Dunes

Oregon's coastline is a treasure, and I'm told it's under-visited.  Around every corner, it seems, you get a view like this.

On the rare stretches when you're not on the ocean, admiring possible surf breaks, you get lakes and streams and ponds like this.  

But what really makes the coast pop, especially around central Oregon, is the dunes.  They pop up when you least expect it, by the side of the road.

At times, they form a buffer between the highway and the sea.  So you hang a left and check them out.

That was the ocean over there to the right in the photo above.  It's still Oregon weather, after all.

And there's the ocean off to the left!

Sometimes you happen upon a river (possibly under one of Oregon's ten zillion fantastic bridges), and there's a dune on the other side.

Or maybe you're just looking for a fun winding road through some glorious dunes.  Oregon has you covered there too.

Sure, the weather's not 72 and sunny every day.  But there's a lot to like along Oregon's coast.  

Bandon Dunes

Bandon Dunes is golf heaven.  It's a bunch of courses nestled along the rugged Oregon coast, and to my eyes, some of it resembled Pebble Beach. 

The courses have incredible hiking trails, streams, ponds, dunes, and all manner of wildlife.  It's a peaceful and wild bit of nature.  No golf carts are allowed, so be prepared for some exercise. 

After having lunch there, I was told I could walk around, but Dennis the Golf Ranger swooped in to tell me no, I could not.  He was kind enough to offer me a full tour in his cart, and I happily accepted.


The accommodations are nice, the staff is Oregon-level friendly, and it seems easy to soak up a few days of golf and relaxation out here.  But it will cost you.  I learned that an alternative is to stay in town, maybe 10 minutes away, and drive over for the golf and dining. 

Another useful tip:  Vicious north winds wreck havoc on the course for most of the summer.  For that reason, Dennis suggests a visit in September or October.  Wintertime can have the occasional frost delay or dusting of snow, but it's doable -- and greens fees are far lower. 

Update on Motorcycle Waves

As discussed earlier, the standard upside-down peace sign is the traditional motorcycle wave.  After more than 1300 miles on the road, I've seen some exciting variations.  My personal favorites:

• "Your table is served."  Imagine a hostess showing you to your table at a fine restaurant.  An upturned palm indicates that yes, this is indeed the finest table, with the best view.  I love getting that one. 
  
• "Blah."  When you're tired or focused on something else, sometimes the best you can manage is a limp-wristed hand movement that doesn't even count as a wave, usually executed the palm facing down and the fingers flailing this way and that.  I am guilty of this one when my hands are cold and numb.  It's the thought that counts. 
  
• "Hi-yah!"  When you're busy working the clutch and the throttle and staying near the brakes, a motorcycle wave is nearly impossible.  It often happens when you're accelerating away from a stoplight in heavy traffic.  In that context, I've gotten quite a few kicks.  My fellow cyclist raises his leg and kicks at me with his boot, a nice pragmatic gesture under the circumstances. 
  
• "Shaka."  I always enjoy getting that classic surf gesture from a fellow biker.  There are quite a few of them waiting to be flashed along the Oregon coast.  

Gold Beach

Gold Beach is a little town along the ocean in southwest Oregon.  The chowder is fantastic, and the people are classic Oregon -- a little nontraditional, a little rough around the edges, and unfailingly nice. 

To get there, head north on the 101 from Crescent City and pass lots of glorious beaches with very few visitors. 

The weather is... a little chilly for late August.  You get stretches of sunshine, but if you look up or down the coast, you'll probably find a nice dense patch of fog. 

Gold Beach itself lives up to the name. 

That's black sand!  It's soft and fine, and makes for some dramatic beach scenery.  Here's a better view of the sand, combined with a standard SW Oregon weather situation. 

To my eye, the waves looked plenty fun for surfing, though apparently the prime surf spots in Oregon are further north. 

It's a quiet spot made all the better if your room has a view and a fireplace.

Two enthusiastic thumbs up, Gold Beach.  

