Day six – 45.6 miles

Based on the warm afternoon of the day before, we dressed light in the morning. When we got out of the tent, it was biting cold. We had packed everything into our bags before opening the tent, our wet-weather practice already becoming habit, and decided not to change. Better to start cold than add layers we’d take off later anyway, besides, it was dry. When we got to our bike it had ice on the seats and bars. We scraped off the ice and hit the road.

Day six was flat! For a tandem with semi-injured riders that still wanted to make a good showing, that was ideal. We’d mostly recovered from the pain of the prior day and we were very excited to get into Anchorage. The scenery had become much flatter and open and we were moving pretty fast. The first outpost required a small out and back trip of about a mile so we skipped it. At the second outpost the staffers had practiced a dance routine and were performing it to music from a boom box. By then it was warm again and we were enjoying the sun on our face, the live entertainment and of course, the peanut butter and jelly snacks.

When we left the second outpost we were on a bike path. When we read “bike path” on the route guide, I thought it would be slow. Bike paths I’d been on before were narrow and un-maintained, and generally a distant second choice behind a real road. But this was an Alaska bike path. It was a good 10 or 12 feet wide, perfectly smooth and clean. On the flat sections, we held our speed in the mid twenties for a while and only one solo rider kept up. For us, that was fast! Where the bike path turned back to a road, there was a CBS camera crew that interviewed us. Back home in Los Angeles, some of our friends saw us on a Cantonese station, and family saw us on a local station in Alabama. For the last stretch, the anticipation was palpable.

When we pulled into Anchorage, the reception was fantastic. Riders, friends and family lined the streets, cheering us in! It was a great feeling. We checked in, got our finishers jersey and cheered in the rest of the riders. An announcement was made when the last rider was coming in and there was a mad rush toward the finish line. Everyone was clapping and yelling congratulations to her as she crossed the finish line in tears. In the crowd we saw team Bissel, and Ed was practically glowing with joy. It was like standing in the middle of 1500 of your best friends, in a state of mass euphoria!

After we had all collected together and put on our matching finisher’s jerseys, we were a picture of solidarity. All 1500 riders were in uniform, riding together through the streets of Anchorage into closing ceremonies, in front of media, family and friends. We heard from Dan Palotta, and the three beneficiaries of the $4.2 million dollars that had been raised. We did something great, and we were proud of it.

Would we do it again? Yes!

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Day five – 67.3 Miles

Ride officials and an Alaska Sheriff made an announcement at breakfast. There was very heavy fog, and the road we’d be cycling had a narrow shoulder. Also, there would be a fair number of large trucks passing us today. We were to strictly obey the single file rule and ride with the utmost care. As a precaution, ride officials would let only bikes onto the road one at a time, staggered a few seconds apart.

Away from camp, the fog was so heavy that we could barely see the rider ahead. I covered both brakes with my hands, wondering if they were warm enough to react, and used my full concentration on the 10 feet in front of us. It was exhilarating and scary. Although I felt good about our skill level and the bike, the shoulder was unpredictable and things sneak up in the fog.

About halfway down the first descent, we had to stop, Ami’s hands were freezing. We put her hands in my armpits and danced on the roadside. We got a few strange looks, but riders knew what we were doing. Others had done it at the mingle on day two. We finished the descent and as the road leveled off the fog disappeared, revealing a long and steep climb ahead. We walked it.

At the top of the grade we were warmer and got on the bike. We were still hurting, and thinking solely of reaching the first outpost. After only a few minutes we needed a break for Ami’s knee and my ankle.

Toward the end of the last descent, I had noticed that the front brake lever was touching the bars, so I decided to make the adjustment while we were stopped. I think my brain was frozen, because instead of just twisting the barrel to adjust the brake, I had loosened the cable. While we were doing this, the sheriff that had spoken to us at breakfast pulled up slowly behind us in a patrol car. They were the sweepers. We were dead last. We made it to the outpost with the patrol car driving patiently behind us, and waited for the SAG bus.

