain I’ve ridden in in the USA, combined with the wind chill I was really feeling cold and my fingers were going numb.



As I passed Whidbey Naval Air Base, fighter jets were taking off every few minutes up into the rainy sky, the roar from the engines audible for miles.

During a brief lull in the rain I stopped for brunch at the pretty little coastal town of Coupville and enjoyed a coffee and large sticky bun from the lovely bakery\restaurant by the beach. I didn’t ask to eat in as I would have created a small lagoon with the water that had now ingressed into all layers of my clothing.

I made it to the Port Townsend ferry and did my best to dry out a bit during the choppy 30 minute crossing, this was followed up by further thawing in Starbucks before I braved the elements again to head to the Old Fort Townsend State Park.

The Hiker \ Biker area was in a dark wood of large old cedar trees surrounded by ferns and moss; it was quite eerie in a fairy tale sort of way and the “Warning Cougar” signs didn’t help. There was a lone female cyclist with just a tarp and a bivvy bag in the woods, she was on her way to the Columbia Gorge; I decided to sleep just outside the woods and thought “rather you than me” sleeping under a bivvy in those woods in the pouring rain. I was also slightly paranoid that if I did have another cramp attack she may be perturbed by the muffled screams and groans coming from my tent!



It was a late start the following day as I made use of the morning sun to dry my tent over a fence whilst chatting about the art of snake handling with the Park Ranger (like you do!).

I kept close to the shore line through small bays and inlets via Port Ludlow and Paradise Bay, before arriving at the 7,869 feet (2,398 m) long Hood Canal Floating Bridge.

The draw bridge was up as I crossed and I sat waiting at the lights with a 70 year old cyclist called Mike who had done the Trans Am at the age of 61, as the lights went green he shot off across the bridge on his carbon fibre Trek Madone leaving me in his tyre dust!



I carried on through scenic back roads lined with very expensive properties, many of which were for sale; this had been the theme right across the USA, the economy was obviously still taking it’s toll.

I got into the urban sprawl of Bremerton and headed for a Super8 motel; the wet and the cold of the day before had started to give me the shivers, perhaps sleeping in a damp tent, in damp clothes to try and stay warm wasn’t a good idea! Hauled up in the motel with the heater on and a hot bath made all the difference.

It was a great first five days on the road and I was starting to feel strong on the bike again, I just need to stay healthy and hope the weather warms up a bit!

And just for the hell of it; two novelty road names in as many days!




 
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A New Adventure Beckons..

First a big thank you to all of you that followed my Trans American cycle ride, your comments on Facebook, Tweets on Twitter and comments on the Blog have been great.


As most of you are aware I've spent the last three weeks on Vancouver Island as guests of my good friends Mark and Becky, I have eaten them out of house and home and been taken on some lovely trips around this beautiful island.


I'm now champing at the bit to get pedalling again and I've been keeping my cards close to my chest about my route as I wasn't 100% sure myself where I might head to next. I've now decided,  that having loved the East to West Trans Am across America that I should get a full flavour of the country and cycle from North to South following the Adventure Cycling Association's Pacific Coast route.

So tomorrow I'm heading off via a few different ferries to Anacortes in North America stopping off on the islands of San Juan and Orcas first.


I will then head back out to Astoria in Oregon and follow the Pacific Highway down the coast of America to the Mexican border. 


It's a 1853 mile route and I'll be using the ACA's trusty maps to keep me on track, although it should be a bit easier to navigate as I just need to keep the sea to my right!


As usual I'll keep you updated on my adventures and wry observations of life on the road via this Blog, so please keep visiting and follow me on Twitter at http://twitter.com/stuwitterer


I'm still raising money for ShelterBox, especially after the flooding in Pakistan, so if you'd like to sponsor me and help this great charity see the link at the top of the page.


Regards
Stuart Woolger - The Midlifecyclist


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I Ride Therefore, I Transam

Journeys end, Astoria OR 

Well folks this leg of the journey is over, on the 6th August 2010 at 10 am I officially finished my 4600 mile Trans America cycle ride following the Adventure Cycling Associations Trans Am route East to West.

