When, in a few days, we return to the UK there will be ‘ artists ‘ in the pop chart that we have never heard of, and may only have been at infant school when we left. There will be celebrities of the chef variety and otherwise that we have no idea of the names of or care much about. New cars will have unfamiliar shapes and the bank notes of Scotland will be as baffling to us as any tourist.
Fake branding.
Things will have changed in 3 and a half years and I can only hope that someone has cut the grass. We are older that is just simple mathematics, and there are times when the wrong light makes us look as if the journey has aged us. There are other moments when I can be convinced it has kept us young.
Phyllis – Seattle WA.Dennis – Seattle WA.
You left us just after we had got to Seattle and were full to the brim with emotions of a project completed. We have now crossed the USA from coast to coast twice, which makes us part of a special club of sorts. If we had to pick, and of course it would be as hard as choosing which one of the twins you would save in a house fire, it would have to be The Northern Tier. The next person you ask on this subject will probably put these the other way around just to confuse you.
From the garden.Good cheer with fine friends.
We have met wonderful people, crazy people, slightly confused people and people who have just the very vaguest grasp of reality. People who just a moment before have been total strangers have stepped forward to offer us help. We could have made it without them, but my goodness it would have been far, far harder.
Chris Cameron – Seattle WA.
If you set out on a bicycle to travel the world you will make the sort of friends that you can count on. The sort of people you want by your side at a lion hunt. You will be invited into people’s homes without a moment’s hesitation. We are lucky enough to have a whole legion of theses ‘ trail angels ‘. In Seattle we had hospitality beyond our wildest dreams. If you are reading this because you met us on the road somewhere on the journey, we thank you.
My bike renovated by Rosebud – we know he put the front rack on wrong!
Chris Cameron of Rosebud Bicycle Builds came around to give our bikes the bicycle equivalent of a Rock Star Spa weekend. He did the same sort of thing in year one, which is why we look so good after all these miles. We have tried to look good, smell fragrant and smile throughout the more than 31,000 miles and it is thanks to a few good mechanics and the best equipment on planet Earth that we have managed this most of the time. Most of the stuff we use we hand over hard cash for. A few things we get a deal on – Thank you Big Agnes Tents of Colorado USA and Showers Pass Waterproofs of USA. These are the best in the business.
Padding for flight.Bagging for flight.
If you have stumbled upon the blog while searching for some sportswool socks – welcome. If you are here for a bit of inspiration, or to find a route, get out there and tell them we sent you. There are lots of you reading this who should be working – you need a rest anyway, and will be far more productive in 20 minutes time after a bit of a distraction. If you just can’t sleep, pull up a chair and grab a Scotch. It is good to have you all.
Tom – Baltimore MD.Kathryn – Baltimore MD.
We are now in Baltimore guests of the wonderful Tom and Kathryn, with our flight back to the UK just 2 days away. Thanks to South West Airlines everything got here and for no extra charge for oversized – a bit of charm helped, and a €150 fee got waved. If Sir Richard’s people do a good job and the bikes come off the other end with everything there and unmolested Virgin Atlantic will remain our favourite way to get across the pond.
Gallery – Baltimore MD.Church with Poe’s grave – Baltimore MD.
If we can meet any of you on our way from the North of the English Midlands as we ride up to Scotland, make yourselves known. If you are in Scotland, on the West coast or on many of the islands then we will be passing by your door. We will be trying to show you our home country through this blog. I hope it all works out and the sun shines and the wind drops to a breeze that keeps away the midges. This last kick of the ball should be fun. Let’s see what happens and as usual we have almost no plan.
Offerings on the grave of Edgar Allan Poe – Baltimore MD.Offering on the grave of Edgar Allan Poe – Baltimore MD.
” Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning ” – Winston Churchill. Which of course is brilliant, absolutely perfect and on a serious subject other than a bike ride, even a very long one. We are a bit closer to the end than that and have been trying not to get carried away with the ‘ miles to go figure ‘ rolling down towards zero. The last book of the guide is on the bar bag with 14 of them, in the depths of the panniers or posted off. But it could still end with failure.
Astoria, WA.Car hood,
If I had one or two words of advice to give you before you threw your leg over the top tube and set off on your first long tour, it would be – look after your teeth and your chain. Floss like every day you are going out on a first date with the girl of your dreams. If you can hear your chain, it needs some TLC with rag and lube, do it now! I have just saved you a whole load of grief, possible pain and a skip load of cash.
Scott and Tim, of the art shop Astoria, WA.Old piles, Astoria, WA.
Overcast, cool even in the way the Pacific North West should be. This morning, the flags were hanging limp from the poles and we were even considering putting on coats. It could not be more perfect. In under a mile we were in a McDonald’s for second breakfast oatmeal and a hot chocolate.
