Day 62, Aug. 17, Cape Disappointment S.P., WA to Seaside, OR!

We had only a short ride waiting for us on the morning of Aug. 17. Our last 35 miles or so.

The fog was still thick and chilly as we made our breakfast and we were both pretty snotty as we got back onto route 101 to finish out the day.

It was a very dense 15 miles to the Meckler? Astoria Bridge, and as we approached its massive 5 mile length, we realized we had better put on our bright rain gear, to not ruin our chances of survival for the rest of our trip.

The views were pretty dreamlike as we entered this monster bridge. The first few miles arched up and down gracefully, then the middle part (after it said "Entering Oregon" was totally flat, until it went almost straight up for about a mile at the end.

By the time we circled down the exit ramp into Astoria, OR, we both had very full bladders and were pretty chilled. Fortunately a coffee roaster was close at hand and we enjoyed their facilities and coffees served in pint beer glasses while we curled up on their big leather couch with a blanket and some newspapers. Andy found the baristas antics a little tiring and seeming to take this and the fog as the character of the west coast in general, said he felt like quite an east coaster and didn't know if he could ever live there. I was just mad because the cardamon bread I ordered for $2 was just a tiny piece of buttered toast.

After we had warmed up a bit, we straddled our bikes for the final haul to Seaside. We crossed another bridge and headed down the Oregon coast. We had been told by everyone that the wind always travels from North to South down the coast and never ever to ride from South to North along the coast. This however, was not the case on this day, and so our trip ended, probably as it should have, with us riding into the wind.

The winds, our heads, our legs, our bladders, everything contributed to drawing out the final 15. But then we were "Entering Seaside" and the sun shone like crazy, well just in our heads. We found the promenade and the beach, and after a quick debate about whether to actually roll our bikes onto the beach, decided that this was ultimately a fine and necessary finish. We got about 50 feet onto the beach, before it was just silly to push them further. High fives and kisses were had. Feet were stuck in the water. Other tourists were co-opted into taking a picture of us, parents were called, and then, it was, as a huge approaching storm cloud began to arrive over the mountains, time to go and find our wonderful cousins.

We found the house right on the promenade and Amber and Shaggy were waiting for us with big hugs. We were immediately fed some and allowed to come down a bit, before the rest of the friendly and generous hearted Fillmores arrived.

Amber's dad, Dale, was curious to know all the ins and outs of our trip, but we were told we had one last mission. Although this so called Pacific Beach is not sunny, warm, and the water flows off glaciers in Alaska, we were bound to enter its waters. I had no intention of doing so, but Andy set off bravely for the water. Shaggy told us he has only ever gone up to his waist. Andy wasted no time, followed by Amber's brother Lance, nephew Jackson, and niece Emma. A brave soul. When Andy seemed to survive the plunge (although we were already shivering there just standing in our sweatshirts and pants), I was a little more tempted to try it. Without thinking about it too much we both ran into it as fast as possible and dove in. That was about all we could handle, and we were quickly running back out of it. Suddenly the air temperature outside seemed much more bearable.

After a hot shower, dinner was put on by the amazing Fillmore women who served up some delicious paia together. Then was the beach bonfire with s'mores and battle wound scratches from finding wood.

At some point we went to bed, first on the couch while watching a movie, and then happily and most comfortably on a futon in the upstairs of the cottage.