The Spoke Saga

Not being a cyclist, I hadn’t experienced a broken spoke until that fateful day south of Fort Bragg when a metallic ping rang out halfway up a killer series of switchbacks. That innocuous ‘twang’ resulted in me becoming semi-resident at the KOA campsite near Manchester beach, which – thankfully – was no great hardship.

Three days, a couple of bus rides, a new spoke and $50 later, I was back on the road. Having had the broken spoke replaced, and all the spokes re-tensioned, my bike was almost pleasant to ride. We still crawled up hills, of course (that’s my fault), but we could cruise downhill without the bike threatening to wobble itself into oblivion. The pleasantness didn’t last long, about 50 miles. Then there was another snap followed by my thoughts on spokes and their lack of commitment to this trip. This latest casualty didn’t buckle the back wheel too much and, as I was far from anywhere, I pushed on.

San Francisco

Seventy miles later, a San Francisco bike shop suggested a new rear wheel. My solid tyres were a problem though, they didn’t have the correct tool to work with them and two of their mechanics has previously broken their thumbs trying to wrestle the tyres. Two mechanics. Broken thumbs. What can you say to that? Plan B was to change all the spokes but not the rim. Cycling out of San Francisco I was $98 poorer but a set of spokes richer and relieved to have resolved the annoying spoke issue. The bike shop had suggested getting the new spokes re-tensioned in about 100 miles time, which would be in Monterey Bay or thereabouts. I’d barely covered half that distance when one of the new spokes called it a day. Sorry if this is getting boring, it was for me too. I limped into Santa Cruz on what felt like one of those wonky fairground bikes and consoled myself with a burrito the size of my head.

Limping towards Santa Cruz

The bike shop fun continued the next morning. Why explore Santa Cruz and go looking for sea otters when you can do a tour of the bike shops instead, right? One shop could work with solid tyres but didn’t have a suitable wheel while another couldn’t work with solid tyres (thumbs!) but had a wheel. All in, that came to another $170. The financial damage of this issue (we’re at $318 now) was greater than I had expected, the time cost was considerable and, as bad as either, this cemented my conclusion that my bike is not up to the job. My main concern when shopping for a touring bike had been that it would be tough enough to survive the journey and I don’t feel that it has been. We’ve managed another 76 trouble-free miles on the new wheel but, for sure, this will be the one and only big cycling trip we do together.

I’ve now visited bike shops in Victoria, Astoria, Newport, Fort Bragg, San Francisco and Santa Cruz
(photos from Google maps)

Two months!

It’s been two months! I’m not going to ask where the time’s gone, much of it passed exceedingly slowly as I crept uphill in granny gear with trucks almost grazing my elbow, sweat stinging my eyes. The cold nights, sudden noises in the dark and feeling of utter exhaustion with half the day’s mileage still to do are all fresh in my memory. So, though, are the albums worth of beautiful coastal views I’ve seen, the sunshine, the chats with new – and incredibly generous – friends I’ve made along the way and the times I’ve made it to my intended destination and happily crawled into my sleeping bag. Those days are the best.

Then there are the gray whales. They’ve eluded me where I was sure I would see them and then popped up when I’ve not had such high hopes. As I continue south, I’m ahead of the peak of the southward migration and will be leaving the Pacific Coast Feeding Group’s hotspots behind but I’m keeping my fingers crossed that they’ll continue to surprise me.

My bike has been the source of more delays and frustrations than I would have liked this month and we’ve almost fallen out a couple of times. The conditions have been demanding though, with debris-strewn hard shoulders, rough sections of road and a heavy load. With better mechanical skills, I’m sure I could have prevented some of these issues or dealt with them more swiftly. In that regard this has been a valuable lesson and, should I undertake another cycling trip in the future, I will most definitely pimp both my skills and my bike more thoroughly beforehand.

Right now, with solid puncture-proof tyres and a full set of new spokes on the rear wheel, Bertha the bike is – hopefully – ready for the final month of adventuring! I won’t even try to pretend to know what that will entail but I’m curious to find out. Massive thanks, as ever, to the David Henderson Inspiring Journey grant for making this trip happen, it’s truly the adventure of a lifetime.