Secular Humanists sponsors.
HWY 30 begins for us along the dock area and warehouses of what is left of Astoria’s fishing industry. Turning inland it became lumpy enough to clock up 1,500ft of climbing in the first 25 miles. That should not have come as any surprise, but did even though we were retracing roads that we had already biked in year one. It was time to cross the path of Lewis and Clark for the final few times. A final steep climb and we drop down to Westport and the ferry across Puget Sound to the State of Washington and 10% Sales Tax.
Ferry across the Columbia River.Entering Washington State.Bridge to Cathlamet, WA.
Back home in Scotland we have spent a king’s ransom re-introducing the Osprey. Here, they are as numerous as Pigeons in Trafalgar Square. They call from high with frankly unpleasant screeches and stare down at us from untidy nests. The ferry hops across to Puget Island and then a bridge takes us across to the mainland. It all feels like Scotland and home, heck it even smells like home. It is stunning, absolutely beautiful.
Back on the Lewis and Clark trail.Along the Columbia River on Route 4.
We ride along coastal roads with the Columbia River on our right. Rounding a bend we get our first view of Mt. St. Helens, it’s slopes steep and still holding onto last years snow. It looks like it is venting steam which is all rather impressive and rather thrilling. It should be just a 50 mile or so day, but the only legitimate camping option is an RV sight. We take a look. Driving through on our bikes there is not a obvious place to pitch. There are dumped trucks, trash and an air of desperation. A big hill and an extra 20 miles or camp here? 600ft is a big hill when you start from sea level, but then there are two nasty little hills beyond that catch us out.
Countryside and grass without irigation.
A run in with a big truck and a driver that wants to run us off the road. It is the sort of monster truck that you can fall to your death from if you miss the step. It has lots of chrome and a driver with single digit IQ. His window is open to show off his arm tattoos and we have a spirited chat. The RV sight at Castle Rock is cheap cheerful and pleased to see us. Dew on the tent in the morning for the first time since either of us can remember and possibly since the East coast.
… for the weak woman.Mural in Toledo, WA.Route 505, Washington.Benson 273.Apple Trees and Pickup Truck.17% looking down.
The morning ride is through Old Growth forests of pine. There are of course state parks that would have been perfect to camp in if we could have found just a bit more energy. Just as we are getting thoughts of an easy day of cycling a 17% monster hill turns up and a final busy road into Tacoma increases the possibility of getting swiped off the road by an RV even at this late stage.
CHevrolet.With Kevin at Salmon Beach, Tacoma, WA.Salmon Beach , Tacoma, WA.Sun set at Puget Sound, Washington.Rosco.Ring.
We have a rendezvous with a dear old friend who lives near Tacoma and has come out to pick us and the bikes up, and drive us to his beachside home. Two days, three nights of bliss and kicking back. The arrival of Whales makes the time here perfect and we are starting to unwind. There are trips to coffee shops and reading magazines.
Seagel.Kayaking.Kevin and decoy.
The homes here at Salmon Beach began as shacks for fishermen and have spent more than a hundred years rising through the social ranks. They are now very desirable, but still at the bottom of over 200 steps.
lanterns in Jesus Barn Farm, Vashon Island, WA.Mural.Fat Tire.Ferry to West Seattle.
There are two ways to Seattle for us. The first requires us to climb hills and catch a ferry which, when it births in Seattle, has the WOW! view of the Frasier skyline as you get closer. The second option is almost flat and the ferry looks like you are arriving at a parking lot. We take the easy option. As we get closer to Seattle the number of Toyota Prius climbs, the smokers drops and those with milk and gluten intolerance rockets.
Our little cyclist.View from West Seattle across to Downtown Seattle, WA.100 year old barbers chair.Bike route amongst Highway nightmares, Seattle, WA.
We pick up one of the city bike paths that takes us around the coast and into downtown Seattle, via a hair cut in a 100-year-old barber’s chair. Into the city heartland through China Town and then it is just a case of avoiding car doors and madness. There is time off the bikes with our friends Dennis and Phyllis, and the delights of Seattle to be enjoyed. If there is one major downside to longterm biking, it is – you are going to get bored with your clothes, really, really bored. Now, at the ‘ Mother Ship ‘ of the outdoor shop – REI there is the option to buy new stuff and the excuse that we need to get winter stuff for the tail end of summer in Scotland.
Bike Lane on Jackson St, Seattle, WA.Happy Welcome.Esther’s Sidi shoes after more than 20.000 miles.
