The Oregon Coast is made for cycling. The highway winds along the coast, climbing up strenuous but manageable hills and descending through smooth, graceful curves. Traffic is manageable along most of the highway, and there are many opportunities to leave the main road and enjoy even less traffic on side streets. I followed the Adventure Cycling Maps I carried with me, but the state of Oregon provides cycling maps at most of the visitor centers as well. The recommended route is well marked with signs, both to direct cyclists to low traffic, scenic roads, and to warn motorists to share the road. The state campgrounds have hiker/biker sites as well: areas designated specifically for people camping without a motor vehicle, and charge just five dollars per night.
After leaving the small campground on Gnats Creek just South of the Oregon border, I pedaled on through Astoria and down to Cannon Beach. It wasn't until I got past Astoria that I began to realize what a treat the next week of cycling was going to be. Since leaving Bremerton several days before, my body hadn't felt well and the traffic and roads were not conducive to cycling. In particular, the 20 miles into Cathlamet just before crossing the Washington/Oregon border had been busy with cars and didn't offer much shoulder. But once I reached the coast, with waves crashing at the base of dramatic cliffs just a few hundred feet from the road, I was invigorated.
I rolled into Cannon Beach in the early evening, and immediately liked the feel of the town. I was greeted by a kite shop, and although it was closed, I marveled at the artistic creations in the window. What a wonderful career, I thought, spending time making such lovely, benign toys. The sign on the door said that they were open from 10 AM to 4 PM, but sometimes the store opened as early as 7AM or as late as noon. "But lately," the sign said, "I've been here pretty much all the time...except when I'm not."
The message captured the feel of Cannon Beach for me (at least the little I saw of it in one night). It's certainly a tourist town--the solid line of condos between the sandy beach and the road evidences that--but it's still relaxed. It reminds me of Whistler a bit: perhaps Cannon Beach is the place Portland folks go to get away from the city, while Vancouverites escape to Whistler. But I enjoyed the relaxed seaside feel of Cannon beach more than the high-octane mountain sports feel of Whistler.
I stayed in a private campground that night...I was disappointed at first, because there is only one campground in Cannon Beach, and they had posted a big sign at their entrance that said "Campground Full REALLY!" and nobody was in the office. I was about to leave when a college age guy ran over and told me that they still had space for bikers. He proceeded to charge me $10 (about one third the price of a standard campsite) and showed me back to a wonderful, small, private campsite in the woods behind all of the cars. Like I said, Oregon is made for cycle touring.
After dinner that night, I walked down to the beach, just as the last colors were fading from the horizon. I was blown away. Big Pacific swells crashed on the broad, white sand beach, and towers of rock climbed into the sky just off shore. Oyster Catchers (a type of seabird with a long orange beak that I had first seen in Glacier Bay a month earlier) and gulls covered the rocks, and the ocean stretched out past the horizon.
This beautiful picture is beyond my photography capabilities... I borrowed it from another blog:
http://www.angelastrand.com/2011/05/cannon-beach-or.html
This is the Pacific, I thought. It's so different than the ocean in the Lynn Canal. The waves in the Lynn Canal, although ferocious and perilous, are never like the big ocean swells that Cannon Beach gets even without any wind. I tend to think of myself as someone who grew up on the ocean...but I realized looking out from Cannon Beach that what I call ocean is completely different from the Ocean that fishermen experience out in the Gulf of Alaska, or that sailors write about in old exploration stories. I know that I don't appreciate it as they do...but at least I realize that.
When woke up to my alarm at 5:30 the next morning, slipped on my running shoes over barefeet, pulled on my light, short running shorts and a T-shirt, and jogged down to the beach just in time for sun rise. Once there, I took off my shirt and shoes, and went down to the edge of the sea, a few inches of water submerging my feet whenever a wave arrived. I looked along the coast, and headed off into the distance.
I ran.
The sand was firm, and pleasant between my toes and I felt light. I ran all the way down the beach, past boulders and rock towers, eventually stopping in a cove in some rocks to stretch, breath the damp air and take in the sounds of the waves, the bird calls, and the feel of the sand rolling beneath my toes. I jogged back to my shoes, sprinting occasionally for the joy of it.
Sometimes, it's just good to be alive.
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