State Two: Oregon

When I was a junior in high school, I read Ken Kesey's first novel, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. The movie had just come out so our English teacher assigned it, but even though I had to read it for school, I really liked it. Kesey's writing style always meshed with me -- his rhythms are excellent -- and the subject matter is just the kind of thing that will resonate with a 17-year-old.

It made me want more.

So, I read Ken Kesey's second novel, Sometimes a Great Notion. This one is not as well-known, and the movie version was not as good ... there's probably a causal relationship flowing both ways here. The story is much-more complex, with sub-plots and archetypes and subtle dynamics with turbulent riffs, but it's ultimately about family and relationships and the love and hate that binds it all together.

For me, the test of a good book is whether you are willing to re-read it. The test of a great book is whether you re-read it after time has passed and you've grown some, and you get something new. Sometimes, that something new is so good that it makes the book better than the last time that you read it. I've read One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest probably three times, but I've read Sometimes a Great Notion at least half a dozen times. The last time was about 10 years ago.

All of this is leading up to why I am so looking forward to the second week of my Pacific Coast bike trip. (Details of the first week were in the previous post.)

You see, most of Sometimes a Great Notion takes place on the Oregon coast, near a town called Wakonda on the Wakonda-Auga River. The Stamper family owns a small lumber operation there, cutting trees in the rich land between the coast and the mountains, and running them down the river to sell.

Of course, there is no Wakonda, or a Wakonda-Auga River flowing past it. But there is a Wakonda Beach, and we were on Stamper Road for a few miles in Washington. There are a lot of real places mentioned in the book that we will pass through this week, and other places that sound like the model for Wakonda. We may even meet a Hank Stamper or two.

• Astoria to Barview Jetty County Park. After a nice break in Astoria, we should be well-rested, our clothes all clean, and (thanks to the bike shop there) our equipment and supplies should be in good shape. Today's route is less than 60 miles, mostly rolling, with four little climbs (between 400 and 600 feet). Mostly, we're on the coast, passing through Seaside and Cannon Beach, then Oswald West State Park to see the Devil's Cauldron. Then we sweep around Nahalem Bay and roll through a series of beach towns to camp at the park.
• Barview Jetty County Park to Lincoln City. This is a longer, tougher day. It's still pretty flat, staying along the coast, but almost 75 miles and there are two climbs up to 800 feet and a couple of earlier bumps around 400 feet. We should be able to grab breakfast in Garibaldi as we circle Tillamook Bay, and then get off 101 at Tillamook to see Cape Meares, Cape Lookout, and Cape Kiwanda. We're back on 101 through Neskowin, then off again for our last climb in Cascade Head. From there, it's mostly downhill to our campsite in Devil's Lake State Park.
• Lincoln City to Florence. Today is another 75-mile day, but flatter that the last one. Plus, we sleep at a hotel tonight. We're on the coast most of the day, going around Siletz Bay, past Pirate Cove, Depoe Bay, and Whale Cove to Otter Rock. Most of this is on 101 again, but we get off in Newport to loop through Yaquina Bay State Recreation Area. Then we're back on 101 again through Ona Beach State Park and Seal Rock, then through Waldport for a quick stop to look at Wakonda Beach. Then it's back on the bikes to Yachats before passing through the Siuslaw National Forest to Florence, and a sumptuous Comfort Inn.
• Florence to Bandon. This may be the toughest day of the week. It's 75 miles again, but with more climbing than we've had so far this trip. We cross the Siuslaw River and skirt the edge of state parks until we cross the Umpqua River into Reedsport for a second breakfast. Then it's back along the edge of various state parks to the Coos River, where we hit North Bend. We get off 101 again a bit here to move closer to the coast, and find a couple of climbs. We return to 101 for the last few miles to our campsite in Bullard's Beach State Park, just across the Coquille River from Bandon.
• Bandon to Gold Beach. The good news is that today is shorter -- only 62 miles. The bad news is that it's really rolling. We'll grab breakfast in Bandon, then get back on 101 and stay more inland until Port Orford. From there, we stay on the coast down to Humbug Mountain, climb Sister's Rock, and get off 101 to do a long climb up Squaw Valley Road. There's a nice-looking descent then to the Rogue River, which we follow to Gold Beach. We camp tonight at an RV Park north of town, just past a Motel 6 (a touch of temptation).
• Gold Beach to Crescent City, CA. An easy day today, with just 62 miles and a few big bumps early in the route. We stay on 101 south to climb 700 feet in three miles up to Cape Sebastian State Park. We then skirt various state parks with more hills and no towns to Brookings where we cross the Chetco River and leave 101 for a bit. We're back on 101 to the state line, and then mostly off it as we pass through various small inland towns to Crescent City. Here we take a break, staying at a hotel, doing laundry, and availing ourselves of any needed help at the local bike shop, thus getting ready for the last week of the tour.

Kesey grew up in Oregon, and if you read any of his books you can tell that he loved this land. If he had not, he would never have been able to describe the beauty and wildness of it so well. The images of Kesey's prose have been with me for 35 years, since the first time I read Sometimes a Great Notion, and I am ecstatic at the thought that I will finally get to see it.

