Back in the Saddle Again: Florence to Coos Bay

My first day back to riding started from Honeyman State Park where I camped in the hiker-biker sites with two other bikers. One was Gary- an older man of about 75 who had so much to say that asking a question felt like a big commitment but he had some pretty interesting travels under his belt. He rode from Ohio and had probably, at one point of another, toured across every part of the US.

The other camper was John- a big guy from Berkeley with a beer belly and a mountain man beard and paniers home-made out of white buckets, lots of screws and tape and big orange reflector strips. We each had a beer and chatted until it got too dark to see and then I went to sleep, or at least tried- giddy insomnia.

The next morning, I headed out down 101, passed a huge group of riders, stopped in a park for a picnic lunch and a few hours in, John came up riding next to me- chatted for a bit and then zoomed off. I thought I was making decent time but he and his flip flops and baseball cap left me in the dust! I spent my 60 miles alone singing Amarillo by Morning in my head and streaming an ongoing french commentary of everything I passed and awkward translations of all the street signs.

I rode through North Bend- to get there, I had to cross a bridge and press a little "biker on roadway" button beforehand, slowing the cars to an unbearable 30 mph on my account. The little logging town smelled like Christmas trees but as far as I could see, that was the only good thing about it. It was the only place along the trip where I got yelled at to get off the road and where cars seemed to very adamantly drive uncomfortably close to me. Eventually I made it- exhausted after 60 miles- to Sunset Bay State Park where there was in fact, a beautiful sunset over the crescent of water perfectly framed between two wooded cliffs.

The crowd that night was Mike- a CU Denver prof of literature who was on the final stretch of a tour from Denver, up to Canada, across to the coast and down to San Francisco. His pedometer just clicked 3000. DavidandPaula where a couple from North Carolina who rolled in all gear and gravity. Both were very chatty. While David prompted everyone for their life stories, Paula compared stats and mileage, experience, stories and equipment with  us- her perceived competition. "Hey that's a great little stove you've got there. How do you like that? Is that from REI? Uh huh uh huh ya we've got a similar one. It might be the next years model, I'm not sure. But that ones working out for you?" ...Um I'm boiling water! Of course it's working out for me!
And then there was James- the self-proclaimed autistic bum who had found a way to skip between campsites, pay the hiker-biker $5 a night and, subsisting entirely in clif bars, managed to spend his whole summer camping on the Oregon coast. Not bad.