Crescent City

As I was riding towards Crescent City, located only 20 miles from the Oregon border, I wondered why people would choose to live there rather than in Oregon, where pretty much everything is significantly cheaper.  I think I get it now.  It's a wonderful little town.  

Crescent City is home to less than 10,000 people, but it may host that many bikers and RVers as they pass through, and for good reason.  It's got a nice feel, some tasty restaurants and views, and a very nice salty-dog vibe.  

Its nearby beaches are rugged and wild and beautiful -- and a little chilly.  

The main attraction in town is the harbor, which boasts delicious food and a collection of very happy, very loud seals.  

It's a popular spot to stow one's fishing boat, and to eat recently caught fish at a restaurant that is not afraid to display some solid kitch. 

It's also a surfing town, from what I could gather.  The local restaurants seem to be doing what they can to keep surf tourism modest, which I'm sure the locals appreciate.  

Big ride coming up today.  Then I will share some of the tremendous beauty of Oregon's glorious west coast.  

Eureka! They Found It.

A decade ago, when I hitchhiked across Africa, I thought of my journey as a social experiment.  I was a fish out of water and knew nothing of the continent, the roads, the people, or the languages -- and I needed help to get everywhere I was going.  I was greeted with warmth, dignity, and kindness from virtually everyone I met. I couldn't have done the journey without the aid of hundreds of strangers and acquaintances. 

I hadn't thought about the human angle as much this time.  But less than a week in, I'm receiving the same treatment, and once again, I really need it.  As mentioned, I left my gloves in a restaurant and a kind stranger ran them out to me.  I left my backpack (containing my passport and many other important items) in a gas station bathroom, of all places, and a young man picked it up, surmised that it was mine, and handed it to me with a smile before I drove off without it. 

There was the Pizza Experience down in Clear Lake, where I was hungry and given food by three strangers who asked nothing in return. 

And then there was Target in Eureka.  At the end of my longest and most challenging ride to date, I stopped for a few items, brought them to the checkout counter, declared that I was pooped from a big day -- and promptly left my wallet, containing all of my money, cards, and driver's license -- right there next to the cash register and drove to my hotel. 

I didn't realize it was gone for about 90 minutes.  After thoroughly searching my possessions twice, I knew what I had to do.  And I was worried.  I'm told that Eureka has many nice neighborhoods, some beautiful views and hikes, and some good people.  But the neighborhood surrounding my hotel (and the Target) seemed a little gritty.  When I arrived at the hotel, I noticed a telltale abandoned chair on the nearest street corner.  An old microwave loitered on the very next block.  I parked my bike in the lot near my room and noticed someone inside the dumpster maybe 20 feet away, rummaging around.  Other questionable characters seemed to live on that block, including a heavily tattooed lady who took up residence under the stairs about 8 feet from my hotel room door and muttered to herself with a high level of urgency and persistence. 

So back to Target I went.  I asked the cashier if she remembered seeing my wallet.  She looked at me with zero recognition, said no, and directed me to the Guest Services counter.  I walked up knowing that this was a big moment.  I asked about the wallet, and to my surprise and jubilation, they produced it.  I in turn presented my passport, the one item I hadn't kept in the wallet, and my cards and cash were mine once again.  The guy who handed them over rode a dirt bike, and he smiled and said he knew it was easy to be rattled after a long ride. 

Eureka may be rough around the edges in spots, but I'll always be grateful for its citizens, who rescued my journey from an early roadblock in an act of pure altruism.  Thanks guys, you found it.  

Redwoods

From Clear Lake I jogged over to the coast to enjoy a little bit of Highway 1.  It looked like a short detour on the map, but the route to get there was something special. 

I had stumbled upon one of the great motorcycle rides in the country.  As this website describes it, "If you love BIG Redwood trees, beautiful green forests, creeks, ferns and rays of sunshine streaking through the trees and illuminating the forest floor, this is the ride for you."