Yes indeed, our plans at the moment are to fly into London, get on a train and head to the Midlands of England. Bikes will be put together there if the airline has not lost them. Then we pedal North towards Scotland and home. We turn right and go home if we are not enjoying things. If we feel good and the weather is fine it is time to head to Scotland’s West coast and the remote islands. We have never had the time to tour the unpopulated parts of the country that we live in, so that would be just fantastic. So, the USA is at an end now after over 4,500 miles. We have to say a very big THANK YOU to all the kind people who have looked after us, fed us, given us a roof – you are all now honarary gold members of Team Sportswool. Over 31,000 miles into our ride and the two of us are still in love – just so you know. 24/7 and all that time together under quite a bit of stress, which is, I think, our greatest achievement.
The TransAmerica bike route is a bit over 4,000 miles in length. Not every pedal stroke of which, I must admit to you now, has been a cycle touring gem. Some of it is a chore, a moral snapping, mind numbing chore. There are whole sections that are only part of the route because they are unavoidably in the way. Blog after blog entry here has featured photos of either Esther or myself on a bike in a bleak landscape, with the road disappearing to a dusty horizon. There have been whole weeks that taxed my creativity to make the shots look different. If you were bored by them, you can only begin to know the tedium of having to ride a heavy touring bike through these barren landscapes. Then there is the unmentionable heat.
Camping in the back yard. Eugene, OR.
I am not the first person to complain. The cowboy drovers of old saw off boredom by fighting, betting on just about everything, more fighting and betting. In desperation, if nothing else could be found, reading and reciting to each other the labels of dried goods. There are whole states that I have made a solemn and binding pledge never to ride a bike in again.
Quilt. Coburg, OR.
Quilt Day, Coburg, Oregon.
We have made it across the United States of America for the second time, and not many people can make that claim. When we started I put the chance of getting across at not much better than 20%. You remember me telling you just how painful injections of Cortisone in your foot are. Well, we set off with me wincing every time I put pressure on the pedal. If I had a job to go to that had involved standing up, I would have been off sick and watching ‘ daytime TV ‘ from a comfortable chair. There is never anything guaranteed about such an endeavour. There are bike chasing dogs of Kentucky to avoid. Pot holes that can swallow your bike, and lapses in concentration that can find you in a ditch and involved with the American Medical System. Then there are the RV drivers to avoid, which is more down to them than you and a whole load of good fortune. ” Never pedal faster than your guardian Angel “, which is a wise German saying.
Road End flag. OR.
Straw Henge. Oregon.
We set out from Eugene on the final bits of our journey towards the Pacific. Bits of our equipment had chosen the last few hundred miles into town to wear out. The bike industry has in our absence decided that the 9 speed drive that we are using is now RETRO, and available only in the bottom of dusty draws or on Ebay. We are both on new chains and I have a new rear deraileur. There was a choice of one. Which explains why I am using one that operates in the reverse direction. After more than 30,000 miles of changing gears by pressing the lever in one direction, it is time to pull instead of push. I hate the very concept of Sudoku, and I think I dislike this more. We are not getting on.
Barn.
We set out on Quilt day. It was a sad day, not because of anything quilt related but because we were rather fond of Eugene and its bike friendly beer centric culture. ” We could live here “, which we had not been saying about too many places. Back out to join the river bike path and then out into farmland that was already deep into harvest time and turning the rich soil for a new crop. Which is when it struck me that there can not be a place on earth beyond the place where they are made, in which it is possible to be overtaken by more Subaru. Every second car in Oregon is a Subaru.
Little Trees.
Road side flowers. Oregon.
A couple of days ago, before our wet traverse of the McKenzie Pass ( it was one of the wettest days in recorded history we have since discovered ), the corn was not yet ripe. Here, summer is having one last kick of the ball and geese are seen in the morning sky on their way south for winter. We ride on, and have a comfortable day with the highlight being a ‘ Bald Eagle ‘ spotted by Esther – good for her. We did not find our grove today and stop short of where we had intended. The only place that may allow camping is a state park. A couple of miles off route to be greeted by a NO CAMPING sign. We negotiate a ‘ pitch out of the way and be gone by dawn ‘ spot with the warden.
Broadleaf trees and a river under a star flecked sky. It could not be much more perfect. The calming sound of water is not universal. A dripping tap can rob you of sleep, as can a toilet overflow. Water causing pebbles to chatter or in the form of vast oceans washing onto a shingle beach and you are into the arms of St. Elijah, ( patron saint of sleep – feast day July 20th ).
Yard art.
Back onto HWY 99 and heading West towards Monmouth in cool morning air. HWY 22 which we pick up next, is less wonderful as we head in the direction of Buell. Horrid, heavy with traffic even on a Sunday morning. The day passes with curses and incantations towards the drivers of RV’s. Another short day that once more ends with a pitch next to a river and a second night of near perfect sleep in our little tent.
Mail box, Oregon.
Jesse, the Wandering Yeti.Very narrow shoulder. Route 18 . Oregon.… and less traffic.
