Legend of Leggett

   Albert awoke to the fresh, cool, Garberville mountain air, but could sense that the day was going to be hot. Today, Albert faced the two-thousand foot summit of Leggett mountain. The ‘Legend of Leggett’, was that many a touring cyclist’s remains and gear, were left scattered by the wayside. Albert, with respect to Leggett, heeded the warnings, and with love and not fear in his heart, set out to conquer.

   Albert swooping down highway 101 from Garberville, took the Benbow side road, quickly passed through the town of Piercy, and started his ascent. Rejoining 101, he passed by one-thousand year-old trees, and for the next ten miles, the road wound up the face of the mountain and with surprising ease, Albert summited Leggett.

   From the summit, Albert exited 101 and via Highway 1, started his descent to the coast. Passing ‘The Drive-through Tree’, out of the corner of his eye, Albert noticed a hand-written sign that read, ‘False Summit!’ “False Summit?”  questioned Albert, “what’s up with that?” The road continued to descend, and shortly after crossing over the Eel river, flattened out. It was here, around a sharp corner, that Albert suddenly faced a second ascent - the actual ascent to the real summit of Leggett Mountain!

   This was a haul! The road, not the steepest Albert had encountered, was simply unending. It twisted and turned as it made it’s way up through the deep pine forest to the two-thousand foot summit. Albert, sitting back in his seat, with a firm grip off his handle bars, pulled for all his worth. About two-thirds of the way up, with his arms and lower back burning, Albert just had to get out of his saddle. Standing, using all his strength to turn over his Campagnolo crank, Albert thought he could hear voices. Dripping with sweat, his heart and lungs working overtime, on the verge of faltering, he was now positive that he could hear voices. Yes, there, just up ahead he could see Blue Bird and Golden Piglet calling to him. But wait, they weren’t alone, alongside them, Albert could see J-Bird, Mo and Bo, and was that Ali? Yes, that was Ali, and they were all right there at the summit beckoning to him. With re-newed drive and a second wind, Albert turned up the pace. Now, off to his right he noticed wild deer – they were running alongside him, and what was this, on his left were a pair of beautifully marked skunks, and just off in the brush, there were rabbits and squirrels, snakes and frogs, and now it appeared that the forest was alive with the sounds of little critters and bugs, all pushing for him. And looking up in the sky he could see hawks and falcons, and below them there were butterflies, and humming birds, and dragonflies all pushing for the summit. J-Bird was right there, just off of his left shoulder, and now Golden Piglet with her little legs, was scampering along below, and of course, in her usual place, right out in front, was Blue Bird leading the way. The pace grew faster and faster, and even the trees and the shrubs, and flowers appeared to be helping as the collective energy seemed to pull a weightless Albert, effortlessly up and over the mountain. His experience was amazing, it was heavenly, it was Albert’s, ‘Alpe d’Huez’ moment, and in a spiritual, Pantheist sense, it was “Godly!”

   Now on top of the two-thousand foot Leggett summit, perched on the precipice of it’s descent, Albert, pulled to a momentary stop and while still strapped in, balanced his bike, rolled back a foot or two, rocked for a moment, and then settled into a comfortable, seated track stand. Turning to look behind him, there was the collective, all smiles and waves as they individually drifted away. “Ready for the descent?” he quickly asked. “No Little Prince,” replied the logical Golden Piglet. “Speaking for the collective, this one’s all yours.” “What about you J-Bird, you with me?” asked Albert. “No, Albert, I’m with Golden Piglet on this one,” responded J-Bird. And turning to Blue Bird, “how about it, you up for this?’ asked Albert. And being the spontaneous, little thing that she was, “wouldn’t miss it for the world Albert,” was her natural response. “Come on Albert, let’s rock ‘n’ roll!” And with that, Albert took a glance at the 8% grade sign, took a deep gulp, and from a standing start, with Blue Bird alongside, took the plunge.

   Down and down they flew, two-thousand feet of dark twisting, narrow road, straight down. Thirty-five plus miles an hour around tight unforgiving curves. It was pure exhilaration! Albert couldn’t believe the thrill and the joy of the moment. Nothing else matter beyond the here and the now. This was everything! Right now, Blue Bird and Albert were one with the world, this was flow, this was Zen, this was love!