The route takes you through the mysteriously named Jackson Demonstration State Forest, which is a "working forest" sold to California from a logging company in 1947.  As far as I can tell, it's working quite well.  

Here's the route:  

That jaunt through the Jackson Demonstration State Forest is out of this world.  It's nothing but switchbacks and crazy s-turns for 22 miles.  Every inch of the road seemed to require braking, throttle, downshifts, upshifts, accelerating, engine braking, and every kind of turn known to a rider.  The road was flawless.  

The redwoods were enormous, the smells were beautiful and fresh, and the best parts were the corridors of forest with sunshine fighting through the canopy.  My pictures don't do it justice.  

I went long stretches without seeing another vehicle. 

It was a physical, taxing, and rewarding ride -- much like the rest of this journey.  

Finally, a shout-out to Fort Bragg.  I went from hot and sunny to cold and foggy in a heartbeat, and I still loved that quaint little seaside town.  The ocean landscape was as intimidating and beautiful as I had imagined.  

What a gorgeous little corner of the country.  

The Bass Capital of the West

Clear Lake, CA, located north of Napa, is the largest freshwater lake located wholly in California.  It has been around for almost 500,000 years, and it has 68 square miles of surface area.

It's hard to get the feel of a lake this large, but I arrived at my hotel in the cozy town of Lakeport on a Sunday evening, and the weekenders were long gone.  It was as tranquil as it gets. 

There were a few boats around, but not many.  Mostly, it looked like this. 

 
My hotel had incredible views from the room. 

And from its sensational balcony. 

The grounds felt beautifully maintained -- and nearly abandoned. 

What a lovely place.  There were rumors of an algae issue, but I was assured that it's not a problem in Lakeport.  The water was warm and as clear as advertised. 

Next time those bass had better be on high alert.  

Babes on Bikes: Miss August 2019

55 Miles on I-5 is 55 Too Many

I rode from Sacramento to Clear Lake yesterday.  The journey wasn't long, and the latter half occurred on gorgeous winding roads, with vineyards and rolling hills in every direction.  It was sublime. 

To get to that beautiful patch of road, I needed to slog 55 miles down Interstate 5.  That stretch was as unpleasant as it gets. 

The 5 is California's main north-south highway.  It's often two lanes in either direction, though it occasionally swells to enormous proportions near bigger cities.  In August, the temperatures can get frighteningly inhospitable, and the wind adds a degree of difficulty that no biker needs. 

As you hold on for dear life in 100+ degree temperatures, you have two choices.  Stick in the slow lane, where trucks are going about 20 mph slower than the fast lane.  Or hop in the fast lane and marvel at the fact that cars tailgate you mercilessly and weave into the slow lane to pass you even if you're going over 80 mph.  Everyone on the 5 is mad, it seems. 

At one point, feeling some extreme heat sensations on my right flank, I looked down to see if my right butt cheek had been set ablaze by my muffler or something.  Nope, it was just that hot out, and my flank got an extra dose of heat from the sun's reflection off the paved road. 

At two points, I had the pleasure of weaving around intimidating obstacles.  One was a large, mostly intact tire sitting right between the I-5's two lanes.  The other was an entire fender, somehow removed from its rightful home, just lolling in the breeze directly in the middle of the fast lane. 

The cars are jammed together in either lane, and everyone seems (justifiably) in an enormous hurry to finish their journey on the 5 as fast as humanly possible.  One moment, you're cruising at 85, and the next you're at a complete standstill, enjoying a symphony of car horns.  Traffic speeds right back up to breakneck speeds without any apparent reason within moments. 

Motorcycles slow down quickly when you hit the brakes because they're so lightweight.  They slow quickly even without brakes, as downshifting can force your engine to do the work for you.  This creates a challenge when you're being ruthlessly tailgated by a neverending stream of cars.  You look ahead through traffic and notice that every other car ahead of you is mashing the brakes.  But the other half of the cars are accelerating.  You want to signal to the car that's about 8 feet from your rear tire that you may need to slow down soon, but you don't want to stop unless traffic is really slowing.  What do you do?  I try downshifting, tapping the brakes, weaving a little to try to acquire some more space.  Nothing works well.  You do your best and hope that the impatient driver behind you doesn't decide to check her text messages. 

