Riding with the giants (USA)

Day 114
Km 8144

"Welcome to California", said a signal by the side of the road.
California,land of the organic, light, defatted,decaffeinated capuchinos, made with soy milk and served hot or cold, at every town street corner. In California everyone seems to live for a healthy cause, been it vegetarianism, vegan, organic, puritanism, or follower of some obscure Buddhist sect, only found in some hidden mountain of the Himalayas.
I was only expecting to found a lot of sun, a mild climate, palm trees, and blonds in Rollerblades on the side walks. But in the first few days of cycling in the biggest and most dynamic of the American states, I found only a lot of rain, but also a beautifully coast.


My progress south through the Pan American highway (highway 101), on the Oregon coast, was very slow, due to the sea storms that attack the northwest of the States at this time of the year.
A few times I had no other option, then to take refuge in motels, that made some damage to my budget.
The difference between a Motel and a Hotel, is that on a Motel, one can drive the car all the way to the room door, in the hotel you can't!
In this country, everything seems to spine around the automobile. What I call a "society of convenience". There is "drive throu's" for every taste: fast food restaurants drive throu, pharmacies drive throu, coffee shops, cinemas in parking lots, etc, etc. Once I'm travelling in THE fast food country, the other day I didn't resist in trying a Mac Donald's drive throu....on my bicycle. I join the car que, and when was my turn, I spoke to a microphone carved in a pillar, and ordered a big mac meal. A lady inside the building, with a wireless headset, was putting the ingredients together,and at the same time talking to me. I could not hide a smile, when I saw her surprised face, when she handed over my meal through the small window of the bulding. The difference is, that in your car, you eat your meal as you drive to work, I had to look for a bench in a garden. Next time I see a cinema drive throu, I thought, I'm going to see a movie on my bike. Just to have a laugh at people's faces, when they see a cyclist in a cinema....for cars.
207 million cars roam the streets of America (37% of the world's total!!).
It's hard to imagine, what would be of this country, if one day, the petrol tap, dries out!

The highway 101 twists around the Pacific shore, and even with the dark and rainy days, it was a joy to ride along the forested coast, after so many days in the boredom of the desert. The low pressions originating in the pacific, that enter the Continent, usual came with intervals that vary between 0 and 3 days. The only way to make any progress south, was to take advantage of those intervals.
I had spend the night in a hostel, so that morning, I didn't have to pack up my stuff, or dismount my tent, so I started to cycle with the sunrise. It wasn't raining much, but the humidity at almost 80%, glued the Gore-Tex to my body, but even with the discomfort, I was in a good mood. I was cycling through a beautiful landscape of cliffs, with the surf crashing against the shore. The road twisted along the rugged coast,and sometimes disappeared inside the ancient forests of the redwoods,the sequoias sempervirens (from the Latin live forever).

California claims to it self, not only the largest trees in the world, but also the highest.The so called redwoods,higher then the statue of liberty,and with a longevity that exceeds 2000 years, they are found only in the coastal forests of northern California, and are only rivaled by one other specimen in China.
Further south, in the west slopes of sierra Nevada, its the only place in the world where one can still found the giant sequoias. One of the oldest living animal on the planet, with over 3000 years old, they are a bit shorter then its cousins of the north, but can have up to 12 meters in diameter.
I could not stop imagine, looking at the forest of giants that surrounded me, the amount of history that this almost immortal beings, have been through.I say immortal,because they have no enemies (apart from humans),they are resistant to fire, insects and other animals. There is enough wood in one single tree,to build several houses.
I even saw a "drive throu" giant tree!!
Halfway trough the morning,I met Diego and Bernardo,2 spaniards from Madrid,travelling by bicycle in north America, making a documentary about adventure cycling for the Spanish TV. As we where all going south, we decided to travel together that day..

