September 12, 2015 – Sun, 75 degrees

Miles Today: 78

Miles to Date: 6,773

States to Date: 23

 Any Saturday that begins with coffee on Kurt’s sunny deck bodes well. It was difficult to leave such a serene place and such a delightful man, but I had a breakfast date with my most faithful reader, Sherri McCutchen. Sherri invited her son Zander Chanin to join us at Brail’s A Eugene institution. The food was good, the conversation even better.

I didn’t get on the road until eleven. The day was fair, the breeze light, the scenery lovely. I stopped at a car show in Crow. My favorites were a pair of truly classic 1953 Chevy Bel Airs, but nobaody asks a guy in bike shorts his opinion of cars.

I took a wrong turn and went three miles down a gorgeous valley before I realized my error. Back on track, I headed west, enjoyed ten miles of excellent riding without encountering any other vehicles, and then reached the huge Noti sawmill. I took a break at the Noti Market and met Tom a sawyer who was keen on my journey.

I joined Highway 126 West, which turned out to be a much better road than I had been warned. In late afternoon I stopped at a country park and met a couple I had contacted as potential warmshowers hosts. They were heading east (which is why they could not accommodate me) but we had a nice visit. One more climb to the tunnel, which is narrow but the flashing bicycle light warned any cars or trucks about me. Traffic was so light that no one even approached me in the tunnel.

On the far side the air was salty, the breeze brisk. After a long down slide, the highway paralleled Siuslaw River for twelve miles to Florence. There was a staunch headwind, but I moved strong, motivated to arrive before dark.

I stayed in a fine motel but the Internet didn’t work and in Indian-style the proprietors chose to blame my computer rather than their system. I went elsewhere, my computer found Internet just fine, and I got to see a bit of Florence at night, thought I still haven’t been to that famous Florence over in Italy.

September 11, 2015 – Sun, 85 degrees

Miles Today: 10

Miles to Date: 6,695

States to Date: 23

Today I explored the University of Oregon and Eugene. I had morning meetings to discuss tomorrow with the Admissions and International Students office, ate a superb schwarma at Caspian, decided to become an undergraduate again to study Volcanology, and got a personal tour through the art museum with Associate Director Kurt Neugebauer.

Kurt hosted me for the evening. He invited three other friends for a dinner of local delicacies (including smoked tuna and prawns), which we capped off by going out for dessert at Sweet Life, a decadent and popular dessert bar. Then we drove up to Skinner’s Butte to see Eugene in its nighttime glory.

Like many college towns, Eugene is full of interesting people.  Unlike many college towns, it doesn’t have a particularly inviting physical form. Apparently the 1960’s and 1970’s were unkind to Eugene. First, they tore down much of the city center and what remains is a hodgepodge.  Then, they built blocks and blocks of squat ranch houses, which spreads the city out. More recent hillside houses have great distant views. But at a cycling level, Eugene is not a pretty place. However, at night, on a hill overlooking lights with a bunch of nice people after a yummy dessert, those shortcomings disappear.

September 10, 2015 – Sun, 85 degrees

Miles Today: 84

Miles to Date: 6,685

States to Date: 23

The next time I am having a tough day I’ll try to remember this one – a perfect day of cycling in every way.

My warmshowers hosts filled me with a great breakfast and hot coffee. The morning was cool and clear. Dave rode me out of Salem and along River Road for 12 miles to Buena Vista. There was so little traffic we rode side by side and talked most of the way. He gave me a detailed direction sheet for the best route to Eugene. I only got turned around when I detoured to explore Corvallis, which has the most unusual corner sculptures of any city I’ve visited. I found my way back easily and enjoyed the OSU experimental farms along Peoria Road. I took a roadside lunch break in the shade of giant oaks beside a creek.

At Harrisburg I stopped for an ice cream. Jennifer makes the largest single scoop cones on earth. I snapped a quick pic of the astonishing pile of sea salt caramel and then ate it all up before it melted.

My last twenty miles were the fastest of my trip. Fueled by ice cream and pushed by tailwinds, Eugene came at me before I expected. Almost two hundred years ago Pioneers weathered all sorts of torment to cross the plains and mountains to reach this valley. I got here with less trauma, but also appreciate the Willamette Valley’s bountiful rewards.

I spent my first evening in Eugene with my good friend Kirk, who’s visited us in Cambridge several times, along with his longtime friend Kurt. Kirk is a noteworthy cook whose house has a deck with sunset views. I know this from years of Facebook posts and pictures. It seemed a fantastic dream to be on the deck in person, enjoy a sumptuous meal, and share stories.

