Voltaic Fuse

(click to enlarge)

On my last big adventure, I rode my bicycle down the Pacific Coast from Vancouver, BC back home to Santa Cruz, CA. Since I was traveling alone, I wanted to keep my cell phone charged so I could check in with friends and family, letting them know I was safe and still alive. I also took my Canon T2i with me to photograph some of the trouble I got into. Unsure of when or where I’d be able to power up these electronics, I decided to do some research on solar chargers to see if there were any out there that could power my phone and camera.

After sifting through all the chargers I could find online and in stores, I decided on getting a solar charger from the folks at Voltaic. With many different models of chargers, bags, adapters, and DIY videos to build your own charger modifications, they seem to be working hard to dial in their product to make it as efficient as it can be. Wanting to keep my frivolities as light and small as possible, I ended up going with the Fuse Charger with an adapter for my camera battery. After over 2,000 miles of bumpy road, dirt, rain, mud, dust, sand, ocean water, sweat, and food spills, I have to say I’m very impressed. This little charger is fantastic! Here are the details.

OVERVIEW
(specifications taken from official Voltaic website)

Power: 4 Watts total peak output at 6 or 12 Volts (selectable depending on charging application)
Charge times: 4-5 hours in the sun will fully charge a typical phone, 1 hour will provide about 3 hours of talk time.
Universal USB Battery stores power for use anytime and is specially designed to charge efficiently from solar. When not in the sun, the battery can be charged using the USB Power Cable or optional AC travel charger or DC car charger making it just as useful on the grid as off.

Charge times: Battery will be fully charged from 7 hours of direct sun,
5.5 hours from USB port on laptop or optional DC or AC
Capacity: 3,000mAh, 11 Watt hour capacity
Output: 5.5V, 600mA via USB port
Input: 4.8-12V, 650 mA
Connect to Devices via the USB Port or 5 standard adapters (with additional adapters available)

FUNCTIONALITY

The Voltaic Fuse is a little smaller than a notebook. With multiple loops, straps, and clasps, it’s extremely versatile and can be mounted on just about anything. Depending on the time of day and which direction you’re moving or facing, this mounting flexibility is more valuable than any aesthetics you might achieve without the straps. The battery in the charger has a USB plug, as well as five adapters for the most popular phones. If your device’s plug adapter isn’t included, they have tons of adapters for any number of devices for about $5. Adding to the “Swiss-Army-Knife” nature of this little charger, you can also use a 12v adapter to charge your DSLR or point-and-shoot battery!

VERSATILITY

With such a diverse number of electronics out on the market, I can’t imagine how daunting it must be for a company like Voltaic to come up with a strategy to make their charger work for just about everyone. That being said, no one seems to do a better job than Voltaic. With a USB port on the battery as well as five of the most popular adapters for various phones, their chargers are made to work right out of the box for just about any MP3 player and phone. Even if you’re still using a phone that you bought in India back in 2003, chances are they have an adapter for you. But Voltaic doesn’t stop there. They also have over 20 different 12v camera battery adapters meaning you can charge the battery for your DSLR or point and shoot. You can see all the adapters here:    Voltaic Adapters

In addition to Voltaic’s flexibility to work with just about any electronic device, the Fuse’s mounting system is designed in similar vein. With multiple straps, loops, and clasps, you can mount this charger onto just about anything. On my last trip I had it mounted on my camera bag for a bit, then on my backpack, then hanging from my tent, as well as on my panniers on the back of my bike.

DURABILITY

Voltaic’s solar panels are tough. I crushed my Fuse between my fully loaded bike and a jagged rock, put big scratches in the coating protecting the panels, got it wet in a heavy fog, had it fall (and left it) in the sand on the beach, and much more. For an electronic device, this little charger is impressive. While it is tough and resilient, the bag and battery inside the bag are not waterproof so you will need to make sure you have a garbage bag on hand or space in one of your waterproof packs for heavy-rain-days. Other than heavy rain, this little charger is about as low maintenance as you can get. After a month of dust, dirt, mud, sand, morning dew, the inside of the bag is clean, the battery and connectors are dust and sand free, and the panels charge as well as they did the day I got the charger.

