Day 25 (May 14): Patricks Point State Park-Arcata, CA -- 24.8 miles biked

Miles biked: 24.8 (934.7 overall)

Time on bike: 2 hours, 13 minutes, 45 seconds

Maximum speed: 28.2 mph

Roads taken: Patricks Point Drive, Trinidad Scenic Drive, 101 South, Clam Beach Drive, in McKinleyville: Central Avenue, Murray Road ... Hammond Trail, Fischer Avenue, Mad River Road, in Arcata: Janes Road, Alliance Road, 11th Street, back to Janes Road, Vaissad Road, V Road, Karen Road, Sherri Court.

Places stopped: Gas station in Trinidad (for Power Bar and muffin), gas station in Arcata (for directions).

Friday, to get it out there right away, was one of those days when the final destination was in mind almost the entire ride.

I awakened around 6:43 a.m. to the constant pattering of rain hitting my tent's rain fly. I considered, for a nanosecond, going back to sleep. But then I told myself, "You can't let the weather dictate your schedule. Do what you gotta do."

And I thought of the warm shower waiting at the end of my short ride. Yep, that's right, a family in Arcata with Ann Arbor connections to my family had graciously offered to put me up for two nights while I wait for Dad to fly in Saturday night for a few days of hiking.

So I made my best effort to keep everything dry, stuffing the sleeping bag before I even exited the tent the first time -- I've realized that I can sit upright inside the tent to do such things -- and packing up as many of my clothing items as well.

Of course, I knew the tent would be completely drenched. But, I figured, it'd dry out over the course of a few days. As long as everything else stayed relatively dry, I'd be doing all right.

It took me a full hour to get everything packed and on the bike, but then I was off -- pedaling in a rain shower that showed no signs of moving elsewhere.

I stopped in Trinidad, 6.2 miles down the road, soaking wet, for a banana-nut muffin (to eat then) and a Power Bar (in case I needed it later). And then I got back on the 520, thinking only about the mission at hand.

Pretty soon, however, my mind was solely focused on the scary road conditions of the pretty-sounding Trinidad Scenic Drive. And it was beautiful to my right, with waves crashing on rocks down below, but I had to watch the road in front of me for huge pot holes and sections that weren't paved and had lots of dangerous pebbles.

At one point, I wished I had just stayed on the shoulder of the 101 and pushed it toward Arcata. But I survived the treacherous drive and, after a few miles on other roads, reached the peaceful and decently paved Hammond Trail.

The bike path took me to the outskirts of Arcata, where I biked on a few more roads toward town.

That is when I realized that I was off track and had no idea how to get to Marnin's house. Thankfully, a gas station attendant knew exactly what I was looking for and provided me with correct directions.

And not too much later, I was warm and cozy on a drizzly Friday morning.

I got all my stuff together, posted some pictures online and then headed to the downtown of the fairly small town to find a bar.

It was only 4 in the afternoon, which out here meant two things: Game 7 of the Wings-Ducks series was on as well as Game 6 of the Magic-Celtics battle.

I had picked the perfect day to end early, giving myself ample time to find a pub and the familiar sounds of sports games.

As it turned out, I was biking by a place when all of a sudden, I heard a chorus of cheers. When I turned around and peaked in, I noticed a gang of guys and a girl wearing Red Wings jerseys.

I figured I had found the place to be.

I've learned, from this trip, that Detroit Red Wings fans are all over the place -- especially on the West Coast. And I learned, Thursday, that they're just as pumped up about their hockey team as people are back in Michigan.

This made for an exciting evening spent in the bar watching several games.

And get this: When they were all over -- when the Rockets had held on to beat the Lakers and send that series to a Game 7 -- it was only just after 9.

I got on the bike and headed back to Marnin's.

It had been a long day.

Day 24 (May 13): Redwood Hostel-Patricks Point State Park, CA -- 44 miles biked

Miles biked: 44 (909.9 overall)

Roads taken: 101 South, Newton B. Drury Parkway, 101, Patricks Point Drive.

Places stopped: Motel restaurant in Orick (for filling breakfast).

