This past week was our annual bike trip to Astoria. It’s not an official event, but several friends and I have been doing this for the past couple of years, and the number of us going each year has increased, so it almost feels like it’s official. This year there were ten of us riding. To see the route we take, mostly, click here.
We all met at the Forestry Center on Sunday, and rode about 65 miles to Big Eddy campground, which is just a few miles north of Vernonia. It's only as we got out past North Plains that it started to feel like we were away from town. As always, the Banks- Vernonia trail is such a great part of the day – no cars and totally off in the trees for a good portion of the way. It’s the first rails-to-trails project in Oregon, and spans 21 miles, a lot of which is in the forest.
Throughout this trip I kept seeing old rusty train tracks parallel the roadways, and it really makes me wonder how we (as a state) could put together the funding to transform some of these. They are there, waiting to be used. 21 miles between two rural towns it very cool, but there’s a whole huge network waiting to be put in place.
Anyway, we rode our 21 miles from Banks to Vernonia. Much of the trail is paved, but there is a section of about 6 miles that is gravel. I’ve heard rumors that it’s all going to be paved within the next year, but even the wide gravel and hard packed path is nice.
Where the trail ends in Vernonia there is a campground and RV park, but I’ve never stayed there. It would be a good overnight trip from Portland, to ride the trail and stop right at the end. But we always push on to Big Eddy campground because it’s more away from things, and it’s only another 6 or 7 miles up the road. There is a grocery store in Vernonia where it’s good to pick up the heavier food and beer that you wouldn’t want to pack all that way. Also, you ought to pick up a gallon of water, since the water at Big Eddy smells sulfuric.
At Big Eddy we set up camp. Mike was on Yeti patrol by the river, can in hand. We compared gear, figured out who was the biggest gear nerd, and the award went fairly unanimously to Nick, although we all had our claims to the title. Maybe I’ll go into all the things I learned about sleeping pads and tents and stoves and sleeping bags in another post. Suffice it to say that the technology that’s been put into gear is awesome, but some of it borders on the ridiculous. It’s like anything, I guess; some of it is genuinely good and useful, some of it is questionable, and some of it is crap. Things keep getting lighter and more compact, and if you want to keep up on it, and if you have the money, you can travel pretty light these days.
The next day we rode on to Astoria, another 55 or so miles. All of us who went last year had been talking about the climb over the coastal range, making it out to be this big tiresome haul. The people who hadn’t gone last year were expecting a monster climb that would go on for miles and miles. Maybe it was the freshly paved road, or maybe we’d had a head wind, or maybe we were just weaker, whinier humans last year, but this year the climb didn’t seem all that difficult, so that by the time we got to the top, the newbies were asking, “Is that it?”
One of the highlights for this leg of the trip is the country store at Birkenfeld, where you can pick up some low-budget energy food and refill your water bottle, and if you want to, you can get a fifth of Jack Daniels. The folks there are always friendly, although it looks like they wouldn't ride a bike unless it had at least a 750 cc motor on it. A couple of young guys pulled up while we were there. They wore head to toe camouflage. They had just been out bow hunting and had a deer in the truck that one of them had shot. Apparently he’d put an arrow right through the eyes, and the deer had still run off. They said they’d had to chase it for over a mile before it fell. They were very proud, slapping each other on the backs, talking loud and laughing big.
The rest of this leg of the trip is really good. It’s low trafficand not too many hills, lazy winding country road. There is a big elk reserve, but this year there were none to be seen. We arrived inAstoria early in the evening and met up with Chris’ friend, Jess. We ate dinner with her at a brew pub, then went back to her enormous apartment. From the front window of her place you looked out at the 101 bridge to Washington. She was very generous in letting us stay at her place, especially since she was leaving that night to drive to Portland to catch a plane. Her home could have slept 20 of us comfortably, and as it was several of us had rooms to ourselves.
The next morning we woke to rain and wind. Because we had a big warm dry apartment to stay in, none of us were in a hurry to head off into the next part of our adventure. We went to breakfast at the delicious Blue Scorcher Café, and milled around town for a quite a while. Astoria was where our group of ten split up, many folks needing to get back to Portland for work, etc. As the afternoon rolled around the rain seemed to let up, so Chris, Ian and I packed up, said our goodbyes, got on our bikes and and headed south.
As soon as we rounded the bend that makes up the tip of the peninsula on which Astoria sits, the wind hit us full force in the face. There are two bridges across the bay south of Astoria, but the shorter and lesser traveled of the two was closed. That left us with one option; taking the 101 bridge, a long, narrow floating bridge that is very heavily traveled, and completely exposed to the heavy winds off the sea.
We rode for about 50 feet onto the bridge, but it was clear that riding was totally unsafe. The wind pushed us toward traffic, and the big trucks blowing past pushed us toward the low guardrail over which was a drop into the water. This was one of the scariest miles I’ve ever traveled. Off our bikes, we stayed as far onto the small shoulder and against the guardrail as we could go. Putting our heads down we walked for the full length of the bridge. The bridge spans almost two miles of water, and most of it is too narrow to even safely walk on, let alone walking with a bike. The stream of traffic was constant, and the rain fell sideways. It was a very unpleasant crossing, but we made it without any real incident. On the other side we pulled under an awning and stopped to breathe.
From this point we took off on a small country road that wound into the trees. The wind died down, as did the traffic. The rain fell lightly and the day was relatively warm, so the riding was pleasant, even if wet. We followed this around through state forest and nature reserve, farmland and riverbed. The rain picked up on the final climb back over the hills. As we came down the other side the ocean wind picked up again, and the rain fell heavily, causing us to have to pedal to maintain speed on the descent. By the time we rolled into the small town of Seaside we were soaked through.
That night we took a room at the Seaside Hostel, which turned out to be a blessing. There was a quarter-fed dryer for our clothes, and a hot shower. That night we watched Aliens in the common room. Three young German women were trying to eat dinner while on the TV a slimy alien baby burst out of Sigourney Weaver’s chest, screeching and gnashing teeth. The German women didn’t last long at the table.
The next morning the hostel offered eggs to cook and waffle mix to make, which we heartily did. We packed our bags as the sun burned off the morning fog, and we were met with a clear cloudless sky.
End of part I