CONCLUSION

If you’ve been skeptical about solar chargers, it’s time to give up your doubts. After a month of torturing my Voltaic Fuse, I have nothing but good things to say. It kept my iPhone charged for a month with daily GPS, phone, and camera usage as well as kept my Canon T2i charged for a month with daily usage. Needless to say, this is leaps and bounds beyond using solar to keep your phone limping along for emergencies. I also never found myself cussing about design malfunctions or inconveniences. After mounting the Fuse, it was easy to just forget about it and enjoy my adventure (which is how it got so many scratches). However, keep in mind that solar power isn’t magic. The more direct sunlight you have, the better these chargers will work. Don’t plan on keeping your phone charged with solar while learning how to build igloos in Alaska next winter. I highly recommend the Fuse for everyday charging as well as any outdoor adventure that will have some sun in it. I have to say I’m very excited to discover a charger that works this well. Thanks Voltaic for giving us a new tool and easy way to reduce our carbon footprint on a daily basis!

Learn more about the fuse at Voltaic.com.

After a month of double bacon cheeseburger binges, dodging logging trucks, battling headwinds, and living off of my bike, the adventure has come to a close. There is no better place on the West Coast to end this trip than Big Sur. With steep winding roads, no bike lane, dramatic vistas, and beautiful blue water, the danger and beauty of Big Sur is a perfect summation of a month spent living on my bicycle. Having ridden further south before, I know that it’s not going to get any better than this.

I convinced my friend Nate from Santa Monica to drive up and meet me in Big Sur for my final night living off of my bike. Our pre-planned meeting spot was Plaskette Creek. This would make my ride for the day be about 106 miles of winding, rolling, cliff-side hills. That being said, I only half believed I would make it that far. It was a suitable plan for the final adventure of this journey.

The day was perfect and my legs felt strong. My plan to ride all day long seemed feasible. Hours went by as I made my way through strawberry fields, harbors, bike paths, and shopping centers. After about 45 miles, I had made it to Monterey and still felt willing and able to ride another 50. However, my confidence was misleading due to the fact that the first half of my ride was mostly flat, while the second half is definitely not. I knew what was ahead of me so I was mentally prepared for what I assumed would be a physical and moral beat-down for the second half of the day.

Big Sur never ceases to amaze me. No matter how many times I’ve been there, I always feel like I’m discovering some lost world. The road is riddled with one lane closures due to rock slides. Steep cliffs and tight winding roads let you gaze hundreds of feet down on the blue water. Every so often you make your way around a point in the coastline to catch a vista of miles of mist covered ocean rocks strung down the coast. I found myself stopping frequently to enjoy the view but a voice in the back of my mind was nagging, “What happens if I don’t make it far enough to meet Nate?” After giving it a little thought I decided my concern wasn’t too great. Having spent the last month sleeping in one pile of dirt or another, it hardly seemed to matter which pile of dirt I slept in tonight. Nate’s last adventure was hitchhiking through South Africa so I was sure he’d be find as well.

As the day slowly burned out I had to give up. One of the unfortunate parts of my plan was that I was counting on refilling my water and food from Nate’s supplies. With very little certainty on where I was or where he was I decided to make the most of it. I drank the last of my water, ate the last of my food, and found a warm rock perched on a cliff to sleep against. Wrapped in my sleeping bag, I watched the sunset and the Milkyway slowly burn into the night sky. With no food or water left, I left my reflecting bags and bike on the other side of the rock in hopes Nate might find me later that night or in the morning.

Sure enough, just as I began to doze off, Nate arrived. We spent the night telling stories, shooting some video, and talking about the adventures that were still to be had. Fatigued from the days ride, I was happy to make it an early night. Nate had promised me eggs in the morning and I couldn’t wait…

In case you’ve ever wondered why aluminum camping pots are so cheap, it’s because you can’t cook in them. As soon as Nate began cooking eggs, they started steaming like some sort of witches brew. I hovered over the eggs, hoping they would emerge tasty and unburnt. Alas, quite the opposite, they emerged smoky and strange. I was so hungry (and without much food to ride home on), I did my best to eat what I could.

After a few more stories, it was time for us to both make out ways back home. I wish the story ended here with a “happily ever after”. Unfortunately, I battled a 30mph headwind the entire way back. This resulted in my only being able to make it to Carmel by sunset. Did I mention I had forgotten my wallet and therefor could not buy food? Ridiculous. Luckily, my wonderful girlfriend agreed to come pick my sorry ass up and accompany me to a very large dinner. Just like that, with one final weekend of crazy, my adventure was over. It was hard to imagine a soft bed and a refrigerator filled with fresh food. I’m sure it will take time for me to digest this trip. I’ll do my best to do a final reflection with a photo recap in the not so distant future.

Thanks for all the words of encouragement, funny jokes, reflections, life-savers, and new friends! I’ll be looking forward to the next adventure!