I finished up my extended stay in and around Crescent City, CA, and the hospitable Redwoood hostel by spending a final day with my hiking/exploring companion Corby.

We hiked 4.2 miles round-trip down and up the Damnation Creek trail, a steep grade that wasn't easy but at the same time offered up-close views of towering Redwoods. Tuesday night, we camped at the Mill Creek site about midway between the city and hostel and right off the 101.

And when I woke up Wednesday morning, I felt ready to get back on the bike -- finally. So Corby drove down the winding slope to the hostel for what seemed like the 117th time and dropped me off, peace-ing out after we'd agreed we have to do something similar again.

Then, after several minutes of preparations, I was heading south once again on the 101.

The riding was bland until I reached 101 -- well, that other 101. What's called the Newton B. Drury Parkway used to be the 101, but now it's a scenic alternative, for a good 8 miles or so, to the actual highway.

And, boy, did I enjoy it -- for obvious reasons.

After steadily climbing for about a mile, I started going down. And the easy riding didn't stop.

The scenery was beautiful, with huge trees hanging over the sides of the road and gorgeous forests to my right and left. But I wasn't stopping. Not when I was able to cruise, effortlessly, for a good 6 or 7 miles.

I did notice that I passed by several signs indicating groves named after people. It was an interesting theme of the day. I can just imagine there someday being a "Jake Lloyd Grove."

Well, maybe not. But here's what I do know (since it happened): When I finally reached the end of the old 101 and merged back onto the real thang, I had a huge grin on my face.

Just like that, my odometer had gone from 12 miles to 20. And it had happened in roughly 17 minutes.

After a filling breakfast at a motel/restaurant in tiny Orick, I pedaled past three lagoons -- freshwater, stone and big -- as I winded my way on the hilly, narrow road toward my destination for the day/night.

And then, before it was 1, I arrived at Patricks Point State Park. I considered going farther, since it was so early, but determined that there really was nothing I could gain from doing so.

And, ultimately, there was no better place to spend the night. Or afternoon, for that matter.

That's exactly what I did.

The park is huge and has many trails, which ate up the majority of my afternoon. I hiked a loop, mostly on the Ridge trail, walking about 5 miles and taking dozens of pictures.

Wedding Rock, in particular, which sits high above the ocean, is a great spot to get married -- or, for single guys like me, just sit up on the rocks and observe the water to my right and left as well as all the cool rock formations in it.

Then I had to climb several stairs to reach the top of Ceremonial Rock, which is farther within the park but offers expansive views of the park and ocean. (And I ran into a high-school biology group there, of about 100 kids, that drove all the way from near the Nevada border to spend a week in the park.)

And, finally, I made it to Palmer's Point. Unfortunately, it was nearing high tide. If it was low tide, according to a few people I met, several tide pools are created in which you can see different forms of marine life.

That wasn't my only disappointment of the afternoon. Walking back to my campsite, I overhead a couple dudes, Elon and Matt, talking about a "party." Being a reporter, I, of course, questioned them about such an outing.

They quickly, being nice, laid-back hippies, invited me to a shindig in Arcata. Alas, there was no way for me to make it to the joint, which, according to the fellas, would be overflowing with nurses.

But plans not working out aside, it was a fun-packed day of biking and hiking.

Until, of course, the rain started lightly falling on my tent as soon as I called it a night...

Days 21-23 (May 10-12): Spent in and around the Redwood hostel -- 0 miles biked

Miles biked: 0 (865.9 overall)

I have spent the past few days in and around the Redwood Hostel, which is about 12 miles south of Crescent City.

The reason for such stagnation, or the main one at least, is that I am meeting Dad Saturday in Arcata -- actually, picking him up from the airport just north of the city Saturday night -- so we can do some hiking for a few days.

Arcata isn't more than about 66 miles from the hostel, a ride I could do in one day. So, I figured, why not find a nice spot and hang out for a few days. Having a hostel around here is a big benefit, too, because it's a cheap place to stay (just $16 a night) with all the amenities (except for Internet, TV and cellphone service) of your average suburban home.