Some summary stats (to Sunday 17th November):
Total countries visited: 2 (USA and Canada)
Total US States visited: 4 (Alaska, Washington, Oregon & California)
Miles cycled this month: 689.4 (1,293.4 in total)
Cumulative elevation gained this month (m): 7,315.5 (14,019.3 in total)
Number of sore knees: 2
Number of punctures: 6 (then solid tyres!)
Number of broken spokes: 2
Times gray whales seen: 6, probably 7 (once in Alaska (Pasagshak Bay), once in Washington (Neah Bay), twice in Oregon (Depoe Bay and Rocky Creek/Whale Cove), and two, possibly three, times in California (a stranded gray whale at Patrick’s Point, a probable gray whale at Point Arena and a lovely sighting from the highway near Meyer Gulch)
Things I appreciate more than ever: music, chairs and washing machines

Sproken!

The sharp crack as I crawled up a series of stupidly steep switchbacks in granny gear sounded serious but it was the wobbly back wheel and the rubbing brakes that confirmed a glitch. I was racing the sun set at the time and pushed on. The sun won and it wasn’t until this morning that I could see my first broken spoke. Shucks.

Spot the broken spoke

The nearest bike shop is a hilly 29 miles back the way I came. Not too bad, you might think, I can hop on the bus and be on the road again in the blink of an eye. Except today’s a holiday and the once-a-day bus service wasn’t running. Tomorrow then! Except the mechanic in that bike shop is away for a week. The next closest bike shop is 39 miles back the way I came. They can only help if the spoke can be replaced without the tubeless tyre needing to come off, which I’m very much hoping it can.

I knew this journey would be tough and it is. It’s even harder than I expected. I thought the cycling might get a little easier as I built up the miles but, if anything, the miles are getting harder. And I didn’t expect these kinds of logistics – part and parcel of the journey though they are – to be so time consuming and utterly frustrating.

There are lots of exciting gray whale opportunities coming up as I head south and that’s keeping me going. I’m getting short of time to make the most of those opportunities though, and unexpected delays such as these aren’t helping. Striking a balance between cycling their migration route, meeting the people with links to these whales, and having the time to record and share the journey, is becoming increasingly difficult. Any wise words gratefully accepted.

Stranded

A whale on a beach is quite a sight. Even after attending plenty of whale strandings over the years, I am still shocked when the true scale of a whale on the shore hits home. The sheer height of it, the size of a pectoral fin, the width of the fluke, the incredible mass right there, almost immovable.

Having overheard a conversation in a coffee shop about a recently stranded gray whale, I knew I had to backtrack to see it. The rare opportunity to see one of these whales I’m following up close far outweighed the effort required to cover an additional and unexpected 14 miles that dank and foggy day.

Back at Patrick’s Point State Park, a ranger explained which trail to take to Agate Beach and that the whale was half a mile north. Down at sea level, waves crashed onto the fine shingle, white-water rushing up the sloped beach. The beach, sea and sky were all monochrome in the thick fog.

A dark shape at the water’s edge became more whale-like as I slogged through the shingle. A team of scientists from Humboldt State Univeristy (HSU) were toing and froing with cameras, samples and elbow-length gloves. A ranger and a couple more bystanders, like me, stood back watching the activity, wrapped up against the cold. On his side on the sloping shore, one pectoral fin raised to the sky, was an adult male gray whale. His open jaw revealed pale baleen plates and a blue-grey tongue. Seagulls pecked at freshly cut square holes where blubber samples had been collected and blubber thickness measures; this guy was on the thin side.

Chatting with a scientist from HSU, I heard of their efforts to identify the individual and collect what samples they could. The whale was too decomposed to warrant a full necropsy but any information they could glean would be valuable during the on-going Unusual Mortality Event.

Sporadic wafts of decomposing whale kept me at bay and I took photos with my telephoto lens, trying to capture both the intricate detail of the whale and its imposing size, this creature that had swum thousands of miles at sea and now looked so alien on the shore. Finally I left, turning often to look back until the whale was once again just a dark shape in the fog, and then gone.

Newport

Whilst waiting on new tyres, I spent almost a week in Newport and could hear the barking of sea lions almost everywhere I went. Camping in the forest at South Beach State Park, between the highway and the sea, the sound of the sea lions reached me over the rush of traffic and the roar of the surf. It was a few days before I visited them at the docks on the north side of the bay where they entertain daily crowds with their shouts and squabbles.

Yaquina lighthouse, on a headland to the north of the bay, was the wind-blasted scene of a chilly wedding shoot and some skateboarding practise. With the sea cloaked in white caps and the wind making my eyes water, I didn’t spend too long looking for whales. Instead, a flight of stone steps took me down to a sheltered beach with rock pools filled with slime-green anemones, spiny purple sea urchins and dark red starfish delicately laced with white. It was tempting to stay and search for further treasures but the sun was sinking and the park would soon close.