As I started making my way into the familiar territory of the Bay Area, it was easy to get focused on returning home. While the obstacles of the road have their charms, the idea of modern luxury seemed overwhelming. Not long from now I’ll no longer have to deconstruct and construct my home at the start and end of each day. I’ll no longer have to ration clean underwear on quests for a laundromat. In a few days I’ll be trading in my damp sleeping bag for a dry, cozy bed. I’ll forget the struggle of maintaining a relationship through the sporadic reception of a cell phone. However, before I climb off the bike and pack my soaked stinky shoes away, I still have a few hundred miles to ride.

Despite having spent time exploring the coast of the bay area, being on my bike made the area seem exotic. With small rolling hills and tight turns tucking in and out of coastal coves, the ride felt exhilarating and agile compared to the monotony of some of the longer, flatter stretches. To add to the drama, big cumulus clouds marched in from the Pacific Ocean’s horizon sporadically showering the coast. The clouds would lift just long enough for a rainbow or sunset to manifest, and then start showering again.

With the thought of home weighing heavy on my mind, I decided to speed up my return and increase my daily mileage. I figured I’d start with a 110-mile ride and see what happened…

While I managed to find some new brake pads, the saga of failing bike gear continued. I neglected to check the tread on my tire until it was too late. Typical of the Road Gods, the day I intended to ride 110 miles, I got a flat tire in the first 30 minutes of riding. My rear tire looked bad. Balding, held together but multiple dollar-bill-patches, and without a spare, I began to realize there was a good chance I’d end up hitchhiking my way to camp tonight. I should have replaced this tire weeks ago and now I’m staring at an inch gash that is bursting outwards from lack of structural integrity. For the rest of the day’s ride, every steep turn felt like a game of Russian roulette for fear that my trusty dollar bill patch would give way to the pressure of what was surely more than 250 pounds.

Considering the circumstances, after riding 80 miles without a single bike shop, I began considering the day a success. Fueled by endorphins and various candy/sports bars, I found myself climbing a narrow road through cattle lands overlooking the Pacific Ocean. I could see Bodega Bay, which meant camp was an estimated 15 miles away. I was going to make it! Or was I? Just as I began to balloon with confidence, I felt the discouraging feeling of my rear tire slipping sideways. Without any tread left, a small piece of glass had gone right through the tire and punctured the inner tube. When I pulled the tube out, it looked like a ragged, soggy dog-toy that had been left outside for too long. After patching the hole, the valve stem disintegrated and fell off in my attempt to inflate the tire. I had one spare tube left, a ragged tire, and 15 miles to go. Hope seemed silly, but silly was just what I aimed to be.

The sun was getting low but I was too tired to care. Something funny had happened in the process of all the stress, fatigue, and accomplishment of my trip. I was indifferent if I ended up hiding in the bushes, sleeping on a bench, or if I made it to camp. Clearly I had preferences, but a patch of dirt to sleep in is basically as good as the next. I absently replaced the tube and wondered how far it would take me. Fifteen miles? Ten miles? Two miles? Stiff from the days ride, I climbed back on the bike to find out.

As I raced the setting sun to camp, it felt good to accomplish the simple goals of the day. Despite two flat tires, 110 miles of riding, and multiple rain showers, I made it to camp safely. Word in camp was that tomorrow would be sunny and dry. I looked forward to my tent and cloths drying. I ate anything and everything I had in my bag and fell asleep to the sound of the ocean crashing out in the dense fog. With the end so near, it was easy to see that this would be a trip I’d remember for the rest of my life.

After my cold, wet, and stressful trip to the hospital, my outlook has improved considerably. Yes, my ankles still itch pretty badly, and yes, my tent and sleeping bag are both cold and wet when I pull them out at night. However, the fact that I feel mildly confident there aren’t tiny parasitic bugs burrowing in my skin is a huge comfort. That’s not to say the foul weather hasn’t posed considerable challenges…

It had been raining consistently for a few days now. As a result, all the scrapes, scratches, cuts, and scabs I have earned along the way are soft and bleed with any accidental bumps on the bike or pedals. Also, when I pull out my tent at night, it’s cold, wet, and muddy from the night before. My sleeping bag and sleeping pad aren’t much better. Climbing into “bed” for the night feels like putting on clothes that were pulled out of the drier half way through the drying cycle. Sticky from humidity, it typically isn’t until morning that my sleeping bag feels dry from body heat. My rain gear is another story. Without any body heat to dry my jacket and pants, getting dressed in the morning is a frantic act of courage.

Having spent the last week making my way inland through the Northern California redwoods, my route turned west to return to the coast. With some good luck, the rain paused momentarily as I started my ascent over the 2,000 ft. mountain pass. With narrow roads, thick fog, and snaking turns marked with 10mph speed limit signs, the climb was slow. However, knowing that I would spend the next few miles climbing, I just dropped it into an easy gear and let it roll.

