Leaving Vancouver was very interesting. After passing through a few subdivisions full of luxurious houses, I reached the huge bridge that I had to cross to get to Richmond. Thankfully, it wasn’t hard to find a pedestrian path and in a few minutes I was traveling across the industrial part of this area, characterized by its huge Asian population.

A little further up, another crossing awaited for me, but this time, underwater: a very narrow tunnel with lots of traffic and where it was forbidden to go by bicycle. The solution was simple anyway: A pickup truck with a trailer took back and forth cyclists that were fixated on using this road. Fortunately I got there on time to get on the trip going in my direction, because I had no idea of the timetable.

There, I met Matt Burrows, a news writer from Vancouver, who was spending the weekend biking in Victoria. We went along the few kilometers that separated us from the Ferry Terminal in Tswanseen, fighting against a strong head wind that almost made us miss the boat that we wanted to catch.

We arrived to Sidney (no, not the Australian one!) around 6 pm and we still had 30 km to Victoria. I said goodbye to Matt and I went towards the city. I had two options: use the more direct but also more congested main road or otherwise, ride on a path that alternated biking trails and dirt roads in the woods. The decision was simple and fast: The biking trail!! What I didn’t count on was the time of light left on the day, so when I realized it, I still have 20 km to go and I was riding in the middle of the dark. To tell you the truth, it was actually fun and interesting. I was blindly (literally) trusting the road conditions and hoping to cross no one. The tree’s shadows passed by like ghosts while I was trying to identify the silhouettes of the places I was going through. Only in Canada I would do something like this with the peace of mind of not being robbed or ending in a black hole in the middle of such darkness.

It was past 9 pm when I arrived to the house of Natalie and Nathan O’Mara, a couple of cyclists that I had met in the outskirts of Prince George and had invited me then to stay with them while on my last stop in  Canada before my jump to the US.

Nathan turned out to be an excellent bike mechanic, so he helped me in leaving Maira in better conditions for the roads ahead and he also fixed the shifter that with artful manipulations I had screwed up in Prince George. Very nice guy!! Nevertheless, his evaluation of the mechanical components of the bike was devastating: I better change some parts in depth before entering Mexican land, taking advantage of the better and abundant market in the US. My wallet hurt only thinking about it.

As a goodbye to this country that I already felt fond of for the splendor of its landscapes and the warmth of its people, we participated in the Hope Race in honor of Terry Fox, a benefit event to raise funds for the fight against cancer. After so much time on the bike it felt weird running for a while… fortunately it was only 5K.

On September 17th I crossed over to the “lower 48” in the US, starting a new stage in my trip. The change was immediate. As soon as I arrived to Port Angeles, I already wanted to get back to Canada. The police presence was overwhelming: officers taking pictures and filming the entering vehicles, dogs sniffing luggage for drugs, patrol cars everywhere and thousands of questions for each person that arrived. I was in a country dominated by safety paranoia and one could tell!! The newspapers were full of news about the war and they seemed to pour blood from their pages. Definitively, the relaxed and quiet atmosphere from the neighbor country in the north was behind. 

I also noted a change in people’s attitude, which started to be more cold and indifferent. In the next weeks the interactions would be minimal compared with the ones already lived. The occasional conversations would be reduced to a couple of questions about the trip (typically about where I was coming from and where I was going to) and were usually countered with at “good for you” and they kept going their way. None ever mentioned anything about offering lodging!!!

People’s physiognomy was another thing where I noticed big differences. In a society based in the use of cars, scarce physical activity and abundant junk food, the bodies with excess weight became a constant presence in the human landscape. But nevertheless, practically every woman took extreme care of the appearance of their faces, which were always with makeup, sometimes in exaggerated ways!!!

In spite of being in a country with 300 M of inhabitants, 10 times more than Canada, somehow I managed to camp in places far away from crowds and sometimes even desolated. I was crossing the Olympic Peninsula, traversing large protected areas where trees still were the main characters of the place. The abundant rain, characteristic of the region, left its mark with exuberant vegetation that covered the place, with tree trunks covered with moss and lichen. The contrast when reaching a non-protected area was abrupt and shocking: The logging industry extended its reach by leaving huge areas of cut trees, a sad brown image portrayed by the dry branches and logs mixed up with the dug up dirt.

