Ride a Damn Bike: Oct 2, 2010

Greetings internetians,
We here we are in another B town along the coast, Brookings, Oregon, the last city before CALIFORNIA!!! The night before we stayed in Cape BLANCO and as you know we stayed in BANDON. So...the southern coast line has a thing for the B names I guess.

Anyhoo...we stayed in Bandon for several glorious, star filled nights while the weather was great and then shoved off 2 days ago to continue the journey. On the map it looked like an easy jaunt to the next camp ground, Cape Blanco. As the crow flies it's probably 15, maybe 20 miles, BUT we've come to discover that maps lie...maps like real hard. The 101 cuts inland for no apparent reason, rather than just following the coast. So...I got to the turn off point to Blanco thinking "Finally, I can relax, I'm home". NOPE...I biked a solid 25 miles up and down and up and down the hilly countryside, through eerily small towns that didn't seem too hospitable to biker folk, only to have to ride another 6 miles back towards the coast and TRUST when I say that those last 6 miles were the worst. DID I MENTION THE HEAD WIND THE WHOLE WAY!?!? At least 25 or 9000 miles per hour...at least. So, as luck would have it almost immediately when I turn off the 101 the clouds roll in, the fog creeps up and a slight sprinkle starts to cover me trebling, weak and now FREEZING body. I mean...there was a creepy sheep farm with sheep silently chopping on grass, staring blankly at me as if to say "Welcome to hell, it's colder than you expected, hey?". It was hard and I maybe had to push my bike up one of the hills, but dammit I made it. I don't think I got any really good pictures of the camp ground itself, but it was really weird. I showed up alone thinking there might be some other hiker/bikers to convene with, but NOPE all alone, even the RV crowd was thin and not super friendly. The weather was bitter and cold and wet and the WIND...shit...that was spooky in those huge trees. I quickly took a shower to warm up, set my clothes on the and set to collecting some fire wood from the various pits around us and dry twigs (I refuse to pay for wood). Along the way I bumped into a biker who immediately looked confused the second I opened my mouth and it was quickly revealed that English was not his forte. Alfonze from Germany was quickly my saving grace and not being alone. But wait, where was Lani?

Well, Lani decided to get her day started off a bit slower than me and didn't leave until roughly 2 or 3 hours after I did...meaning she was close to 15 miles behind me and starting to have a sneaking suspicion that Blanco was indeed further than originally thought. I was getting worried that she would just give up come dark and pitch our tent on the side of the road, leaving me to sleep on the cold, wet, hard ground with my bag and my tarp. NOT FUN. But I was mentally preparing for such an event or cozying up to my new German friend, who was, by the way, 68 years old, riding a huffy, IN SANDALS. He had already ridden 55 miles that day and was fresh as fucking spring time.

Sure enough just after I cook up some spaghetti I see a white pick up truck roar up the hill with an unmistakable neon handlebar bag poking out of the bed. Yep, Lani hitched a ride!! Woohoo. Turns out this lady Alice saw Lani looking at her map at the end of her drive way and offered to drive Lani up the campground before dark. Bright eyed and bushy tailed Lani strolled into camp and I quickly took it upon myself to set up the tent, my home, my shelter, my safety...oh so nice.

After the tent was set up and the fire was roaring, thanks to Alonze's diligence at gathering wood, we were graced with yet another biker friend. Her name was Tamara and she was wearing golden, shimmering fairy wings. We were about to be BESTIES! She's traveling alone down the coast, heading for Mexico and we've been hot on her tail since Newport. She stayed with the couch surfer, Amie, the night before we got there and then was at Alpha Farms for a few days only to leave just before we arrived. I thought we'd never meet her, but as luck would have it she veered off course to stay in Eugene for a bit, then stayed in Coos Bay to nurse an eye infection, while we were in Bandon. So finally, in the most inhospitable campground to date, we finally met. I know I was probably more excited than was necessary, but good news was in short supply that night.