It wasn’t until I reached the top of the mountain and began my 2,000 ft. descent that I noticed my rear brake was making a bad grinding sound.  When I pulled over to inspect it, I realized there was absolutely no rubber left on my rear brake pads. With all the rain, highway riding, debris, and sand, it didn’t surprise me I hadn’t noticed it until this point. Regardless, this meant the safety of my entire descent would depend on the functionality of my front brakes. Furthermore, I’d have to rely on those front brakes until I could find a bike shop (which could be a hundred miles away for all I knew). Foolishly, I came up with two different strategies for the descent. My first strategy (and the more reasonable of the two) was to keep my top speed down by using my brakes aggressively most of the way down. That way, if the brake cable snapped, the inevitable crash would be less severe and dismounting my bike would hopefully only result in a few scrapes. The second approach was to use my brakes sparingly to save rubber, reserving braking for only the tightest of turns… Keep in mind I was functioning under considerable fatigue, malnourishment, and endorphins from the morning’s ride. That being said, I decided I’d start with option number two and try to not use my brakes very much.

The weight of my bike and a steep straightaway made my acceleration quick. I felt nervous about my decision already. In what felt like an instant, I was approaching 40mph. Due to the wind in my face, streams of tears ran out of the corners of my eyes, across my temples, and into my hair. As the road began winding I resisted the impulse to apply my brakes around the tight corners. This was clearly a bad idea, but stubbornness had a hold on me. It wasn’t until I hit a turn with a 10mph sign that I finally conceded. I found myself gripping both breaks as hard as I could while I struggled to keep from flying across the road and into the other lane. Just shy of flying off the road, I regained control. Approach number one it is.

After revising my descent technique, the rest of the ride down the hill was gorgeous. The road wound through redwoods for what felt like miles. When I finally reached the bottom, the road joined the coastline for the rest of the day’s ride. The rain began falling and I was eager to reach town to see if I could track down a bike store for some new brake pads. Luck was with me. On my way through Fort Bragg I found brake pads and a delicious double cheeseburger.

The campground that night was hilarious and pitiful. There were a number of us sharing the cycling campsite which better resembled a big puddle. It was easy to laugh at ourselves, cold, wet, stuck in the mud, and having a great time. I was wet and tired from the day’s ride and the worst of the storm was supposedly still yet to come. I climbed into my cold wet tent and began the slow process of drying out my sleeping bag with body heat.

After a relaxing night in Elk Prairie Campground, I woke up with exceptionally itchy ankles. I pulled back my sleeping bag to inspect them further. A bolt of concern shot through me as I examined what looked to be 20-30 bug bites on the inside of each of my ankles! Having had many experiences with mosquitoes, I couldn’t imagine what rage induced, Tasmanian Devil bug might be capable of this. If it were fleas, the bites wouldn’t be concentrated on just my ankles. Could it be chiggers or scabies? Being out in the middle of nowhere, there was very little I could do about it, so I packed up my tent and prepared for another day’s ride.

Over the next few days, I worked my way over mountains and through redwoods. Warnings were whispered through the campgrounds of a big storm looming just off the coast. “I heard we’re supposed to get two inches of rain on Tuesday.” one ranger would say. At the next campground an old man in his RV elaborated that, “The storm is supposed to move in on Saturday. Supposedly we’ll get a half inch of rain on Sunday and a half inch on Monday. Then we’re supposed to have torrential downpours and gale force winds on Tuesday.”

Sure enough, as night set in on Saturday, the front of the storm came in. I tried to enjoy my cozy tent beneath the giant redwoods, but I was feeling anxious. My tent and sleeping bag were still dry, but I knew that by Tuesday there was a good chance that everything I had with me would be cold and wet. Adding to my stress, my ankles had not improved, and if anything, seemed to be getting more swollen with the addition of new bumps. While my feet hadn’t turned numb or black, I figured I better stop at the emergency room to make sure I didn’t have something that would necessitate incinerating my sleeping bag in order to recover.

The next morning, the front of the storm had officially arrived. While I was still dry inside the tent, I knew that this would most likely be my last dry, comfortable moment for the next few days. Unfortunately there was no time to savor it. I still needed to ride 30 miles to the nearest hospital, then another 30 to the campground. Depending on the time it took to be seen, diagnosed, and treated, the day’s ride through the cold rain was looking to be challenging and long. I packed up my tent with haste and couldn’t help but notice the extra weight of the water-saturated canvas. The rain was colder than any of the other rains on my trip so far so I was eager to get riding in hopes I’d warm up. From what I could gather from my maps, I would be gaining elevation all day which I figured was a good thing.

