Day 78: Clatskanie to Fort Stevens State Park (46 miles)
8/12
Izzy: The inevitable dawn broke over the Clatskanie town park. Like any other morning, birds chirped and squawked over the splashes and gargles of the campside creek. A park employee puttered by in his utility vehicle, stopping to sweep up cigarette butts and other trash from the parking lot.
All around me the town was abuzz with gentle, quotidian, morning activity. It was business as usual; there was no spectacle, no cosmic event to mark the day. None but we, the owners of the three supine bodies in the three creekside tents were aware of the significance of this, our final day of travel.
Sara and Lila still sleeping, I laid on my slowly but surely fermenting sleeping pad and mulled over the approaching end of our journey. We were approximately 30 miles from Astoria, the long awaited, almost asymptotic endpoint of our TransAmerican journey. No major climbs or adverse environmental conditions were there to prolong what would likely be a 2.5 hour journey to the end.
Two and a half hours of pedaling were all that separated me from the Pacific ocean and a completely uncharted, post-college, post-bicycle tour existence. To say it was surreal is an understatement. Just like any other morning, what ultimately moved me from my increasingly yogurt-smelling sleeping pad required the use of the park toilet.
Lila: I went to bed the previous night expecting that I’d feel excited or sad the next day, or maybe both. But, I woke up feeling like it was a normal one. Perhaps because I was in my morning stupor. It wasn’t until I broke down my tent that I felt a tinge. I thought “shit, this is going to be the last time I break down and pack up for the road.”
Izzy: Returning to the campsite I found Sara and Lila breaking down their tents. One of the Canadians, whom I will call Doug, was also awake. Aware of his audience (of three) he announced:
“Okay, where’s my idiot?”
After Sara, Lila and I went to bed, his “idiot”, whom I will call Gord, followed our junkie friend James into the night. First, they went to a bar. After a while they departed for some place a little seedier. They then left seedy locale #1 to an even seedier joint. Finally, they ended their night in the seediest place Clatskanie had to offer: James’ shack. Unfortunately for Gord, James’ shack was about 6 miles from the campsite.
We know all of this because, right about then, James returned to the campsite to tell us. He finished his story and concluded, in an almost bragging tone, that he refused to drive Gord in his car the 6 miles back to the campsite. Gord would have to bicycle back. James then packed a bowl and went off to smoke by the park gazebo. Classy guy, James.
When we finished packing we agreed that, since we had no food, we should hit the gas station before we left. Some black coffee and a plastic wrapped pastry would be all we needed to crush the final 30 miles. Sara agreed to meet us there in her car.
Just as we were leaving, Gord rolled up on his bicycle. He didn’t say “hello” or “good morning” or anything. Canadian pleasantries spared, he went straight for his tent. Partying all night with someone like James is challenging, even for a Vancouverite.
We could tell Doug was unhappy.
“I can’t let this keep happening,” he said, “I’m trying to push real kilometers!”
Doug fumed as we pedaled out of the parking lot and into the final morning of the tour.
Lila: We were kind of weary of how to go about things that morning. We had thought we would stop by the gas station for some good ol’ station coffee, but then changed our minds before crossing the street and went with treating ourselves to real breakfast food at a restaurant. Our conversations were normal. As normal as our conversations go, that is. We had talked of this day in bits and pieces throughout the week, but neither of us had quite thought of this day actually being here. It was definitely a strange feeling, one that I can’t quite put my finger on- and one that I’d rather keep to myself.
Izzy: I ate some sort of hash brown plate with eggs, potatoes, and sausage. Lila ate pancakes topped with fruit and whipped cream. I don’t recall what Sara ate. We all drank coffee and made idle conversation, none of us really knowing how to address the significance of what we were approximately 30 miles from completing. We knew those 30 miles would slide by without much effort so we drank our coffee slowly to savor the moment.
After breakfast we said goodbye to Sara. She was going to Cannon Beach but promised to find us once we got to Astoria. I put on my smelly cycling gloves one last time and we were off.

Just as I suspected, the hills were nothing. No headwind was there to stop us, no heat to tire us out. We glided through the cool, overcast morning with the ease of greased sausage link rolling around a nonstick frying pan. Breakfast was still, and is always, on my mind.
Lila: Things changed once I started cycling, though. I was just so happy. I was so stoked and excited. I usually smile while biking, but this one was definitely ear-to-ear. I was excited to feel the accomplishment, and really ready to be by the ocean again. Thoughts of what to do after the trip raced through my head. I became excited to apply for jobs, ready to see what kind of work was out there for me. I couldn’t wait to eat green, fresh food. Whenever I had a pinch of sadness for the trip coming to an end, I’d start thinking of my next bike tour in attempt to make me feel a little bit better. It worked, for the most part.
Izzy: Though some hills would cause us to separate over the course of the morning, I felt compelled to finish together. When I saw a sign indicating that only 10 miles remained until Astoria, I stopped to wait for Lila. We were a team. We started together, we would end together.
About 40 minutes later, there it was, the sign for Astoria.

