The following morning, before hitting the road, Albert spent some time taking in the natural beauty of the location of his cabin, located on the shore of a small black lake, nestled amongst the fur trees of Fort Canby State Park. Admiring his surroundings, Albert felt like he had company, but not seeing anybody present brushed aside the thought. A light breakfast and he was on his way, back out along the alternative 101, heading towards the looming Astoria bridge that spans the mighty Columbia River where it terminates at the Pacific Ocean.
Cycling from Washington to Oregon across the four-mile span of the Astoria bridge was a daunting task for Albert. It was a bumpy, trash-lined, two-lane road, scattered with the stinky, decaying corpses of dead animals and birds. It was bustling with noisy traffic and had high cross-winds. At mile three the bridge became a hill that rose up steeply, and from the crest there was over a 190-foot drop to the river below. Albert was extremely relieved as he swooped down off of the bridge into Astoria at the completion of the crossing.
From Astoria, where the Lewis and Clark expedition ended its westward journey in 1805, Albert headed south under clear sunny skies. Past the touristy resort towns of Seaside and Cannon Beach he rode, enjoying the ocean views of the unique rock formations dotting the Oregon coast. Today, finally, the winds were favorable, pushing Albert along.
It was around the Arch Cape tunnel that the coastal rolling road started to climb, and boy, how it did climb. To add to the challenge of the climb, the road, rising above the Pacific Ocean, was cut into the face of a cliff, and off to Albert’s right were sheer drops with the pounding waves below. At the summit, Albert pulled into a vista stop and whilst enjoying the panorama, almost (accidentally) killed a little old lady, who, unaware of the strand of yarn stretched out from the rear of his bicycle, tripped and stumbled in the direction of the edge of the cliff. Albert, momentarily frozen, let out a huge sigh of relief as the lady caught herself on a small protective rock wall. Oh my, would that have put a hiccup into Albert’s adventure. Not fazed, the lively little lady even had time for a quick joke and a laugh with Albert about the event before jumping into her RV and moving on.
The ride down was fast – super fast. Hugging the cliff, with head down and a firm grip of his handle bars, not being able to coast (the nature of the fixie), Albert zipped along with knees whipping in the 165 rpm range. When safe, whilst keeping pace with the descending tourist traffic, Albert was able to steal short glimpses of the incredible vistas and scenery below. Nearing the town of Manzinita the road flattened out and Albert’s speed slowed to a comfortable touring pace of around fourteen miles per hour, allowing his knees to recover. Albert continued south passed the towns of Brighton, Manhattan Beach, Rockaway Beach, and Garibaldi. Eventually, the landscape turned from coastal forest to farmland and with the strong smell of manure ever present, it wasn’t long before Albert reached the depressed looking town of Tillamook – famous for it’s (not-so-great, block cheddar) cheese.
What a surprise Albert had when passing over second street. Standing on the corner, outside a local coffee shop (apple turnover in hand), animated in an attempt to get Albert’s attention, was Bo! Bo, of Mo and Bo, from way back in Port Townsend. Pulling over, with hearty greetings, the oh-so-jovial Bo informed Albert that the misses and he were staying near by – just south of Tillamook at an RV park in Pleasant Valley. They were travelling by Airstream bus and had plenty of room if he’d like to pitch his tent or even spend the night aboard. Albert had just rode 80 miles and didn’t hesitate to accept.
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