   Reaching the bottom of Leggett Mountain the road headed west to the great blue Pacific. From there Highway 1, through coastal rolling foothills, lined with wildflowers and thistles, wound its way to the town of Mendocino. Here, under a blanket of fog, the day’s yarn expired, and with Blue Bird, now napping on his handlebars, after the most heart-pounding eighty miles of cycling, Albert pulled up for the night.

Avenue of the Giants

  The moment Albert awoke, possibly while he still slept, he knew from the scent in the air, that he was embedded in farmland. Slowly rising, rubbing a hard, deep sleep from his eyes, Albert remembered flashes of his night’s dream. It was a funky dream, one in which he co-starred in a Hollywood blockbuster movie with actor Will Smith as Barack Obama. From the bits and pieces that he could recall, Albert played the roll of Obama’s assistant, a sort of Robin, as in ‘Batman and Robin’, and together with Obama, their super-powers, and their spandex, saved the world from the off-smelling, “evil ones” – whomever they might be.

   Albert always liked Joe Strummer’s lyrics, “...cold water on the face, brings you back to the human race...,” and with doing so, was off and running. From Ferndale, Albert headed east down Grizzly Bluff Road, a narrow country lane, lush with fauna and wild flowers, to the small town of Rio Dell. From here he crossed over the twisting Eel river for the first of many times that day, and passing through the town of Scotia, entered the ‘Avenue of the Giants’. Albert thought that there must be many beautiful locations in the world to cycle, but this had to rank right up there. The sun was high and the temperature warm, but the air under the canopy of ageing redwood trees was cool. Albert cycled the dark, wooded avenue, narrow and winding, rising and dipping, for over ten miles – sometimes alone, sometimes together with the life-affirming, optimistic, little Blue Bird.

   Near the hamlet of Weott, Albert pulled off of the avenue to a wayside, and trekked down to the edge of the glistening Eel river. This section of the river was wide, with a broad expanse of stony beach on either side. It was whilst taking in this glorious view of nature that Albert had a ‘deja vu’ experience. This, he realized, was the location in his dream that he’d had that heavy stormy night back in Forks, about the white, and the red wolf. Here, Albert was sure, was where in the dream he found himself running with the two wolves along the banks of a remote mountain river, only to lose sight of them as they sped off into the distance, eventually taking flight. Albert, sitting himself down on the edge of the river, blocked out the ridiculous, petty problems of the world from his thoughts, and concentrated on the pure beauty of the setting at hand. In a moment of meditation, becoming one with the environment, Albert envisioned the two wolves as they playfully ran together, wild and free, joyful and loving, in what could only be termed as ‘A Wolf’s Nirvana’.

   With a warmth in his heart, and little Blue Bird by his side, Albert and Blue Bird (like Batman and Robin) returned to the ‘Avenue of the Giants’ and passing ‘The Immortal Tree’, The Foundation Tree’, and the ‘Dyerville Giant’, rode on passed the towns of Myers Flat and Miranda, eventually ending up in the post-hippy town of Garberville.

   It was summer-hot in Garberville, Albert had cycled seventy miles this day, and night was falling. Finding an empty meadow, Albert, too exhausted to pitch his tent, pondered over the past two-weeks on the road, and the more than one-thousand miles he’d cycled, lay his head down on (what he imagined to be) a bed of California Stars, and drifted off.

Inner-City Blues

  The Camper Coral was located just outside of Klamath, near the Trees of Mystery, where an oversized Paul Bunyan and Babe, his giant blue ox, welcome visitors to the world’s largest collection of redwood carvings. Albert awoke to a light-ocean mist that looked about ready to burn-off. Heading south for a few miles, with barely time to warm up and prepare for the day’s ride, Albert was confronted by the first of many climbs.

   This climb had a double summit, the first at five-hundred feet, the second reaching a whopping one-thousand, five-hundred. It sure was an early morning wake-up call. From the top it was one fast ride down, but unlike yesterday’s descent, the morning mist had been replaced by bright sunshine, the road surface was smooth, and Albert’s visibility was good.

   About thirty miles into the day’s ride, Albert passed the town of Orick and getting close to the ocean, the blue skies were replaced by coastal mist. Just passed Big Lagoon, Albert reached the Pacific, and exiting Highway 101, took Patrick’s Point Drive, and soon pulled up for lunch on the high cliffs over-looking the small town of Trinidad. Patrick’s Point Drive was a narrow road that hugged the Trinidad cliffs and was at times a single-lane due to winter wash-outs. The view from on top, of the beach and surf below, due to a pocket of blue sky and sunshine, was simply spectacular.

