Dramatic caption isn't it? It was also a dramatic entry into Oregon for me, that's one big bridge across one big river. Actually its a mix of several types of structure, and it drops you right into Astoria, Oregon. The covers are for protection. The bridge is being grit blasted and repainted. There is a neat collection system in place on the sides and under the deck to prevent the grit and the old paint from ending up in the river. I supervised two similar projects in Adelaide once upon a time, on a much smaller scale admittedly, but the principle and the problems are the same. What fun we have.
I didn't hang around, and continued my journey southwards along the coast. It was true to form, cold and misty. The weird thing about this area is the way the mist rolls in from the sea (didn't mean to get into Mull of Kintyre there, but I felt it happen). It really does, then it hangs around like a fart in a phone box, especially on the hillier sections of the highway. This coast typically has heaps of offshore sea stacks. They are generally dome shaped islands of various sizes, of quite different appearance to the N Apostles on Victoria's coastline at home, (where N used to = 12, but is now an integer <12) and they loom eerily out of the mist. Many have trees growing on them. I'd like to get a good look at the bloody things, but I guess it all adds to the mystique.
Nice riding all the same, lots of twists and turns, generally through the forests which stretch right down to the sea, and also a few sections of sand dunes in places. Well, it is a coast, isn't it.
I went through a place called Tillamook, which sounds like it should be in Australia, and which is nice dairy country, and so there is a big cheese factory there. I could really use a little of the fermented curd, so I thought about a stop to sample the wares, but the car park was the size of the one at Disneyland, and it was chokkas, so I moved on. I mused on the fact that if it was in Oz, you might find twenty or thirty cars at a very popular cheese factory somewhere. Here, you get a few hundred!
The other thing I noticed was the terrific sense of smell you get on a bike. From Washington, all the way to California, the olefactories really get a workout. First its the smell of the wet forest, then the smell of the fog, and the salty tang of the sea, and through it all for most of the way, the beautiful smell of fresh cut timber. Because this is first and foremost logging territory. Ok, so occasionally you get the stench of fish at the same time, but I can tune it out. Then, before I knew it, I passed a sign that welcomed me to California. Before I leave Oregon, let me inform you that it is, I am advised, the only state where they still have someone dispense petrol for you. You are not allowed to do it yourself. Go figure! It suits me, because I have had it up to here with the crappy system of getting petrol pumps to work here. The minute I put in a credit card, it asks me for a zipcode. Game, set and match, right there. I then have to go inside, hand over the card or the cash, go back and pump the gas, go back again and sign the slip or authorise more credit, or pay more cash, or get change, whatever. And each time, back on the end of the queue. It really sucks. So hooray for Oregon. If I'd known that before I started, I might have spent the whole trip riding around Oregon, even though I might not have been able to actually see anything.
Just before I crossed into California, I began to notice the big redwoods. Oregon has them too, but I think California gets all the publicity. Just to go back to the Oregon Trail for a minute, it seems to me that if those pioneers didn't get here by covered wagons from back east, lets say they tried to get here from the Pacific, by ship, I reckon there's a good chance they may never have been able to find the bloody place. I'm stuffed if I know how the Spanish managed to find any land here, unless they crashed into it in the fog.
I didn't hang around, and continued my journey southwards along the coast. It was true to form, cold and misty. The weird thing about this area is the way the mist rolls in from the sea (didn't mean to get into Mull of Kintyre there, but I felt it happen). It really does, then it hangs around like a fart in a phone box, especially on the hillier sections of the highway. This coast typically has heaps of offshore sea stacks. They are generally dome shaped islands of various sizes, of quite different appearance to the N Apostles on Victoria's coastline at home, (where N used to = 12, but is now an integer <12) and they loom eerily out of the mist. Many have trees growing on them. I'd like to get a good look at the bloody things, but I guess it all adds to the mystique.
Nice riding all the same, lots of twists and turns, generally through the forests which stretch right down to the sea, and also a few sections of sand dunes in places. Well, it is a coast, isn't it.
I went through a place called Tillamook, which sounds like it should be in Australia, and which is nice dairy country, and so there is a big cheese factory there. I could really use a little of the fermented curd, so I thought about a stop to sample the wares, but the car park was the size of the one at Disneyland, and it was chokkas, so I moved on. I mused on the fact that if it was in Oz, you might find twenty or thirty cars at a very popular cheese factory somewhere. Here, you get a few hundred!
The other thing I noticed was the terrific sense of smell you get on a bike. From Washington, all the way to California, the olefactories really get a workout. First its the smell of the wet forest, then the smell of the fog, and the salty tang of the sea, and through it all for most of the way, the beautiful smell of fresh cut timber. Because this is first and foremost logging territory. Ok, so occasionally you get the stench of fish at the same time, but I can tune it out. Then, before I knew it, I passed a sign that welcomed me to California. Before I leave Oregon, let me inform you that it is, I am advised, the only state where they still have someone dispense petrol for you. You are not allowed to do it yourself. Go figure! It suits me, because I have had it up to here with the crappy system of getting petrol pumps to work here. The minute I put in a credit card, it asks me for a zipcode. Game, set and match, right there. I then have to go inside, hand over the card or the cash, go back and pump the gas, go back again and sign the slip or authorise more credit, or pay more cash, or get change, whatever. And each time, back on the end of the queue. It really sucks. So hooray for Oregon. If I'd known that before I started, I might have spent the whole trip riding around Oregon, even though I might not have been able to actually see anything.
Just before I crossed into California, I began to notice the big redwoods. Oregon has them too, but I think California gets all the publicity. Just to go back to the Oregon Trail for a minute, it seems to me that if those pioneers didn't get here by covered wagons from back east, lets say they tried to get here from the Pacific, by ship, I reckon there's a good chance they may never have been able to find the bloody place. I'm stuffed if I know how the Spanish managed to find any land here, unless they crashed into it in the fog.
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