I've also found no reason to hurry toward such a close destination because I've found a hiking/driving partner the past few days, Corby, who is driving all over the West but has stayed a good week here in Redwood Country.

So I've hung around and had some good times with Corby exploring this beautiful section of northern California.

SUNDAY
The tricky part of the weekend, for me, was Sunday. That's because while I was able to book a bed at the hostel for Saturday and Monday, it was all full Sunday. So I wasn't sure where I would sleep/camp that night.

That remained undecided throughout the day, but it didn't stop me from doing a little tramping. This was made much easier because Corby has a truck, which (obvious statement of the day) can take us to trail heads throughout the area.

So on Sunday, Corby and I hiked a long 0.5 miles to the so-called "Hidden Beach" just 2 miles down 101 from the hostel. While the beach doesn't seem like a local secret -- it's even on the area map -- it was isolated when we got there and very clean.

It also had the most driftwood of any beach I've ever seen, which is how someone who'd stopped by before us had set up a half-tepee against a rock face. Underneath the sticks was a patch of sand that, it looked like, could be used as a one-person campsite.

At the time, the thought of sleeping there was intriguing. So with time to kill, Corby and I started added different-sized logs to the open spaces of the structure in an effort to make it as thick as possible.

I was just starting to get excited about it, as I added a few logs above the small entrance door, when all of a sudden the facade collapsed.

I laughed, shook my head, walked away and took a few pictures of the destruction.

Maybe someone else will take advantage of our unfinished work, I thought.

Sunday evening, after exploring and not finding any suitable camping spots right around the hostel, I told Corby of my unsuccessful mission and he offered up his Tacoma as a sleeping spot. Having successfully slept in cars before, I graciously accepted the offer.

And after we headed to Crescent City for a late dinner at the Apple Peddler Restaurant -- a 24-hour diner, which is the only place open after 10 besides the fast-food joints -- I crashed in the Tacoma's front seat and slept decently, considering the circumstances.

MONDAY
I woke up Monday knowing where I'd sleep that night. I didn't, however, know what else the day would bring. I did know that I'd be rolling along with Corby, who had added an extra night to his stay instead of continuing north to Oregon (he has a schedule just as loose as mine).

After devouring a killer batch of blackberry pancakes for the second consecutive day -- Corby crushed the berries, I made the cakes -- we hopped in the truck and headed to the Klamath Overlook, a spot high above where the Klamath River, about 6 miles south of the hostel and running through the town of Klamath and the Yurok Indian tribe, meets the ocean.

It was a long, twisting, uphill ride that made me thankful I wasn't on the Trek 520. (I'm all about being "hardcore," but sometimes it's nice to take the easy route.) And when we reached the outlook, we were greeted with phenomenal views, in both directions, of the Pacific.

For the second straight day, clouds dominated the sky. But they also gave it a cool appearance, sitting just above the rolling hills to the south.

We then decided to get some real exercise and walked the half mile straight down to an overlook closer to the ocean.

That is where, folks, I saw my first whale!

We were casually staring out to the south, taking a few pictures, when a small black object in the water caught our attention. But as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared. And we had no proof that it was actually a whale.

But after about 3 minutes, it reappeared. And this time, it spouted out some water. We never saw a tail, but there was no doubt -- we penciled it in as a whale. For the next 12 minutes or so, we tracked the creature's slow progress south, and Corby, a photography enthusiast, took several shots of it.

I can't say that watching a whale is interesting, but being able to say that I saw one -- especially without going on one of those tourist-trap trips -- is pretty cool (at least I think).

It was a solid start to the afternoon.

The evening provided the real drama...

After getting $5 footlongs for the second straight day -- that was the main economical attraction in the tiny, tiny town of Klamath -- and relaxing for a while, Corby and I decided to spend our final evening around the hostel exploring the beach.

So we headed across the street -- it's about a 100-yard walk, no joke -- and started walking north.

First, we had to take off the socks and shoes, my walking shoes being my Tevas, and cross a tiny stream leading to Wilson creek created by the high tide. That wasn't too bad, and we knew it was worth it when we came up a cool, intimidating rock structure.