   Returning to 101, cycling up and down many a hill, Albert made his way to the college town of Arcata. He found his way to the town square, a hub of retail commerce, cafes, and restaurants, that was chock-full with the hustle and bustle and comings and goings of shoppers. On the grassy plaza, in the center of the town square, loitered and lounged quite a few of what appeared to be, free-spirited hobos, looking for hand-outs. Albert encountered one of these characters, who claimed to be a young ‘fixie’ cyclist traveling from Victoria, British Columbia, to his home town of San Diego. Albert felt that he was being befriended under false pretences and that the lad (a little sketchy) had actually, while Albert was arranging for a cup of tea, been scoping out his bike for a snatch and run. Albert, with a pocket full of street-smarts and the J-Bird’s ever-present, maternal keen eye, never really felt overly threatened and he hoped that his instincts and impression of the lad were wrong.

   From Arcata, under Gray skies, Albert passed through the city of Eureka – his first major city since Vancouver. Passing through the center of town, Albert immediately noticed the huge differences between cycling in an urban setting from cycling in the country. From the traffic congestion and the loud inner-city noises, to the manufactured processed smells of industrialization, and the vulgar images of blight. This in comparison to the open space of the road, the sweet sounds of nature: the wind, the rivers, and oceans, the birds, the insects, and the animals, to the earthy scents coming from the trees, the plants, and the flowers, and the natural visual beauty of the land, the mountain, and the seascapes. Albert being raised a city boy, knew that (in most) towns and cities, along with their packaged conformity and materialist consumerism, there could be found wonderful, creative, and interesting places, and that his noted thoughts were merely from a cycling point of view.

    With a touch of the 'Inner-city Blues', Albert, pleased to be departing Eureka, headed back out to the countryside where within thirty minutes, he once again found himself riding down quiet country lanes, surrounded by livestock, where the earthy smells and the sounds of nature immediately replaced his short inner-city experience and raised his spirits. Albert found his yarn tighten up as he reached the small attractive Victorian town of Ferndale, eighty-three miles from Klamath.

Triple Summit Hill

   When Albert finally woke, it was around 10:00 a.m. This was the latest that Albert had slept, and peeking out from his yurt (unlocked the night before by J-Bird he assumed), was confronted by the hard reality of an absolute down-pour. On this morning, Albert also found that he was totally out of yarn. Still beat tired from the previous day’s ride, Albert thought that if there was ever a day to slip back into his sleeping bag for an extra hours rest, with the silly notion that the strength of rain might subside, then this was that day. In the blink of an eye, an hour had past and with a second gander outside, nothing had changed. Or had it? For sure the intensity of the rain hadn’t altered, but what was hanging from the door handle?... you guest it, a ball of yarn! Why that sweet J-Bird, thought Albert. Oh well, no point in hanging around, it’s just a little rain, right.

   From Harris State Beach, with new yarn (thanks to J-Bird) attached, Albert headed towards the California border. At border crossing, Albert humorously expected a large door to swing open and a great big blue sky, and a high yellow moon to be waiting on the other side. No such luck, just more rain. About a mile past the border crossing, slogging away in the rain, Albert heard the sounds of honking coming from behind him. The honking grew louder and louder and as the vehicle passed him by, he heard two voices yell out, “Aaaaallllllllbeeert!” From the passenger window of a ratty old trailer, were the beaming faces of the two young English lads from Milton Keynes. Albert, with a smile and a wave, had a good laugh – looks like they found an easier (and dryer) way of reaching Crescent City. Not looking for an easy way out, from Smith River, Albert took Lake Earl Drive into Crescent City, a country road that passed open fields, cattle ranches, and the Pelican Bay Correctional Institute along the way. Pulling up in Crescent City, Albert changed into a new set of clothes that had dried out over night in the yurt, and mentally prepared himself for his assault on the triple-summit hill that awaited. This could possibly be his highest climb and biggest challenge so far.

