On headwinds and doubts

We stood staring at a construction site that, according to our map, was supposed to be a bike shop. That morning, I'd had a flat tire just out of Nehalem Bay State Park. We were headed to Cape Lookout State Park, so I'd wanted to stop at the only bike shop in between, which was in Tillamook, to pick up another spare tube. A few doors down, we saw a sign for a hardware store. Maybe they had bike tubes? So, we wheeled our bikes over. Unfortunately, no spare tubes, but they did know the address of the bike shop's new location.

Cheese factory at the north end of Tillamook, OR - photo by Krista Speigner

As we were reapplying sun screen in the shade of the shop's overhang, the clerk came out to warn us that the route ahead along highway 131 was dangerous. We remarked that we didn't have much choice as we'd heard the alternate, scenic route was closed due road damage from a rock slide years ago. He assured us bikes and people on foot could cross the rockslide area just fine; it was only completely closed off to cars.

Thanking him for the information, we headed on to the bike shop a mile or so away. We had spent all morning riding on highway 101, which can often be very nerve wracking. It was also Monday and our first day of the tour with logging trucks on the road with us. The idea of a road without cars was pretty appealing.

As I paid for my tube at the bike shop, the cashier asked, "Where are you headed?" I replied Cape Lookout and again got the strong warning, "Do not take highway 131, experienced cyclists have died, take the scenic route." I should mention that the scenic route was about 9 miles longer and at least 1,000 feet more climbing. But as I left the shop, I kept thinking ... what would Martin want me to do at this point? I knew ... now, I just had to tell my sister.

She was not happy with me. Tired and ready to be resting at camp, she was 100% not on board with a 9-mile detour from being done for the day. I was 100% not on board with possibly risking our lives when another option was available. As we started cycling, she took off, leaving me in her dust. I figured it was good she could work off some of her feelings on the road, verses me, and I pedaled along behind her. We finally came to the turn - highway 131 or the scenic route.

Road closed sign just outside of Tillamook, OR - photo by Krista Speigner

We took the right onto Bayocean Road, and immediately faced the clearly marked sign - Warning: Road closed 6 miles ahead. My heart gave a little thud. What if we had to turn back? I was banking on the advice of strangers. The road, I noticed, was a beautiful, bayside road. We were riding right along the waters edge. I started to smile. If nothing else this would be a nice ride, right? And then, it hit me, like a wall. A solid headwind.

Krista, who still had a lot of anger to burn, pushed forward further and further in front of me until she finally disappeared from sight. I pushed myself to keep pedaling and pushing into the wind, but I kept having to silence the doubts. What if you have to turn around? What if it becomes a 12-mile detour and you have to take the dangerous road anyway?

I tried to be zen. I tried to just let go of pushing. Stay calm, steady, easy. Like a seagull flying into the headwind of the bay. I tried not to let the headwind tumble me back down that road of doubt and discomfort. It didn't work. I'm really good at beating myself up when I want to. And that's what I did. Instead of taking something out on the road, like my sister was doing up ahead, I let the road take something out of me.

On endings and beginnings

It's the last day of our two week bike tour down the coast of Oregon. Our first bike tour. Krista (my amazing sister) and I have logged more than 500 miles together on this journey.

Our last campsite is amongst huge trees with moss covered roots and surrounded by blackberry bushes. These bushes were likely bursting with ripe, sweet berries a short while ago. Just like the ones that we encountered at our first campsite. Now, they have been picked clean by campers and birds alike, so the remaining ripe berries are left out of our reach behind sharp thorns.

Setting up our last camp - photo by Krista Speigner

The afternoon light fades to early evening, and I am walking to our picnic table as Michael, Karina and Maria (their almost one year-old) roll back into camp after a quick grocery run. We met a few days ago and were delighted to see them again, here, at our last stop on the road.

Michael grins broadly at me from his perch on their distinctive tandem bicycle. He pulls out a plastic container of a dozen, tiny, chocolate, frosted cupcakes with rainbow sprinkles. I recall that Maria's 1st birthday is this upcoming weekend and imagine these are to celebrate her.

I am mistaken. They are for me and Krista! To celebrate the success of our first tour.

We gather at our picnic table. Krista and I have known each other for most of my lifetime and all of hers. Surrounding us are people who we have just met. In such a short time - hours, days, weeks - they have become woven into our journey and lives.

Our fingers become smudged with chocolate frosting. Smiling we offer cheers and share stories until the light grows dim. I am left reeling in the warmth and magic of newly formed friendship.

Sweet, unexpected, celebratory cupcakes - photo by Krista Speigner