Yaquina Head Lighthouse
Looking north from Devil’s Churn, near Yachats
Sometimes the road is perfect: wide shoulder, little traffic, scenery to die for
At other times the road is a challenge: heavy traffic, no shoulder, scenery to die for
The last two days have been filled with tremendous beauty and contrast. I rode from near Newport to a few miles south of Florence, a total distance of only 60 miles over two days. What I first noticed is that the highway traffic dropped way off once leaving Newport. The land was less developed and the area felt less commercialized. The scenery also became substantially more dramatic and more in-your-face raw, and mind-blowingly beautiful.
Last night was the first in which I zipped up my down sleeping bag. I later learned that the nighttime temperature reached 53 degrees – not cold, but cooler than previous nights and weeks. I had expected and prepared for a cooler day, and I enjoyed 70 degrees and sunny as I rode. Then in early afternoon, around Waldport I was suddenly sweating as I climbed a hill. I was passing through a bubble of heat. It continued through Waldport and Yachats (pronounced yah-hots), then suddenly the marine breeze came in and the heat was gone. I later learned that the temperature had hit 93 degrees, and this was highly unusual.
I suspect that most of you who read this are unaware that this trip down the Pacific coast is in many respects a reprise of a similar earlier trip. I rode from Courtenay, Vancouver Island, BC, to Santa Cruz, CA, forty years ago in 1974 when I was 23. I was in Cannon Beach on August 19, 1974, the day President Nixon resigned. In many respects I’m repeating a bicycle trip taken over the same route. That trip was half a lifetime ago, so it’s a rich experience.
On one hand, this is a repeat of a trip I made as a footloose wanderer of 23, then with little sense then of what my life would bring. I’m momentarily as free now as I was then. Now, however, I’m in a very different stage of life. I’m semi-retired, with three kids leaving the nest and much of my life, and the consequences of my choices, now behind me. I have raised a family, started, grown and left a business, maintained faithful married life for more than twenty years, and somehow ended up much grayer and older looking in these ensuing years (even if I feel inside myself as young, healthy and perpetually horny as I was back then).
This time is much more clearly a time of transition between life chapters. The trigger event was selling all of my ownership shares in Positive Energy, the Santa Fe solar company I started in 1997. Other triggers include all of our children, Nathaniel, Emma and Solomon all leaving the nest in their respective ways, paying off our mortgage, and Obamacare, which allowed my wife Johanna and I to purchase health insurance affordably after both having been treated for cancer.
All of this means that I may take these several months to travel and “celebrate retirement, being alive and being healthy” as I have written previously. I’m old enough to draw Social Security if I chose to, but as I intend to stick around for quite awhile, I’d rather wait as long as I can to sign up. In short, I’m not free from needing and wanting to make a living, but am blessed with the opportunity to take this adventure while defining the next chapter.
So this bicycle trip is also a break from the familiar in my little specialty of off grid solar electricity. I have more ideas for ways to make my living in this field than weeks have days, but no clear idea yet which among them to pursue. I could teach, which I already do occasionally. Same for writing for publication in the field. I could continue to do service work in New Mexico, expanding to remote sites and applications around the rural areas of the state, as I have maintained my full licensure. I could consult in several ways: to individuals or even to installation companies who have only done mainstream grid-tied solar and suddenly get an off grid job. And I could periodically take overseas trips to set up installations and teach their care and maintenance in developing countries. I have the perpetual curse of too many appealing options and too little time for them all.
i have been asked a number of times if my wife supports my traveling on my own like this, and I answer that she quite fully supports me being on my adventure for as long as I choose. I add that what I’m doing would not appeal to her: she doesn’t want to sleep on the ground or carry all that weight up hills, and would be happy to end the day with a room and a sit down meal. Johanna toured my way with me before we had our first child, so she has had the experience, but that was enough, thank you…
When I explain this, without fail I receive a comment of approval: “Wow, how lucky you are to have a partner like that” or similar. And I am coming to really appreciate such comments, as they help me move from wishing she wanted to share this with me (an old internal tape) to appreciating what I have. And at the present time, with all three of our children having just left the nest, she’s appreciating her own solitary time, her first in 25 years.
Back to riding… I’m maybe one-third of the way down the Oregon coast, camping at state parks, rather than seeking Warmshowers hosts or simply disappearing in the trees at day’s end. Oregon has their biker/hiker camps quite together: $5 or 6/night/person, with hot showers, picnic tables and tent sites apart from the RV and vehicle-based crowd. The touring bicyclists form a community of kindred spirits, each with unique backgrounds, life stories and motivations for travel, but sharing common routes and experiences. This mode of travel remains a shared social experience. This route, considered one of the world’s top cycling routes, fosters such community; late summer is peak season for touring the Pacific coast of the United States.
When I encounter other tourists , they’ll often ask the usual questions: where I’m going (home to New Mexico), how long I have been traveling (two months), how I like all the hills (just fine, thank you…). Several ask what I eat when I camp. I usually prefer to prepare my own meals, even in developed areas such as the Coast route where there are plenty of restaurant options, as I hold costs down and enjoy the ritual of the preparation and enjoyment of a good meal. So, for example, late yesterday I picked up a small broccoli crown and some green beans (the veggies, along with small zucchini so that can be purchased in small enough quantities for one person for one meal). I prepared a packaged rice pilaf, with added veggies and onion and garlic. Yesterday was a bit special – the local food co-op had a salad bar, so I brought a small green salad to my camp as well. Add a local beer and some dark chocolate for aperitif, and I’m ready for evening stories and a good nights sleep.
Morning usually starts with the ritual of one cup of dark, rich drip coffee. Ian of Guemes Island introduced me to neighbors who roast coffee at their home and deliver it on the island. I was given a pound of “Guemes Sunrise”, which is going to last well into California. Then usually granola with dried or fresh fruit and rice or almond milk. Eggs are hard to carry and can occasionally become suddenly quite messy, but I carry a few.