Departing Crater Lake came a little late as I fit in a last minute run at elevation around the Annie Creek. The route was easier than the previous day's multi-thousand foot elevation changes (I only had 150' of elevation change to contend with), but I managed to loose the trail on my second lap around the creek and the motivation began waning from there. It seems I'm good now for a week of solo training before I get distracted and require company.
A short shower set me back $0.75, so I no longer smelled like feet and my hair lost its Brillo pad consistency for the hours ahead on the road. The ride west took me through more beautiful country sprinkled with volcanoes waiting to blow their tops and set the region back a few thousand years. At a wayside looking back to Crater Lake, the interpretive sign read IF YOU WERE STANDING HERE 7,700 YEARS AGO YOU WOULD BE VAPORIZED. Conveniently, my parents waited to have children, but either way you look at it that's not a fun picture.
Before returning to the road, a minivan driving woman approached me asking if I was really from Maine. No, it's just an act and I talk funny because I was dropped as a child. She told me she visited Maine once. Well, actually, she was in Connecticut seeing family and decided to quickly skip up to Freeport. Sorry minivan lady, that doesn't count and we parted ways.
After winding along the Rogue River for what seemed like endless miles, I had dropped enough elevation to enter a climate much like the San Francisco area. It was quite odd, one minute I'm cruising through dense pine forests and the temperature is somewhere near 60, the next minute I'm flying through a tinderbox of golden farmland and the Wagon's thermometer is hovering around 95. In Roseburg, I accidently robbed a Republican in his Dodge (fully equipped with a loaded gun rack in the rear window) of his gas pump. I quickly fueled up while failing to look intimating and did my best to avoid his irritated stares. Because I was in running shorts I think he thought I was gay, and that didn't help my side of things very much.
The rest of the ride to the coast was through more California-esque mountains and farmland along the Umpqua River. Eventually I crested a ridge line and the vegetation suddenly changed to a deciduous forest. Oregon's quite strange in how suddenly and definitively nature changes itself. In Reedsport, I updated myself on Library time, then got back in the car to start the journey up Highway 101 to explore the Oregon coast.
Although it was beautiful, I was let down. For the past months people had been telling me how gorgeous the coast was. "I've been to Maine before and, although it's nice there, this is much prettier." Well, I agree, but only with 50% of that statement. At Heceta Head, I stopped to watch a moment of the sunset and explore the picturesque lighthouse. I was suppose to pay, but the view wasn't worth the $3.00 parking fee.
A few miles up the road, I found Rock Creek Campground in the Siuslaw National Forest. My site was on the banks of what I assumed was Rock Creek and it was a fine place. The $22.00 they were asking for the night's stay was a bit over zealous, so I paid half-price, thanks to my creative interpretation of the breadth of power our National Parks pass withheld.
Thursday morning started foggy and chilly, but I awoke from one of the warmest sleeps of the trip. I can also say safely now that I survived my mold intake without a problem. I hadn't mentioned this yet for fear of being stricken once I said everything was alright, but on Tuesday I planned on having the rest of my hummus for lunch. Diving in blindly with a piece of fiber loaded bread, I scooped up a large section of hummus and swallowed it down. The taste was something like vinegar and flatulence, a flavor I first attributed to the unknowns of FiberPlus bread. Well, upon closer inspection, I noticed the hummus, specifically the crushed red pepper variety, had taken the appearance of a furry white-haired creature that had died. I quickly contemplated shoving a toothbrush down my throat until my stomach contents were emptied about Crater Lake, but I sided against that. My solution was two packets of Mannatech vitamins consumed simultaneously. The wonders of Mannatech worked, I haven't died to prove it, and I send a thanks to Liv and Bonnie for their assistance. It really would have ruined the trip to die.
Back to the coast. I pulled into Yachats, Oregon, a peaceful oceanside community that felt like one of Maine's coastal town transplanted to the hippie infused environment that is the Pacific Northwest. The Green Salmon coffee house provided me with some fine coffee as I took care of some WiFi business before heading north. A pretentious faux-artist type behind me kept commenting "those are the best portraits of birds I've ever seen. Look at their character. He really captured their spirit. I hear crows are really smart, for birds that is." I looked over and saw his excitement was directed at an article in USA Today. Tons of character.
The rest of the drive along 101 was scenic but not spectacular. I stopped at a wayside for a beach run and lunch, which included the obligatory dip in the Pacific Ocean afterwards. The blazing sun did not effectively offset the 60 degree air and colder water, but I had to do it and I spent the rest of the drive smelling like ocean filth, salt, and feet. No matter what I do on this trip, I seem to spend a lot of time smelling like my feet.
In Pacific City, I took a break when I saw the largest pile of sand my eyes have ever set their gaze upon. The walk up the 500' high dune was slow going but the view from the summit was worth every sandy step. To the north, was what I would describe as a sand glacier, gradually calving its way into the ocean.
Back towards Pacific City, I heard the sound of an overly powerful truck's engine and watched as a jacked up pickup pulled an SUV from the grips of the sand. I can image what the driver of the SUV said, "No, don't worry honey, we have 4-wheel drive. I'm sure we can drive on the sand. Look, everyone else is dong it just fine." STOMP. Then the wheels all spin, throwing sand every place and the little Blazer is committed with the tide coming up. "Now Frank, how are we going to get to soccer practice?" the mother would have followed with.
CAMPGROUND FULL the sign at Cape Lookout State Park read as I drove along the access road. Shit. My backup plan was to ask the ranger what campgrounds were close by, but before I could, he said, "Well, I have one site left for one night. And it's a tent site." I'm a tent. I only need one night. "You, my son, must have good karma" was his reply. I'm not his son, but if it gets me a night's stay I'll fake it.
The spot was surrounded by more travel trailer and it reminded me of the Indiana Dunes National Lakeshore during last year's July 4th weekend. Only this time around the neighbors were much more considerate and the burritos weren't flowing as freely. After making camp and enjoying a fine pasta supper with veggies, I walked to the beach with the rest of the campground and took in the sunset. It was mediocre at best but relaxing none the less. The evening closed out with a phone call from Olivia before I showered off the foot smell accumulated during the day's travels.
Friday began foggy and with little motivation. After a massive breakfast of pancakes, I killed away a few hours digesting before lacing up the shoes and running to Cape Lookout Point. The steady 5 miles uphill was taxing but the view was amazing after I managed to weave my way around all the grandmothers lumbering along the trail. At points my run took me within inches of a horrible tumble hundreds of feet down to the ocean, but I kept my eyes on the trail and refrained from a less than glorious passing. Conveniently, the last few miles of the trail were above the fog and I managed to warmup considerably. But, the run back to the campground put me back into the mist, which was interesting since I realized sections of the Oregon coast were essentially parts of cloud forests.
The drive Friday was more business related since the final goal was to make it to Portland by 5PM. I took a short break at Cape Meares lighthouse, the shortest lighthouse on the coast, and saw the Octopus Tree, a Sitka Spruce that had eight trunks but no main base. On the road again, the drive into Tillamook saw the scenery suddenly change from foggy seaside to rich fields and the ever-present aroma was one of manure. The oddest thing was I welcomed the cow shit smell with open arms as it reminded me of earlier days on Hurricane Road. It's funny how we remember our childhood, be it sprinkled with crap or not.
Running short on time, I had a ceremonious last road trip meal of Velveta Shells & Cheese at a wayside in the Tillamook State Forest. The staple food of any camping trip was delicious and I may have gained twenty pounds enjoying the artery clogging meal.
Wagon Miles: 301,091 to 302,347
Total Trip Length: 1,893 Miles. Pretty good for only 2 weeks.
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