   Albert, in the only gear his bike had, gripped his handlebars, and gritted his teeth. The next seventeen miles where to be some of California’s most hair-raising. The first summit (three miles straight up) at 1,200 feet, was the highest and was reached with sheer grit and determination. From on top, Albert almost thought he could see the California sun trying to brake through the clouds. This was followed by a short descent before an attack on the second summit. With pouring rain, booming traffic, and a shoulder-less road, only one more summit to go. After the third, it was all down hill for the next three and a half miles and before he began, what turned out to be one heck of a crazy descent, Albert noticed a truck Brake Check area off to the side of the road. This made Albert take a quick look down at his only brake, a Paul Racer center pull on the front, and hoped he wouldn’t need it. With a deep breath, Albert felt like he was dropping in to the deep end of an eleven foot swimming pool on his skateboard. Instantly, with seven and eight percent grades, Albert was flying. Flying!?...that’s what Blue Bird had said, and now here he was, about as close to flying as he was going to get. Down and down he went, unable to see due to the rain and thickness of the clouds. His glasses were completely fogged up as he zipped past signs announcing, ‘loose gravel!’ “Wait, what did that say?” – too late!!! Albert, his backside bouncing out of his Brooks Swallow seat, due to the rough unfinished road works, hung on for dear life. Albert knew that pro-cyclists got up into the fifty-plus mile-per-hour range, but that was with multi-gearing, dual-brakes, and the ability to coast. When you’re strapped into a bike with a fixed gear hub, reaching speeds of thirty-five miles per hour is pure crazy – Albert’s hips and knees felt like they were coming apart. Only one more mile to go!!!

   At the bottom of the hill, Albert took a little time out for the feeling to return to the many parts of his body that were numb, and reflecting on what just went down, blurted out, “Wow! that was absolutely wicked! Pure craziness.” Albert rode at coaster speed for the next ten miles, passing the trees of mystery, before his yarn concluded. Albert was able to roll into the Camper Coral and tent up for the night, still buzzing from his dizzying downhill thrill. It had been a short fifty mile day, but one heck of a ride.

Wind and Rain

   It appeared that on this morning, Albert awoke simultaneously with the wind and the rain. From Bullard Beach, Albert rode into the town of Bandon, where leaving 101, he took the scenic ocean route that passed through the colorful little downtown and on through a neat residential neighborhood overlooking the sea-stack-studded beach, at Face Rock viewpoint.

   Just past Face Rock viewpoint, Albert noticed ‘The Devil’s Kitchen’ and wondered about the many locations he’d past in these last few days, with names that referenced the devil. There was the fore-mentioned Devil’s Kitchen, and Devil’s Lake, Devil’s Elbow State Park, Devil’s Punchbowl, and the Seven Devils Road. These references to the devil also made Albert think of the abundance of churches he’d noticed over the past two weeks and he started to ponder the ‘big picture’, the concept of God and the Devil, of Heaven and Hell. Through cycling, Albert could easily relate to the term of “the hellish” and “the heavenly”, he’d had (though mostly heavenly) both experiences. Albert understood that words were (for the most part) good for communication, but he also understood that some words were abstract, and until filled with an experience, were empty. That the experience created the concept, that gave meaning to the word. Like the word “God”, Albert new that so many people had so many different concepts of the word. This, creating diversity, Albert thought was a wonderful thing. Now, Albert had heard of the concept of Pantheism, that “God” was life, that “God” was a part of everything, and everything was a part of “God”. That rivers and oceans, trees and flowers, dogs, cats, squirrels, man and woman, etc., were “God”. Sometimes, Albert imagined “God” as a naked Rubenesque woman (like Louisa, who would walk around her room without clothes on at the ‘Old Vic’ – the curtains drawn), lying on an over-stuffed couch. He thought that when “God” (Louisa) lying there on that couch, laughed with humanities humor, smiled with its compassion and joy, all of existence was right there, in the turned-up corner of her smile, and that when Louisa cried for humanities pettiness, its crimes and wars, all of existence was right there in the teardrop that rolled from her eye. “God” was simply everywhere, a part of everything. And I, thought Albert, like Blue Bird and Golden Piglet, we are a part of everything and everything is a part of us.

