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Thursday August 4

I now had the choice of either going down the Oregon coast, or head inland past Mount Hood and on to Bend. To be honest, I had had enough of mountains; as crazy as that sounds. I just felt I needed a change. So, the coast it was. The fact that I had failed to find a dentist again was disappointing; my tooth now was so loose, I don’t really know what was keeping it in. First thing was to load the car; quite how all my stuff ever fitted into a suitcase and a small back pack was a mystery to me. The trunk of the car was now full to bursting. Whilst loading the car, I noticed that someone had kindly put a dent in the passenger’s door.

I was really dreading having to hand the car back in.I headed out on the interstate that ran under the hotel. I headed out onto the Portland freeway system, looking for the exit to route 30, or failing that route 26. Route 30 would take me along the Columbia River, and route 26 would take me further down the coast to Cannon Beach. The next exit was 26, but I spied a sign saying the one after that was for 30. Great; going to plan at last. Route 30 ran through an industrial area, alongside docks and marshalling yards. It was a wide four lane highway, and going was easy. After the heavy night, I had the munchies and decided that a proper breakfast was called for. As usual, in these circumstances, I saw no cafes at all; just the occasional fast food joint. Towns began to be more spread out, and more rural. I came to the town of Rainier, turned down a side street. There was a café advertising breakfasts; I pulled in and walked in; it was a bar as well as a café, and although there was noise coming out of the kitchen, no one was seen. I sat there for about 5 minutes, people working behind the bar tried not to make eye contact with me.

I left; got back into my car and turned back onto route 30. A mile or so further on was a small café, and this time the service was good. I took the opportunity to look at my guide book; it said Astoria was a nice place, lots of B&B’s and places to see. I asked the waitress, she agreed that Astoria would be a fine place to stop. I had bacon, eggs and hash browns, thinking that pancakes would be too much. As usual, there was limitless coffee, which is always nice.

The drive to Astoria was pleasant; the highway weaved along the valley sides, sometimes giving views across the now wide river. As usual, we passed lumber plants, and small towns. Astoria is the last town really on the Columbia River: A few miles further on, the river flows into the Pacific. It also has the last crossing into Washington. The Astoria Bridge is a wonder of engineering; it is four and a half miles long; at the Oregon side, it is high enough to allow the largest ships pass underneath; but for most of its length it is j feet above the water. It really dominates the town; it also carries our old friend, route 101, which we would follow all along the Oregon coast all the way into California.

I headed up onto the bluff that overlooked the town to see if I could find a B&B to stay for the night. After half an hour of fruitless searching, I found one place; but there was no one there, with only the vague promise of someone returning ‘at three,’ some two and a half hours away. I thought I would look for a dentist, and headed further west out of Astoria. Across another bridge, I came to a small town called Warrenton. At a mall beside the highway, there was a dentist. I parked up, and went up; to be honest, they were rude, and there was no way could I be seen. I should try a place in the centre of the town.

I drove on, and came to the other place; they were really friendly and apologised that there was no way I could be seen that day, but first thing tomorrow would be no problem. I agreed, and so decided to stay in Astoria. In the shade of the bridge was a Holiday Inn, which promised stunning views; and the truth being I was fed up and just wanted to get my tooth sorted and relax. I got what was claimed to be the last room in the hotel; I’m not sure, it just happened to be the most expensive. But it did have the biggest bed I have ever seen in my life; three pillows wide and then some. Even better was that it had a huge picture window looking out at the river, and even better, a spa bath right in the window. I took it, not that I had much choice really. The view was really stunning, and I was already looking forward to having my bath that evening.

I headed out to explore the town. Beside the river, was an old railroad track, which an old trolley car ran up and down; it also made for a pleasant walk. Wooden bridges had been built to fill in where I guess the sea had taken away the old track bed. The trolley car made regular stops; unusually at the bottom of major roads of the town, or at piers that had cafes on.

In the water were thousands of wooden piles; all that remained of docks and fish processing plants from years gone by. Sometimes the promenade went past still working fish canneries, giving off strong smells. I saw that there was a pub nearby, so I thought a pint would go down well. The pub, The Ship Inn, was very British; it was owned by a couple of ex-pats. It did explain the Paddington Station clock on the wall; and the Cornish Pasties, bangers and mash, etc on the menu. I had a beef sandwich, not that I really needed it.

