Florence, Oregon
Whenever I ride, I wear a complete riding suit: Cordura jacket and pants with GorTex linings and waterproof gloves. Despite all of the water and crash protection these garments provide, I can still get quite cold in the rain and this day was no exception. As I pulled into the local McBurger's for some warmth and a bite of high carbohydrate food, I was shivering and my head felt like it was going to explode from the cold. Unfortunately I had forgotten that McB's lobbies provide an air-conditioned dining experience -- even when there's really no reason for it. Brrr... it seems that every time I find myself in this situation (cold, I mean) I remember that I have always wanted to buy a heated vest. I never remember after the fact. I choked down some food, cleaned up my helmet visor as best I could and continued south along Hwy 101. The weather turned to the less traditional overcast and I was able to ride relatively dry through to Newport. Newport (translated in the native tongue as "Too Wet for Dry Rot," is a sleepy little town filled with all kinds of guest accommodations from major chain hotels to ratty locally-run motels. There are quaint shops selling all matter of sea loam cruft -- little sea lions made out of drift wood, for instance. But I didn't get to see any of that. Instead, I was greeted just outside of town by one of our fine State Troopers. No, I didn't get a ticket, but by all rights I should have since I was riding an un-American bike. The Trooper was standing in front of a very large barricade that read "Detour." It seems that the people of Newport had chosen this day to hold the annual "Gustav, the Dancing Sperm Whale" parade through the center of town and since Main Street is also Hwy 101, hundreds of vehicles were forced to wind their way through the less colorful residential parts of town. (Psst... hey buddy, wanna buy a lean-to with a for real screen door?). The narrow streets would have been no problem for my nimble little bike except that they were clogged by horizontal stacks of 900 foot recreational vehicles each emblazoned with clever bumper stickers with phrase like, "I break for bladder control problems" and "Have you seen my teeth?" Having passed the last of the corrugated castles, I rejoined the highway at the south end of "town." While the crawl through the area was difficult, I took some solace in knowing that bunches of the revenue-hungry highway patrol officers were busy redirecting Winnebagos. I went the rest of the way to Florence without seeing any "bears taking pictures," as we like to say on the CB radio.
My return route (Hwy 126) took me through some absolutely fabulous and densely forested areas. I headed more or less East until I reached Eugene and then turned North onto I-5 -- where I rode in almost a completely straight line until I reached Portland again. |
I began this trip, once again, from my home in Portland. It was an overcast day (which is typical for May in Oregon) and by the time I reached Lincoln City, it was pouring rain (which is typical for the Oregon coast most any time of year.)
I arrived at Mo's with an appetite and had the opportunity to sample some very fine clam chowder. Mmm... Oh, and I collected one Grand Tour stamp for my book as well. In the picture to the left you can see my "creative" parking solution. It might not have been an actual parking spot, but I was able to center my ride nicely in front. The restaurant really compelled me to go in. Everyone else was doing it. You see, it sits out on the water on pylons. Now I know what it feels like to be coerced by pier pressure.