We camped that night in Palmer at the state fairgrounds in a big field. It was the first night we made camp on something other than rocks, and I put all the tent stakes in just because I could. Since it was a balmy 60 degrees, we decided to check out the fair. It was just like all state fairs.

Day six: Palmer Fairgrounds to Anchorage >

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Day four – 77.5 miles

Day four started fast. The first outpost came quickly, and since it was on a downhill we skipped it entirely. Tandems take their downhills very seriously and we weren’t about to throw away all that momentum. Plus I’d stashed away a few of those peanut butter and jelly snacks already.

After a while I noticed that my hands and elbows were hurting. I reasoned that it was from the cumulative mileage and consecutive days, but as the day wore on, I needed more breaks, even between outposts. My hands were hurting badly, and even after shaking them out and resting them for a while it took only a minute or two for the pain to return.

At one of the outposts after lunch, I broke down and went for some drugs at the med tent. The staff was incredible, the EMT I spoke with knew what I needed before I asked. I wanted some Ibuprofen, but he made sure I hadn’t had too many already before dispensing. After talking with Ami about the pain in my hands and thinking about it off the bike, we had a revelation. The road surface for the whole day had been different than the other days, but not enough to notice from a handling standpoint. The asphalt was rougher, not from construction or potholes, but the surface itself was simply courser. Although I had been told that road vibration caused hand pain, I didn’t believe it, I thought hand position was much more important. Now I believe it.

Day four was tough for other reasons also. There were some killer climbs, and Ami and I were both starting to feel it in the legs. Ami’s pain was in her right knee and mine was in my left Achilles tendon. On one of the last climbs before camp we probably wouldn’t have made it except for the super heroes. We’d heard about these people. These were riders who would complete a very difficult climb and then ride down and do it again, just to help other riders through. When I heard that people did this, I wondered if they were showing off. They weren’t. They were like angels. They cheered us on, making us believe we could to it and pushed us up part of the grade when we were about to give in. Thanks guys!

Back in camp our friends had put our tent up for us, and Ami and I hobbled off to the showers for some relief. When I got to the shower truck, there was a shower stall empty by the door, so I took it. I figured out that it was empty because the wind gusts by the door would blow right around the shower curtain. That really got my attention! The shower that night wasn’t therapeutic, but I got clean.

Day five: Sheep Mountain Gravel Pit to Palmer Fairgrounds >

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Day three – 78.8 Miles

At breakfast on day three we read over the VacScene, our daily in-camp newsletter. According to the VacScene, today would require us to do no more than pedal out 50 feet and then coast all day into camp! The elevation profile for the day certainly looked that way, and I’m sure the person who wrote the “coast all day” comment did so in good faith. However, Murphy was a cyclist. Slight uphills are always noticeable and slight downhills aren’t. The day was definitely not all downhill, but it was still fantastic.

There was very little rain and the views were endless. Just a few miles out of camp we had our first and only wildlife viewing experience. We saw a beaver in a lake. As wild as the country is up there, something about 1,500 cyclists in bright colors on shiny machines seemed to keep the land-bound wildlife out of sight. The trees and mountains and streams and valleys were plentiful eye candy for us, and we soaked it all in.

We made good time and set up camp on a gravel runway. Tents became laundry lines and we draped our clothes over the top to dry. I draped a few too many and the tent began to collapse in a slow spiral motion. It didn’t fall entirely to the ground because Ami was inside! I took some of the clothes off the tent and restored its height without major incident. We heard that day three entertainments in the dining tent included a drag show, which would have doubled our lifetime drag show attendance, but we were too tired and passed on the evening entertainment.

Day four: Gulkana Airport to Sheep Mountain Gravel Pit (Camp) >

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Day two – 68.9 miles

We knew that day two was a lower mileage day, and that lower mileage meant climbing (a destination name like “Top of the World Camp” was a good indicator too.) We broke camp in cold rain at 5:45. We learned that when it’s raining, you don’t set foot outside your tent until you’re fully clothed with bags packed. Our shoes, gloves and helmets were still wet from the day before, but our clothing, though cold, was dry underneath our rain suits. After packing up the tent and ground cloth, we had breakfast and headed out.