To the right was a tall, sleek, concave rock face. To the left, just on the edge of the water, was a similar, though not as high, structure.

We climbed up as high as we could on the left-hand side before heading back down and around to the right, where we were able to take a path down below the structure around to the other side. That is where we found a makeshift campsite, with a little fire ring and everything.

It got us thinking that maybe we'll stay there tonight. Rock walls on each side could even prevent shelter from rain (depending on which way the wind blows).

I was having so much fun that when I saw two even larger rock structures in the distance, I thought, "Hey, let's go check those out. They don't look that far."

It was the first dumb decision of the evening.

My sight had deceived me, and the huge rocks were much farther away than I had estimated. Walking from rock to rock almost the entire way, we got to the structures with maybe 45 minutes until darkness (and we'd been walking for two hours).

Of course, we'd been moving slowly, checking out every cool spot, looking at every living creature in our way -- we saw crabs, starfish and the ugly, gross banana slugs common in this area -- but still, we were a long way from the hostel.

That's when I made my second bonehead decision.

Thinking that it'd be difficult to make it back to the hostel by walking along the rocks, before darkness, I thought that there might be a trail by the two, large structures leading up to Highway 101, which was above us to the east.

We knew that it was somewhere up there, but the problems were that 1) We couldn't see the road or hear cars; and 2) There was no man-made trail leading upward.

Still, we bushwhacked our way through some nasty terrain -- there were prickly bushes, not to mention holes that were easy to step in -- and were even up to our waists at one point.

And we got nowhere, saw no signs of a trail leading up.

That's when, thankfully, Corby touched something that made his hand, suddenly, itch like crazy. Thinking he might have touched poisonous oak, he became alarmed and we immediately decided to get back to the rocks.

As I'd laugh about later, it was just in the nick of time.

Because once we reached the rocks, we were able to scramble all the way back to the beach across from the hostel in a mere 30 to 40 minutes, getting there just as darkness was settling in.

It was quite the accomplishment, needed only -- of course -- because of my inane decisions. But it made for quite the adventure, gave me a story to tell, taught me a lesson about decision-making and distance perception and made me almost kiss my Tevas, which somehow had zero problems with all the rock-to-rock hopping.

After a couple glasses of water, we headed back to Crescent City for a well-deserved meal at the diner.

It capped a pretty eventful day (and stay at the hostel), and I didn't even touch the bike. (I'm sure it has relished the break in the action.)

TONIGHT
Now, I'm spending a final day in the area, getting all this stuff done before Corby and I take a final short hike -- probably less eventful than yesterday's -- to a spot high above the ocean cliffs.

We'll camp somewhere in the area tonight, possibly on the beach, and then part ways in the morning.

THE NEXT FEW DAYS
I plan on biking a little more than 40 miles Wednesday and camping at scenic Patrick's Point State Park before heading to Arcata Thursday and spending two nights in the area before picking up Dad Saturday.

It's been a relaxing few days, and nothing should really change in the upcoming week.

But I'm not worried about the recent/near future lack of miles on the bike. It's not like I've lost the ability to ride long distances.

The final destination, of course, is always in the back of my mind.

Of most importance, however, is enjoying the journey -- day by day -- however things transpire.

Day 20 (May 9): Crescent City, CA-Redwood Hostel, CA -- 13.6 miles biked

Miles biked: 13.6 (865.9 overall)

Time on bike: 1 hour, 15 minutes, 51 seconds

Maximum speed: 28.8 mph

Roads taken: Enderts Beach Road, 101 South.

Places stopped: Redwood hostel (for the night).

I awakened Saturday morning fresh and relaxed. I knew I didn't have much biking to do. And I knew a big, diverse breakfast was just minutes away.

I was booked at the Redwood hostel -- right on 101 South and about, I thought, 8 miles away -- for the night, so I was in absolutely no hurry to get on the bike. That mindset was only reinforced by the company I still had at the campsite.

