The Road

Even more than mountains and rain, cyclists like to talk about traffic, almost as much as they like to talk about their bikes. A mountain has it's own presence, unchanging, predictable, character building. Rain falls, mindlessly, uncomfortably, character building. But, traffic is more like a wild beast, unpredictable, dangerous, never far away, something never to turn you back on, yet sometimes gentle and curious.

By far, the most notorious vehicle on the Pacific Coast route is the logging truck. These trucks ply the highway all along the coast of Washington, Oregon, and northern California. Carrying huge logs for the mill, they rumble down the road taking all of their share, and then some. Worse, but not so notorious, are the chip trucks, large container like trailers that create gale force draft winds in their wake. These vehicles can easily toss an incautious biker off the road without ever touching them.

But, I didn't find the logging trucks to be the most dangerous, more dangerous by far were the huge RV's, often pulling trailers, and piloted by ordinary drivers on a holiday. The log truck drivers need special licenses and drive professionally. The closest encounters I had or heard of people having were all with RV's

The Pacific Coast route has a couple tunnels, always an intimidating hurdle for cyclists. Fortunately, most have flashing warning light that cyclists can activate to alert drivers to the presence of cyclists. Does it work? Well, it's hard to say. I suspect some drivers ignored the warning or didn't see it, others seemed to think that blasting their horn in the tunnel would help us stay out of the way! To them, we wished a speedy flat tire during the next rain.

Bridges must present the rider with the most dangerous obstacle after tunnels. Bridges usually funnel traffic from several sources onto a narrow strip of concrete or steel with railings that trap the cyclist in with the rest of the crowd. The most notorious bridge on the route takes nearly four miles to cross the Columbia River. But other bridges, long and short, pit cyclists against car drivers in competition for space. But, sometimes a driver will unexpectedly ally themselves with the lucky cyclists.

Fog is a common occurance on the Pacific coast, and can create a ghostly feeling with the muffled sounds and limited eyesight. Here, Waltraud and I ride the wide sidewalk across the Golden Gate Bridge, safely seperated from the bus and other traffic on the beautiful bridge.

But there were other roads too, lonely roads with only the occasional car to disturb the rhythm of our pedals and the warning of the crow. These other roads made the trip worthwhile.

Rising early in the morning, gliding silently on a damp roadway through a fog shrouded redwood forest. The forest floor has very little vegetation, inviting one to stop and explore the giant trees and hidden mystery.

Or panting up a sun soaked hill to achieve a clear blue sky view of the beach and ocean below. We had many almost perfect cycling days to molify our adrenalin intoxicated encounters with iron monsters.

When we crossed the Columbia Bridge, about a mile from the end, a kind RV driver pulled in behind us and followed us all the rest of the way, about 50 meters behind so we wouldn't feel rushed or threatened. At the end of the bridge we dived for the shoulder, jumped off our bikes, and madly cheered the driver's kindness.




And of course, the pervasive presence of the Pacific Ocean dominates everything, never far away, always providing a nice cool breeze even on a hot day.