The journey was a test of physical and mental stamina, but with every corner and new horizon offering stunning scenery, chance encounters with great people and a million memories, the rewards far outweighed the effort.

I now feel the fittest I’ve ever felt in my adult life and certainly the slimmest! If you’ve ever considered doing something like this, all I can say is go for it, you’ll never regret it!

Thanks to all the people I met on route who helped make the ride such a great experience and thanks also for your kind sponsorship which has raised £700 (inc gift aid) for Shelterbox.

There are still stories to be told, so watch out for new Blog posts in the coming weeks. I am also planning my next leg of the ride and will be announcing that soon.

A wet & windy Pacific Ocean!

Until then I am enjoying some R&R on Vancouver Island Canada.

Here are a few factoids from the ride.

88 Days in total
4659.7 miles
17 Punctures (don’t ask!)
40lbs in Body weight lost.
States crossed = 10
Virginia
Kentucky
Illinois
Missouri
Kansas
Colorado
Wyoming
Montana
Idaho
Oregon


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Oregon

I crossed into Oregon over the Snake River and followed the banks of the Oxbow reservoir in scorching heat along Hells Canyon.

People were Trout fishing in the reservoir whilst the huge shoals of Carp lazed unhindered in the inviting warm water. I spotted trees laden with what looked like cherries, but decided they couldn’t be, as no one would allow ripe cherries to sit unpicked. Temptation got the better of me and I decided to bite into whatever this cherry like fruit was. It looked like a cherry, smelt like a cherry and by golly it tasted like a cherry.

The banks were also full of Tayberries, Blackberries and Peaches; this veritable smorgasbord of free fruit was mine for the taking.

Further down the road I spotted a woman picking fruit, the only person on the entire road. I checked with her that the fruit was safe to eat and free to take, she confirmed it was and that people were just to damn lazy to come and pick it, “Put it in a carton and stick a $5 price tag on it and they’ll buy it” she ranted “try and get them down here to pick it, not a chance”, I left the lady with a “What’s the World coming to” sort of expression on her face and pedalled off munching on my bounty.

The heat in Hells Canyon had been pretty fierce and the cycling hard; out of the Dutchmen the Ozzies and myself, I was the last person to arrive at Copperfield Camp site at in Oxbow OR, but at least I had a bag of fruit!

After a swim in the river to cool off I set up camp next to a big Hispanic family, it was hard to work out who was who in the large family unit but eventually a large guy, dressed like a gangster rapper broke the ice. “Where due guys cycle from?” after the usual text book answer the astounded looking guy and his family crowded round firing off questions at us. “It must be dangerous out there on da road, what due packin” one of the elder lads asked. I started to reel off a list of my pannier contents, whilst the group looked on confused, the father held up a hand to pause me, “Na I think ma bro is askin ya what handgun you is packin”. “Hand gun?” I answered rather bemused, “I’ve got some pepper spray!”. Realising these guys thought I should genuinely be carrying a weapon in order to cycle across America, I explained to them how safe I had felt cycling across his country. Apart from the dogs, Mac trucks, RV’s, red necks etc etc… But generally safe!!!

A younger lad piped up “You must av no trouble fightin off da ladies avin a James Bond accent”, I assured him that 3 months on a hard leather saddle with a slightly less fastidious personal hygiene routine than one would normal follow at home, “me trouble wiv da ladies” was that none would come anywhere near me!!


 I think our encampment of bikes, small tents and little cookers, boiling barely edible meals (apart from the Dutchmen's haute cuisine)  was a strange phenomena to our camp site neighbours, they often sat starring at us as though we were circus side show freaks or a fly on the wall documentary!

Staying in Oxbow reminded me of Geography at school and how in our curriculum we studied “oxbow lakes”. I could never really work out the reason for this and thought it would have no life long value what so ever. Well on many occasions on my Trans Am ride I’d look down on a valley floor from a  hill or mountain pass and see an oxbow lake; it was quite fulfilling to know how they were formed. But Pie R squared, I’ve still found no use for that one! Although I did have some good pie back in Golden City!!