Lila: It felt so good to be in the salty breeze and to hear those waves! We were both pretty quiet the entire time.
Izzy: We soon arrived in town and were able to roll past a few miles of bumper to bumper traffic. It was one of those moments where you feel especially blessed to be on a bicycle. When we got to the center of Astoria, I felt sort of strange. I guess we were technically done with the ride, but it didn’t feel like we were. This feeling, I imagine, was due in part to the fact that Astoria is not really on the coast, but instead located just barely on the mouth of the Columbia river. We wanted to find the actual ocean to dip our tires in, then we would be done.
Apart from that, I think neither of us really knew how to stop going west. Though we heard seagulls and saw ships I, personally, couldn’t really accept that we were nearing the end. Nothing but the largest body of water on Earth was capable of stopping me from going further west and we were about to dip our tires in it.
Lila: When we reached Astoria, it was somewhat anticlimactic. So we continued on to Fort Stephens, where we’d find the wide open ocean.
Izzy: Once we crossed over a long bridge, went through a small town, and struggled down a gravel road, we found the entrance to the park. Signs told us that the ocean was only one mile away down a walking/bicycling path. We didn’t speak much; what was there to say? We just pedaled.
Then, suddenly, there it was, the Pacific Ocean.

Izzy: After we dipped our tires and got our photo taken we sat down by some driftwood, ate a tortilla peanut butter and jelly and took it in as best we could. I texted Sara to come meet us and then we sat.
Lila: When you get so used to taking things day by day it’s hard to wrap your head around the whole picture
Izzy: We bicycled across the country, coast to coast, rear wheel in the Atlantic, front wheel in the Pacific. One continent traversed entirely by bicycle tires. The significance was really too much to take in so we just sat and watched the whales.
Sara arrived and she was very proud of us. We all watched the whales together and tried to articulate the way we felt. It was pointless but we did our best. Reflection takes time, what we needed was to celebrate.

Soon thereafter we gathered our things and went to the registration area to get a campsite. There, who should we meet but our long lost bicycle compatriot, Aaron. He had been waiting for us for a couple of days to arrive. Sara and Aaron, two people from wholly different spheres of my life were there to help us celebrate our accomplishment. It was very special.

After hanging out for a bit and planning our evening we decided to go get some food. Nelson Uzzell, Lila’s father, had agreed to pay for a celebratory dinner. I really wanted seafood and Dungeness crab in particular, Lila wanted a margarita. We found a place that would meet our specifications and Sara drove us all there. We proceeded to have the best meal of the trip (and maybe our entire lives).

After dinner we went to the grocery store, a Fred Meyer, and got beer, fried chicken, and s’mores materials. When we returned to the campsite we found that Doug, the responsible Canadian, was there sans Gord.
Doug told us that he could no longer tolerate Gord’s irresponsible behavior. Around noon, after Gord woke up, they had an argument and Doug left Clatskanie without Gord. We could tell he was feeling torn up about it so we invited him and another cyclist to join us around the campfire. After an hour or two of storytelling, transcontinental friendship, and a fair amount of alcohol, I had to go to sleep.
In the quiet of my tent, my somewhat intoxicated mind tried its best to contextualize the night within the context of the trip, within the context of my life. That’s a hell of a task for even a completely sober mind to take on. What was to come even the next day was a complete mystery to me. I had no idea how I was going to get back to the east coast. I had no idea what I would even do when and if I got there. This monumental journey behind me, I had no idea what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.
All of that was too much for me to consider in that moment. After 78 days of travel, the days would once again have no number.
The future hazier than my mind after 4 beers (I’m a lightweight), I did my best to focus on the present moment. I had crossed an entire continent on a bicycle demonstrating bravery, persistence, and problem-solving skills. I had intimately experienced a great deal of the United States of America in all of its horror and beauty. I had made a lifelong friend in Lila and perhaps many others.
78 days of trying my best. 78 days of unrelenting growth and change. 78 mornings without knowing where we would spend the accompanying 78 nights. 78 days of thriving within uncertainty. 78 days of faith in the goodwill of complete strangers. 78 days of self-discovery. After this, the final, 78th night of our journey, I would be on a new path.
Truthfully, I’m not sure how long it will take for me to fully understand the significance of the journey. In some ways writing this so close to its completion, trying to understand it, almost seems like a fool’s errand. I have the rest of my life to explore how this tour has affected me. I have the rest of my life to enjoy the wisdom and tools gained from our efforts. I’ll have the rest of my life to figure things out.
For now though, it was finally time to get some rest.
Thunder Thighs signing out.
Love,
Izzy & Lila