The road is in disrepair, with nasty potholes and concrete ravines winding across the driving surface.  At one point, I traversed a very long bridge with some consistently uneven pavement.  I bounced along as though my bike was on a trampoline -- boing, boing, boing -- for well over a mile, semi-convinced that my suspension had broken or that some of my luggage was dragging behind me. 

The jubilation one feels when leaving I-5 for good is up way up there with other great life moments, like witnessing the birth of one's first child or winning a World Series.  I will not be returning to that inhospitable road any time soon.  Good riddance, I-5, you nasty, surly, untamable beast.  

Kindness

It is after 8pm on a Sunday, and I'm in a tiny town with no stoplights. 

I walk from my hotel room in search of dinner.  I'm hungry and worn out, and I'm aware that there's virtually no chance that I'll find a meal anywhere at this hour. 

By one of the cheapest rooms at the motel, right by the highway, I notice three chairs and a BBQ on the pavement in front of one room.  In the chairs are two Mexican-looking guys and a black dude sipping on beers.  I wave as I walk by and say "Hi fellas."  They ask how I'm doing, I mention I'm going to get food but I'm obviously doomed, and I keep walking.  They wish me luck. 

I get another 30 paces and I hear a shout:  "Hey!"

I turn back, and the skinny goofy-looking guy says, "You want pizza?"

I admit that I have no other options and I'd love a slice.  He says I'm right -- "ain't nothing open out there" -- disappears into his room, and returns with a box, which he hands over. 

"One slice is all I need," I say.  He insists that I take the whole box, which contains two glorious slices and part of a sandwich.  I protest for a moment, he won't have it, and that's that. 

I look each of them in the eye, say a heartfelt thanks and shake each of their hands, and quietly go back home to enjoy the most satisfying slices of pie I've ever had. 

Thanks, fellas.  

Let's Ride a Motorcycle to Alaska

Chapter 2 has begun.  Yesterday, I hopped on the bike and cruised from Morro Bay to Berkeley, arriving in one piece and kicking off a solo bike ride to Alaska. 

Here's the tricked-out bike. 

Notice the changes from the back-of-the-RV era:

1. New windscreen.  This makes a giant difference on the highway.  My helmeted head is battered by maybe 60% less wind. 
   
2. New seat.  You blow into a straw hiding behind the zipper to give yourself a nice little air cushion on top of the firm and uncomfortable stock seat.  It's a little weird to be slurping on my bike seat in public, but it's worth it.
     
3. Saddlebags!  These two beauties rest on either side of the rear of my bike.  One contains my rain gear and my warm-weather gear.  The other contains my very limited wardrobe for the trip. 
   
4. Luggage rack.  It took a herculean effort by hardware store employee John to help me mount a tiny rack above my rear tire.  It looks less than beautiful, but it appears to function.  Unfortunately, the waterproof satchel I had planned to place on the rack didn't fit well, so it was jettisoned in the final moments before my launch. 
   
5. Backpack (not pictured).  My remaining odds and ends, along with food and water, fit in a small backpack that I put loosely over my shoulders and try to rest on the luggage rack.  I may need to do some modifications to this setup.  

Assembling these modest modifications was a challenge.  Each item takes 3-5 times as long as you'd expect, parts don't fit how they're supposed to, and you need about a dozen alan wrenches to tighten and adjust every part.  Thus far, nothing has fallen off, so in my opinion the effort (with a huge assist from many kind souls like Craig and Dan and John from Ace Hardware) was worth it.  