On the road, we discovered extreme butt pain. Worse than the hurt though, was the fear that it would be that way for the next 5 days. It wouldn’t. After 10 miles or so it got a lot better, allowing us to refocus on dealing with the weather. We had followed good council and dressed in layers, put neoprene booties over our shoes, and wore various combinations of hats, hoods and balaclavas. Through all this, we discovered the basic paradigm of trying to stay warm in rain – if you wear something that keeps water out, it also keeps sweat in… either way you’re wet. By the time we were warmed up, we were a little sweaty, and we couldn’t stop for very long without getting cold. The temperature was thirty something and it was still raining. If we kept moving we were warm enough, and that was the plan.

As it became more and more clear that we could count on adversity from Mother Nature, I had a call of the wild of a more personal type, with no outpost in sight. So we kept our eyes open for shrubbery appropriate for such duty. The road had leveled off and we found ourselves hoping for a climb to keep warm. On the brief descents we’d had over the last few miles, we came to associate downhill with cold in a profound way. As we had hoped, we found both the welcome climb and the appropriate shrubbery. The rain was turning to snow.

We had stopped at an unpaved roadside turnout with about five or six other bikes, marveling at the snow, the mountains and the plain fact that we were actually riding in Alaska! But it was too cold to stop for long, so I took care of business and we kept moving. As we approached the second outpost, there were many more people than at any outpost from the day before. The cold was taking its toll.

Under the med tent were riders with Mylar blankets wrapped around them to stay warm. Other riders were taking scissors to the Mylar and putting it in their shoes, under jerseys, anywhere it seemed might help. We did the same, cutting out large squares and putting them between our socks and shoes and putting foot warmers in too. We ate and decided to keep going.

When we tried to leave, ride officials stopped us. We missed the sweep time while we were at the outpost. Our day was done. We waited for the SAG bus with the others, walking around to keep the edge off the cold. Later it would be called the mylar mingle, but our “keep moving-stay warm” plan had been thwarted, and we were not amused. On the ride to camp we slept a little, and for the most part left our disappointment on the bus.

Day two we camped at the foot of the Gulkana Glacier. In the orientation meeting they described sleeping there as “standing in front of an open freezer without any clothes on.”

Since we rode the SAG (support and gear) bus in, we had more time than usual and we found a way to dry off our stuff. The heater for the med tent had a large exhaust pipe and people were holding clothes in front of it. We did this too for a while, and then decided we could do better. Behind the same tent was a generator, with a metal grating covering the cooling vent. We put our shoes and gloves on the grating, and this worked nicely, though it did impart an odor not unlike truck exhaust.

Day three: Top of the World Camp to Gulkana Airport >

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Day One: 97.4 miles

On day one we saw our new family in its entirety for the first time, all 1,500 of us with a similar story. We registered, many almost a year before, raised at least $3900 each, trained, and managed to get ourselves and our bikes to this exact location in Fairbanks, Alaska. After breakfast and a few purchases from the well-stocked general store we watched opening ceremonies, had a group stretch and headed outside for the start of the ride.

We were almost the last to leave the Carlson Center because the “California” section of the parking lot was near the back. We exited through Fairbanks’ city streets in front of early rising locals, media and an Inuit chief and his sons on hand to bless us.

Our first mechanical “glitch” came about 20 seconds into the ride. Another tandem that was passing us said something about a timing chain. I dismissed it until Ami told me that our timing chain was indeed out of phase by a lot. So much for my quick fix in the parking lot. So there we were on the side of the road, yet to get warmed up from the morning chill. It didn’t take very long to fix the chain, but for riders starting near last and already feeling slow, it was disheartening to be passed by so many so early in the day.

After a full minute of smooth sailing, we discovered our tires were a bit low. The tires were a perfect 90 psi when we loaded the bike in Los Angeles, and I didn’t think they’d change much. What I forgot about was the 50 degree drop in air temperature. Even though the last thing we wanted to do was push 100 miles with low tires, we keep what little psychological momentum we had and waited to inflate the tires at the first outpost, 15 miles out.

