The ups and downs of biking along Oregon's coast

BANDON, Ore. — Most people travel by car down the spectacular coast of Oregon, gobbling up the 370 miles or so in a couple days, depending on how much time they want to devote to roadside ooohs and aaahs, and whether they stop in Tillamook for cheese.

But for those who choose to strap a week's worth of underwear and a bag full of Gatorade, Power Bars and Bengay across the hind end of a road bike and pedal for hours and hours, 60 miles a day delivers memories that the 60 mph crowd never experiences.

Like sudden Pacific wind gusts that can blow you over, lumber-hauling trucks that can run you down and narrow mountain tunnels where cars are supposed to slow down but don't,Like running over orange, plastic highway pylons because you're distracted by coastal scenery.

And, as my older son Andy and I discovered when we biked the physically taxing U.S. Highway 101, there's no shortage of people along the way who cheerfully question your sanity. One kindly waitress near Depoe Bay offered to pick us up down the road after we'd finally come to our senses. All we had to do was call. (We never did.)

Some will certainly argue the point, but there may be no better bike trip in America than the southbound leg of Oregon's U.S. 101. On the right is a largely uninterrupted view of Pacific Ocean splendor and easy access to unspoiled beaches, lighthouses, shimmering white sand dunes, huge rocks that seem to be belched from the sea and, if you're lucky, gray whales the size of buses. On the left are densely forested mountains. From beginning to end, the route is 16,000 feet of up and down, up and down, with stretches of welcome moderate terrain in between.

Provided you're in good shape — and that's an important condition that cannot be overlooked — the road from the mouth of the Columbia River at Astoria to the beginnings of the redwood forests at Brookings is a pathway to exhilaration, exhaustion and, because food is fuel, six days of unqualified, guiltless eating. There is even relief for the caffeine-addicted — espresso shacks, some no larger than a two-seat outhouse, dot the route.

Beauty and bike lanes

When explorers started poking around the Oregon coast nearly 500 years ago, they were driven by commercial interests — fur trading, lumber, salmon and the pursuit of the Northwest Passage, the storied sea route connecting the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans. While centuries of natural resource exploitation have left their mark on the state, the rugged coastal beauty has changed little since Spanish explorer Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo's fleet sailed into southern Oregon waters in 1542.

Today Oregon tries hard to live by the gas-saving and cardiac-protecting credo of bicycle promotion. After the oil shock of the 1970s, the state legislature earmarked 1 percent of the state's highway budget for bike lanes and other programs intended to advance bicycle use. The fruits of that commitment line the entire coastline, with marked and well-tended bike lanes that are usually at least three-feet wide and often more. Along the 370 miles Andy and I spotted maybe a half-dozen dangerous potholes.

That's not to say that drivers and bikers coexist blissfully, even with marked lanes. Moon's "Coastal Oregon" guidebook, a must-carry item for anyone traveling the coast, notes that "bicyclists have the right of way, which means that cars and trucks are not supposed to run you off the road ... but remember that there are also motorists whose concepts of etiquette vis-a-vis bikers were formulated elsewhere."

We found several from the group, including a deputy sheriff in Depoe County and a pickup truck driver in Bandon, with whom we foolishly exchanged obscene gestures.

Finding an adventure

My son and I are not hardened, Spandex-clad bikers. We were looking for an adventure. As it was our first visit to Oregon, Andy and I asked lots of folks what we could expect from the terrain. Unfortunately we talked only to people who had driven the coast, not biked it. They told us it was a pleasant up and down ride, , a journey that would allow us ample time to enjoy the lush, green seaside golf courses and tip a few at the local microbreweries before hopping back on our bikes.

We overlooked the left-hand column of the bicycle map, displaying cardiac-arrest-type markings measuring topographical changes. The five to six hours of daily biking we anticipated turned into seven and eight hours because of mountain climbs.

It's best to make lodging reservations ahead of time, once you figure out how far you can reasonably travel in a day. We did between 50 miles and 75 miles a day and were ready for ice packs for the knees and a big meal at the end of the day, when we checked into our motel.

Campgrounds are a plentiful and less expensive option, but why lug all that extra stuff around? No doubt there is a special place in heaven reserved for those who sleep under the stars, and it's probably a campground with pit toilets and people in the next site singing John Denver songs. But there is no shame in pulling into a motel, where prices start around $45 a night.

A caveat about bridges: The crosswinds can be fierce, especially the Yaquina Bay Bridge in Newport. When signs advise you to walk your bike across, walk your bike across.

In six days of riding, there will be some time — but not a lot — for touristy stuff, like the cheese factory in Tillamook. But you can do that on a driving trip.