After a few hours of riding, I exited the freeway and entered the town of Garberville. The town seemed to bustle with chaos. Rain splashed sideways off of awnings, rattled the roof of cars, and bounced out of puddles. Cars jockeyed for parking spots in the busy streets while cargo trucks parked in the middle of the road, blocking parts of both lanes. I gingerly eased my way through the traffic, afraid someone’s diminished patience and vision could leave me crippled on the side of the road. After a few u-turns, I found my way to the hospital and was eager to get out of the rain.

The ER was no different than town. The waiting room smelled like marijuana. A girl was panting frantically in the corner from the pain in her face and hand. She moaned concerns that her hands were going numb and starting to curl. Her boyfriend read his magazine indifferently. A man who seemed opiated recited symptoms of pain in his knees and back. A male nurse with a braided three foot ponytail and patterned pink scrubs came out to check me in. I was drenched head to toe and felt disheveled from all the commotion. Trying to regroup, I stood outside the door to the hospital, wringing out my socks under the two foot overhang. Cold, wet, and tired, once again I found myself laughing at the mess I had gotten myself in. All I could do was hope for good news.

After an hour, I was called in for the doctor and nurse to deliberate what was going on with my ankles.

“Whoa?! Ugh?! That looks nasty?!” proclaimed the nurse.

I wasn’t sure how to respond.

“So what do you think that is?” he asked me.

That’s why I came here to see you? I thought. “Uh, I don’t know? They look like some crazy bug bites but they aren’t getting better and I seem to be getting new ones.”

“Yeah, this one time I went up to these hot springs and got chiggers. There weren’t any chiggers in the hottest hot spring, but there were chiggers in the hot spring that was about 102 degrees. Man, that was awful. I had bites everywhere and it itched like crazy! You could see them too. They looked like tiny cayenne pepper granules that burrow into your skin and die.”

“Oh… That does sound pretty terrible… Uh… I hope I don’t have chiggers…” I responded.

I was starting to feel like I was in a Wayne’s World skit. Everyone seemed professional, but very… relaxed. It was hard not to think about the strong odor of marijuana and the extinguished joint I had found in the waiting room. Were all these people high? Would my diagnosis be neglected due the staff’s burning desire for Cocoa Pebbles? I suppose that even if they were high, everyone seemed to take their job seriously. I felt mildly confident the diagnosis on my ankle would be accurate…

After some storytelling about my trip, the doctor and nurse deliberated that I was just having an allergic reaction to some bug bites. “Hallelujah!” I thought. As long as I don’t have scabies or chiggers, I felt like I could deal with itchy ankles while pushing on. I still had 30 miles to ride in the cold rain so I thanked the staff for their attention, put back on my soaking wet jacket and rain pants and climbed back on my bike. While not entirely confident my diagnosis was accurate, I was now focused on the impending storm of the next few days. Things were bound to get pretty miserable but it wasn’t anything a double bacon cheeseburger and hot mocha couldn’t cure…

After riding 1,000 miles, I was having mixed emotions about reaching the California border. Part of me never wants the adventure to end, while another part of me was excited to be rounding the corner and making my way back to friends and family. The burden of this inner conflict didn’t last long though. Heavy storms were bearing down on the coast, enormous and ancient redwoods evaporated any self-perceived grandeur, and thousand-foot elevation climbs along shoulder-less ocean cliff-side literally took my breath away. In between the trials and challenges, candid campfire stories, rain-soaked tents, and colorful conversation with strangers put the experiences in perspective. Did I mention I went to the emergency room? First things first, there were two 1,000 ft. elevation climbs between the Oregon-California border and my next campsite.

The day started early and my bags were full of good food and moral boosting candy bars. While I was nervous about the hills, I was looking forward to one of my favorite tourist traps, “The Trees of Mystery”. Conveniently positioned between the two climbs, I could preoccupy myself with the humor of Babe’s enormous anatomical correctness and the fantastic American Indian museum. I was surprised by the lack of enthusiasm from some of the other riders. I decided that if you can’t find the humor in someone taking the time to build a fifty foot Paul Bunyan and a fifty foot Babe with giant blue balls, then your gaze was far too narrow.

Surprisingly, the climbs came and went. Sweat poured down my face and my legs burned, but this was hardly different than any other day of my trip. Before I knew it I was at the top of the second hill. Easily one of the highlights of my trip, I spent the next five to six miles flying downhill through enormous redwoods. With very little traffic, I rode down the middle of the road and gazed up at the canopy that appeared to be hundreds of feet above me. I flew by a sign that labeled one particular tree “Big Tree”. I laughed out loud. Whoever named that tree was a comedic genius.