Riding that morning was slow going, and cold. Right out of the box, we wanted to go faster, especially when mountain bikes and riders twice our age were passing us. But we didn’t. I need a long time to warm up, and Ami has a tendency to start with a sprint. Day one would be our first ever century on the tandem and could set the mood for the entire ride. We kept the pace down.

As we approached the first outpost, we saw a pile of bikes on the ground, people milling around and other riders slowly going around the crowds. It looked like a pileup, and we cringed in anticipation. When we got closer, we heard “Say Cheese,” and saw lots of goofy, toothy grins. The North Pole sign was a photo magnet. Crisis averted.

The miles rolled by and we settled into a groove, peeling layers off as the day warmed up. Outposts were about every 15 miles, and we were always ready for one. Every outpost had Clif bars, Gatorade, fruit rolls, bananas, and the snack that became a goal unto itself, graham crackers with peanut butter and jelly! These were fantastic, and we consumed mass quantities.

As the day rolled on, we became aware that the course was being swept about 30 minutes behind us and the rain was even closer. Although we felt good, we couldn’t go any faster. So we shaved time off our outpost stops, breaking only to wolf down some calories and make necessary pottie breaks. The rain caught up to us about the time we made it into camp, and we were completely spent.

Camp was a baseball diamond and we were somewhere in left field. Tent locations were laid out in a grid, and we wore plastic tags on a necklace to help remember our “address.” We found our supply truck and set up. Our friends had been swept, and were already in. Although I accidentally took both of the shower chamois with me and Ami had to wait, we both had a hot dinner and a hot shower. We made the first day.

Day Two: Delta Junction to Top of the World Camp >

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By Dan Sullivan

People told us that it would be the ultimate test of our new marriage.  If we could survive a week on a tandem bicycle riding through Alaska and sleeping in tent cities in unknown weather, we could handle anything.

To a Southern California cyclist, the Palotta Teamworks-organized California AIDS ride is pretty well known. We had certainly heard about it, but had never seriously considered doing it. Local or not, 575 miles seemed like an awful long way to ride. At that point, the longest ride we’d done on our tandem was a metric century (100 Kilometers, 62 miles) and we didn’t exactly burn up the pavement. So, when we heard about their Alaska AIDS ride, it seemed a little too extreme for us to consider. But it did sound interesting, and we talked ourselves into going to the orientation meeting just for “entertainment.” After all, why would people from Southern California ride in Alaska?

The ride would begin in Fairbanks on August 21st and closing ceremonies in Anchorage would be on the 26th. Hearing the actual dates seemed to make the event more real, and brought the ride one step closer. Although we weren’t sure it was possible, we started to consider it.

We heard other potential riders ask if the tents would be wet on the inside, would there be a lot of climbing, how cold would it be, would it rain, would it snow, and were Alaska mosquitoes, in fact, larger than hummingbirds and carnivorous? Someone asked, “Will it be hard?”

Compared to some, our weekend camping experiences made us feel like experienced hard-core adventurers! This bolstered our confidence enormously, and we starting thinking about really doing it. We narrowed our personal paranoia list down to: temperature, bugs, saddle time and fatigue. Yes, the ride would be hard.

I was pumped up with the thought of grand adventure, and before the meeting was over I had picked up a pen and started filling out the registration forms. However, my finely honed powers of perception detected hesitation from my fiance and stoker.

Signing up would mean a lot. We’d be committing to raise $3,900 each over the next eight or so months to fund AIDS vaccine research, and to ride 510 miles of Alaska highway in six days with potentially very little training. Plus, the travel to Fairbanks and back from Anchorage would be on our own dime. The idea of riding around glaciers and through green mountains had me rationalizing all the difficulties away. I was ready to go.

Ami wanted to go too, but generally has a more pragmatic view. During the Q & A section of the presentation, someone had asked about where we’d camp on a particular day. To Ami, the response of “we don’t know yet” was rather unsettling. Plus, our calendar already held a few things for us to do before the ride-like buy a house, get married, and finish Ami’s MBA. We didn’t sign up that night.