Later in the afternoon, we enter a supermarket, to buy that evening's dinner. It continued to rain, and at that point, we had no idea where to spent that night..
I engaged in a conversation with a man, and after a brief talk, he was drawing a map of the village in a piece of paper, and explaining how to get to his house.
I have to go to Eureka, he said, but make yourselves comfortable till I arrive. After a damp and rainy day, it was like a gift from the Gods of the touring cyclists, that invitation. The
wooden red house, was situated in one of the hills in the east part of the village of Trinidad. The garage door was open and the fire place was lighted.And just like Eric said, we made our selves at home, and had an excellent shower. We made a load of laundry, with extra washing powder, to ensure the cleaning of the odors ( "Eau the road" ), commons to a travelling cyclist. Diego pulls a Cd out of the big collecting and plays it. We spent the rest of the day staring at the fire and talking about the advantages and disadvantages of travelling by bicycle.Someone knocks on the door.It was Eric's neighbour with a pumpkin pie in her ands for us. She made us some tea, and after a short talk, left the house,to return a bit latter with some vegetarian sandwiches of cheese and vegetables.

In the evening arrives the owner. Eric, a tattooist by profession,lives by himself,and is recovering from a liver transplant. The result of an"agitated" life. A traveller himself, but by Harley Davidson.-I know how its like to be on the road, he said, putting a giant pizza in the oven, -its always good to give it back.
I will be right back, he said, leaving again with his neighbour. Less then half hour latter, they return with a container of 5 litters of beer, and a bag full with more sandwiches for us to take next day. We couldn't believe it,just 3 hours earlier we where all soaked in water , and without knowing where to sleep. People like Eric, and so many others I met on the road, are making me change my opinion about this country. Where all this kindness comes from? Is it because I'm cycling?
When we arrived in Eureka, we stop by a petrol station, our favorite place to fill up the bottles with free water. Diego pulls out a conversation with a man, that identifies himself as manager of a supermarket of organic foods, and invites us to try some delicious organic and energetic smoothies. What he didn't say was, that he was going to call the local press. The reporter of the local newspaper, appeared in the municipal library, where we stop to check our e-mail, and after a short interview we left in search of that supermarket, and our free organic smoothie...
In the end of the day, we found a small forest of redwoods, near a river, in the small village of Scotia. It sounded like a perfect place to spend the night. It was a dark night, without Moon. And under the gigantic trees, the only light came from the our lights attached to our heads, with an elastic stripe. We must have looked like 3 disorientated Martians,with the beams of light in constant move.
The village convenience store, didn't have much choice of ingredients, so we decided to cook, what the cyclist call "pasta SOS", spaghetti with "something on sale". We where about to set up our stoves, when 2 cars of the fire brigade arrived. Someone had tipped off the "Martians", and we where expelled from our improvised camping ground. It was around 6 o'clock and absolutely dark. where would we found a place to camp at that time of the evening?
-where is Eric?, said Bernardo as a joke.
One of the drivers, James Silva, son of a Portuguese, was the solution. After speaking with my country man, James called the firechief. From the other side of the line came an authorisation to camp in front of the fire depot. We put all our stuff in the cars, including our bikes and the tents half dismounted, and paraded ourselves, trough the streets of the village. While we set up the tents, once again, this time in smooth grass,James disappeared, to reappear half hour later, with a surprise for us.