September 9, 2015 – Sun, 75 degrees

Miles Today: 56

Miles to Date: 6,601

States to Date: 23

I rode out of Portland through grey skies. Stopped at Winco for yogurt and bagels. Got extra for the homeless folks hanging around. Homeless are all over Portland. Jittery guys who can hardly hold on to their cigarette. Massive woman wrapped in shawls spread out on the sidewalk like muffin tops. I acknowledge them, I try to respect them, but they jar my sensibilities. Perhaps that‘s better than being numb to them. Locals tell me that homeless come here because the climate is mild, the services good, and neighbors are kind. It probably is better to be homeless in Portland than in other places. But being homeless can’t be better than having a safe, supportive home.

I rolled through Crystal Springs and watched well-scrubbed children in khakis eat breakfast in chandeliered dining rooms before school. I pedaled through Clackamas and passed bands of Mexican American kids with T-shits pulled over tortilla bellies walking to school. In Gladstone three middle schoolboys buzzed by me on their skateboards. A fourth, with long blonde hair undeniably cool, sauntered along at his own pace. I saw my first gold leaves. The calendar pages register two more weeks of summer. But it is fall.

Outside of Oregon City, terminus of the Oregon Trail and the state’s first town, I stopped to study Willamette Falls, a complex array of waterfall, power plant and aging industry. After a few more miles of narrow road, the valley spread out into wide fields. Woodburn had so many taquerias and bakeries I just had to stop and eat a few sweet buns.

I passed the 45^th parallel, halfway between the equator and the North Pole. I definitely felt warmer on the far side of the sign.

I reached Salem in early afternoon and enjoyed touring the Capitol – a 1930’s Deco extravaganza. Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers could have filmed a movie there.

I stopped downtown to get my third set of bike lights. I’ve only used lights a few times on my trip, but they keep getting stolen. Instead of buying difficult to remove ones – which get removed anyway – I bought ones that are simple to attach. I plan to keep them in my bags and only attach when needed. Let’s see if that strategy works.

At a street corner I saw a young couple in an ugly fight – loud profanity, pushing, spitting. I witnessed similar fights in St. Helens, on Portland streets, even within the Portland Library. There are so many young people who only know want and disappointment, who can only act from rage. They likely exist everywhere, but Oregon’s permissive attitude toward street people allows them to be more public. Regardless, such needless human suffering brings me down. We have enough for everyone to get his or her share. Why are we so cruel to each other?

My warmshowers hosts, Sharon and Dave, elevated my spirits with good food, good beer and great conversation. They are foster parents for the local shelter and had four of the cutest little kittens scampering over everything.

September 8, 2015 – Sun, 75 degrees

Miles Today: 13

Miles to Date: 6,545

States to Date: 23

Indian summer descended on Portland. I rode off the hillside and toured the city. Spent some time in a trendy coffee shop. Spent other time in the Public Library. It has the most beautiful inscribed black marble stairs I’ve ever seen.

Is this the kind of bumper sticker paradox that is making Hillary loose steam?

In the afternoon I visited The Circus Project, a group that introduces homeless youth to circus training. Then I rode along the waterfront to my warmshowers hosts, a cooperative at Reed College. We had a delicious vegan meal, talked about thought provoking ideas, and listened to great music. It was all fun – even the 10 p.m. campus wide fire drill for which he had to evacuate to a nearby field.

September 7, 2015 – Cloudy, 65 degrees

Miles Today: 25

Miles to Date: 6,532

States to Date: 23

 I started my day by pedaling the far reaches of Northwest Portland to Kelly Point Park, where the Willamette meets the Columbia. My route took me all through St. John’s, which has a wonderful collection of domestic architecture from the 1920’s through the 1960’s. The more recent stuff – not so good. The cloudy skies evaporated, the sun came out, and people flooded the streets. Portland is like Boston in that no own takes sunshine for granted.

I returned to the city and spent the afternoon getting social media tips from blogging entrepreneur Mike Riscica. In case I didn’t have enough exercise, I had a steep, steep climb up the hills to get to my warmshowers host high above the city. I spent the evening in spirited discussion with a group of 50-somthings and their 20-something children about tomorrow.