We talked about it. To me, the Vaccine Ride looked like a dream. It would offer all the thrill of a road trip to destinations unknown without leaving us to handle every contingency unsupported. We acknowledged that the event organizers (Palotta Teamworks) had put on many other successful events, enough that we could rely on them to do their part. And if problems did arise, we figured we were somehow uniquely equipped with cleverness and resolve to handle almost anything. So, after sifting through the details we signed up along with our friend Peter.

In the months between signing up and leaving for Alaska, we asked just about everyone we knew to contribute. Local businesses contributed, family and friends helped the most. We learned along the way that income has little to do with willingness to donate, and that AIDS has affected more of our friends than we thought.

When it came time to leave, we had packed up per regulation (one bag each filled with no more than 70 pounds of gear) but we didn’t feel ready. We had put fewer miles on the tandem cumulatively than we were going to put on it in the coming week! But the time was near so we packed up our stuff and the considerable stuff we’d borrowed, and headed for the Los Angeles International Airport.

At the airport, cyclists were easy to spot. We saw the T-shirts which came with registration packages, often worn on the outside of long sleeve shirts and jerseys lest any passerby think we were normal air travelers, or anything less than super heroes in uniform. There were California AIDS ride T-shirts too, and others with Pearl Izumi backpacks with frame pumps and water bottles sticking out and cycling shoes dangling underneath.

The shirts and other various cycling-related items served as uniforms to those of us among the initiated. To the non-cycling airport population, there were just a lot of people carrying strange things. By the time we reached our gate, riders were everywhere. We met our first riding friends in line to purchase cinnamon rolls. They were Team Bissel, a mother and her son; at 17 the youngest Alaska AIDS rider. We also met Ed, who looked like Indiana Jones with bike stuff.

On the plane, we found that about half the passengers were AIDS riders, and after a short while the non-riders were assimilated into our mood of enthusiasm and camaraderie. For some non-riders, it was Road Kill that broke the ice. Road kill was a high-mileage, highly decorated brown teddy bear that had been a riding companion to one of the riders since he’d been rescued from the roadside. Needless to say, Road Kill was noticeable, and a fine mascot.

When we landed in Fairbanks, we were directed to a lovely yellow school bus that took us to the University of Alaska, Fairbanks where we spent the next two nights before the ride. After we settled in to our plush dorm room where my wife and I shared a single bed and our friend took the other one about 4 feet away, we walked down to the Carlson Center auditorium to make sure our bikes had arrived A-OK.

The bicycle “parking lot” was impressive. Bicycles ranged from a very few knobby-equipped low price mountain bikes to a good showing of top end dream machines. For the most part though, bikes were high-quality singles, and well-maintained. Our tandem, a Trek hybrid converted to drop bars, was one of only eight two seaters out of the whole group! The others included a pearl colored Co-Motion with S&S couplers to disassemble for travel, a low budget mountain tandem with a mixte frame, a nice orange Ibis, a white Cannondale, a titanium bike we couldn’t identify and a recumbent tandem with a “fat Girls” sticker on it. There was another one, but we saw it only as it scooted under an overpass on day six.

A husband and wife team rode the recumbent tandem, with she up front and he in the rear. We met briefly enough to learn that he was blind and that she would be riding despite a recently broken wrist. We had entered the event expecting to feel some pain from inexperience and lack of training, but over the next six days we had many such humbling experiences, and our own complaints were few.

We got our bikes and they looked fine until Ami noticed that the timing chain was dragging on the ground, collecting mud. Although it’s not a pretty sight to see mud on your chain before your biggest ride, it wiped off and the chain went back on quickly. After looking around at all the other cyclists, we were glad we chose to truck our bike instead of disassembling it and paying horrendous fees to the airline. Aside from the question of how in the world we would box up a tandem with a frame that doesn’t disassemble, the $150 we paid for trucking bought us the luxury of receiving a fully assembled, as-we-left-it bike.

Instead of wrenching on our bike, we were eating chili and hot dogs with sauerkraut at the Dog House. It’s our favorite place to eat in Fairbanks now, and it’s only about 20 feet from the Marlin bar, our favorite after-hours establishment! If you visit Fairbanks, we recommend both.

