Rolling Solo

When I meet people on the road, the first thing they ask me is where I'm from and where I'm headed.

"Victoria, BC to San Francisco," I inform them.

Their amazement is usually followed by a further shock newsflash: I am traveling alone.

"All by yourself??" they exclaim, sizing me up in consternation.  The whole universe has become my mother.

"Yep."

At this point they either commend me for my bravery, or tell me I'm crazy.  One middle-aged woman simply asked "why?" Her friend answered for me: "Probably couldn't find anybody crazy enough to go with you!"

True, in part.  I will admit that when I first dreamed up this trip, a part of me thought it would be nice to have some company.  But I also knew that I wanted the ride to be for myself. I needed some thinking time, and while traveling with a friend would be easier (and make certain family members feel better), it would not give me the space I needed to really clear my head. It would also not require me to be fully independent.  For instance, there was no way I was going to actually learn how to fix my own bike (a skill that does not come naturally to me, as you may have gleaned from my pride at changing a tube) if I wasn't faced with the possibility of being stuck out in the boondocks with a bum break or flat tire, all by my lonesome.

All of this, combined with the fact that none of my friends were, in fact, crazy enough to come with me led me to embrace the idea of going solo. And I have to say, at this point, I wouldn't have it any other way.

For one thing, I can do whatever I want, whenever I want, however I want. Traveling with a friend is like living with a roommate; it's a great way to bond but it requires a lot of understanding and compromise. Whether the dirty dishes be yours or theirs, you are always conscious of them.  Cycle touring adds the further pressure of time, a daily concern when you have miles to make before dark. As a solo cyclist I'm free to pee whenever I want, but I don't have to wait for anyone else to go.

Riding solo has also been incredibly empowering. In the beginning I really did wonder whether I would be comfortable doing it all on my own. Those doubts have vanished.  So often I meet couples on the road, and the women confide to me that they would be lost without their husbands (usually because they know nothing about bike repair). Every time I just want to pull them aside and let them know that they can do it all themselves. Now that I know my own strength, I can choose to travel with others not because I need them but because I truly want their company.

Of course, there is always the safety issue. Many of the people I meet express concerns in this regard. On one of my nights in Washington, I met a young guy from Phoenix who was doing the exact same trip as me, also solo. Curious, I asked him whether he elicited the same reaction from strangers along the way. He told me that his parents, like mine, had their qualms, but that was about it.

So I guess it's because I'm a girl.  Much as this pisses me off, I get it - I'm more vulnerable, there are lots of creepoes out there, etc. etc. Personally I think I'm probably more at risk walking alone in a city than staying in a campground full of other campers and cyclists. And as far as being on the road goes, numbers can hardly protect you from deranged RV drivers, though I suppose you could make your friends ride on the outside.
Otherwise all I can say is that I have felt very safe throughout my trip, and apart from certain distinctive biological functions, I refuse to let my lady parts restrict me from doing anything a man can do without question.

The other great thing about traveling alone, which also makes it safer, is that you are rarely ever alone at all. This was especially true on the Oregon Coast, where every state park was full of cyclists with the same brilliant idea. Normally it would bother me to be so unoriginal, but some ideas are popular for a reason.  Between the spectacularly scenic coastline, consistent bicycle route signage, and awesome state parks (5$ for the night plus free showers- it may seem trivial, but after a day of cycling the last thing you want to do is canvas the neighbours for change), it's not surprising to see so many cycle tourists on this stretch.

Chris at our failed lunch spot

As I've already recounted, I met some great people in Washington. In Oregon, every night was like an orientation event, filled with "where are you froms?" and "where are you goings?" Biker talk leads to life talk, which is always easier with strangers due to the capacity to reinvent yourself. Before long I had plans to visit half of the American states within the next year.  I had to hide in my tent just to get some alone time.

Life is funny. Just as I was really settling into my solo adventure, cycling buddies started to pop up everywhere.  After hanging out for a second night at Beachside State Park, Chris and I decided to start the following day out together.  Six miles down the road, the man at the visitors' centre in the quaint town of Yachats informed us that we were coming up on one of the most beautiful stretches of the coast. He wasn't kidding.

Chris and I decided to take the day slow, riding together and stopping every few miles to appreciate yet another amazing ocean vista. (Chris called this riding "Dana-style," though I'm pretty sure he took more photos than I did...)

The final picnic location.

Although he's more of a restaurant diner, I convinced Chris to do the picnic thing with me for lunch.  Unfortunately the park we had planned to eat at was closed. We decided to chance it and go around the barrier, figuring we'd tread lightly and that there was probably nobody there anyways. No such luck. No sooner did we roll down the steep hill leading to the idyllic picnic area than a park ranger threatened to cite us if we didn't leave. Don't you hate people who are "just doing their jobs"?