Tamara decided that tonight was the night she would attempt to use her stove that was loaned to her by a friend, the whisperlite international. As far as camp stoves go the one me and Lani got, though large and awkwardly shaped, is just about idiot proof. The other stoves, like Tamara's, that are white gas and require pumping and preheating and all sorts of crazy shit, while compact, could lead to a fireball engulfing your whole face. I'd seen other people use these stoves and it looked complicated, now I'm certain that every person who purchases a stove like this should be say down and required to take a class with some sort of an exam at the end to ensure all parties involved know how to operate said stove. The problem that Tamara ran into was turning the gas on too much and then lighting it while the gas was pouring out, making quick work of covering the table in gassy flames and freaking everyone the fuck out. In panic situations I tend to just giggle like an idiot, while trying to be helpful and this situation was NO exception. I clearly all the stuff off the table all the while laughing like a goddamn idiot. Tamara was holding it down in the simply freaking out department, all she could say was "WHAT THE FUCK DO I DO? THIS SHIT IS ONE FIRE!" At this point Lani and Alfonze were on the scene and Alfonze ran to grab some water, for some reason I hadn't grabbed any, confusing my fear of water and flaming cooking oil vs. water and gas. The cooking oil is bad when dowsed with water, the gas is ok to use water on. I was trying to figure out where the fuck I could baking soda when all of a sudden Tamara grabbed the bottled and attempted to unscrew it resulting in the entire stove to expel a GIANT fire ball directly into Tamara's face. All I can say is thank god her hair was up, because the little bits that were singed and black, she was pretty excited about the prospect of any facial hair (short of her eyebrows) being singed off but besides that she was completely horrified and cursing the stove. She got over it pretty quick with a hot shower and some practice poi spinning (think the fire dancers that spin balls of fire on chains at festival, but hers were just light up balls).

Off to sleep we went in the creepy little camp and we awoke to Alfonze bidding us farwell as he rode off on his huffy to the next campsite some 60 miles away, that dude is HANDLIN' his business on that Huffy. The rest of us were feeling a bit weary and sluggish, but wanted to get the fuck out of Blanco, so we divised a plan to call the lady Lani got a ride up the hill with the day before, because she said she'd give us a ride if we wanted one. Sure enough, 30 minutes later Alice chugged up the hill with freshly backed chocolate cake and bungee cords for our bikes. Tamara got on on the action too and we were off, but not before Alice opened the food bank in town for us AND took us through the grocery store for more supplies (like a can opener, honey and coffee) With about 100 more pounds of shit to carry Alice hauled us another 50 miles down the road, just past Gold Beach and let us off to bike another 25 miles to Brookings (we had to ride some, I mean...that would just be cheating) It was a pretty tough stretch, with the added weight of food, the weather being quite crappy and what not, but we made it and the sun even came out in the last 5 miles to grace us with its wonderful rays. The ride was pretty special too because the coast was just AMAZING looking and the added bonus of a new pal to ride with.

We rolled into the camp and bumped into our past camp pals, the dutch boys, Joe from Thailand and 2 Alaskans, all of which we met in Bandon. Soon Alfonze would roll into the camp and soon after that Joey and Vincert, the Portlanders we also met in Bandon would join the fun. It just HAPPENED that we had enough food to feed an army so we set about cooking and inviting all the camp people to join us. The new guy to the crew, Eric, was a nature photographer on his way south. He ended up ordering a pizza, but shared it and therefore he was entrusted into the clan. Alfonze made quick work of the fire and we were all jovial and getting rowdy around the fire. Tamara started spinning her fake poi and even I took a turn at it (I'm awesome apparently, despite smashing myself in the face several times) The giant rootbeer buzz I had started to wear off kind of early and I made for my tent before the party was over, but everyone pretty much dispersed after that. I was pretty sure people would be hung over and/or feeling ill, especially Alfonze who drank tequila for the first time last night and REALLY REALLY liked it, but like any seasoned Oktoberfester, he was on his bike headed for Cali by 9am. That dude is the most legit biker with the most janky set up I've ever seen.

This morning the crows woke us up, as usual and after an awesome egg sandwich thanks to Vincent we headed off to town. My front panniers are all messed up and the brackets that hold them on are the issue. After a trip to a dickhead bike shop, I went to Ace hardware to get something new to hold them on. They are pretty permanent now, but they are ON and that's the key. Only cost me $2 and some face to tire action, Brent would be proud. Mama did it all by herself. And thus we are up to date and off to more adventures. We'll be in Brookings all day and headed out to Crescent City, CA tomorrow...where we've heard really bad shit about the hills, but whatever...I'll survive...or at least we'll find out.

Just. Keep. Pedaling.

All the pictures are at the bottom and out of order, but enjoy.