Some More of the Story

My sister just told me how to show anyone my pictures via Facebook. If you can't log into Facebook or Myspace take these links and check out the photos:

Leg 1
Leg 2
Leg 3
Leg 4

Also, the story continued:

After spending a comfortable night on Jeremy and Kimbers' floor, feeling well rested, I snuck out to start my day through the Tacoma's city streets, leaving a thank you note in my stead. The sky was heavily overcast and images of of a long rainy day entered my head. My map had a detailed depiction of the streets of Tacoma and Olympia, the two largest links in the chain of towns I'd be traveling through that day. My ride through the busy city streets and residential areas progressed slowly, but eventually I found my way through the maze of coffeehouse kiosks and tourist-infestation.

Afternoon the next day I continued the ride and got my first glimpse of the Pacific Ocean. Pale blue water spread into the distance where the thin line of the horizon cut across my vision. To be honest it was hard to consider this sight anything more than another landmark in my journey. I had expected a great feeling of accomplishment upon reaching the coast, but I knew this wasn't the light at the end of the tunnel: the tunnel continued and the light at the end was eclipsed by the distance still ahead. I'd crossed the entire country, but all I needed to do was turn my eyes south to see so much more land and potential. Beholding the ocean view gave me a feeling similar to that I'd felt after climbing over a mountain pass. It was an extraordinary thing, but just one more step in the ladder.

Washington's coast as I continued south was nothing like I'd expected. It reminded me more of the swamps and marshes of South Carolina than an ocean. There was one spot where I could look out through a gap the trees which usually stood between the road and the ocean and I saw a web of algae laid upon the waters. The sky was such that it was like a mirror image, two skies meeting at the horizon. The ocean is a very strange and foreign thing to me.


Before coming upon Oregon, I left the coast and took a highway which led through one of the most beautiful forests I've been in. Traveling through forests is my favorite part of the trip. They're not so good for photographs because there's beauty everywhere you look, so there's no good focal point, but to experience, it is truly invigorating. As the sunset approached and I was looking for a place to sleep, every drive was posted with signs prohibiting camping. It was logging forest and all privately owned. I was riding along slowly, looking for an opening in the forest that I could go into to be hidden, and as I passed by another drive I saw three elk in the distance, crossing the path plowed through the trees. I set down my bicycle on the side of the road and slowly approached. As I came closer their heads came up from the grass and their gaze settled on me. The shadows of the trees on either side veiled the scene, leaving spots of sunlight and everything about this moment was beautiful. I'm always overwhelmed with a feeling of contentment when I see wildlife in its natural state. The elk slid into the thick forest and disappeared. I could hear the sound of their footsteps on broken branches fading into the wall of trees. Not long after this I settled for setting up my tent at a pull off. I've noticed that generally as long as peoples' headlights don't fall on the tent while they're driving, I don't even need to be well hidden.

The next day I made my way across a very long bridge and into Astoria, Oregon. The presence of the sea leaves a fog in the sky each morning, so the weather was gray. While I was taking down my camp that morning a kid touring on a bike had passed by. I caught up with him later in the day and talked for a little bit. He was riding south on the coast until San Francisco, the first of many people I'd meet touring both up and down the coast.

Immediately upon entering Oregon I had found an information display by a bike path. I took one of the free maps and discovered that there was a coastal bicycle route stretching all the way along the coast. The map showed what each town had for services, elevation changes I'd come across, and other useful information.

Oregon's coast was full of travelers. Every day I'd at least say hello to a hitchhiker or a fellow bicycle tourist. This was a new and welcome change. Almost instantly the distance I was covering each day dropped. There were a few days of good weather followed by a few days of cloud covered skies. The route I was following led me through, by and around coastal mountains and hills, forests, along the cliff edges lining the ocean, sand dunes and misty capes.

Just one day into Oregon I was faced with bicycle problems. A flat front tire left me with no spare tubes and then while riding down a steep hill I noticed that the tube I'd put in was leaking air. Able to ride only a few minutes before needing to refill my tire with air, I decided to try and get a ride into the next town to buy a new tube. The second I put my thumb into the air a truck pulled over. With lifted spirits I watched as a local surfer stepped out to offer me a ride. He told me that he was only going to the very next town which was small and wouldn't have anywhere that I'd be able to buy tubes. Impressed with how fast someone had stopped I thanked him and said I'd wait for another ride.

An hour passed without anyone pulling over. Where I had stopped was about halfway up one of the largest hills on the Oregon coast. Clouds enveloped the air around me, and the sun was falling low into the sky, leaving me uncomfortably chilly. Time went on and I started to feel unproductive and discouraged so I decided to set off again on my leaking tire, fighting a steep uphill battle.

Part of me wanted to quit. I'd been growing more tired each day. The journey was getting long and after being faced with so many bike repairs and other frustrations I was growing increasingly unhappy. Luckily my own waining strength was supplemented by God's grace and goodwill. I stopped in the road's shoulder to pump up my tire and cast a disdaining look toward yet another truck passing by. Once I returned to my slow climb up the hill I saw that the truck had driven into the pull off and a man and woman were exiting. The man yelled out to me "Do you need any help?"

His name was Homer and he and his wife, Shannon, were visiting their vacation home on the riverside in one of the small towns just past the hill. They offered me a ride, seeing the impatience and frustration present in my expression as they'd passed. Tilamook was the next town which would have a place to buy tubes, but it was about 40 miles from where we were at the moment. A friend of theirs from church rented bicycles in the small town immediately over the hill and they took me there to see if he could help. We visited him and luckily he did have tubes. Homer and Shannon, being two extraordinarily kind and charitable people, voluntarily paid for three tubes for me, but unluckily I forgot to check the valve type and didn't notice until later that I'd be unable to use them.

They took me to their vacation house and said I could stay in their second room. They allowed me a hot shower, fed me dinner, supplied good conversation, a comfortable bed, gave me breakfast in the morning, a ride to the store in Tillamook the next day, sent me off with a small stock of food, gave me some money for the new tubes, and unknown to them, gave me a renewed spirit and determination, a fresh faith in people's good will, and purged me of my accumulated frustration and anxiety.

More to come.