With Corby contributing Vitamin C drinks and crushed-up cookies, Joey and Anthony bringing delicious oatmeal and good-tasting coffee (yes, I actually enjoyed a cup of coffee), Shane bringing himself -- he was going to cook eggs and sausage, but his Coleman stove wigged out on him -- and I providing the bagels and cream cheese, it was a morning feast.

We sat around and ate, and drank, and chatted, and simply enjoyed a morning that got warmer as the clouds were pushed aside by a searing sun.

Then, since nobody was in a hurry -- Corby was staying at the same hostel that night, and check-in wasn't until 4. The other three guys planned on camping at the same spot for another night -- we decided to head into town in Corby's Toyota Tacoma.

Somehow -- and I still don't know how they pulled this off -- Joey and Anthony had packed a fishing pole, not to mention skateboards, in their large bags. Since they hadn't gotten a chance to use it, they figured, and we agreed, that an afternoon of fishing was in the works.

I personally don't care for fishing, but I thought it'd be entertaining to watch while lounging on some rocks and just enjoying a relatively exercise-free afternoon. So after we finally located a bait shop and Anthony bought some shrimp to use as bait, we headed out to a large outcropping of rocks by the Crescent City harbor.

Unfortunately, all Anthony caught was seaweed. And the only thing anyone considered eating that got hooked was the shrimp (that was Joey's idea, although we convinced him not to). Still, it was a relaxing afternoon, which we finished up by viewing a large group of seals/sea lions/otters laying lazily on a narrow wooden dock in the harbor.

I'm still not sure what sea animal they were, but they were definitely fat and had no interest in testing the cool waters. With the strong wind blowing in my face, I couldn't really blame them.

It was time to warm up by getting on the bike.

So after saying so long to the Philly boys, I loaded up the bike and began what my new friends had called a "mostly downhill" ride.

Well, after about 5.1 miles of riding straight uphill, with no break, and sweating through all my layers, I was pretty convinced that I had been fooled. Sure, I didn't have far to bike, but, man, was it brutal.

Of course, the scenery around me was amazing as I toiled on the narrow-shoulder road. The trees were huge, with the trunks wider than any I'd ever seen. I felt, at times, like I was under a canopy.

But my mind was more focused, unfortunately, on the continuous hill I was climbing. A couple times, a slight downhill stretch fooled me -- yep, I was Mr. Naive that day -- into thinking the uphill stretch was over. Each time, though, they quickly led to another climb.

Finally, I knew, for certain, that I was on my way down when a sign instructed cars to "Check your Brakes."

I didn't have a car, but I tested my brakes as well. And it's a good thing I did, because for 2-plus miles I cruised around curves on a road with almost no shoulder -- going downhill the entire time.

I would have enjoyed it more, especially with a nice view of the ocean, way down below, to my right, but I had to intently focus on the uneven road in front of me. And, sadly, I had to hold down the brakes almost the entire time to prevent from reaching a dangerous speed.

At one point, I let off them for about 3 seconds -- and my speed increased by about 10 mph. I probably could have gone 50-plus mph, and then sped off the cliff and fallen on a rock (or something like that).

When I finally reached the bottom of the descent, I saw a sign for the hostel and, just like that, there it was -- right on the corner of a little side road directly across from a beautiful beach. Perfect location, I thought.

And the hostel was pretty nice, too. I stayed in a co-ed dorm room consisting of about 10 beds. Downstairs, there were a kitchen, dining room and large living room full of books, games, a guitar and a gas fireplace, which helped me to always feel warm.

Saturday night, Corby and I lucked out when a group of students from a liberal arts school in Napa Valley, there with a photography class, fed us their leftover tortellini.

Then, later that night, one of the professors with the class shared stories with Corby and me, including about his time spent in Papua New Guinea -- an island, he said, where some of the natives have still never seen a white man.

Also, he said, the men whom he worked with there, helping to construct a bridge, just wore a single item of clothing (you know where).

It was one of those cool stories that you hope to hear in hostels, where people from all over the world congregate for good times.

And it was just the beginning of my stay in the area. It was time to give the bike a serious rest and enjoy Redwood Country for a few days.

