October 30th, 2003
Finally in Oregon

We boot it, and arrive at the top of the peninsula a couple days later at Sequim. We have lost our speedometer and the nights are starting to get uncomfortably cold. We meet with the folks from Dungeness organic produce and spend the night with them. Our friends Scott and Josh talk to us about the farm. We feel completely at home in their company and join a bunch of their friends the next morning for an enormous breakfast. We leave with some of the best carrots we’ve ever tasted, some Chanterelle mushrooms, four pancakes, and two waffles. We spend a day in Port Angeles on-line at the library and we’re off, heading south once again towards the rainforest.

Somewhere near Forks we stop for a late lunch on an enormous stump in a trailer park. Johanne has caught a chill and can’t warm up. A kind man and his wife, who is quite ill and can barely see, invite us in for coffee. They are quite evidently very poor and we are touched by their kindness. We head on our way with a pound of home made smoked salmon.

Near the bottom of the Olympic Peninsula we ride through a day of rain, we’re looking forward to a day’s rest in Quinault and a walk in the rainforest. Unfortunately it’s hard to judge how far away we are from the town, we have no cycle-computer since Sequim and we see almost no road signs. Finally we arrive, and get our first motel room, what luxury! The next day we realize that we’re too beat to even walk down to the rainforest so we coast our bikes down the hill and set up in a deserted campground. One day has become three but a full day wandering through the enormous trees of the old growth was totally worth it. This forest gives off an aura of peace that cannot be compared.

We spend days riding through logging country. Clear-cuts left and rite give the countryside a sad aspect. We arrive in Aberdeen with a flat. The night is falling and I’m gonna have to start using the past tense. This is driving me crazy.
As I was saying, we arrived in Aberdeen with empty stomachs and a flat tire, by the time we finished filling our empty chambers the night was falling. We repaired the tire in what seemed to be the entrance someone’s backyard garage entrance to get out of the wind. Across the street is a mechanic’s garage and we head over to ask for directions to a campsite. In the present tense we come in from the cold. We’ve been noticing that this ugly town seems to be stuck in the eighties and the receptionist Sheryl confirms our suspicions. She and a couple scruffy colleagues offer us a concrete slab beside the place to set up our tent, hot tamales, and some extra blankets to keep us warm. We spend the next morning at the public library but not before stopping at our favorite place for a coffee. It’s the “Juicy Tan”, local tanning salon and espresso bar, we spend a few moments enjoying the kitch and laughing under our breath at the clientele who seem to be quite infatuated with themselves. We oogle the giant hotdog on top of a fast food place: ooooooohhhh! And head southward.

We head towards the elusive Raymond down a winding hilly road. The traffic is a lot and we have no idea how close we are once again due to the lack of road signs. We finally arrive in the early evening which seems to be around four o’clock these days and stop by a church to ask “where can we get some blankets?” and “do you have some?”
A man stops his truck in front of the church and offers us dinner and a warm bed for the night. We accept just in time to avoid that evening’s Christian youth get-together and it’s off to his house. We are welcomed into a home of avid Christians, Christian rock and the whole deal. I hum an Adam Green song under my breath but choose not to sing. “Everybody’s talking ‘bout Jesus, everybody’s talking ‘bout Jesus, everybody’s fuckin my princess” We enjoy a good meal, a warm bed, and in the morning a fine debate about the presence of God in old-growth vs. monocropped forests.

We continue South and arrive at a four mile bridge leading into the state of Oregon. The bridge has no shoulder, and the wind is so strong that I have to put down my foot for fear of falling, but that’s ok I’m not moving very fast. This bridge seems to go uphill for all four miles. To celebrate the successful crossing of our first state we stop in Astoria’s oldest tavern for a drink. The jukebox croons old country classics and one beer gets us drunk after eight hours of riding. We mount our bikes for a block or so and then opt for a motel in order to avoid killing a pedestrian.

We’ve made a last minute decision to continue down the Oregon coast instead of over to Portland. The forecast looks warmer that way and sure enough, arriving near the coast we feel our first warm wind in weeks.