JUNKRAFT

It’s 10am Earth Day in Portland, we’re sipping coffee, and I’m wondering if we’re ever gonna hit the road.  There are 35 miles between here and Salem, the capitol of Oregon, and Willamette University, where the Straub Environmental Learning Center has invited us to speak.  But I’m moving like molasses riding high on last night’s delivery of a gyre sample into the hands of Portland’s mayor, Sam Adams.  “We should get going,” Anna says.  I’m usually the one dragging.
A few miles outside of Portland on the 99W, suburban sprawl gives way to horses, llamas, cattle and open pastures.  Clear skies, rolling hills and a wide shoulder, make for joyful cycling.  We arrive in Salem, over the Willamette River, onto campus, throw our bikes on the stage and plug in my laptop with 5 minutes to spare.  It goes smoothly.  James and Jackie are near the front row.  They cycled to our talk from the family farm three miles away.

Lotta Lammas

When it’s over, James and Jackie lead the way, riding back to their place, past the horses, goats and llamas, to a quiet ranch house for a bottle of vino and a spare room to spend the night.  We talk trash for good while.  “You look around our kitchen and you see it’s difficult to have everything you want without some plastic on it somewhere,” Jackie concedes.  She’s right.  Even the cork isn’t cork anymore.  Talk about garbage segues into a conversation about sustainability.
James Santana, community developer for Pringle Creek, describes the community he’s helping to build from the ground up on reclaimed land. “When we talk about smart living, we have to think about everything we consume, were it comes from and where it goes,” he explains. The whole place is built thoughtfully, from porous streets to energy efficient homes.  “Pringle Creek is a good example of designing a neighborhood that can sustain itself and the nature around it for many generations.”

Anna relaxing on the ranch

The next day, James takes on the task of getting our bikes in order.  He’s been down the coast on a bicycle before, from Oregon to Tijuana.  He crossed the border and turned left to El Paso.  “There’s a 120 mile stretch of only desert in Mexico with no water or shade.”  (This points out how our ride down the west coast is different.  I mean, right now, as I write this, I’m sitting in a coffee shop sucking down a mocha and munching on a muffin.) James completely disassembles my rear wheel in order to balance spokes and grease bearings.  He adjusst brakes and derailleurs on both bikes, while Anna and I sequester ourselves to couches with computers.

James delightfully adjusting our bikes, THANKS!

In the morning we’re grateful for a smooth ride to Corvallis University 35 miles through farmland.  Every baby cow, horse, sheep or goat gets a “That’s so cute,” response from Anna.  And I encourage it by pointing out the ones she missed.  We make great time, averaging 13 mph, then haul our bicycles into the Agriculture building on the campus of Oregon State University for a 3pm talk.  Afterward Sandra, our wonderful host tonight, leads us to a pub across the street.

More talk about trash.  “You know, I’ve never seen beer or wine in plastic bottles.  Could you imagine a plastic bottle of wine?” Sandra says.  Switching from plastic back to glass will not be difficult, or expensive.  It’s just a smart thing to do.  Sandra is also a cyclist, having toured on a tandem bike from Washington D.C. south to Florida, west to San Diego, and north to Oregon.  She gives us practical advice about seats, after the conversation turns to that status of my posterior due to my unfortunate resistance to spandex padded bike shorts. The talk of my condition thankfully ends when we break out the homemade pie.

Mmmmmm.

It’s now the morning of April 26th and we’re saddling up for a long day across the coastal range from Corvallis to Newport, 60 miles to the sea.  From Corvallis the trek is uphill on Hwy 20 all the way to Blodgett.  “Let’s get off the highway,” Anna suggests.  Winding roads take us north into the hills.  We walk the bikes over a few steep gravel summits.  Scars from clear-cut logging must look like a quilt of green and brown patches from space.  Strangely, Anna spots a busted TV awkwardly set on a stump by the roadside.  Rain comes and goes, taking a balmy 70 degrees in sunshine down to a windy 45.  Six hours after leaving Hwy 20, we return to it, but with only 6 miles to Newport.

Duh...

“Do you think there’s a bike shop in town?” I begrudgingly ask Anna.  She knows that I know that I should have bought bike shorts in Corvallis.  Our JUNK RIDE can reasonably be called JUNK RAW.  Pedaling around the last curve before the “Welcome to Newport,” sign, the ocean opens up with a brilliant reflection of the setting sun.  Looking down from the bridge over Yaquina Bay the receding tide unveils giant mudflats in the shadow of enormous waves.  The local Surfrider Chapter has invited us here.  “I can’t imagine surfing in that,” I say to Anna.  She can.  We end our ride at the Rogue Brewery after 59 miles over the coastal range.  We sit with friends to enjoy a local brew.  I stand.