Day 19 (May 8): Brookings, OR-Crescent City, CA -- 41 miles biked

Miles biked: 41 (852.3 overall)

Time on bike: 3 hours, 13 minutes, 56 seconds

Maximum speed: 36 mph

Roads taken: 101 South, a couple roads that I don't remember in rural California, 101, Washington Boulevard, Pebble Beach Drive, Front Street, 101, Enderts Beach Road.

Places stopped: Blue Water Cafe (for my final meal in Oregon; great blueberry pancakes), library in Crescent City (to do this), Chinese restaurant (for late lunch), Safeway (to buy bagels and cream cheese and a salad for dinner), Nickel Creek campground (for the night).

On Friday, I finally said adios to the great coast of Oregon and began my long trek through California -- a state that I'm calling my third, fourth and fifth states of the trip.

The ride into the state was about as mundane as possible, however. In a "Silly Jake" moment, as soon as I crossed the border I discovered that my Oregon-to-Crescent City map was gone. I had found a way to lose it. Thankfully, I didn't really need it.

I used the 101 and a few back roads to pedal my way toward Crescent City. The roads were pretty flat and uninteresting, although I noticed that the trees were getting thicker. Yep, I was entering Redwood Country.

Perhaps the most interesting -- and man-making -- part of the ride occurred as I was just outside of the city on 101. All of a sudden, the highway became a four-lane interstate with actual exits on each side.

I'm biking on a real, legit, big-time highway, I thought.

Um, cool?

Well, not really. But it gave the ego a minor boost before I exited, got myself a basket of cherries from a fruit stand and made my way toward the city.

Crescent City's waterfront is, no surprise, quite beautiful. Just like in Oregon, there are jagged rock islands sitting in the water that add some spice to the already-spectacular Pacific Ocean.

The city's downtown, however, is pretty nonexistent. This may be a result of the 1964 Alaskan earthquake that caused a tsunami to hit the city, destroying several properties and killing 11 people. Near the water, like by the library where I'm writing this, there are marks on poles indicating heights the saltwater reached on that devastating day.

Just like the 1967 Detroit riots, but to a smaller extent, I don't think Crescent City has recovered from the natural disaster.

But I spent Friday afternoon in the city, using this library and then getting a Chinese meal and some other food for a campsite dinner.

Then I headed just to the south to the Nickel Creek campsite, by Enderts beach, to spend the night. The next day I would head about 10 miles south on the 101 to spend a few nights at the Redwood Hostel -- something I was looking forward to very much.

But I had to live in the moment Friday night, because I was surrounded by natural beauty. After figuring out that I had to leave my bike locked up at the parking lot above the campsite, I gathered my necessities and tramped about half a mile to my place for the night.

After setting up camp at the primitive site -- there was no running water; just two toilets -- I took the short trail to the beach and marveled at yet another beautiful site. The Pacific stretched out to my left while the city's lights were directly across the bay in front of my eyes.

Then I met some people. First, I walked up to a guy collecting wood, Corby, who said he was camping at the site right beside me.

When I walked back to camp, after snapping several amazing pictures, I met Shane -- an older man who was using the camp as a temporary home. A few minutes later, a pair of brothers from Philly, Joey and Anthony, strolled into camp after a walk to town.

The four of them became my companions for the night, and we all shared stories while enjoying the sunset and then sitting around a campfire that didn't want to show much life.

Corby talked about driving all over the West, exploring its most beautiful places -- such as Yosemite, Death Valley, the Sequoias and the Grand Canyon. Joey and Anthony talked about taking several buses from Philly to reach the coast and exploring different cities and hiking spots. And Shane provided the comical stories, always managing to incite laughter.

I just enjoyed the company -- and a couple hot dogs we managed to grill on the fire.

It was a great night of camaraderie. The first time on the trip, while camping, that I didn't feel at all alone.

Day 18 (May 7): Humbug Mountain State Park, OR-Brookings, OR -- 56 miles biked

Miles biked: 56 (811.3 overall)

Time on bike: 4 hours, 28 minutes, 47 seconds

Maximum speed: 37.2 mph

Roads taken: 101 South.