That night, camp was social and full of good stories. Sven, Brie, and Max all joined me around the campfire and we ended the night with our famous ukulele and harmonica renditions of John Prine songs. A light mist began to fall as the fire burned out. Feeling like I had conquered one of the more difficult days California had to offer, my eagerness for optimism would soon be eroded by rainstorms, bug bites, allergic reactions, and a visit to the ER in Garberville…

The last three weeks have been a shit-storm of epic vistas, brutal winds, wet tents, secluded beaches, solo skinny-dipping, burger binges, and adrenaline induced truck dodging. My cheekbones are rosy from sunburn and wind-chap. My palms are sore and callused from supporting my weight on my barely-padded handlebars. A damp tent and odorous sleeping bag are no cause of discomfort. Putting on the same damp shirt I’ve sweated in for the last 200 miles is casual and without complaint. I’ve grown accustomed to waking up at sunrise either with the chirping of birds, the crashing of waves, the tapping of rain, or the machine gun rattle of a big-rig’s engine breaks. It feels normal to end the day in triumph and exhaustion, with legs that either feel like noodles or rigamortis stilts. However, while my nerves have been tempered, it’s still terrifying to have a logging truck growl past at 70mph on a shoulderless road, two feet from my face.

The people I have met on the road have been nuts (meant as the highest compliment possible). There was the creative utilitarian who outfitted his bike with kitty litter buckets as panniers. Or there was the German scientist with a three foot ponytail teaching himself to play harmonica around the campfire. Unabashed by their dreams and whims, nearly every night feels like a lost chapter of a Steinbeck novel written while on LSD. So what have I been doing with my life? Learning how to make panniers out of kitty litter buckets of course! Playing John Prine songs on my ukulele while Sven blows on his harmonica without any idea what key it is in! Talking and laughing with old men and women about how they used to do it all with canvas tents and wooden skis! Outrunning storms as they hit the coastline! Grimacing through headwinds and big hills with nothing to do but keep going!

Traveling alone has been trying at times. It’s not uncommon to catch myself punctuating a thought out loud, followed by self-amused laughing. I could have used some high-fives at the tops of those big hills, or a good laugh in the wet tent. Fortunately, many of you have participated in imagined conversations along the way. As I round the corner of the half-way point, I’m looking forward to seeing my friends and family. I’ll see you soon for a good meal and a warm laugh!

The last few days have been manic swings from extreme danger to bliss and solitude. After my day of riding through the rain and getting two flats, I felt like my nerves had been hardened. The road was an unruly beast I had reached an agreement with. Then, I enjoyed what felt like the life of luxury in Cape Disappointment. Had my luck changed? On my way into Oregon I received a wakeup call to my naivety.

When you cross the border from Washington to Oregon along the coast, there are a series of tunnels and bridges you must ride through and across. When riding through a tunnel, there are a number of signs in regards to the danger of how low and narrow the tunnel is. The tunnels are so narrow, that after watching an RV roar by, you’ll notice that their rear view mirrors clearly hang over your tiny riding space. If there is an RV coming from both directions at the same time, be sure to huddle against the wall and duck. Besides the physical limitations of these tunnels, there is also an engine noise amplification factor that would make any normal human being feel like they were being fed into a giant diesel wood chipper. To evoke the predator-prey adrenalin instincts further, before entering a tunnel, you’re supposed to push a button that turns on a blinking light above the tunnel that alerts drivers there is a cyclist in the tunnel… With all the factors combined, one can’t help but feel like a rabbit being released in a dog race.

After the tunnel experience, the claustrophobe in me was relieved to be crossing the bridge into Oregon.  As I approached the bridge I noticed there was a lane closed with a flagger standing near the entrance. Once I was within twenty feet the flagger started yelling at me over the sound of metal being torn apart and hammered together,

“WHEN I TELL YOU TO RIDE, RIDE AS HARD AS YOU CAN! DON’T STOP, AND DON’T LOOK BACK! ARE YOU READY?”

“Can’t I ride behind the cars?” I pleaded.

“NOPE! IT TAKES TOO LONG! WHEN I SAY GO, GO OKAY?”

“Uhh…Yes?”

What the hell was going on today? Had my adventure down the coast turned into a twisted version of American Gladiators mixed with Monster Truck Madness?

I could hear his counterpart over his walkie-talkie. “…blue ford taurus… [crackle crackle]… blue ford taurus… [crackle crackle]…”

“ALRIGHT, RIDE YOUR ASS OFF BUDDY!”

