Oregon

Yesterday morning began with a 15-minute ferry ride across the Columbia River into Oregon. Woohoo, state 25 out of 26 for Mike and me. The second-to-last state for all involved. We joked that we were now one third of the way through the final leg of the tour. It is possible that the three states (Washington, Oregon, and California) may not be equally sized... We cycled west along the south side of the river to the town of Astoria. We enjoyed some slightly bumpy but peaceful riding on a bike path until it joined up with a river-front boardwalk. The boardwalk was built by an engineer who either has never ridden a bicycle or owns a fat-tire bicycle shop. The gaps between the wooden boards ran parallel to our direction of travel and were plenty wide enough for our wheels to fall in. No thank you, Danger Trail. Off to the road we went.

The weather was spectacular, clear blue skies and gorgeous sunshine. We found a high-quality full-fingered glove at the side of the road on a break. Some time ago Mike found a glove and carried it for a few days, hoping to find another to make a pair for the colder mornings. He lost hope and threw it away. I kept the new glove, now Mike and I each had one glove. Hmm. Amazingly, about half a mile later we found the glove's partner in the road. Ta-da, Mike now has a pair of full-fingered gloves! My glove is lonesome. I think the chances of finding a matching glove are remote, given that I picked it up in Montana. However, I refuse to give up hope and will keep my eyes open.

In the evening we stayed in the appropriately-named town of Seaside at a private RV park with steaming hot showers and a creek running alongside our site. We started a fire with cardboard dug out of the campground dumpster but the wood was proving reluctant to burn. Then we discovered that a magazine advertising the local attractions was printed with something highly flammable and we soon had a borderline-out-of-control blaze going. It burned down pretty quickly, though one log continued to smolder into the night.

Mike Sr's good luck ran out today and we awoke to an overcast morning with a forecast of rain. The route was supposed to take us along highway 101 but Lily, the daughter of our good friend Don Strauss, has an organic farm not too far away so we detoured to take a visit. The detour was 7 miles longer than the route but with half the climbing. Six of one, half a dozen of the other. The climbing was gentle, through mossy forest with misty mountains in the background. We sat on a very squishy moss-covered log during a break on our way up. It was like sitting on a cushion and was luxurious compared to our bike saddles.

Lily and Kayleigh, the farmers of Moon River Farm, were off at an event for the day but we met Brian and Sage who own the property. They were incredibly welcoming. They took us to see some sheep and Sage made us tea, which was just the thing for such a grey day. We enjoyed chatting with them and swapped some good stories. We were sent on our way with some tomatoes grown by Lily and Kayleigh. They were delicious. The forecasted rain showed up as we rode back to the highway. I ploughed on while the Mikes plowed on (British vs American spelling) and we made it to the campground without taking on too much water.

We are frequently confounded by campsite pricing. Websites will say one number, a person on the other end of the phone will say another, and when we arrive at the campground it often changes again. We were expecting to pay roughly $40 for tonight's stay, as confirmed by a posted list of prices, but were mysteriously only charged $20. We kept our confusion to ourselves. Later I introduced the southern California Mikes to British camping by putting out tea and biscuits in the rain. Delightful.

As I conclude this blog post to the sound of yapping and howling I leave you with this thought: "Dogs. Why?"

On the ferry to Oregon

What are they selling?

Astoria

Bush and boat

Enjoying the sunhine

A new friend

Rach and her new friend

Terrifying.

Top of the climb

Near Moon River Farm