Unexplored Avenues, Tandori Chicken, and Zombie RVs

Scotia – Richardson Grove State Park – Fort Bragg, California

So I mentioned that our friend Corey had caught up to us last night. Kind of a convoluted story. Corey has never been a big biker, but he is a big skier and runner.

Of all our friends, he is probably the one who thinks up the best big adventures. Run around Mount Blanc. Hike up some mountain or another. Or, the one that is closest to my heart, ski from West Yellowstone to Old Faithful and back when the park is closed and there are no groomed trails – about a hundred kilometer – 62 mile – full day journey. Corey and I did that together probably 20 years ago now. It was awesome. Herds of buffalo – literally surrounding us. Elk everywhere. Geysers erupting. And no one else in the park. Yes, it was a ten-hour journey – but I will always remember that as one of the great days of my life. 

You get the idea. But over the past year or so he has developed some kind of plantar fasciitis type of condition – so he can’t run. Eventually Corey came up with the idea of biking from Vancouver to Mexico while averaging about 100 miles per day – using an ultra-light set up, with super light camping gear and no panniers. As it turns out, Corey was planning to make this journey at about the same time as us. 

He ended up leaving Vancouver a few days after we left Seattle – and each day he made up a little ground on us. Eventually we landed in the same place – in the little town of Scotia in the Redwoods. Some of the positive side of the Internet and all this communication – you can find your friends in remote places.

We ended up staying at the Scotia Lodge – a hotel that Corey had stayed at years ago when he ran the Forest Stewardship Council. It’s a big lumber town – with a HUGE lumber mill – and the Scotia Lodge is exactly the place you would expect in such a town. It’s the California equivalent to the Overlook Hotel from The Shining. Stately big place. Long creepy hallways. Clawfoot bathtubs. And will undoubtedly be completely shuttered within a few years . . .

Corey bikes with us the next day on the Avenue of the Giants. This was a special place for Corey because he went on family trips there as a kid, and, as a fourteen year old, he ran his third or fourth marathon there. So he was excited. But, at the same time, we didn’t want to hold Corey up too much. 

And for sure, Corey wanted to keep moving. But with Corey, the urge to keep moving and do big things can sometimes run into Corey’s zest for life and maybe a little bit of fomo (fear of missing out). It didn’t take long once we reached the Avenue – which is not really an avenue at all so much as a regular road, but right through the Redwoods – for Corey to decide that we needed to take a hike to see some special Redwoods . . . 

Half way through that hike, Redwood Social Hour started. First we met three people – an older mom and dad, with son – who live in San Diego now, but who hailed originally from Minneapolis. Didn’t get their names, but the son attended Southwest High School (same school as Corey’s kids) and went on to a career as an MMA fighter. 

Before we were done talking with them, three new people wandered up – Berengere – who lives in San Luis Obispo – her dad, Laurent, and her dad’s friend, Jean, both of whom live in France. The three of them are also biking together. 

Within a minute of talking to them, Corey had decided we needed to accompany them on another side trip – up some other road to see some other Redwoods. Before long we were off-roading across a river bed and through the woods. 

So much for keeping Corey on schedule. 

But that is one of the great gifts of friendship. Different people have different strengths. Diana and I probably err too much on the side of staying on schedule. People like Corey help us understand that some of the best parts of life are down the paths we might not otherwise explore. 

And, really, we made it through the day just fine. With plenty of time for a dip in the Eel River and a wonderful campfire dinner of Tandori Chicken – thank you, Corey!

Oh, and then we met two more new friends – John and Harrison – a father-son tandem from Colorado who are biking to San Francisco. We ended up sharing a campsite and some great conversation with them as well. 

A little side note. Can I just say that I knew intellectually that it can be a bit cool along the Pacific Coast – but I guess I didn’t realize how cool. It was the contrast between last night – when we were far enough away from the ocean that it was actually warm and we could sit around chatting into the evening without freezing – and today – which was 59, going on 32, and without a hint of sun, that it actually came home to me how cold the coast really is . . .

Speaking of unexpected paths . . . 

We ended up making some adjustments to our upcoming itinerary in order to accommodate a meet-up with Diana’s brothers, Phillip and Ernie. Left to our own devices, our plan was to just head straight down the coast on Highway 1 – which, by the way, we arrived at today. 

Phil and Ernie are going to meet us in Bodega Bay and then bike with us from there through San Francisco and then to the San Jose area – where Philip lives. But they won’t be in Bodega Bay until the end of the day Monday. The thing is, if we went straight there we could be in Bodega Day on Friday – which means we have an extra few days to play with. 

So the plan now is to bike down Highway 1 for a bit – so we don’t miss out on the ruggedness of it all, before turning back inland, head to wine country for a few days, and then winding up in Bodega Bay in time to meet those guys. Sounds simple – except that getting to wine country means a huge climbing day – like 5,500-6,000 feet over 50 miles – on Friday. And that’s after a pretty big day tomorrow – as it turns out that Highway 1 is a lot of up and down . . .

Before we leave Oregon too far in the rear view mirror, I just have to mention one of the biggest themes we observed in the beaver state. Of course, like anywhere, recreational vehicles (RVs) are a big thing these days. But what is unique about Oregon is that it seems to be the place that RVs go to die. Actually, that’s not right. Because the RVs there aren’t dead – they’re more like zombie vehicles. They are way past their expiration date, but it seems like people are still driving them, using them, even living in them. I guess with the temperate weather, things don’t quite rust out – but there comes a point when maybe you just have to say goodbye . . .

And that point has come for me this evening . . . Good bye. Adieu. Auf Wiedersehen. Good night. Let us know if you have any suggestions for wine country . . .