No ... that's not enough. I could see it from a car. As I've often pointed out, you don't just see a place when you ride a bicycle through it ... particularly when riding a laden touring bicycle through it. No, the second week of my trip I hope to finally get to experience the coast of Oregon.

It's possible -- maybe even likely -- that the reality will not live up to what Kesey brought into my imagination. It's been 50 years since he wrote it, and writers usually have to cherry-pick the highlights. I also must consider the bias that the reader brings, and that I have tainted Kesey's description based on my own meager experiences. Either way, I am looking forward to this week, and then I'm looking forward to reading Sometimes a Great Notion again afterwards, armed with knowledge that should make so much of the book new to me yet again.

The Big Event for 2012

It is axiomatic that "failure to plan is a plan for failure." Axiomatic is a pretentious word meaning that something is so obvious that it should be on a demotivational poster.

I've spent many afternoons behind the closed door of my office supposedly doing work for former employers planning for failure (certainly not my current employees ... I'm just a contractor now and don't bill you enough to goof off like that), and can proudly say that I'm darned good at it. I can find ways to screw things up that nobody would have thought possible, and have then managed to bring that screw-up to soggy, stinky, bug-infested fruition.

Not that I am perfect -- oh, no, far from it. I proudly admit that I have managed to also screw things up in ways that I would have never dreamed. Whether that speaks to my excellence as a screw-up or failure as a planner ... well, you be the judge.

My point here (honest, there is one) is that I love to plan. Ask my RAAM teammates about my detailed Visio diagram of where everything was to be kept in the support vehicle, along with the supporting Excel pivot chart, and they will tell you that I take anal-retentive to new heights -- the level where my sphincter can whistle a note that only dogs can hear.

(For those who think that I am exaggerating about the diagram and the spreadsheet: I swear that I am not. Really. Jeff Bauer, the rider that I was supporting, still talks about it. I scared the bejeezus out of him. For those who think that I am exaggerating about the sphincter: Duh.)

Thus, with the dawn of 2012, did I begin thinking about my Big Event for the year. This is, of course, assuming that the Mayans didn't really know something and that the planet ends this year. You may think that this is hokum, but keep in mind that John Cusack starred in the movie depicting that event, and in another movie he had access to a Hot Tub Time Machine. The "happy" ending of 2012 (the movie) could have been slapped on by the lesser-talented Cusack (Joan was robbed when she didn't get the Oscar for School of Rock) merely because he did not want to face a future in which he was Better Off Dead.

Booger was Max Watzz's coach, too.

I considered spending 2012 racing, but that seemed like hard work and kind of risky, particularly considering the apparent fragility of my old bones and that sometimes things get in my way and I don't turn. Another possibility was a full brevet series, doing the shorter stuff down here in Florida and going to Georgia and Tennessee for my 400K and 600K. That would allow me to finally do the Cascade 1200K -- a ride in country that I've wanted to see by bicycle for years.

Instead, however, I'm using the new-found flexibility that being marginally employed has brought, and do a three-week self-supported tour. This is why I've been tweaking and testing my touring and camping setup so much lately.

The tour is kind of the Cascade 1200, only I'm staying on the coast where it's cool and moist, rather than that big portion where they go into the 100-degree desert for a few hundred miles. Also, there's no pesky 90-hour time limit, so I don't have to bike through the night. And, I'm going to go beyond Washington, venturing south through Oregon and northern California. I'm using the Adventure Cycling Association's Pacific Coast route, sections 1-3, keeping my average daily mileage down to just over 100K (65 miles, once I cross back into the good old U.S. of A.).

I've already got the the first week mapped. If you want to see what each day looks like, use the following links:

• Vancouver to Birch Bay
• Birch Bay to Deception Pass
• Deception Pass to Fort Casey, ferry ride, then Port Townsend to Bremerton (ferry from there to Seattle)
• Bremerton to Elma
• Elma to Lewis and Clark State Park
• Lewis and Clark State Park to Columbia River, ferry ride, then Westport to Astoria in Oregon

There's either a day off in Astoria, or one in the middle in Seattle. Then, I'll take another week to do the coast of Oregon, and the last week down to San Francisco. More on those plans as I put them together, but  the above pretty much set the tone and daily expectations. The adventure begins the first week of September, right after Labor Day. RandoGirl and I are taking an Alaska cruise out of Seattle, and she will fly back home while I begin the tour.

Now, you may think that I'm just telling you this plan to brag. You're a little right. But, I'm also telling you the plan because some of you may be interested in joining me. If you think that you can come along -- for part of the trip or the full monty (in Canada, it's the full Mountie, but "full" is pronounced "uh-boot") -- leave a comment below, send me an e-mail, or talk with me during coffee one morning after a ride.

A big disclaimer here: This is in no way, shape, fashion, fashion, or echolalia a supported tour. As Hemingway said to me when he taught me to swim by tying a spinner to my diaper and tossing me off the fantail of The Pilar, "You're on your own, kid." (At least, I think that's what he said ... all I heard was "You-blub-blub-blub-blub.) I may rent you my frame pump for a minute and sell you a patched inner tube for $50, but just because I have two sets of panniers does not mean that I tote your crap. End of disclaimer.

In spite of that disclaimer, I've already got a couple of other people interested, so we will see where we end up. All I'm asking is that you trust in my ability to plan a failure. Together, we can make it not happen.