The South Beach area of Newport, south of the bridge, is a hive of marine biology research and the site of Oregon State University’s Hatfield Marine Science Centre. There, the Geospatial Ecology of Marine Megafauna (GEMM) Lab, headed by Assistant Professor Leigh Torres, is studying the foraging ecology, body condition, hormone levels and behaviours of the local gray whales under different environmental, ocean noise and prey conditions. It was fascinating to hear more about this work from Prof. Torres and to chat gray whales with Dr. Bruce Mate and Masters student Clara Bird (hopefully more details to follow soon).

Not far from Hatfield Marine Science Centre is Newport Aquarium, where I passed a drizzly afternoon watching sea otters. After being hunted almost to extinction for their fur, sea otter numbers have increased both to the north and to the south but not yet in Oregon. There’ve been a few sightings though, a sea otter recovery could still occur. A recent blog post from the GEMM lab discusses the possible role of otters in combating the dramatic ecosystem shift from productive kelp forests to purple sea urchin barrens that has been observed in northern California following an increase in sea surface temperature and reduced urchin predation as a result of sea star wasting disease. Some areas of southern Oregon have also experienced recent losses of kelp forests and a resurgence of the increased sea surface temperatures of 2014 – the blob – makes these matters all the more urgent. In the meantime I’ll need to wait until California to see sea otters in the wild.

With sunny days and chilly nights, and an abundance of sea life and cafes, Newport was an excellent place to pass some time. Now with new tyres fitted, I’m excited to be on the move again.

Depoe Bay

I was wave-watching rather than whale-watching as I stood by the sea wall in Depoe Bay last week. The huge swells rolling in sent white-water crashing over a rocky headland, dazzling in the welcome sunshine. Returning waves collided with incoming ones, exploding vertically. As mesmerising as the waves were, these were tough conditions for spotting whales, but then a thin veil of spray rose from just beyond the headland. Then another followed by the mottled back of a gray whale glistening in the sunlight, an awesome surprise.

The small town of Depoe Bay on the Oregon coast is a whale-watching hot spot. Even out of season there were constantly people pausing along the sea wall to spot blows, many equipped with binoculars. The whale-watching companies that run boat trips from June to October while some of the Pacific Coast Feeding Group are around had stopped for winter just a week before. Unfortunately the Oregon State Parks Whale Watching Centre – usually open year-round – was also temporarily closed for maintenance, but would be open again before the next Whale Watching Week in December at the peak of the southward migration.

Happy with my gray whale sighting, I cycled out of town. Keen to reach Newport in good time, I almost didn’t stop at Rocky Creek State Scenic viewpoint just a couple of miles south of Depoe Bay. The number of parked cars and the sight of someone on the cliff edge with binoculars piqued my interest though. Wheeling my laden bike over the grass, more spectators came into view on a rocky promontory, lining the footpath and standing on the same grassy headland as me, all looking over a small cove. Between the waves, a blow from the centre of the cove, then another close to the first and, out of the corner of my eye, a third right in near the rocks. Three gray whales and they were so close!

As the closest two surfaced through the swells, I could make out their narrow heads, pale with barnacles, then their blows and rolling backs, sometimes a glimpse of their tail flukes just below the surface as they dived again. As I watched, the whales gradually moved this way then that, nearer then further from my viewpoint. Then there were two. Still the crowds remained, as hooked as I was. If I hadn’t had a bike shop to reach I could have stayed there all day, watching the gray whales in Whale Cove.

What3words

So far I have camped at crispy.endpoints.pacifist, certified.jumper.canines and unroll.pester.making, amongst other places. Each three word combination reveals my location to within three metres and can be found, and navigated to, using the what3words app or website. It’s a very cool system and quite addictive, I absolutely recommend checking it out!

What3words was initially created by Chris Sheldrick and his team after they had trouble finding the locations of music gigs. Launched in 2013, what3words assigned each of the 57 trillion 3×3 metre squares on the planet a unique three word combination, giving billions of people an address for the first time and what3words is now used by postal companies, emergency services, aid agencies and businesses across the globe.

I’ve not yet moved my tent to get a catchier what3words but I love checking my latest address. In quieter moments, thinking of more appropriate addresses has also kept me entertained. I’ve had varying amounts of sleep at what.was.that, probably.another.raccoon, bear.munch.nom and please.send.help, and there’ll be more.

You can find out more about what3words in this TED talk and here.