We ended up that evening in the fire brigade canteen, drinking red wine, and enjoying some "chouricas" (Portuguese sausages). Some time later, James son appears with some cookies, still hot. Next morning, the firebrigade's chief was on duty. He offered some coffee, and showed us a copy of the newspaper "The Eureka Reporter". We had made that day's front page.
Ifound it funny, that the journalist, used us, 3 European cyclists, to make political propaganda, when she wrote, that we haven't met anyone that voted for George Bush.
John Broadstock apart from been fire chief, was also in charge of the security of the energy plant adjacent to it. He told me that the village of Scotia, was a rare case in the American modern society. Itwas a private village. All the houses, shops, buildings, including the fire depot building, belonged to PALCO, a power plant of sustainable energy. He called it a "company town". The plant produces energy from forest residuals, not only enough to feed the entire village but with excess for sale.
The owners of the plant (and the entire village), are a corporation from Texas,and that morning some people from the corporation headquarters came for an inspection. They where introduced to us, as we where having breakfast in thecanteen. We where about to leave, when one of the inspectors, comes inside the kitchen, and looking at me with a not so friendly face, says: -I read the article about you. Just to let you know, that I was one of the people tha tvoted for George Bush.
When he left, we cracked out laughing. Its better to leave the area of distribution of this newspaper, said Diego joking...
We grabbed our bicycles and left through the streets of the "private" village. A lady comes out of her house waving a copy of the newspaper.
-hey, She shouted. -good luck.Have a nicejourney!
Because my Iberian partners where a bit slower then me, in part due to the time they stop for filming, I decided to go ahead, and travel faster, because I already planed to met up with Danina, an Australian friend, by Saturday, and I was still quiet far.
The 3 days that took to do the almost 400 km to San Francisco, where the hardest 3 consecutive days of the journey so far. A real test to my physical endurance.
If someone tell you that,cycling near the coast is easier, don't believe them!
I leave you with some statistics of those 3 days.
Day one: I've done 118km, accumulating a vertical climb of 1627 meters. highest altitude 604 meters (highest point in the American west coast). On the second day, until fort Ross, I done 120.6 km, accumulating 1563 meters of vertical climb, and with max. altitude of just 105 meters. On the third day, from Fort Ross to San Francisco, 151.6 km, done in 9h58m, accumulating 2041 meters, but the highest point was only 192 meters!

The numbers may give an idea, of the ups and downs of this stretch of road (mostly on highway 1), just north of San Francisco. I've crossed the golden gate bridge (that shares a lot of similarities with the "25 de abril" bridge, over the Tagus river, in Portugal), well into the night.
The"burra", is locked into the rails, in this hostel, the tortoise hostel, in San Francisco's china town, in a well deserved few days rest.
San Francisco, is one of the American towns with its own character. The city landscape, with its many hills, European architecture, the many different ethnic quarters, and the from-around-the-world emigrants, all mix up in an almost toxic cocktail, it deserves a few days of visiting.
San Francisco, is also an important mark on this Odyssey on 2 wheels, as its the"bridge", between the 4 seasons of the north, and the progressive approach tothe semi-tropical and tropical zones of central America. In another words:No more winter!
The remaining time of my journey in the United States, is still to be drawn. I'm debating between the options of coastal roads, Los Angeles and Tijuana, or crossing the border inland at Nogales,via Las Vegas and more desert.
Whichever route I take, I already can start to feel the smell of the Mexican food, its music, the tropical temperatures, and the margaritas by the warm blue sea....

Nuno Brilhante Pedrosa, in San Francisco, California, USA

On the Oregon trail to the Pacific (USA)

day 99
km 7080

The pacific welcomed me with 60 km/h winds and torrential rain. the left overs of a tyfon that inundated houses, broke trees, put electric poles to the floor, and made my day's ride just a misery.
the Fox TV presenter, tells me trough the screen of the television,in this motel room in Newport, that there is another storm in the ocean waiting for this one to pass, to attack the Oregon coast. Robin, a truck driver, told me that, this is the norm at this time of the year. With so much rain, I didn't have the chance to see the pacific, but I'm happy to be here.


I just finished what was probably the hardest stretch of my journey so far. And I never miscalculated the time and distances so much, like on this part of the trip, between the rocky mountains and the pacific coast. What I initially thought it would be just over 1000 km or 10 days, turned out to be 15 days and 1536 km.
the highway 20, that would take me to the coast, crosses vast high plateaus of desert or semi-desert above 1300 meters in altitude. on some valleys, where the land is More fertile, there are agricultural towns. mono cultures that extend for dozen of miles.
I've passed trough Idaho Falls, another typical American town. A blinding ugliness of neon strip malls, that goes on for miles, with the same chain store in every town. What distinguishes this town from the next?
I'm getting already too familiar with the approach to those towns, with the same Mac Donald's, Burger King, KFC, Wal-Mart, etc, etc. Jungles of concrete, with no character or color.
The American malls, seem to be filled with the same kids on every town, watching the same lousy Hollywood movies, wearing the same fashion, and eating the same junk food. Such a diverse country, united by the American "pop" culture.
In the states you can buy a gun at a local department store. And if you break your arm and aren't covered by private health insurance, you have to pay the bill yourself!!