   With that thought, at that moment, a jaybird landed on Albert’s handlebars and looking him straight in the eye said, “so, Albert, how about me, does that make me “God” also? A little startled from being lost in thought, Albert pulled over to a safe place and replied, “jaybird, you can talk?” “Yes, I can talk, believe me, I can talk. In fact I can talk for hours and hours about anything and nothing, but right now I’m tired and frustrated of not having a good conversation for the past two weeks. Now, answer the question Albert, am I 'God'?” replied the jaybird. Avoiding the question, now more interested in the talking jaybird, Albert asked, “say, are you the same jaybird from back at Lake Quinalt and in Florence?” “Why yes Albert, the same. In fact, I’m the same jaybird that’s been following you from day one. You could say that I’ve had a bird’s eye view of the ride since Vancouver,” responded the jaybird. With that, Albert asked, “why are you following me?” “Good question Albert, I ask myself that a dozen times a day,” snapped the jaybird. “Truth be said, though she has total faith in you, your mother trusted in me to make sure that you were safe along your journey. That’s what I do Prince Albert, I take care of people,” said the frustrated jaybird. “Well” smarted Albert, I think I’ve been doing just fine by myself.” “Seriously Albert, really? Do you really think that there are that many good-natured, generous, park rangers out there just offering up yurts, that yarn just simply appears in dumpsters, that rhubarb pie just slips into your panniers?” replied the jaybird. A little put in his place, Albert asked, “that was you, you did that...you set that up? Well, er, I, er, guess a big thanks is due.” And feeling a little bad, Albert then asked, “well seeing as you’ve been along from the start, witnessed it all, had a bird’s eye view of the ride, so to say...how’s the journey been for you?” “Well nice of you to ask,” squawked the jaybird, “I’m a gregarious character who needs a strong support system, who’s been without one for two weeks. All my friends are back at home, wondering why the heck I’m doing this, and I, quite honestly don’t think I realized what I signed up for. For two weeks I’ve tried to communicate with you, but you with your singular focus, can’t seem to see or hear me. Let’s say it’s been quite difficult to say the least.” Ouch, thought Albert, feeling terribly bad, that must be mighty tough for her, and how giving of her to sacrifice herself like that. Some how he knew he must (at some time) return the favor. However, right now he knew not how. With that, her feathers a little ruffled from the verbal confrontation, something she was never really comfortable doing, J-Bird, needing time to herself, flew off to do whatever she did in her personal space to recoup. Albert made a mental note to himself, that from here on out, he would do his best to engage in conversation with J-Bird whenever possible. Besides, he had so many questions he wanted answered about organic-farming, free-range, eco-friendly housing, sustainability, etc. 

    Returning to his singular focus, Albert continued south. From Bandon, the road travelled inland over rolling farmland, dotted with a variety of livestock: llamas, sheep, pigs, cows, horses, etc. The area reminded Albert of old postcards of North Wales (or was that Tiera del Fuego in Argentina?) that his mother had. Moving south, Albert, through the wind and constant drizzle, cycled passed the one-store town of Denmark, and on into the fishing town of Port Orford. Here Albert visited the harbor for a quick peek at the morning catch. From Port Orford, the road temporarily returned inland and began to rise as it headed past the damp, lush, HumBug Mountain State Park. Road works pulled Albert up, and with a lively chat with the friendly State employee (who’s job it was to direct traffic), discovered that around thirty or so cyclists had past through the previous day. He also discovered that the Jack, the State employee, was working towards his second retirement, was an ex-military man, had moved with his wife from Indiana, had three kids, seven grand-kids, loved the Pacific North-West’s out-door life style, loved to camp, hunt and fish, was thinking about heading east for a summer visit.... Nodding politely, Albert wondered if he might come across Ali in the days ahead.

   Returning to the coast, the road hugged the shoreline and the strength of the winds increased. Albert, with his head down, wondered where the often mentioned north/north-westerly winds were. Over the past nine days, he’d only had favorable winds on two occasions, and only once for a full day. Just before Gold Beach, Albert turned off of Highway 101 and took the Old Coast Highway, where (bad mistake) the winds were at their strongest, bringing Albert almost to a standstill. Albert, crossing the Rogue River, finally pulled into Gold Beach where he caught his breath and rested his aching triceps and shoulders. Where were Blue Bird and Golden Piglet on this day? – wisely hiding from the elements he thought.

   Before leaving Gold Beach, Albert changed his soaked clothing and ate lunch. Warm, and with belly full, Albert was ready to tackle the climb over Cape Sebastian. Cape Sebastian was a semi-tough climb, but Albert, with a smooth, steady rhythm, found comfort in the ascent, as the landscape held off the winds. You couldn't say the same for the descent as the winds and rain thrashed and battered him on the way down. At the base of the hill, for a short while, the road flattened out. However, it wasn’t long before the next wave of hills began, and though really feeling the strain of the day’s ride, Albert, with positive attitude, pedalled past Arch Point, Whalehead Bay, and on into the commercial town of Brookings.