Places stopped: Beach wayside (for morning peppermint tea), Gold Beach (to stop at library and get my first food of the day -- gorp), a few viewpoints along the ocean en route to Brookings, Harris Beach State Park (for the night) ... in Brookings: Mexican restaurant (for lunch/dinner), library (for express Internet session), Dairy Queen (for strawberry sundae), Ray's Market (for evening snack).

I woke up Thursday morning knowing that I was about to begin my final full day in the beautiful state of Oregon.

I also woke up knowing that my tent's rain fly was soaked -- as well as everything else outside my crowded sleeping place. I had left my bike in the elements, thinking the rain that had hit the coast for a week had finally moved on.

Of course, I was wrong.

Throughout the night, I awakened to hear the unmistakable sound of rain drops hitting the tent. At least that wasn't the case when I began my day around 7.

Once I got everything packed up -- some stuff dry, some wet -- and got on my bike, things were blissful. The road curving around Humbug Mountain is pretty cool. To your right, the mountain looms above you. The land on the left side of the road is also elevated.

It gave me the feeling of riding through a gap in the mountains.

Then I reached the other side of southern Oregon's highest point and was greeted by miles upon miles of blue -- both the sky and the water just to my right. This would be a theme throughout the day.

The only negative was my bike chain. Because of all the rain it had sustained, it wasn't exactly smooth-sounding. I oiled it in the morning before heading out, but it started making noise after about 20 miles -- in Gold Beach -- probably because I rode on wet roads throughout the morning.

So after visiting yet another small Oregon library -- I'm not counting, but the final count has to be near double digits -- I oiled my chain yet again, and things sounded smooth the rest of the day.

The last leg of my relatively easy day on the Trek came between Gold Beach and Brookings, and I could have taken 1,078 touristy pictures if I had so chosen. Almost every mile (or less), there was an Oregon State Parks viewpoint.

There were about 3,427 cool views of the ocean and all the rocks in it -- that's a big theme on the West Coast, by the way; there are interesting-shaped rocks of all sizes in the water all down the coast (at least so far).

Sometimes I'd be down by the water, just 50 feet or so above it. Then I'd climb a long, gradual hill and be looking down a few hundred feet to the sparkling, blue water.

And then, in thrilling fashion, I'd zoom down a long, twisting hill.

Those experiences were both exciting and a tinge nerve-racking. I reached my highest speed of the trip -- 37.2 mph -- and easily could have reached 50 mph if I had laid off the brakes. I had to be careful, however, to keep the bike steady as the wind off the ocean picked up about 10-fold each time I started gaining speed.

In the end, each hill had me shaking my head and grinning when I finally reached the bottom. And, I'm sure, they were good preparation for some of the rolling hills I'll experience here in California.

Around 3, I rolled up to my final Oregon State Park -- Harris Beach SP. It was a great final-night destination in the state. Sitting on a hill overlooking the small town of Brookings, it offered great views both to the north and south of dozens of rocks sticking up from the water.

After grabbing food in town, I biked uphill to the campsite and had plenty of time to prepare myself -- and the camera -- for yet another beautiful sunset. I would have watched it from the perfect spot, up on the beach's highest rock, but the seagulls up there were swarming and I had cookies with me (I've had a bad experience with a gang of seagulls; just ask about Australia).

Still, I found a comfortable rock and enjoyed another great evening on the beach. No, they'll never get old.

As I climbed into the tent, knowing this time -- for sure -- that no rain was coming, I started thinking about the upcoming week.

I was just 82 miles, approximately, from Arcata, CA, where I'm meeting Dad a week from Saturday (May 16) for three days of hiking. I had eight days to kill.

I looked at my maps, and I couldn't put together a concrete plan. (At the moment, the rough agenda is to spend three nights at the beautiful hostel in the Redwoods national/state park and do some exploring in the area.)

But I was able to rest peacefully, knowing that at least I don't have to pass that much time in almost any other place in this country.

Yeah, a week in central Kansas is a bit less appealing.