The next day was another toughie, Oxbow to Baker City 70 miles and plenty of climbing in intense heat, with the route following historic areas of the Oregon Trail.




Half way through the day on a long slow hill climb through parched barren plains, I wish I’d have had my camera ready, as I saw a sight that made me laugh out loud, but you had to be there! Well you know how dogs look funny when the go passed with their heads stuck out of car windows, I saw a collie that had up the anti.



Coming towards me at at least 60 miles an hour the dog had obviously decided that being in the back of a large crew cab pick up was no fun. He had taken on the extreme sport of roof surfing and was happily stood on the roof leaning into the bends, ears flapping!


 I limped into the pretty town of Baker City, out of water and out of energy, a rest day was called for so I tracked down a $35 motel and booked a few nights. On the first night I had to wear ear plugs as a couple next door had two babies both of whom screamed constantly for 6 hours. Through the paper thin walls I could make out no interaction with the children by the parents and in the morning when I awoke I heard a loud “Oh my God!” from the corridor. I opened the door thinking someone had died, but met the cleaner looking into the recently vacated room confronted by a pile of food wrappers, used diapers and other assorted detritus, the room was ransacked! As I stood talking to her the teenage father returned, having forgotten something after checking out, he didn’t even apologise to the cleaner, just ignoring her and walking out. Bizzare!



On my second day in Baker City the ACA group caught up, having also suffered a hellish hot ride to get there. A few of us went out for a Chinese; the restaurant had all white American staff with the Chinese doing the cooking, just seemed strange, the other anomaly was the blank look I received when ordering Prawn Crackers. The waitress had no comprehension of what a Prawn Cracker was and they weren’t on the menu; it’s like an Italian restaurant not selling pasta!!



The next day I was up early heading towards Prairie City, with three back to back passes in between and a distinct change of scenery to pine forests, lakes and quiet roads, it was a tough but nice day. Most of it spent cycling with the Dutchmen and we were also joined for lunch by Fred and Barb the intrepid 77 year old Australians.


 Although stronger climbers than me, the Dutchmen were impressed with my downhill prowess, elbows on my bar ends and tucked in low my heavy weight touring bike would gain momentum and slowly accelerate to an impressive speed (52 mph top speed on Trans Am). A crash would have been disastrous, possibly fatal, but the buzz of a high speed decent has you catching flies in your smile. I was to be given the honouree title of Eddy the Eagle by the Dutchmen. 

Coming over the last pass of the day the view down out of the Malheur Forest into the valley below was just stunning. I stopped at a look out point and got chatting with a group of people in a camper van, they were so impressed with my cycling adventure they gave me a huge bag of fresh banana cake which went down well with everyone at the camp site later.


We were to follow the John Day Highway for a few days, through small farming towns along a beautiful valley with a nice night at the Presbyterian Church in Dayville. The church offers great facilities for cyclists to use and you just sleep on the floor; my spot under the pulpit was quite comfy! There was no obligation to do any tambourine bashing or God Squad stuff, in fact you were just left to relax. With Hossa the Dutchman cooking up one of his fine meals for everyone, Klaus jingling the ivory on the church piano and me and the Aussies having a good chin wag, it was a great afternoon and evening with probably one beer to many!








The next morning we were to awake to torrential rain and the forecast not looking to promising for the rest of the day, we put the kettle on and waited to see if it would clear. After a few hours nothing much had changed and there were mixed feelings in the group about whether to sit it out for another day, Fred was eager to get going, so during a brief lull we donned our waterproofs and set off.



The route headed through areas rich in fossils and narrow canyons painted with ancient Indian petroglyphs, we stopped briefly to explore and then started climbing out of the canyon as the rain started to pour. On one narrow section with no barrier and a shear drop an RV almost clipped us as it passed, I saw red and screaming expletives I pedalled furiously after it. My adrenaline kicked in and I was up the steep climb as if it were flat. It was the last straw for the Dutchmen, soaked through and with plenty of spare time on their hands they turned round and headed back to Dayville Church.



