Day 11 (April 30): Warrenton, OR-Manzanita, OR -- 42.4 miles biked

Miles biked: 42.4 (474.8 total)

Time on bike: 3 hours, 34 minutes, 26 seconds

Maximum speed: 33.6 mph

Roads taken: Main Street, 101 South.

Places stopped: Ecola State park (for a 1-mile hike through the woods to a viewing spot), viewpoint high above Cannon Beach, Lighthouse Restaurant (for fish-'n'-chips dinner), Nehalem Bay State Park (for the night).

A little after noon, I bid Sean adios and began my ride down the Oregon coast. As beautiful as the coast is, I knew Thursday would be a rough day mentally for me.

I've found that that is the case each time I leave a domestic situation for life back on the road. It was the same deal upon my departure from Seattle.

So it wasn't really a surprise to me when I found no beauty in the little tourist beach town of Seaside. Honestly, I don't think it's my type of place -- sunny disposition or not. There were a lot of shops and restaurants, and then there was the typical boardwalk by the beach upon which numerous T-shirt- and sandals-clad folks loitered.

After sitting for a while, I decided it was time to get back on the road. Specially, that meant returning to the 101.

About 95 percent of my route in the state is on Highway 101, which really isn't a bad road to ride on -- at least in this state (just wait until I get to California and its six lanes). In Oregon, it's almost always just two lanes and has decent shoulders.

There are no merge lanes that I have to worry about, and the speed limit peaks at 55. Additionally, there are several signs indicating that it's the Oregon Bike Route, letting drivers know to watch out for us vulnerable guys.

So I continued down the 101 until I got to Ecola State Park, which is just before Cannon Beach. I had seen pictures of the view from the park in a magazine, and I didn't think I could pass it up -- even though its entrance led to an ominous-looking hill.

But I continued in, and soon I found myself climbing, and climbing and climbing some more. It became apparent that I was toiling up a mountain to get to that view. So when -- with no end in sight -- I came to a spot where a sign said there was a trailhead on the left side of the road, I didn't hesitate to hop off my bike.

I left the bike, grabbed a few grub supplies, and walked through a pretty forest for a solid mile until I reached what I assumed the sign said was "Ecola Point." It was an opening in the trees, which allowed me to look way down to the right and see a famous group of rock and the "Terrible Tilly" lighthouse, which is stationed on a bunch of rocks and is impossible to reach by boat.

Down and to my left was Cannon Beach, which features well-known Haystack Rock -- the largest, most salient of them all.

I gobbled up a few PB&Js and some trail mix and headed to the road to make a quicker return to the bike.

Cannon Beach almost felt like a repeat of Seaside, so I didn't stay long -- getting back on the 101 as the afternoon sun basked down on me. Pretty soon I was heading up a long, winding hill. And then came a construction zone. I followed the cars when the worker held up the "slow" sign, slowly pedaling my way up the hills.

As I continued through the zone, with the end not in sight, I actually felt bad for any motorists on the other end who were waiting for me, the lone biker, to reach them. Finally, after maybe 8 minutes, I did -- and I told the worker, "Sorry, about that." He laughed and shrugged it off.

Shortly thereafter, I reached the highlight of the day when I climbed to an amazing lookout of the ocean hundreds of feet below. I allowed myself to sit down for a few minutes and simply appreciate the spectacle. I also posed for a couple pictures with an amiable group of older ladies, and this guy actually took a picture ... of just the bike.

I then cruised down a long hill into the town of Manzanita, starting to think about a place to camp for the night. But first, it was dinner time.

And I learned a crucial lesson during my meal at The Lighthouse -- I learned exactly why I've laid off "fish-and-chips" meals for so, so long. They're nothing more then a stroke waiting to happen. Fried fish. French fries.

I was hungry, so I ate the greasy food. But then I promised myself no more fish-and-chips meals the rest of the trip. I'd rather go with the real -- and healthy -- seafood. And another thing I've learned from this trip is that while biking builds strong legs, it does close to nothing for one's upper body. (Yep, that's probably why I've seen plenty of hardcore bicycles with beer bellies.)

I struck up a conversation with a nice guy named Glen at The Lighthouse, a guy who has apparently seen it all living on the West Coast. He said of the Bay Area, "I've seen dead bodies in pools."

That sounded pleasant, and so did Glen's offer for me to crash at his crib just a mile away -- a mile or two closer than the state park. Not having to set up the tent -- and then break it down in the morning -- is always a joy to me.

But it was so nice out, I had visions of a picturesque sunset. And Glen said he slept with a knife, so that clinched my decision (OK, just playing; I guess if I had seen bodies in pools, I might sleep with a Louisville Slugger or something).

The decision certainly paid off. After setting up my rustic campground, I biked to the edge of the site, walked through some dunes and then was on the beach watching the most remarkable sunset of my life.

I definitely overdid it with the pictures, snapping one every minute or so to document the sun's slow decent on the horizon. It was absolutely amazing watching it dip into the Pacific.

When it finally did, I retraced my steps back to the campground and hoped the infamous Oregon rain would continue to hold off.