   Totally drenched and battered, Albert’s yarn yanked him to a stop at Harris State Park where he was fortunate to find an unlocked yurt. The yurt was snug and warm, and Albert, with his last ounce of energy, changed into his final set of dry clothes, crawled into his sleeping bag, and after an eighty-seven mile beating, past out.

Seven Devils Road

  The following morning Albert slept late and woke to partial sunshine with the strong possibility of rain. He loaded up quickly and on departing ran into the two touring cyclists dressed like Californian Surfers. They were also about to depart – still dressed like Californian surfers. Which turned out to be a little odd, as they were from Milton Keynes, England. It turns out that they were at the beginning of an around the world back-packing tour and on a whim, had decided to cycle from Seattle to Crescent City. They had bought WalMart bicycles for $100.00 (they didn’t have enough money for helmets), and were wearing the most suitable of their travel clothing – gear for a little surfing during their world tour. In Crescent City they planned to sell their bikes to a pawn store and catch a bus. They were having an horrendous time cycling, averaging thirty miles a day, and hoped after reaching Crescent City, that they’d never have to see a bike again.

   Albert said his farewells to the two English lads, told them to keep an eye out for a young gal called Ali, suggested that they stay on 101, to avoid potential steep grade, loop-roads, and started his journey south, heading for the North Bend/Coos Bay area. Off in the distance, Albert could hear the sounds of swarming all-terrain recreational vehicles as they attacked the miles and miles of sand dunes found here in ATVlandia heaven.

   Up until North Bend, Albert had only experienced good people along his journey, but upon crossing the North Bend Bay Bridge this all changed. Here were haters. While crossing the bridge, Albert created a short traffic back-up which obviously offended some of the slightly delayed drivers. Eventually able to pass, they had a common means of expressing their feelings to Albert by screaming venomous insults at him from the insides of their monster trucks and cheaply modified automobiles. Albert was startled when an angry motorcyclist pulled up along side him and revved up his engine as high and as loud as it would go. Now Albert knew not to hate back, a lesson from his mother, that hate would only generate more hate. He also new that haters raised haters, but boy would he have liked to have said something in response. At that moment, Blue Bird popped up and all animated said, “why not Albert, why not tell them what for?” Seeing that the (apparently in a hurry to get to the local 7-11) motorcyclist was pulling up ahead, Albert said, “yeah, your right Blue Bird, I’m going tell him what for!” “I hope you’ve planned the words for your righteous little lecture wisely Little Prince, and what you have to say is positive and constructive,” said the suddenly appearing Golden Piglet. “You should know from your mother, that negativity never overcomes negativity, and if it’s a fight you’re looking for, make sure it’s the right fight, a fight worth fighting, not something purely ego-based, besides, I’m sure that there will be greater challenges right around the corner,” she continued. Albert, stopped and thought for a moment, and clearing his mind, reminded of his mother, knew that Golden Piglet was right and that the confrontation wouldn’t lead to anything positive. Albert explained to the slightly disappointed Blue Bird, “it’s best that I put my energy into something positive, like tackling what lies ahead, rather than spending it irrationally on something negative.” “Yes,” replied the fun-loving, care-free Blue Bird, “Piglet never allows herself knee-jerk reactions and always thinks wisely. Come, let’s re-focus and instead conquer the challenges that await around the corner!” And off like a rocket shot the energetic little Blue Bird. Excited and fired-up, Albert tried to keep up with the speedy little Blue Bird, but within moments, was faced with the reality of “the challenges around the corner” – The Seven Devils Road!

   Seven Devils Road (seven devilish hills), just past the town of Charleston (an alternative route to 101), turned out to be quite the little devil. It started off with a steep climb, steeper than most in Oregon, and after a series of ups and downs, leveled off to an open rolling ridge top. Finally came the descent, and racing down Seven Devils Road, Albert passed by Whiskey Run Road and eventually rejoined Highway 101 where the descent continued. Right before the town of Bandon, Albert’s yarn pulled him up at Bullards Beach State Park, where he pitched his tent for the night and after a relatively short, fifty mile ride, rested his weary body. Albert’s body had always been on the lean side, but now after nine days, and seven hundred and twenty six miles of hard riding, he noticed that any remains of youthful fat had burnt off. 