While boding the Crescent Lake, I fond one of the first technological curiosities in the “first world” roads. A few signs notified cyclists in an alarming way that the next kilometers would be on a narrow road, without a shoulder and with many turns and counter turns. That implied blind spots where drivers could surprisingly run into a cyclist, and with undesirable consequences for the latter. But there was extra help… by pushing a button, one could activate a flashing light that alerted drivers that a crazy cyclist was riding on the road and they could be more careful. I don’t know how useful that was, considering that I personally witnessed when the logging trucks were completely indifferent to it. On top of that, the views of the lake with the sunset were an invitation to stop at every turn of the road to take a look or a picture. It was a complete conspiracy!!!

The second day I was riding I finally reached the Pacific Ocean shore, a name a bit contradictory, considering the roughness of its waters on a simple observation. The first images of the open ocean, the sound of the breaking waves and the sea smell, brought back a wave of nostalgia for my loved city of Mar del Plata.

With the arrival of the ocean, also appeared some signs that I have never seen before: warnings about Tsunamis and escape ways in case of emergency. If an earthquake was to strike, these coastal regions would receive those huge waves from the ocean and that’s way the signs were there. I just hoped that there wasn’t one while I was riding through there. With the weight of the bike, running away uphill would’ve been hard. Fortunately, I had my swimming goggles handy just in case of an emergency…

Riding on these places, another kind of animal appeared on the road shoulders: snakes!! In general these black and yellow serpents were smashed on the pavement after some unfortunate encounter with a tire. But there were some well alive!! They would be harmless (at least that what they told me) but they scared me a little.

Nevertheless, that experience was hugely surpassed by another much less desirable. While I was riding on these appeasable afternoons under the sun, an urgent nature call made me look for an exit to the side of the road. I randomly chose one of the many logging roads to the side of the highway and when I stopped I found myself a mere 15 m in front of a mass of black hairs. Yes, a black bear eating fruits from the shrubs right there. A Bear!! Still around here? Unconsciously I had put aside the idea of sighting bears in the coast after leaving Canada, but reality showed me otherwise. Obviously, I took my camera out (Also, Oliver was there to protect me) and after the sure shot I saw it lifting its head. It looked at me, growled a bit (at this time I thought that reaching for the pepper spray would’ve been a better idea) and as if it was bothered by my interruption, it disappeared between the shrubs. I sighted in relieve, put my camera away and I think I did a few kilometers before I dared stop to relieve my pressed bladder.

The State of Washington turned out to be a bit expensive and not too recommendable for the low budgeted cyclist. The cheapest campground was 14 dollars just to set up the tent and showers were paid separately at 1 dollar per 3 minutes, where usually the first two were wasted waiting for the hot water to come out.

There weren’t many alternatives. I had to cover the most distance per day and cross over to Oregon. Also, the latent threats of fall rain indicated that it was better to go south and the sooner the better.

Near Willapa Bay, I crossed the 6000 Km (3750 miles) mark, just before the gray and unsettled day finished with a pouring rain that left me drenched. When I reached the Cape Disappointment campground, I saw a drugstore with laundry, so I didn’t hesitate: cold to the bone and almost shivering I was able to get permission to use the dryers and in a few minutes I was improvising a striptease while I put my drenched clothes in the saving machine. At least I could use dry clothes the next morning. 

Even though I already crossed paths with some cyclists these days, the most interesting encounter was with Michael Ofele, a northbound German coming from Panama. His bike was a moving show with his road mementos and you can notice his internal peace from the long haul traveler. It’s been 15 months since he was riding and we chatted for a while at the side of the road until we continued with our respective ways. Hopefully we would see each other in South America, his next destination…

The crossing to Oregon seemed attractive. I had to cross a 7 Km long bridge to Astoria, the first city of that State on my way. I was advised to cross the bridge during the night to avoid the heavy traffic and to do it safely. The previous night rain and the common sense took me to do it at noon and with good visibility. It wasn’t that bad as they told me and it was spectacular to cross such engineering mole of steel and concrete where I felt insignificantly small.