Sunday we took in the University’s Museum of Natural History where we learned bear survival tactics. Did you know that wearing a bell and carrying pepper spray is all that you have to do to keep safe from brown bears? Grizzly bears are a different story, however. Avoid them by learning the signs. You can tell they’ve been around if you see bear dung with little bells in it that smells like pepper spray.

We balanced out this educational experience with a trip to the Alaskaland frontier town. There, we had buffalo burgers, found a place selling pancakes and sausage on a stick, and went to a drag show. I don’t think that’s the way most people prepare for big rides, but it worked for us.

Read on for a day by day account of our grand adventure.

Day one: bicycle touring from Fairbanks to Delta Junction >

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I looked at Jason Reber’s knee during preparations for dinner and the swelling looked a lot worse.  The climbing of the last few days had strained it, and he had a nasty fluid buildup.  I said, “That knee is going to be trouble if we continue the ride, don’t you think?”

It was September 2006 at Bruceport County Park, Washington, five days into a ride from Port Townsend, Washington, to San Francisco along the spectacular Pacific coast.  It was only a day’s ride to the Oregon border, but Jason and I found our problems were increasing.  We figured his knee would need at least a week of recovery time, and I learned my wife Lynn’s medical problems required surgery.  Also the Burley Company, which had supplied me with a Koosah recumbent and two Nomad cargo trailers for the trip in exchange for a story, had just gotten out of the bicycle business, now selling only trailers.  Any strong argument for continuing the ride this year had evaporated.  After a sit-down talk, we reluctantly decided to “pull the plug” and called our friend Bill to drive us home the next day.

I had planned to change bikes, so during the winter I tried out several short wheelbase recumbents and hoped to do the ride during the next summer.  My Italian friend, Piero Tassinari, was ready for a new adventure, but he was only able to spare two weeks. He also wanted his friend Diego Bassi to join us.  I managed to talk them into three weeks, and I inherited another job – shopping for bicycles for them to use on the tour.

I was now riding a used Lightning Stealth (now the Lightning Phantom, RTR summer 2008), and I managed to get Piero another one in his size.  Diego was easier, wanting an inexpensive upright.  Now, with the bikes, two Burley Nomad trailers, my well-used BOB trailer and my camping equipment, we were ready for the tour.  Piero and Diego would board the airplane in Italy with only carry-on luggage.

With our fully-loaded car and utility trailer, Lynn and I waited during a July night in 2007 for the jet-lagged Italians at SeaTac Airport.  Their 8:55 pm flight didn’t arrive until 1:00 am after which we drove south to a motel.  After less than 5 hours of sleep, we consumed several breakfast rolls and lots of coffee and drove to our start in Astoria.

The route we planned to follow is one of the most beautiful and popular tours in North America so we knew there would be plenty of traffic on the road.  I had the Adventure Cycling maps and a copy of “Bicycling the Pacific Coast” by Kirkendall and Spring.  As is universally suggested, we were heading from north to south so the prevailing winds could push us down the Pacific coast.

Lynn drove south to camp with us on our first night so our first day’s ride was a light one.  In camp, mounds of equipment emerged from the car and trailer and I gave crash courses on bike trailer and tent assembly.  We enjoyed the sleep of the just-plain-tired that night, but I was awakened at daybreak by a thud on the tent where a small raccoon had dropped from the tree above.  With a swat on the tent wall I returned him to terra firma and sat up, completely awake, now feeling like the tour had begun in earnest.  We loaded up and biked to Cannon Beach where Lynn joined us for breakfast.  We then said our goodbyes and she drove north.

We fell into a schedule which included rising at 6:00 am, being on the road by 7:00 (so we could miss the worst of the heavy afternoon traffic), and sitting down to a big breakfast at around 8:30.  Lunch varied, but was usually a smaller meal often eaten on the road.  Since we were riding 40 to 50 miles per day, we had plenty of time for sightseeing.