After Idaho Falls, highway 20 crosses a desert high plateau that extends for over 100 km, the first of several desert areas, that I would cross on my way to the pacific, almost always trough the Oregon trail.
A signal on the road said: " you are entering Idaho national laboratory". at first I didn't understand....a laboratory in the desert?
2 km after, another sign reads: "Visit INB-I, world's first nuclear plant". I looked around me, and the only thing I saw,,was desert!
I cycled all day trough this immense flat land, where on both sides of the road, I could see, every 10/15 meters, small signs that read:"NO TRESPASSING, property of the American government, up to 5000 dollars fine, INL".
Even with all the emptiness, it seemed reasonable to respect the signs, so I cycled till late in search of a place to camp. Finally, already after sunset,I found a place near, or better, inside the lost river. An appropriated name,as it was a dry river, which I used to pitch my tent, protecting myself from the wind, and that I shared with the desert wild life; Pygmy rabbits, coyotes, and in particular, with certain new specimen to me, an hybrid between a squirrel and a mice that visit the tent during the night.

At sunset, something written in another road sign, was the central focus of that night's dreams ( or nightmares?!); since 1949 more then 50 nuclear reactors have been built in the desert around me, more then anywhere else on earth.
On the following day, I've made just 70 km to the craters of the moon national monument, stopping for lunch along the way in the small town of Arco, lost in the middle of the desert.
Atomic burger was one of the house specialities, I opted for a cheese melt, another variation of burger, camouflaged with a different name and served on toasted bread. The young girl that served it , said, that Arco was the first town in the world to be illuminated with atomic energy.

Craters of the moon national monument gained its name due to its unusual geological formations. An huge area of volcanic activity that perpetuated its activities, leaving an almost lunar landscape. Its a touristic place, but yet again, I'm travelling out of season ( I didn't know that there where tourist seasons in the desert!) , and camped in the "lunar" campground, with only 2 other RV travellers.
The days that followed, where very difficult, not because of the rugged landscape ( it was mostly flat!), but because of the almost cyclonic wind and some of the coldest nights I ever camped.
The monotony of the landscape, didn't help either. Some times I had the feeling that, the bicycle was lifted from the floor, and no matter how much I paddle, the landscape was always the same.

At times, it was such a boring ride that I had trouble to keep myself busy with rational thoughts, so, I would entertain myself with the most silly things, like: how many strokes I did every 100 meters ( I concluded that by the end of the trip, I would have given 15 million), or how many km of road in a straight line, or the sounds of an invisible insect, that like a certain bird in Canada, enjoyed riding along side me, making a noise similar to a motorcycle, and even seemed to shift gears, as It's sounds would change according to its speed. And that wasn't a desert aluccination, as I've heard that insect before in the Rockies.

Parts of highway 20 follow the Oregon trail. The famous route taken by the European emigrants, in search of more fertile lands to settle. A route of more then 2000 km from the town of Independence in Missouri to Oregon city near the Pacific coast. It would take more then 6 months to do, over arid desert and hostile Indian natives. Between 1840 and 1870 more then 240.000 colons used that trail.
It was near the craters of the moon, that Tim Goodale, a well known mountain man, gathered a wagon train with 1095 people, 338 waggons and 2700 heads of live stock, and braved the wild west hostilities.