I carried on knowing Fred and Barb where somewhere up ahead on the “river like” Ochoco Highway. I caught up with them just outside of Mitchell and we ended the day at the Oregon Hotel, a lovely original timber building that seemed, like the rest of this small town, to be in a time warp. The ACA group turned up, as well as another small group of cyclists and it meant that the hotel was fully booked and the population of the town probably doubled overnight!



The Painted Hills area out of Mitchell was a real unique landscape with huge rock out crops, almost pyramid like hills with different coloured soil running across them and the steep Ochoco pass to get over. I crested the pass first, not due to speed, just the first one out of bed, Lee from Dorset wasn’t far behind and we stopped at the top gassing until a few other ACA riders turned up.






Riding through the town of Redmond I spotted a Dutch Bros coffee hut by the side of the road and by pure coincidence stood next to it supping on a latte where the “Dutch Brothers”, Klasse and Hosse, they had put in a few big mileage days after turning back in the down pour and managed to catch me and the Aussies up. I had to celebrate with a coffee of my own (any excuse for a latte!) 



There was one last barrier between me and the Pacific Ocean; the McKenzie Pass (elev. 5335 ft/1623 m) and from the camp site in the touristy, but pretty town of Sisters, the three snow capped Sisters peaks, part of the Cascade mountain range looked a formidable finale.



The road up the pass is closed for a large part of the year with snow and isn’t accessible by RV’s which makes it a great cycling route, carbon fibre racer boys passed me on occasion using the pass as a training run. The route is beautiful and nearing the top the forest disappears to leave a bizarre volcanic landscape for miles around, caused by three lava flows 1500 years ago.

The descent from the top of the pass was just an awesome sequence of fast switchbacks through pine forest for mile after mile descending thousands of feet, without doubt the best downhill on the Trans Am.

After a few more days of camping with the Dutch, Aussies and ACA riders I was to say my farewells as some where planning to visit a cycle factory in Eugene and take a different route to the coast and some where slowing up as they had lots of days left before their flights home. We had a good picnic table party at the RV park in Coburg and I cycled on the next day feeling jaded and sad that the end of the ride was near.



As I got closer to the Pacific coast I could smell the sea air and Oregon's legendary coastal mist clung to my clothes, I almost didn’t want it to appear, but through gaps in the trees the Ocean started to show itself and I pulled into a lay by and starred out into the mist searching for the horizon.



I had done it, traversed a continent, ridden 4600 miles, had what seemed like a life time of memories crammed into 3 months, met some some amazing people and seen sites that took my breath away. I had experienced extremes of every nature, heat, thirst, hunger, pain, fear, pure enjoyment and had my faith in humanity restored by the generosity of strangers.Travelling by bicycle puts you in a place that no other form of transport can, you smell the air, you feel the weather, you meet the locals and move slowly across their landscape.





I may have completed the crossing of the USA from coast to coast, but the Official Trans Am route finished a few days up the coast in Astoria, so I cycled on through the mist towards my final destination occasionally getting a glimpse of the coastline.





Heading into the town of Seaside there was a friendly beep of a car horn and frantic waving, my friends the Moreland family had driven down from Vancouver island in Canada to meet me, it was strange seeing people I actually new rather than meeting strangers and making friends. We camped at Seaside and I woke early the next morning to carry out the sacred ritual of the Trans Am rider. It was time to dip my front wheel in the Pacific, having dipped my back wheel in the Atlantic at the start of the journey.



So on the 6th August 2010 on a misty murky morning, my friend Mark followed me down to the beach and took my wheel dip photo. I then met up with Tony, the guy I cycled the first two thirds of the Trans Am with, who had come down from Portland to ride the last 25 miles to the finish with me.



We cycled quiet back roads, catching up with each others news from the last month of the journey and before long we were crossing the bridge into Astoria and heading for the maritime museum and the end point of the Trans Am.



There is no plaque or sign to indicate the Trans Am starts or finishes there, so the maritime museums anchor is the ideal back drop to stand on and announce to the world that you are one of a group of cyclists from all over the world that can say they’ve done the Trans Am.

This blog post was written retrospectively, my end of ride post is here.

Stay tuned to this Blog, new trip being announced imminently!
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