Our plan was to stay at hiker/biker campsites in state parks along the coast, often far from the nearest town so we would cook supper at the campground.  Although these state parks often were full, no self-propelled person is ever turned away from hiker/biker sites.  The $4 per person price includes a picnic table and a hot shower. The sites are often separated from campsites used by car campers and RVs, so there is a minimum of motor noise and slamming doors.

Bicycle travel is appealing, simple, and inexpensive, and it also is excellent aerobic exercise.  Calculated by comparing our food intake with gasoline calories, I figured we were traveling about 550 miles per gallon, and our fuel simply required eating larger helpings!

As we had found in my many prior bike tours, riding at the relaxed pace of a bicycle helped us to fully take in the amazing scenery.  Ahead of us was 860 miles of freedom and adventure.  The coastal roads wound along the beautiful Pacific, sweeping us through small towns with their individual oddities.  At bicycle speeds, it is easy to pull over to see and photograph the scenic vistas.  The tension of the last few days seemed to melt away with each pedal stroke.

At our next camp, Nehalem Bay State Park, we met Dana Johnson. We crossed paths again at the Tillimook Cheese Factory and at our next camp at Cape Lookout State Park.  We found that she rode at our pace and we had the same destination.  We enjoyed each other’s company, so we joined forces.

During my earlier tours with Piero, I had done all the cooking. It seems that Italian men are well-fed by mothers, mother-in-laws, and wives and they don’t often delve into the culinary realm.  Piero and Diego, therefore, worked cleanup duty while I handled the cooking and meal planning.  When Dana joined us, we had the use of two stoves, and she was by far the better cook.  Together, she and I offered more variety – one supper featuring spaghetti with meatballs was especially memorable!

A storm arrived at Cape Lookout. Unfortunately, when flying my kite on the beach I found that it flew on a stiff wind blowing from south to north. The winds continued in that direction for about a week.  We found that all is not as advertised in the guide books. With the onset of this storm, we were climbing hills as well as working against the northbound winds.

Oregon has 400 miles of rugged coastline, with sand dunes, forests, and rugged rocky headlands.  The ocean is well-populated with sea stacks, the eroded remnants of these headlands.  We found the sandy areas to be relatively flat riding, but whenever we saw sea stacks ahead it meant we would be climbing up and over another rocky headland.  Dense forests of hemlock, cedar, and Douglas fir alternated with the dune areas.

We left Cape Lookout on a misty morning, starting the day with a stiff climb in light rain.  As we rode through the cool windy weather we took in the sights – the cliffs at Cape Kiwanda, Devil’s Lake, the Oregon State Aquarium at Newport, Cape Foulweather, and the Yaquina Lighthouse National Wildlife Preserve.  The steep rocky islets at the Yaquina preserve are a haven for sea birds; cormorants, common murres, and tufted puffins crowd these safe nesting areas.  A whale could be seen spouting offshore, and seals reposed like driftwood on the lower rocks.

The climb over Cape Perpetua was a challenge on narrow roads, with 1500 feet of vertical climbing.  A hiker warned us about the upcoming tunnel – there were no shoulders and the tunnel was an uphill ride.  Although flashing lights at the entrance can be turned on by cyclists, I flagged down a car and the driver helpfully followed us through the tunnel with her flashers turned on.

We explored Honeyman Dunes, climbing and watching the sand boarders slide down the steep sand dunes.  The next morning we were reacquainted with the rain cycle and had to walk our bikes across the Coos Bay Bridge.  At Sunset Park, we had a lot of company at the hiker/biker site; it looked like a colorful high-tech hippie colony, with crowded tents and bicycles.

At Humbug Mountain State Park the rains were heavy at night, and our little band of cyclists rode our last full day on the Oregon Coast.  South of Gold Beach we visited viewpoints for the sea stacks, some with arches.  From the cliffs, we watched (through patchy fog) as sea lions basked below.  More rain was forecast that evening so we rented a motel room in Brookings, moving our trailers inside as the rain poured down.