A little further on, I was passing a trolley car stop when it arrived. For a buck, you could ride it; so I squeezed on, and we went back in the direction we had just came. At the end of the line, we had to do the tram thing; stand up and change the seat backs so passengers could face the direction of travel. At the other end of the track, I got off the trolley; I could hear barking. Looking closer, I could see sea lions lazing on a nearby pier. Ignoring the private signs I went over to take some pictures.

Nearby, there was a council run place that offered internet access. Nothing was too much trouble, and the woman who worked there waited on me like I was a VIP. A little way out on the river was a large building that fishermen used to dry their nets in. It was large, and built on piles; I thought that if I took a picture looking into the direction of the sun, it would appear as a silhouette. I walked off the promenade onto the bank of the river.

And it is there I met Ron. Ron was a Vietnam veteran, and was clearly on medication; or drugs; or both. He greeted me with the line ‘Welcome to Oregon, now get out!’ Nice. I had a look in his eye which was disconcerting to say the least; and to make matters worse where we were standing was out of view from the promenade. He shook my hand after changing into being friendly. He jumped conversation from one subject to the next, which sometimes was hard to follow. He said he was originally from New Hampshire. Now, this is where I made my mistake; I said I had a friend from New Hampshire. He added that he was from Rochester.

Now, I should have let it be at that; but I said that’s were Marcy lived, and I was there last month. It freaked him out, and he thought I was playing games with him. Eventually, he seemed to believe me, and I think he decided I was friendly, so he shook my hands; several times; sometimes hanging on to my hands longer than necessary. He tried to give me a bike, which I turned down; he pointed out that he could remove my heart with his bare hands; which was nice.

Eventually, I did get away, and looked behind me several times to see if he was following me. He didn’t, but my pace did give me shin splints; and I was glad to get back to the hotel; get back to my room, and relax. Not only that, but the blister I got yesterday, had turned into a monster; making my walking a misery.

I wallowed in the spa bath, looking out of the window at the wondrous view; really it was worth every penny.

Laying on my med, I felt a sneeze coming. I felt something shoot out of my mouth; it was of course, my crown; seems like I had booked into a dentist just in time.

Just before 8, I went back out into the town. I stood near the bridge, waiting for the sunset, which I hoped would be stunning; I was not disappointed.

I walked back down to the Ship Inn, I had Cornish pasty for some reason; it did turn out to be an adventure, as my crown came out again, and I nearly swallowed it. I hobbled back to the hotel, and sat, looking out the window at the lights of the traffic going over the bridge.

Friday August 5

I had to set the alarm this morning in order to get to the dentist. It was only a 5 mile drive across the smaller bridge to the surgery; and once inside I was shown right into the chair. I had to have the full works; x-ray, etc. But the tooth got glues back, and it felt like it was in the perfect position. Dentists in America are very different form the ones in the military back home. He was shocked by the standard of work he found in my mouth. To make matters worse, the crown is fractured, and will soon have to be replaced; oh wonderful.

Once I had a full smile again; I thought I would drive back into Astoria and drive over the bridge; as I had seen it for the past 20 hours. It was a cloudy and misty morning; but there was a promise of clearing out later. Once back in the town, I took the road back to Washington, and up the steep, curved on ramp. Surprisingly, it was free to use; and the views from the bridge were stunning.

The town was way below us, as the road headed out into the river. After a few hundred yards, the bridge dropped in height, and continued the remaining 4 miles across the river. I thought I would see what there was to see near the bridge; apart from a few people fishing from beside the road, nothing appeared to happening. I turned round, and left Washington for the last time.

Once back on 101, the road soon turned south to run alongside the ocean. Each time it descended to the level of a beach there were warning signs that the road was entering a tsunami area; how wonderful. Sunset Beach was a small town, with a strip mall; and none too welcoming. It has to be said that the mist was not helping. Beyond the town of Seaside, I kid you not; I saw signs to Cannon Beach, which rung some bells in the back of my mind. Coupled with the fact I was hungry, and I had a complete set of gnashers again. Recently, I had to stay away from anything chewy, including bread, as I could feel my tooth coming out as I ate.

I parked the car on Main Street and looked around for somewhere to eat. There was a small place that seemed popular; but there was a queue outside for people waiting to sit. I thought I was not that hungry. I looked about, and found a larger place called The Lazy Susan; which seemed ok. I ordered coffee and buttermilk pancakes; which were very good.



Walking out of the café, and down Main Street, there were side streets running to what looked like a sea wall. I walked down to see what was over the wall. I walked past clapperboard houses; mostly now holiday rental homes. At the wall, a vast flat beach greeted me; way to the north there were some low rocky outcrops, bleached white from the guano of countless generations of sea birds. A few metres above the outcrops was the bank of fog that was threatening to roll in. A lazy stream wound its way over the beach to the Pacific Ocean beyond.