The welcome was immediate. In the Information Center I was given a map specially designed for cyclists, showing campgrounds with “hiker-biker” sites (at only 4 dollars) and free and endless hot showers!! Halleluiah!! They even marked the width of the shoulders where it was possible to circulate and the alternative routes to avoid the congested urban centers. It was a jewel. To celebrate, I gave myself a few good pancakes covered with syrup and jelly that put my sugar levels to the roof!

Mi next destination was the city of Portland, were Rocio Ninos and her husband Keith Kullberg (a brother of the Kullbergs of Anchorage) were waiting with the doors of their home open and to my disposition. I had met Rocio during my trip riding the Road of Santiago, in Spain, and at that moment she had invited me to visit them when doing this trip. Being so close, how not to do it?

I left the coast along Rt. 26 to go inland and on a road that made me go over three big climbs, including the pass over the Coastal Range. The route, which for moments was ridiculously narrow, finally became a major highway on which I continued riding until I got to downtown. As I was getting closer to the city, the amount of cars that went by me was bigger until reaching worrisome levels. The crossing of the exit lanes of the highway were a truthful Russian roulette game, were every time was a lottery that could end the wrong way if I didn’t calculate my timing correctly. The tension was at its maximum when I waited for a clearing to pass and keep going on the side of the road The last part was totally insane and I was also surrounded by huge concrete sound barriers that protected the nearby houses from the traffic noise. For me, they were huge acoustic boxes that augmented the engines noise and concentrated the toxic gases that came from the tail pipes. It was the time to get out of there.

As if for a magic spell, from the highway chaos, I went onto a wandering road that traversed a dense forest where the houses were hiding. After going through this indecipherable maze (thanks to Google maps I didn’t get lost) at last I got to Rocio and Keith’s home, were I could relax and spend a few days enjoying their hospitality and cordiality.

Portland tuned out to be a beautiful city, very cyclist friendly and with a population that was physically active. The biking paths intercrossed with incredible networks of bridges and highways that connected different parts of the city and its surrounding areas through the Columbia River.

There, I met Pablo Zavalla, an Argentinean who worked with Rocio and who, along his friends from the homeland, they took charge in showing me the city. An Argentinean “asado” (BBQ) at his house was the ideal farewell, with a good dose of Argentinean flair, which I was missing from quite some time.

To cap the nostalgia moment off, Rocio took me to a Latin store where they had Yerba, Dulce de Leche and even Bizcochitos 9 de Oro!! (Note of translator: These are all things common in the Argentine diet and they are hugely missed when overseas) I almost dropped a tear from the emotion! Or was it because of the prices in dollars???

On Sept. 27th and with a new set of tires on Maira, I took the road again and went back to the coat using the less congested Rt. 6. The next nine days I follow the track of Rt. 101. It was a stage with nice landscapes: lighthouses, sheer cliffs, rocky formations capriciously scattered through the beaches and coast, dunes… everything with the continuous up and down of the road that arbitrarily went from wide shoulders to places where they completely disappeared, defying the equilibrium to stay on the narrow white line at the edge of the road.

SNevertheless, the determining factor in my progress was the weather. Instead of the promoted tail winds that would simple make me go south, I found invisible strong walls that always pushed me to stop, and they succeeded. With a geometrical configuration that was an insult to the concept of aerodynamics, it wasn’t that weird my rhythm was a bit slower than expected. The rain also didn’t forgive me and it was present almost every day. Many times at night, as to make sure that I would pack up everything wet the next morning.As I normally arrived to the campgrounds with just enough sunlight to set up the tent, or the sun would go down to be replaced with a thick fog, the gear never dried up and after a few days like that everything looked like a mushroom farm. Even my hands were peeling from being wet all the time.

On the other hand, the chance of a warm shower at the end of every day mitigated the suffering of the day. Ironically, the same element that inconvenienced me was the same that gave me a bit of pleasure: water!!

There was a day that it was better not to get out of the tent. That Sunday it rained permanently and the winds battered the coast with gusts of 70 Km/h…in the opposite direction!! I better wait until it died, right? The positive side of this was that occasionally, the sun would come out and it was much better enjoyed and appreciated.