“There are still cars coming?”

“BY THE TIME YOU REACH THE CARS, THAT BLUE TAURUS WILL BE COMING THROUGH! JUST GET RIDING! DON’T STOP ‘TIL YOU’RE ON THE OTHER SIDE!”

This was ridiculous, but what else could I do but ride me ass off? I slowly accelerated, doing my best to keep my 80-pound bike upright. Just as I reached the oncoming cars, a blue Taurus flew by. There were large canopies covering the parts of the bridge where they were working. Deafening clatter and vibrations made me cringe and shrug my shoulders as I frantically pedaled through. Amidst the clatter, my handlebar bag flew open, causing a book and some papers to take flight. With fear and adrenaline heightening my senses, I grabbed them out of the air mid-sprint like a cycle-ninja.

As I emerged from the roadwork section, there was still what looked like a mile of bridge to cross. “Dammit.” I could feel my poor quad muscles burning. The shoulder on the bridge was about one foot wide. With all my bags on my bike, this meant I hung out into the lane about foot and a half. There was nothing to do but keep riding. A couple of times I would spot a big truck coming from the other direction just as I heard another roaring up behind me. All I could do was stop, lean against the bridge’s handrail, and pray. I couldn’t help but shudder as they flew by, shaking the bridge, and leaving a gust of dirt and debris whipping behind them.

When I finally reached to the other side of the bridge, I felt like someone who had been lost at sea and finally made it back to land. How wonderful it was to be alive without any broken collarbones, no brain damage, and all my gear in working order. A celebration was in order. At the first coffee shop I passed, I stopped for a large mocha, two sandwiches, and a cookie. After that fearful, adrenalin induced, speed trial, my luxuries seemed exceptional wonderful.

While I was relieved to have made it, the seed of anxiety had been planted. I found myself wondering if I should get back on my bike or not. Don’t mistake me for a lone-wolf lunatic who throws caution to the wind. There are risks you can manage with ability, and then there is risky behavior. I have never been one to put myself in a situation I consider dangerous for myself. Hopefully the roads will widen and the traffic will thin out as I move south…

When I arrived in Cape Disappointment, I was greeted by gas stations and auto shops. As far as foreplay goes, the town around the cape hadn’t really ignited any romantic sparks. While I was feeling a little discouraged after all the rain and flat tires, I decided I better start exploring to see what I could find. After a little ride up the peninsula, I had found what I was looking for… road-warrior romance. Funky diners, boutique coffee shops, candy and kite stores, a kite museum, and more! To top it all off, there was a fantastic bike path that ran along the exceptionally long beach. I rode miles down the path until I was completely secluded, and punctuated my romance with the city by enjoying a skinny dip in the sun and warm water.

When I reached camp that night, I was pleasantly surprised with warm showers, bathrooms with space heaters, and soft grass where I was expected to make camp. It felt like a resort compared to some of the bug infested, rock quarries I had camped at previously. Later as I lay in my tent, it was reflecting on how good it felt to bounce back with an exceptionally good day… But had I spoke to soon?

There was a rustling and wheezing in the bushes around me. It sounded like a combination of Darth Vader and Big Foot were circling my tent for the kill. I grabbed my trusty knife. “It’s on Big Foot…” I squinted out into the darkness. No luck. I put on my headlamp and saw two eyeballs staring back at me in the dark. I had no intention of being taken out lying down… Let’s dance! I did my best universal don’t-fuck-with-me Karate knife slash in the dark. Haaaeeeya!

Nothing.

I edged out closer. More knife slashing. The wheezing in the dark seemed to intensify. I was experiencing a strange cocktail of adrenalin, internal laughter, and fear at this point. I started to make out the form of something tall and skinny, stretched out against a bank. “What the hell is that thing…? Some seductive wheezy night stalker?” Apparently deer in Cape Disappointment both have respiratory problems and are not afraid of close encounters with fake agro Karate knife slashes. That night I fell asleep to the sounds of deer asthma and a buffet of leafs and branches around my tent. Life was good… and funny.

After a couple of weeks of foul weather reports and threatening clouds, it finally started raining. Luckily my ride for the day was mostly over. I had already eaten my power meal (a double bacon cheeseburger with fries) and knew there was a warm shower at camp. Being in my tent as the storm moved in was wonderful. I was warm and dry, my belly was full, and the the sound of the rain on the tent put me at ease. It was supposed to rain all day the following day so I was considering waiting out the storm in the tent, writing stories, playing ukulele, and perhaps revisiting the local burger stand.