September 6 2015 – Sun and rain, 65 degrees

Miles Today: 21

Miles to Date: 6,507

States to Date: 23

Today marked the four-month anniversary of being on the road and I celebrated by reverting to my roots – I went to yoga! Aside from morning stretches and deep uphill breathing I haven’t practiced organized yoga since I left Cambridge.

My Portland warmshowers host invited me to his Sunday morning class, so we walked to YoYo Yoga and joined about 35 others for what might pass for church in this city. The teacher quoted inspirational verse and got us chanting before he put us through challenging vinyasa flows. My muscles are a lot tighter than they used to be and my one-legged balance is skew, but I did okay. Terri Cole, one of the owners, told me about their cross-country trip to practice yoga in 100 studios in 100 days. They’ve got a cool blog.

I cycled up Terwilliger Road in the Portland mist to the southwest part of town to talk with the director of the Cascades AIDS Project to talk about tomorrow. I returned along the Willamette River past downtown and out the industrial corridor. Portland is a much more industrial city than I anticipated.

I crossed the beautiful St. John’s Bridge to the remote St. John’s neighborhood. St. Johns feels like a separate place, which it once was. Portland annexed the town of casual streets, tall trees, vintage bungalows and tiny ranch houses. It’s authentically funky.

My Quaker warmshowers host moved here eight years ago because he liked the atmosphere. He pointed out the neighborhood’s merits on our walk into the commercial district for dinner, good beer and live music at Slim’s. On the way home we stopped at the Mexican grocery for a sweet and took a different route through this fascinating neighborhood.

September 5, 2015 – Sun and rain, 65 degrees

Miles Today: 55

Miles to Date: 6,486

States to Date: 23

We got a late start pedaling out of Longview. It was 9:30 before I scaled the tall bridge over the Columbia River, observed the two-mile long Weyerheauser plant on the northern shore and entered Oregon. I have now been to all 48 contiguous states – only 25 more left by bike!

US 30 in Oregon proved a easy ride though less spectacular than my route yesterday. I stopped at St. Helens for a Safeway lunch. I am a total fan of their kale super food salad. When I get the $6 lunch combo meal and ask for that as my main portion the staff always says, ‘You can have fried chicken, you know.” Sometimes I get chicken, but I the kale salad is too good to delegate as a side dish.

The overcast sky turned to rain. I sat out the storm and then and continued on through intermittent clouds and drizzle. Northwest Portland is industrial but quiet on a holiday weekend Saturday. I veered into the Alphabet District (so named because the east/west streets run alphabetical from Burnside to Wilson. I don’t know what happened to ‘A’). Immediately, Portland is different from other places. Sure, there is grunge clothing like Seattle. But there are also women in elegant long skirts, coeds wearing facsimile cheerleading uniforms, aging hippies clutching walking sticks as they parade the sidewalk, and guys in pressed khakis. Anything goes doesn’t mean sloppy. It literally means the full range of personal appearance is embraced.

I happened by a lovely branch library to take a writing break, then meandered down 23^rd Street past boutiques and cafes. I could have pedaled my own smoothie, but I had cycled enough, so I made my way to the stately Biltmore Apartment building on Nob Hill where my warmshowers host lives on the top floor with a broad view of the city.

Mike Riscica is a New York transplant, fellow architect, cyclist and accomplished blogger. We had plenty in common. Mike grabbed a Car2Go and we buzzed downtown. Then we spent the evening strolling back home along Portland streets. We visited The Portland Building (the first true Post-Modernism building?), Pioneer Square, and Union Way – a timber frame version of a Parisian shopping concourse. We enjoyed superb beer and a great dinner beneath the massive trusses at Fat Head’s, and a nightcap at another brewery. An altogether terrific introduction to Portland.

September 4, 2015 – Mostly sun, 60 degrees

Miles Today: 94

Miles to Date: 6,525

States to Date: 22

I had a solid 75 miles ride today which extended, over and over with detours, some by choice, others by necessity. Since I hate going back the way I came, I decided to take the longer route around 101 and the Columbia River shore. Then I decided to take the Discovery Bike Trail to Cape Disappointment, so named because 1788 explorer John Meares was disappointed in finding a bay when he was seeking the mouth of the Columbia River. The irony is, of course, that he had found the mouth of the Columbia. There is nothing disappointing about this cape: it is spectacular.

I stopped by Fort Columbia, which had a nice campus of old buildings. It also had odd parking fines. Washington state has both high and bizarre fine amounts for littering, speeding and other citizen infractions.