Those days I crossed paths with four cyclists from Austin, Texas, who were also biking down the coast: Jason, Kyburn, Dough and Savanna. Jason and Kyburn didn’t have a tent, so they were using a tarp to improvise shelters to spend the night. They were traveling light, but that was just too much!!

As if it was a reward for the hard traveling conditions, the best part was left for last. It was a succession of a couple of exceptionally sunny days and with a beautiful tail wind that made the progress an experience of continuous bliss. The landscape was a succession of endless spectacular images, with rocky formations scattered on the beaches and coast. The fog was left behind and the rain was part of a past that seemed far away. For the first time in a few days I could set up the tent to let it dry, enjoy a bit of the beach (which until that time I just only saw from afar) and play lizard under the sun.

It was October 6th and I was in Harris Beach, meeting place with Oscar Cañón. The “Sudaca Team” was reuniting again just over there was waiting the mythical California.

Until the next time!!

Good trails,

Damián

Public announcements

1)  As many of you already know, in 2006 I was working as a scientist in Antarctica on board the documentary sailing ship Sedna IV, on a Canadian-Argentinean project related to the global climate change. Well, the film produced during that adventure is about to be presented on Quebec’s theaters and, without expecting it, I’ve been included as a performer (secondary, of course) in the film. It was 8 months in the ice, full of experiences of every kind that you’ll be able to see shortly on the big screen.
 
Considering that it was an important stage in my life and that it generated big friendships and opportunities for the realization of this trip, I wanted to share with you the web site where you can find details of the film, with photos, videos and related text. I hope you enjoy it!! (Only in French for now)

www.lederniercontinentlefilm.com

Save my autographs because they will be worth so much more!!!

(2) The holidays are close and some of you have asked me where I will be for Christmas. If everything goes well, the idea is to be in La Paz, in Baja California, Mexico. So, for those of you that wish to send me some present for the occasion (always welcomed), here is a postal address that you could use for that purpose. It isn’t necessary to say that I behaved well all year around and I deserve maaaany presents!!

Rafael Camposeco (att. Damian Lopez)
Callejon Topete 3035, int 3 (entre Sonora y Sinaloa)
(2360) La Paz
Baja California
Mexico

Again and in advance, Many Thanks!!!

 

Acknowledgements

To Matthew Burrows: For the company towards Sidney and the coffee on the Ferry.

To Nathan and Natalie O'Mara: For your hospitality during my stay in Victoria and the great help with Maira!

To Michel Ofele: for that peaceful and free spirit that you irradiated when we crossed paths! Until next the time!

To Ken Gierke: for those endless coffees that brought me back to life and fro letting me dry my drenched clothes after the storm in Cape Disappointment.

To the people of Oney's Restaurant, at Elsie: they let me camp in their yard on my way to Portland. And to the anonymous women that invited for my breakfast the next morning.

To Rocío Ninos and Keith Kullberg: for your generosity and friendship when you hosted me and guided me on my visit to Portland.

To Pablo Zavalla, Diego Díaz, Roberto Herrera, Elizabeth Vargas and the rest of the Latin gang; for the unforgettable night tour in Portland and that piece of Argentina that made me feel very close to home in spite of the distance.

To Jane Schmidt and Marilyn Howard: for the interesting conversation we shared on the road and the granola bar you gave me.

To Jason Mulhausen, Kyber Conly, Doug Williams and Savanna Adams: for the shared stories in our encounters on the roads of the Oregon coastline..

Some Statistics

Days on the road: 126
Days on the bike: 80
Kilometers done: 6964 km (1200 on gravel)
Average kilometers per day: 87.1 km
Hours on the bike: 416h44m (17d08h44m)
Average speed: 16.71 km/h
Maximum speed: 81.5 km/h, descending the Sunwapta Pass (15-08-2007)
Meters climbed: 56,871 m
Maximum altitude: 2067 msnm, Bow Pass (16-08-2007)
Amount of rain on me: more than enough.
Pleasure when feeling the sun on my face after so many days of constant humidity: Indescribable!