* * * 

The first ride, mostly up the 101, took me through ferocious Central Valley winds and wild climate changes.  (Giant windmills are not a pleasant sight when you're exposed to the elements.)  It was beautiful and less agonizing than I expected, and I arrived fully intact.  

Early lessons from the journey were abundant.  Here are two.  

It is a shock getting off the bike after cruising at high speeds for 100 miles or more.  My whole body vibrates and tingles.  My hearing does not return for a few minutes.  I have limited sensation in my hands and feet.  This means that it is hard to function as a human being without giving it a few minutes.  I almost dropped my bike when I kicked my kickstand down and got off it -- only to discover that I actually didn't touch the kickstand at all; I completely missed it but didn't notice because I couldn't feel my numb feet.  Lesson learned.  

Quick stops on the bike are nice, but transitioning from driving mode to gas station mode is not easy.  On my first stop, I left my gloves in the gas station and an employee had to run out to give them to me.  On my second stop, I left my backpack (containing money, passport, and other items I'd really rather not lose) in the men's room, and a kind stranger ran it out to me.  I need to pause for a beat to make sure I have my possessions before returning to the bike.  I also have a nasty tendency to leave my keys in the bike after I dismount.  Slow and steady is the way forward here.  

I'm back in the saddle this afternoon for a short jaunt.  Very pleased to be off and running.  

Closing the Book on Chapter One

We RVed from Oregon to Morro Bay, California this week, where we stowed the bus to begin the next phase of this journey.  Hooch decided to enjoy some R&R down in Los Angeles, and I'm back in Morro Bay prepping for the next chapter, on a slightly different vehicle. 

Here were the two halves of our journey. 

We got our feet under us.  We know how to drive the bus, how to handle all of the daily chores associated with it, how to navigate RV parks, and how to find the balance between driving and enjoying where we are. 

We're eager to get back to it, especially with friends and family, but first I need to make a little detour to scratch another itch. 

Department of the Interior

You've seen the outside of the bus, but here it is again.

How about a look inside?

Here's the cockpit, which may not look like much, but it has been customized to my specifications.

To the untrained eye, it may resemble a circa-1999 Ford interior, but there's a V-10 purring underneath that custom dog bed.  The dog bed rests on a vecroed-in, removable custom-fitted pine enclosure, so my baby can be at my side while I'm driving (and so he no longer blocks my right side-view mirror).

Yes, great eyes!  That is indeed an after-market wireless backup-cam monitor with optional night vision on the dash.  I also have a state-of-the-art GPS system to the left of the steering wheel.  OK, fine, it's where I mount my phone when I use Google Maps.

You can see one can of Red Bull to the left of Hooch's bed.  I actually have two (2) cup holders built into Hooch's box, along with two useful spare change compartments.  I also have a massive console to the left of the driver's seat, which accommodates 4 additional beverages, some earbuds, and about 75 bags of jerky, sunflower seeds, and Sun Chips.

Moving on to the main compartment, here it is when the slide-outs are in:

Feast your eyes upon:

• A new ceiling
• New wallpaper (washable)
• New fancy fake wood grey oak floors
• Custom dog stairs (removable so they can also help him dismount from his driving box)
• On the left, a giant bench approximately 8.5' x 2.5', which fits 3+ foam surfboards, many Tommy Bahama chairs, a powerful spare battery, fishing poles, and a shotgun
• On the right, a mini-compartment that holds luggage, tools, and all my motorcycle gear
• On the far right, a gigantic 10' x 3.5' compartment that fits unlimited surfboards, a stand-up paddleboard plus paddle, and an inflatable dinghy
• Kitchen in the background, largely unmodified from the original version

A little hard to move around here, you say?  Well here's what happens when the slide-out slides out:

Hope you noticed some of the 8 LED light fixtures I installed throughout the bus.  I think my gorgeous oak floor pops a bit more in this shot:

A quick glimpse of the kitchen, with fully functional stove, oven, double-wide sink with cover for driving, plus (not pictured) a coffee maker, toaster, and Magic Bullet blender for delicious smoothies. 