We climbed grudgingly back up the hill, and set up our picnic at what the ranger told us was the most photographed spot on the coast, an accolade I'd already heard attributed to about five other locations. (Sort of like "World's Best Clam Chowder!") The spot was beautiful, if a little windy for picnicking. Chris downed a club pack of turkey breast while I polished off a tub of hummus, and we were back on the road again.

The afternoon brought further treasures.  When we arrived at the outskirts of Florence, Chris ventured into a yarn store in hopes of finding a washroom. A minute later he poked his head back out and suggested I come in and have a cookie while I wait.  Unsure of what this was all about, I stepped skeptically inside,  only to be greeted by the most bad-ass knitting club I'd ever encountered. The women gathered in a circle of sofa chairs around the shop quickly ushered me into their stitch n' bitch (and drink) session, offering me fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies and telling me all about their beef with the local phone company.  One elderly woman noted that she broke her knee the last time she rode a bicycle (not sure that's possible, but anyways...) "I was 45 and drunk" she stated matter-of-factly, pausing for comedic effect. These gals were a riot.

Darlingtonia Californica

I could have hung out at the yarn store all afternoon, but there was more to see and not enough time left in the day.  Our last stop was just up the road, at Darlingtonia botanical preserve.  There we walked out onto a platform surrounded by Darlingtonia Californica, a species of carnivorous plant. The plants lived in a swamp and looked like alien pods. I stepped back for fear of losing a finger. Cool.

After a quiet night in camp, Chris headed onwards, while I decided to take the day off to run some errands in Florence, explore the sand dunes, and let my body recover from the latest pummeling. My timing could not have been better.  Just as I returned from town, the party in camp began.  First I ran into Gary, one of the guys from the group of cyclists I'd met at Cape Lookout.  As we chatted, three more cyclists arrived - a couple (Brent and Katy) and another girl traveling solo (Rose).  I convinced the whole crew to come play in the dunes with me before nightfall. We ran and slid through the sand, finally parking ourselves to drink beers and watch the locals surf down the hill on sandboards. Katy, Brent and Rose told us about some colourful characters they'd met that day, including a family of five on a bike tour, and a woman named Sherry who worked at the Sea Lion Caves (a tourist attraction Chris and I had elected to skip) and had offered to deliver a pizza to their campsite.  Both were scheduled to arrive shortly.

Katy, Brent and Rose on the sand dunes

The family circus (a.k.a. "famcake") pulled into camp shortly after our return. Dad hauled 4 panniers and a trailer with their 2 and 4 year-old, while Mom rode a tandem with Jade, their eight-year-old girl. Now I've experienced an hour or two in the life of a child via my very own young nieces, and I honestly cannot imagine where these folks get the energy to do it all on a bike tour (the bathroom issues alone!) And this wasn't even their first trip. They'd already spent six months biking through Southeast Asia, back when they only had two children. Chuck, you may have just lost your title.

With the kids in camp, personal space soon became a forgotten notion as we all gathered around the fire to share food and stories.  As darkness rolled around, Brent, Katy and Rose began to lose faith in Sherry. She had seemed pretty serious about coming, even running out of her post at the seal caves to ask what toppings they wanted. But it did seem like a bit of stretch to deliver a pizza to a state park for some people you just met...

Right at this moment, a woman appeared on the trail, accompanied by a park ranger with a flashlight.  Sherry (a.k.a.shilarious) had arrived, deluxe pizza in hand! Much cheering and hugging ensued. Nobody appreciates a fresh pizza more than a group of cycle tourists camping in the woods (even after a huge dinner).  In addition to being the bearer of pizza, Sherry came with a warm, sparkling and all-round-hilarious (hence the name) personality.  As it turned out, she had just moved back to the area after years of living in California, and was hired at the sea lion caves by complete accident before she had even found a place to live. I could see why - this was some service we were getting.  After offering us just about everything she had in her car, Sherry finally said farewell, and the party began to wind down, with promises of Sunday morning pancakes filling our dreams.

The campsite gang. Still haven't perfected the self-timer...

The next day, Rose joined me on the road.  We got to talking and realized we had a lot in common. Passionate about bikes, food and community, Rose taught workshops on bicycle safety and had started a small homemade food delivery business amongst friends in her hometown of San Francisco. The weather was hot and sunny, so we stopped for lunch by a lake and took a freezing cold dip before gobeling down sandwiches.  Engrossed in a long discussion of life philosophies, we lost track of time and found to our surprise that it was already 3pm.  We put our heads down and pedaled hard for the next 20 miles to Coos Bay, where Rose's Mom had arranged for her to spend a night at a bed-and-breakfast as a birthday present.  We exchanged information and I headed on to the campground, alone once again but not for long...

Rose at our lunch spot

I'd better get a move on before I get stuck to this chair. Will try to blog again soon.  I've got some catching up to do!

Lonesomely yours,

Dana