I walked out onto the sand, turning to my left, was the distant hulk of Haystack Rock; an optical illusion making it seem like it was floating in the air thanks to a layer of mist. There were just a few people on the beach, great for a photographer to use to give his pictures scale. In the sand were the remains of what the high tide had left, and seagull and other creatures had feasted upon; bits of crabs and assorted shellfish. As luck would have it, the tide was coming in, and at times the lazy waves left almost mirror-like surfaces for the rock to be reflected in. Walking closer to the rocks made the mist appear thinner; until one got so close it disappeared altogether. For a photographer or someone who thought he is one, at a time when conditions are so good, is beyond luck; I took far too many pictures, so that I did not miss a shot. I think this is the best one of the lot:

In the end, it was time to move on. Reluctantly, I turned round and walked back to the town, and my car. All along the highway for about an hour, signs pointed to wonderful vistas to gaze at or photograph. All the while, I was heading slowly southwards. However, soon enough the mist returned, and at times it was thick enough to be called fog. Whenever I stopped at places where there were vistas to look at; I was greeted by thick mist, and at times strong winds; making it feel like Autumn on the North Sea coast rather than the Pacific coast in August. I headed on a side road to what was advertised as a scenic coastal drive; after stopping at several lookouts, I gave up and headed back to 101. About 50 miles south of Cannon Beach is the city of Lincoln. Lincoln was the first evidence of real commercialism I had seen on the coast; 101 was lined with discount stores, strip malls and of course fast food joints as well as motels; and all were fully booked. I began to worry where I would stay that night.

I paid $5 to visit a national park just north of Newport; just about nothing could be seen; although seabirds and seals could be heard. It was by now so cold, it could have been December.

Newport is the biggest town on the coast, and I had hoped to get somewhere to stay there; but it was the same story as in Lincoln; but if anything, uglier. Traffic was heavy. I did not bother going to see the historic boardwalk. It also advertised a Ripley’s, as had Lincoln. I decided that any town that had a Ripley’s was not going to be my kind of tow. I mean, Great Yarmouth had one.

The thick mist continued south of Newport, as did the lack of available accommodation. Thirty miles to the south was the town of Yachats, pronounced Yarhats. It was more my kind of town; small, a fishing village and with interesting places to eat; but nowhere to stay. Just south of there, I stopped at a state park where refreshments were being served. I had considered driving on until I came to the main road east, and heading inland to bend; what I now know as a four or five hour drive.

I was tired, and disappointed with the weather and not being able to take photos. I asked at the kiosk if there were places to stay nearby; it was now near 5, and towns were thin on the ground for many miles. She said that there were a few B&B’s, but they were very expensive, maybe $200 a night. By this point, I realised if there were a room free, no matter at what cost, I was going to have to take it. 15 miles south of Yachats, I was a sign for a B&B, Ambrosia Gardens; and they had a vacancy. I pulled up the long drive. It was set up a hill, in woodland. The owner was working in the garage, mixing paint. I asked if she had a room for the night, maybe two. She said she did. Then, the big question; how much? The good news was it was only $100 a night. Thinking, she said if I did not mind sharing a bathroom, it was only $85. I jumped at the chance, and paid cash, which always helps.

The owner, Mary, had menus from most of the places to eat in Yachats; and recommended The Drift Inn, as the best place to eat. I drove the 15 miles back to Yachats; I had not eaten all day, and was very hungry. I had salmon with fresh berries accompanied by jasmine rice. All very nice. I drove back to the B&B so I could walk on the nearby beach and watch the sunset.

Walking onto the beach, I had to cross dunes; which was a shame as there were no tracks crossing them; but there was no other way. A few hundred yards out to see was the fog bank; the wind blowing it quickly southwards. There were rock pools to explore, and drift wood to examine. Although the sun was hidden behind the mist, the colours in the sky were amazing. What really was great was the fact I was the only person there. To the north a few hundred yards there was a trailer park, but either it was closed, or the people there were not interested in the wonders of nature. The beach was once again shallow, and so I got some great reflection shots of the clouds, making it difficult to tell the sky from the beach. As I sat back in the B&B, and as dusk fell, I could still see the bank of fog being swept along by the strong breeze. Outside, all was quiet. Once back in my room, I saw that Susan had turned my bed down; something that had not happened since I was in short trousers when I was still at school.