The next day was dry, and finally the winds changed direction, becoming a help instead of a hindrance.  As we rolled south into California we looked forward to seeing the redwood forests – the tallest and oldest trees in the world.  In these moist forests, often blanketed by rolling fogs from the ocean, trees have been found to be from 5 to 13 centuries old.  The tallest among them was measured at 367 feet; they are not as massive but they are taller than their cousins, the Sequoias.  After breakfast we rode into Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park; we were awed by the size of the giants in this natural cathedral, and our hiker/biker site was nestled among some of the most magnificent trees in the park.

During much of the rest of our ride we would be in other redwood groves, but what is left is only a remnant of the original forests – perhaps 1/7 of the original acreage remains.  These trees survive to great ages because of their resistance to fires, disease, and insects, but they have proven to be quite susceptible to chain saws.  The very reasons for their longevity make their wonderful wood attractive for back yard decks and lawn furniture.

The next day we entered Crescent City and looked for a breakfast spot.  A local informed us that there was no way we would make it through the upcoming mountains with our rigs, but Dana straightened him out on that score.  He was right, however, that the following days would be tough. After breakfast we climbed to 1100 feet altitude, coasted down almost to sea level, and climbed again to 900 feet – according to Piero’s altimeter a gain of 2400 vertical feet for the day! The payoff was the gradual downhill slope to our campground where we coasted for five miles through the primeval forest, soaking in the natural beauty and quiet of the giant trees.  At Prairie Creek Redwoods, we had sunny, dry conditions, and we finally managed to completely dry out our tents.

We left at 7:00 am, passing perhaps a dozen deer and possibly 75 elk, including a herd of huge bulls.  Our ride led us to Trinidad, a beautiful seaside town on a sheltered bay where we enjoyed a bowl of chowder.  Here we did our first freeway riding, we camped at a KOA, and visited the bike shop in Henderson to solve our various wheel and tire issues.  We put in some fast miles along the interstate, but finally turned off at Pepperwood onto the spectacular Avenue of the Giants.

On a hot day two days later, we turned off 101 onto Highway 1, and geared down for a tough climb up Leggett Hill which reaches 1,950 feet above sea level.  This climb, and Rockport Hill which follows it, are legendary with cyclists; what is less often discussed are the long, exhilarating downhills through the forest which follow each climb, leading you back to the coast and into cooler temperatures.

Highway 1 is narrower than 101, and we left behind the expressway traffic.  Now we were again enjoying a scenic drive along the Pacific shore.  At MacKerricher Beach State Park, we rode down to the sandy beach after setting camp and enjoyed the active surf and the setting sun.

During the days that followed, we were really tested by continuous climbs and long miles, registering 3,000 vertical feet of climbing daily.  At our coastal stops we often watched brown pelicans gliding regally by in formation.  At Fort Ross there was a heritage festival commemorating the settling of the area by Russians, Alaskan natives, and the native Indians. During our visit we overheard so many conversations in Russian that we felt we had left the United States behind.

Beyond the Bodega Dunes we rode inland past hilly ranches, regaining a view of the ocean at Tomales Bay.  The San Andreas Fault runs up the center of the bay, which points the way to San Francisco.  Just before Point Reyes Station, we turned onto some back roads and headed into Samuel Taylor State Park.  This was our last campground in the big trees, and we didn’t adequately police our camp. A raccoon family visited our picnic table in the wee hours, and (with gusto and quite a commotion) ate all of our remaining power bars.

On a sunny Monday morning we followed the Adventure Cycling route, working our way south to Sausalito.  After one last climb, we entered the visitor area before the Golden Gate Bridge.  The fog blew across the passage, partially obscuring the towers.  After taking many photos, we crossed the bridge passing hundreds of cyclists on rental bicycles on their way to Sausalito and a ferry return connection.

After our crossing, we worked our way to the Oakland Ferry and said our goodbyes to Dana.  At the Amtrak station, we unloaded our bikes and trailers and boxed and checked our equipment.  Finally, we boarded the Coast Starlight train for a relaxing trip back to Seattle.  This experience was great for the Italians, giving them a chance to carry on discussions with a variety of Americans about their life and experiences.  Later that day as I sat with Piero on the dome car, we talked about our ride and how different it felt to be traveling effortlessly with the rhythm of the rails, gazing out at the scenery as we rolled north.

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