The bathroom, not pictured, is a work in progress, but is highly functional with a washer-dryer, comfortably large shower, and toilet room with superb ventilation.  

Now for the bedroom, in home-office mode:

On the left, you will notice a comfortable couch that has wood inserts so it's actually very pleasant to lounge on.  On the right, a flip-up desk perfect for a warm day when you want to prop the rear window up and get some work done.  (Comfy folding char not pictured, currently resting in one of the surfboard compartments in the living room.)

Let's take a look at the bedroom after dark:

Yes, that's a queen-sized fold-out bed, with about 10 inches of mattress/padding.  It's quite comfy.  The whole procedure of making my bed takes less than 2 minutes these days.

I'm so proud of you for not mentioning the hideous yellowish foam surrounding the bed!  That's very discreet and mannered of you.  I do intend to have the foam upholstered a classy grey color.  In the meantime, like the rest of the bus, it's a good example of substance over style.

* * *

There's work to do on the interior.  I'd like a new bathroom sink, a paint job in the kitchen and bathroom, a new toilet, an upholstered bed region, stained mahogany-colored furniture in the living area, an improved sound system, a mounted projector for movie nights, and various other nips and tucks.  But it's highly livable as it stands, and I'm pretty proud of how far it has come.  

Bend

To get to Bend, Oregon, I passed through a hideously windy 40-mile corridor known as the Columbia River Gorge, which was otherworldly in its beauty but scared the bejesus out of me nonetheless.

Bend, Oregon is the opposite of my Near-Death Gorge Experience.  Bend felt like home as soon as I got here.

Bend's beauty does not your breath away.  You notice the stretch marks on what was once a small logging town, one that boomed but then busted hard during the last financial crisis.  You see parts of town that don't quite make sense, or that don't seem so great.  But even in those spots, there are small, pleasant, quietly sublime things to take in.  They don't bowl you over.  The make you feel peaceful, or smile just a little.

I asked a guy a question about his motorcycle, and we stood in the parking lot chatting for 10 minutes.  It wasn't forced or awkward -- each of us was happy to participate, and we walked away glad it happened.  I got helpful directions from everyone I asked.  I got smiles and waves and good service.  People asked me about myself, where I came from and what I was up to. 

Bend is a city of less than 100,000 located nearly smack-dab in the middle of Oregon.  It's a destination in the summer, with good weather and every kind of river- and mountain-related sport you can fathom.  And it's a destination in the winter, with good snow and good mountains nearby.  The food is wonderful, the breweries fantastic, the parks green and spacious, and the people active and friendly.

Here's an underpass on a walking path.

Here's a glimpse of river life -- some folks with a dog walking away after a jaunt on a canoe, plus some people living it up on the water in the background. 

And here's a dude who's absolutely crushing life on a tube -- while a surfer boosts and air on the river behind him.

And, finally, an outdoor brewery shot, complete with fluffy dog, that captures a beautiful summer afternoon with nothing special going on. 

Thanks for the low-key delights, Bend.  We'll most definitely be seeing you again. 

Dogs and Dams

The Lower Granite Dam is a gravity run-of-the-river dam on the lower Snake River in Southeastern Washington State.  It's quite the operation.  It has a fish ladder, to let the appropriate fish cruise on through.  And it lets boats pass through by putting them in a compartment and then flooding the compartment until they rise quite high and can continue navigating on the other side of the dam.  That's a hell of a lot of water flowing through, and those are delicious blackberry bushes in the foreground. 

There's a nice beach just down the river that Washington State University frequent.  Dogs love it too. 

That's a bulldog, a 4-month-old Labradoodle, and a 2-year-old Newfoundland living it up.  

The water level at this beach stays shallow for a long time.  You could probably walk 80 yards out with your head still well above water.  

There are dunes on either side, and extraordinary views on the way to and from this special spot. 

The result of a few hours at the beach is a car full of wet, happy, tired dogs.