When I woke up the next morning, things had changed quite a bit. My “waterproof” rain fly no longer appeared to be waterproof. Big water droplets had formed on the inside of the tent and if I bumped any walls, cold drops showered down inside. “Do I still wait out the storm?” I thought. With a forecast of at least a full day of rain, it seemed this was no longer a viable option. If I stayed here all day, by tonight it would be raining inside the tent. “If I’m going to be rained on, I might as well be making ground.” I decided. Everything went into their respective water proof bags, I tore the tent down, and loaded up the bike, ready to ride through the storm.

The rain was thick, but not especially heavy. It felt like someone was lightly spraying me in the face with a hose nozzle. The harder I rode, the harder I got sprayed. On the big hills, there was so much water flying in my face, I had to keep my head down so I could still see. Unfortunately this meant I could only see about ten feet before my vision was obstructed by my visor. Compounding the danger of diminished vision, I was riding on highways all day and the shoulders were COMPLETELY covered in debris. Syringe needles, badminton rackets, wood splinters, shattered car lights, lacerated license plates, pieces of couches, and more, would seemingly appear out of nowhere. “If I can make it 20 miles before my mid-morning snack, I’ll be making great time for the day.” I thought.

At 20 miles I changed highways and stopped at a local market on an Indian reservation. Swimming in pride for my survival, I stretched in my full rain gear and smiled at the people as they walked in for their cigarettes and energy drinks. After my snack, it was time to get back on the road. I grabbed my bike, wheeled it around, and felt a strange lateral sliding motion. I looked down to discover my front tire had gone flat amidst my ego parade. “Dammit… Of course my first flat tire happens when it’s pouring rain.” There was nothing to do but fix it and get back on the road. I still have 60 miles to ride today and time spent cussing would just be time wasted.

I searched the tire for the source of the flat (like a sticker of some sort). Instead, I found a big brass thumbtack right in the middle of my tire. Drenched head to toe, covered in dirt and grease, it was comical. I couldn’t help but laugh outloud at myself for my idea of fun and the predicaments I get myself into. The obvious culprit made the patch job easy. I was back on the road in ten minutes.

It was raining harder now. The highway shoulder was only about three to four feet wide and I was feeling especially nervous about getting another flat. Huge logging trucks would roar by so closely and with such force, I was certain that one time I would either be whiplashed into the road or thrown over the guardrail. The road in front of me started to dip down into a big hill. “Good.” I thought.” I can coast a bit, focus on keeping between the lines, and hopefully make up some time from my flat tire.” As I started picking up speed, there was no avoiding the massive amount of debris in the road. Indistinguishable pieces of whatever crunched beneath my tire and occasionally were sent flying from the pressure of my tire. My gaze slowly turned downwards as the rain began pelting me in the face harder. Just as my cadence began to pick up speed… “KAAFWAP! FWAP… FWOP… fwip… fizz… fizz… fiss… fissssssss…”

Stuck on a shoulder not much wider than my bike, my rear tire looked like someone had slashed it with a knife. I have no idea what I hit, but it was definitely bigger than a thumb tack. As huge trucks flew by blowing the hood off my head, I pulled the rear wheel off to inspect the tire. The inner tube would not be salvageable. Luckily I had one extra in my bag. The tire itself was damaged badly as well. My only option was to use a trick my brother had shown me and fold a dollar bill up to place inside the tire to cover the hole.

I don’t know how long it took to fix this tire, but between the rain, the trucks, and the frustration of having a second flat in the same day, my heart was beating at a quick gallop. I stuffed the dollar in the tire where the hole was, weaseled in the new tube, got them on my wheel, and pumped them up with my little “emergency” pump. It must have looked comical to see me working that silly little pump. The pump is tiny so it took about 200 pumps to get the tire up to pressure. I probably looked like I was having a seizure standing up, or doing some sweet new dance, or perhaps a combination of the two.

I put the rear wheel back on as quickly as I could. My heavy, cumbersome bike made me feel like a target at a shooting range. Climbing back on the bike, navigating the debris on the road was a fitful cuss-fest. Without any patches or spare tubes left and my rear wheel held together by a folded up dollar bill, I gingerly limped along through the rubble on the highway, hoping I could make it to the next town. If anything else happened at this point, I’d be hitchhiking the rest of the way.

While the rain didn’t let up, after about another 10 miles I finally got off the highways and onto safer roads. The rest of the day was wet, but much safer. I got into camp completely exhausted. I had navigated the harshest challenge of this trip thus far. I climbed into my wet tent, changed into some drier cloths, and fell asleep dreaming of the big meals, long beaches, and open roads I might find tomorrow. This was turning into quite the adventure…