My fear of heights kept me off the four mile Astoria causeway/bridge, so I took the longer route on the Washington side: Route 401 north to Naselle and Route 4 east to Longview. I enjoyed long stretches along the north side of the Columbia River, steady climbs through tall forests and windy descents.

The sky was full of giant clouds all day, though in mid-afternoon they turned grey. Rain fell coincident with a state-imposed detour around Route 4 construction.

Longview is not a bike friendly city. After too many honks and exhaust revs directed at me along Ocean Highway coming into town, I resorted to riding the sidewalk. Even though I am supposed to be on the roadway, it’s better to be safe than to be right. I was happy to arrive at my warmshowers hosts, who had a good meal, great conversation, and nice bed for me.

September 3, 2015 – Sun and rain, 60 degrees

Miles Today: 74

Miles to Date: 6,431

States to Date: 22

Highway 101! My first day on this storied highway. I will follow 101 on and off for the next two months. I originally planned to take it around the Olympic Peninsula, but local cyclists warned it was narrow and the logging trucks dangerous. Since I listen to local counsel, I opted to cross below the peninsula to Aberdeen and hook onto 101 South there.

Dense fog wrapped me as I crossed the bridge from Aberdeen at 7:30 a.m. The September days are markedly shorter. The mornings are cool.

Within an hour the fog lifted and I logged twenty-seven miles to Raymond. Up and down and up again through a county that ought to named ‘Weyerhaeuser’ since apparently they own all the land. There are all sorts of signs about when what is planted, and these large clearings smack against tall trees. Route 101 lived up to all aspects of its reputation. The scenery is beautiful, the riding sketchy. Nice shoulders disappear without notice. Trucks barrel along at great speed.

There is a belching mill at Raymond, though the town is very poor. Another of those predictable yet counter intuitive truths. Just as we pay the people who provide our most essential needs – farmworkers, garment workers, laborers – less than people with specialized skills – lawyers, surgeons, football players. So to, towns rooted in natural resources; be it lumber, coal or wheat; are poorer than towns rooted in ideas; education, culture or technology. The 2×4’s that the Raymond mill produces are commodities. The people who get rich off of them do not live in Raymond.

Just south of town a guy in a pickup coming north called from this window, “Big rain ahead.” The sky was grey, which is not unusual in the Northwest, but since I listen to locals, I decided to stop. Only the second time this trip I’ve made a weather stop. Each time there’s been a McDonald’s at hand. I took an early break, locked my bike under an overhang, and sat out a humongous storm. It was noon before it let up, so I ate a grocery store lunch and headed on in the crisp after-storm air.

I should be as lucky with my food as the weather. After Raymond, 101 flattens out. Five miles beyond is South Bend, the oyster capital of the world, a real working fishing town with pungent marsh smells and great places to eat. My lunch was fine, but it wasn’t fresh oysters! I was full and still had forty miles to go, so I pedaled on.

Forty miles on the Highway 101 cyclists adore. The road was good, the terrain gentle, the views amazing. Sometimes I hugged the shore. Other times the water was distant. There were fewer trucks past Raymond. In fact, there wasn’t anything except trees and more trees. I startled a huge buck in the woods. A mile later a parade of six large deer crossed the road. I saw more deer than houses.

I reached the Long Beach peninsula about four. On a map it looks like a barrier island off New Jersey. But instead of a sand spit, the peninsula has the same terrain and tall pines as the rest of this area.

Long Beach is my kind of beach town – a little tacky and very salty. ‘Our Place by the Beach’ proved a nice place to stay: salt water taffy in a jar at check-in; a room with sitting area and picture window overlooking pines; a soothing hot tub. Marsh’s Free Museum, downtown, is gaudy as any souvenir shop. Fudge stores, frozen yogurt parlors, pizza stands, and T-shirt emporiums round out he rest of the commerce. The summer season is short here. The bumper cars and merry-go-round were already closed.

No one could recommend a good oyster place, but I enjoyed fish and chips and good beer at the local sports bar where the Seahawks were beating the Raiders so bad I left in the second quarter. If I ever ride this way again a #12 jersey is in order. Seahawk’s fans take their twelfth man status seriously.

Before dinner and football I walked out to the ocean and waded in the Pacific. It was not nearly as cold as everyone says, about the same as the ocean on Cape Cod this time of year. But no one swims in it. The waves are rough, the undertow strong. Still, I enjoyed my first dip ever in another ocean.