On the following day, me too, would brave the hostilities of the wild west, not in the form of confronts with some local native tribe, or rocky roads, but with an almost cyclonic wind, that forced me to take refuge in the small town of mountain home. One of the many agricultural cities of the fertile valley of Boise, known by the locals by the "treasure valley". I prefer to call it the onion valley, as I cycled trough endless cultivations of it. 24000 trucks full of onions roam the American roads every season. The "onion valley", took me 3 days to cross trough back country roads trying to avoid the strong winds from northwest.
The highway 20 climbs the valley and enter again the desert, in the high plateau, already in Oregon, called the "high desert" with more then 400 km wide, is one of those parts of a journey, that most people prefer not to do, or do at 100 km/h, preferable during the night. For a cyclist that has no other choice, is one of those parts of a trip that drunken the mind and numbs the bottom.
Km upon Km of nothing.
But even in that " nothingness" there is some beauty, and some times when the rumble of the trucks fades in the distance, I stop the bike and listen to the silence or the whistler of the wind and contemplated the vastness of the desert around me. Like Wallaice Stegner once said: "to understand the wild west, you have to get over the color green, you have to quit associating beauty with garden and lawns".

And then, there is the unexpected encounters of the desert, that break the monotony of the saddle, like one day, a car approaches me from beyond, and without stopping, the window lowers to revel a face of a black man, that with a very strong accent from the states of the deep south, asks me:
-do you know where is the prison, man?
a prison, around here? I thought.
no, I'm on vacation pal! the dark face disappears beyond the window, and the car accelerated, leaving a black cloud of smoke in my face. What made him think that a cyclist loaded with 20 Kg of junk,would know where that prison was? Did it occurred to him that I ran way from it on the bicycle?
In the end of the day. I looked for a place to camp,which shouldn't be difficult with so much "nothingness".
On my bike trip though the middle east in 2000, I camped many times in the desert, and I knew, that the nights can be very cold, but nothing prepared me for that night. It was so cold that I decided to cook inside the tent. I sleep with my clothes on (my sleeping bad goes to -7c comfort), but even so, during the night I wake up shivering. I look at my bike computer. It indicated minus 10 Celsius (inside the tent!!) I turn the central heating on (my stove) and decided to make a coffee, but the water was frozen. With my Swiss army knife, I cut the plastic and remove the bloc of solid water. As the ice melted away on top of my stove, I thought on what to do next. It was still dark outside, but I grabbed some pieces of dry death trees and made a fire. But while the fire warmed up a part of my body, the cold would freeze the other, so I went back inside of my sleeping bag in the "comfort" of the central heating, and waited for sunrise. that morning at 8.30, even with the effort of the sun to warm up the earth, it was -5 Celsius.
I packed up and left through the desert road.
just a few Km from the place where I camped, and like that morning God's gift to me, I see a petrol station with a restaurant. As I enter the restaurant, the owner greets me:" good morning survivor, coffee I bet?
- did you know you camped at minus 15?, she said.

I had already 2 days without speaking to no one, apart with myself and the short talk in my brief encounter with the black guy, so I spent all morning chatting away with the restaurant owner and with some truck drivers that passed trough.
that afternoon, my back wheel cracked in the rim. Great! just what I needed.
After sleeping inside a fridge the night before, when I arrived in Bend, I didn't even hesitated to look for a motel.
It was Halloween night, a much celebrated holiday in the American calendar.
Next morning I took the Kona fire mountain to a bike shop, to change the wheel that cracked with no apparent explanation, and made me ride the last 80 km without rear breaks. That same wheel already made the entire trip from Portugal to Egypt without alterations plus 6000 km on this trip. I also changed the back tire to the front wheel, an put a new one in the back (another shwalbe marathon)
On the following morning, completely reestablished, I attacked the last pass of this part of my journey that seemed endless, the Santiam pass at 1517 meters, that crosses the cascade range, the mountains that separate the pacific coast with the high plateaus of Oregon and Washington.
From the top of the pass, it was over 40 km of downhill, of which 18 km at 6% without interruption.

The landscape changed once again. From scrub and dry land to dense humid forests...and a lot of rain.
The generous American hospitality, has played a big roll in this harder moments of the trip, like Skip and Kelly in Corvallis and the Dobson family in Newport. Excellent hosts in this country, not always painted with the colors that deserves.
I'm back on the pan American highway (in the states is highway 101), and California with its Mediterranean climate , is not far from here.
that's my next move in this journey to the land of fire....

Nuno Brilhante Pedrosa,in Newport,Oregon, USA