Physically Draining, Visually Rewarding

   Albert awoke to the sounds of the Pacific Ocean breakers crashing down on the Oregon coast – waters that had traveled all the way from Japan he thought. Unlike Albert, the winds had yet to rise and the ocean was flat and glassy. Three to five foot waves were peeling off to the left – a goofy-footer’s, frontside-cutback dream. Albert hung out for a while, beach-combing and soaking up the setting. Off in the distance he thought he could see Blue Bird and Golden Piglet having ablast, avoiding the breaking waves as they eventually rushed up the sandy shore.

   Before leaving, Albert text home a Happy Mother's Day greeting and headed south. Just past the Yaquina lighthouse, right before the town of Newport, Albert exited at the Agate Beach bypass, and rode along the ocean front. The bypass loop took Albert back to Newport’s older section of downtown and the marina district – avoiding the strip-mall sprawl. From here, departing Newport, Albert rejoined 101 and crossing over the Yaquina Bay/Newport Bridge headed for Yachats – the “Jewel of the Oregon Coast”.

   Just before reaching (spiritual) Yachats, Albert passed an unusual pair of touring cyclists. Both, dressed like Californian surfers (Hawaiian shorts and neoprene tops), were traveling on vintage-looking, cruiser bicycles. Along with their camping gear, Albert noticed that they were also carrying skateboards. Passing the struggling couple, weaving their way up a minor hill, Albert said “hello,” and to himself, wished them the best of luck. Entering Yachats, for the second time, like in Sequim, Albert noticed a sign advertising Eco-friendly, housing pods for sale – again, something he should find out about.

   After Yachats, Albert experienced some of the Oregon coast’s most spectacular scenery and some of it’s steepest hills. This was a bittersweet experience for Albert as the winds were pushing against him, the steeply winding hills were simply brutal, and the fog rushing up and over the cliff face was down-right chilling. These conditions, up past Cape Perpetua and Strawberry Hill, lasted for over twenty miles. The exertion from climbing up the hills at least kept him warm, but speeding down them was mighty cold.

   Descending, Albert passed the Devil’s Elbow State Park and continued on through the Cape Creek Tunnel. The tunnel had an uphill grade and the winds squeezing through it on the south-end, almost brought Albert to a standstill. Exiting the tunnel, the road continued to rise, climbing steeply over a barren, windswept headland with views of Heceta Head and it’s famous lighthouse. Finally, conditions eased with the road flattening out to near sea level, and Albert pulled up for eats in the resort town of Florence.

   Here, after a strenuous fifty miles, Albert was able to rest and regain energy at an all-local, natural food market. Sitting outside, whilst reading some literature on the benefits of consuming and purchasing locally-grown or produced goods, he felt somebody looking over his shoulder. Quickly turning, all he saw, sitting on the fence above him, was a Jaybird. A Jaybird!...hadn’t Blue Bird mentioned a Jaybird? Now that’s odd he thought, remembering seeing a Jaybird at Lake Quinault back when he thought that he’d been talking to himself. Coincidence?

   Leaving Florence, fully fueled, Albert passed Beaver Creek where he noticed signage for a Naturalist Camp. Looking down from the road that wound around and above the creek below, Albert could see, sheltered from the wind, basking in the sun, three naked women. Not wanting to be rude or intrusive, Albert turned his line of vision back to the road ahead and mulled over the thought, that with some parts neatly trimmed and manicured and others growing free and natural, how lovely a location that was.

   On the road for another thirty-five miles, at one stage climbing a ridge to a thousand feet, continually with the wind in his face, Albert passed the paper-mill town of Gardiner, the port town of Reedsport, and finally, Winchester Bay, before running out of yarn at Umpqua Lighthouse State Park. Here once again, thanks to a friendly park ranger, – there seemed to be an unusual amount of friendly rangers – Albert was able to procure a cozy little log cabin, over-looking a picturesque lake. As he sat outside his cabin reflecting on the day, thinking he could see Blue Bird off in the distance doing her aerial dance, he thought to himself, that whilst being perhaps the most physically draining, it had at the same time been the most visually rewarding day so far. Albert slept.