We are on the road again next morning. Just because I had little more to do or think about, I decide to zoom out the gps. There it is! on the screen in all its baby blue blueness, The Pacific Ocean and the coast that will be the end of our journey across the USA. I had done the same thing yesterday and we had stopped short and camped. In Year 1 we would have raced for the sea and ended the day with no place to camp. We are a little bit wiser now. We turn away from the main highway and take the scenic route to the coast.
THE Woodpile,
Sun and Shade and a bit of a climb. Old Scenic Hwy 101, Oregon.Temperate Rainforest on Old Scenic Hwy 101, Oregon.…with Warren.Horsetail Fern.
The first thing that I recognise is a wood pile. We have crossed our path from 3 years ago. It is quite a moment and a bit disappointing that it is marked by a wood pile. There are tall trees, damp shaded pools of darkness, and the smell of earth that is wet to the touch. We are on familiar ground.
Almost there.The Sea!
We come to the coast and a possible viewpoint. The fog of the Atlantic NW coast robs us of our moment of triumph. The view of the sea is held in mist so close we can hear it. Onwards to Pacific City and familiar things. I ask the cook who is taking a break from the grill, and standing outside the diner ” How Many days till Christmas? “. There can be few places in July where this is not a stupid question, and this is one of them. We ate here before on a cold morning with rain forecast. Outside there was a row of cat bowls with hungry guests – cat, cat, cat, racoon, cat, racoon, cat. They are all gone now and I am sure the health inspector had something to do with that.
149 days to Christmas. Pacific City, OR.Beach along the Oregon Coastal Hwy. Oregon.Looking across to Sandpoint Recreation Area.Highway 101 and the Oregon Coast Bike Route.
Rather more emotionally than expected, there is a place to touch the water, just around the bay. That is it then, we have crossed the USA and now it is official. We continue along the coast, one moment in sun so strong you need to lather up with factor 30. Around a bend and the next miles are biked in winter gear and freezing temperatures of thick fog. We camp at Cape Lookout, one of Oregon’s lovely state parks along the coast. It is full, but arriving by bike gives you the privilege of ‘ Hiker-Biker ‘ and a cheap pitch for the night guaranteed. There is no ‘ looking-out ‘ to be done as the fog drops onto the sandy beach early in the afternoon. You will need to indulge me a few art photos of the landscape.
Fog on Cap Lookout, IV. Oregon.
Fog on Cap Lookout, III. Oregon.Fog on Cap Lookout, II. Oregon.
We sleep the sleep of the traveller on our happy campground pitch. The normal visitor just a hundred feet away packed together as tight as farrowing sows. It is just 56’f in the blanket of fog and moss hangs from the old trees that stand around our tent. Whilst the air is still cool, the morning is bright and clear. The beach is covered with people gathering clams. Our route takes us along the coast, by sheltered harbours and mud flats. We go inland, but then turn to take the coastal route. The traffic this morning is mad and we turn inland again and make up the route towards Tillamook.
Netarts Bay, Oregon.
Netarts Bays, Oregon.Half Pint, Oregon.
We pass through the town of Garibaldi. Few towns are named after Italian revolutionaries in the USA. In Britain he is more known for a biscuit named after him – which after the fig and the humble digestive is one of my favorite. Into, and out beyond Tillamook, the road shoulder is varies from poor to downright unridable and often vanishes for long stretches. I am not happy one little bit. The wind has been gathering strength all day, and is now blowing a gale right in our faces. The Chinook Winds win and we pack in after just 41 miles, exhausted. Another night of Hiker-Biker joy for us.
Warren on Warren St, Tillamook, OR.Fresh Seefood, Garibaldi. Oregon.Cow theme diner.Last climb for the day.Breakfast.The Oregon coast, near Manzanita.Peter and his cat in the bag.
A big climb to over 500 ft and of course it is straight out of the tent and on complaining legs. We are on our way to Astoria with the sea on our left. Everyone else wants to go that way today, logging truck, big rig and a fleet of RV’s. It is not nice at all. Lewis and Clark made the coast here and must have been thrilled to see the end of the Columbia River and the Pacific. We are every bit as enthusiastic as them to get to Astoria, believe me. The wind is howling in our ears ( we know we are doing this coast in the wrong direction! ) and we cross over the main little bridge towards town. The high road bridge goes overhead and out over the Columbia as you enter the town along the river. With the State of Washington on the bank to our left we pedal into this town for the second time. You would imagine we can not fail to get to SEATTLE now and then it is onwards to touring of northern England and Scotland. But there is strong beer to be drunk in Astoria’s craft brewery district first.
on the Lewis and Clark Road, Oregon.Old barn, Oregon.Esther and an old barn.
THE SPORTSWOOL DIARIES 