Wait a minute, did you just say ‘touring the Oregon coast by bike’? Yep. Two and a half weeks, 580 miles, from Portland to Astoria, down to Reedsport, and back in to Eugene. A grand, crazy, challenging, exhilarating adventure.

Our trip started at 7am on August 16 in our apartment in Long Beach, when I awoke with a start and realized that, not only had I slept through my alarm, Russ and I were now at least 2 hours late in getting out the door to meet our traveling companions. Fortunately, they had arranged for us to all to be dropped off at Union Station in Los Angeles, so we could still speed our way there (in other words, we hadn’t missed the Amtrak bus from Long Beach that was our initial plan). Over the years, I have come to believe that traveling doesn’t technically become an adventure unless, at some point, you are: 1) late and 2) lost. We could now check off the late part. Getting lost would come later.

A day and a half after leaving LA, we arrived in Portland. As much as we all agreed that the train is really the best way to travel these days, we were all so happy to finally get off. We put the bikes back together, loaded on all the gear, took some photos, and set off to find our hostel.

The Hawthorne Hostel is a great place to stay when in Portland. It’s across the river from downtown, in an area full of younger artsier types. They give you a discount if you arrive by bike. And they have the best deal ever – sleep in their “tent city” in a fenced-off portion of the backyard, for only $13/night.

We spent two days in Portland, taking in the sights and sounds. On Saturday, we happily took part in the organized craziness of Tour de Fat. The festivities kicked off with an hour-long bike “parade” around the city, and continued all afternoon with lots of music, beer, and silly bike contests.

Russ and I were trying to convince Jayme and Dominic that Portland is just like any other city and to not let Tour de Fat color their entire vision of the place. But, it didn’t work, because the next day we ran into a group of syncopated drummers egging on a parade of swimmers as they marched to the river, jumped in and swam across. Hmmm… maybe not like every other city…

After a very full weekend in Portland, it was finally time to start the bicycling portion of the trip. And, in true Oregon fashion, this is the day that the sky broke open and poured on us. The kind of rain that, in just 30 seconds, soaks you through to the skin (no matter what you have on), and piles up an inch or two of standing water on the road. What else was there to do but laugh? (And cower at the Fred Meyer for an hour, trying to warm up.)

From Portland, we rode along I-30 to Scappoose, then cut West on Highway 47, then continued along Highway 202 into Astoria. 105 miles from Portland to Astoria, broken into two long, hilly, very wet days. By the time we rolled into Astoria, we were tired of riding, tired of the rain, and tired of sleeping on the ground. So we got a hotel. And we got some pints (and a LOT of food) in town. And we slept very very well.

From Fort Stevens, we finally started down Highway 101. A misplaced sign just down the road from Fort Stevens caused Russ and I to mistakenly turn off the 101 for a few miles. But, sometimes wrong turns can be good, because we ran across a small shop selling freshly-baked wheat bread – enormous loaves for just $4.

Day 4 was the day that we hit the first of two tunnels along the ride. There are special buttons for bicyclists to press to activate flashing lights to warn motorists to slow down. Russ accidentally left his sunglasses at the start of the tunnel and had to walk all the way back down to retrieve them (it was enough to ride through it just the one time).

Day 4 was also the day that we climbed to the top of Mount Neakahnie. Also known as Mount Ouch. It’s a pretty good climb. In fact, it follows on the heels of another pretty good climb, so we really earned our climbing legs that day. It’s hard to keep pedaling when you’re only moving at about 6 mph, with RVs and logging trucks zipping past you, and you can’t see the top and where it all ends. But, when we finally got to the top, we were greatly rewarded. First, with an incredible view at a turn-off that hugged the cliff. Second, with the looks of horror mixed with awe from other travelers as they realized that, yes, holy crap, we really had ridden our bikes all the way up there. And, finally, third, with an unbelievable downhill stretch, where we got to rival the passenger cars in speed.

We pulled into Nehalem Bay campground late in the afternoon and set about what would become our daily routine… pitch the tent, pack away the stuff, take a shower, make dinner, go to bed with the sunset. Nehalem Bay is another nice hiker-biker area. A bit of a trek from pretty much everything (it’s right next to the entrance booth), but it certainly meant it was quieter where we were.

From Nehalem Bay, we had a truly beautiful (and virtually flat) ride into Tillamook. You pass through several small beach towns, and it was wonderful to be moving so much slower than the cars, so we could actually read the signs and take in a bit of what was going on. On the left side of the highway as you approach Tillamook is the ever-incredible Tillamook Cheese Factory (although they make so much more than just cheese). Tillamook is home to some of the best-tasting ice cream (incredibly rich and delicious). And Russ was thrilled to discover that they had bubble gum ice cream (apparently quite a rare find).

After lazing about in the sun, eating our ice cream, we set off on the second half of the day – the windy, hilly half. We opted to take the optional Three Capes Route off the 101. As it turns out, this Three Capes Route is considered one of the top bicycling routes in the country, just because it is such a challenge. Good thing I didn’t know that beforehand, because I probably would have chickened out. After about 8 miles into a strong headwind, we turned a corner and stared right into the hill up to Cape Mears (forever after to be known as Cape Tears). Two miles uphill, at an 8-10% grade, along a very rough and pitted road. When you get to the top, there’s a turn-off to go down to the lighthouse. Yes, I said down, which is really cruel when you think about it, because it just means you’ll have to go back up the hill when you leave. We went down to the parking lot, where we discovered that, in order to actually see the lighthouse, we’d have to get off the bikes and hike a quarter mile downhill even further. We settled for the view of the crashing waves at the base of the cliffs. And then kept riding the rest of the steep rollers on our way out to Cape Lookout State Park.

In the small town of Netarts, we stopped to get oysters for Russ and to watch hundreds of pelicans that were migrating along the coast. By the time we rolled into Cape Lookout, we were so exhausted we could hardly appreciate the incredible beauty of this hiker-biker campground – easily the most beautiful we encountered. Heavily wooded, just a hundred feet or so from the ocean, far away from the RVs. We did manage to catch the sunset over the water, though.