Day 17 (May 6): Bandon, OR-Humbug Mountain State Park, OR -- 39.8 miles biked

Miles biked: 39.8 (755.3 overall)

Time on bike: 3 hours, 20 minutes, 39 seconds

Maximum speed: 31.9 mph

Roads taken: In Bandon: 1st Street, Edison Avenue, 4th Street, Ocean Drive, 7th Street, Beach Loop Road ... 101 South.

Places stopped: Langlois general store (for one of its famous hot dogs; at least they're famous in the Northwest), Port Orford Library (for quick blogging session), "Crazy Norwegian" restaurant (for clams dinner and homemade Marionberry pie a la mode dessert), Humbug Mountain State Park (for the night).

I woke up Wednesday morning and didn't like what I heard.

The wind was howling, rain was falling, and it sounded like get-blown-into-the-middle-of-the-road weather.

So I went back to sleep, hoping it'd magically become calm when I awakened again.

Nope, same thing.

I didn't want to stay at the hostel, as great as it was, another night. Not only would it cost $20, but I couldn't stomach the thought of simply staying in one place -- a place not very big -- for a full day.

But something about the wind coming off the water scared me from getting on the bike and heading toward Humbug Mountain, which sat about 38 miles away and offered a state park in which to camp.

So I loitered all morning, walking around the town a couple times and browsing the local book store. I also showed my great lack of will power, eating all the sandwiches I'd made for the day (so much for my plan of not buying any additional food).

Finally, at 1, I decided that something needed to be done. I'm not the kind of person who can just sit around and do nothing. I had to make a move.

I'm usually awful when it comes to making decisions. So that didn't help.

At that point, I considered two options.

1. I could set out for Humbug Mtn., weather be damned, and see what happened.

2. I could backtrack 3 miles over the bridge -- where I'd walk the 520 -- and stay at Bullards Beach State Park.

As I equipped the bike with all my equipment, I was about 53-47 toward going with route No. 2. I could spend the afternoon at the library, I figured, blogging and maybe catching up on what was transpiring in the sports world. I could follow that up with a nice dinner in town, maybe watch a little hoops and then head for the campsite without getting too wet or cold.

It sounded all right and safe, as I headed out on 1st Street, but it simply wasn't for me. Because after about an eighth of a mile, I had changed my mind for the 437th time.

I was going for it, wind and rain be damned. I climbed the steep Edison Avenue hill with a determination I hadn't had when I woke up both the first and second times.

I turned onto Beach Loop Road and made sure to keep the bike steady as I was hit by wind gusts from the side.

And I told myself, "Nothing will stop you from reaching your destination today. Nothing."

As it turned out, the weather wasn't too bad as I got away from the water. Sure, there was a little wind (and I think I was biking into it; it definitely wasn't helping me). And, sure, there was rain most of the afternoon.

But I never felt in danger, especially with wide shoulders for much of the route. And after the first 10 miles, miles started flying by.

I stopped in the tiny town of Langlois (population: 50 people) for one of their famous hot dogs, prepared with honey mustard and pickles. It, undoubtedly, hit the spot.

Then I pushed it to Port Orford, where I visited yet another library (they have 'em in every Oregon city; even Langlois had one!) before stopping for dinner at the Crazy Norwegian.

And that's where I tasted the most delicious dessert, so far, of this trip. The place's homemade marionberry pie, with a scoop of ice cream, was as delectable as could be.

I finished every crumb and then headed back to the bike for the final 5.3 miles to the campsite.

And what a beautiful last few miles they were, as I wended my way on 101 above the ocean and a yellow light on the horizon. The sun was trying to peak out after a long day behind the clouds, and it finally did after I reached my spot for the night.

The only negative was that I couldn't find a place with cover, so I had to set the tent up and hope it wouldn't rain for the sake of my bike.

But I forgot about that little detail when I walked out to the beach and saw the suddenly bright sun lined up directly with a rock in the rough surf. It was the coolest beach I've been to, with a tiny sand bar, separated from the mainland by a mini stream, and with Mt. Humbug -- 1,756 feet -- looming above the water just to my left.

Route 101, on which I'd just been, was just above me.

I admired the scenery and then chatted for a while with one of the park's hosts, who was walking her dog.

She told me about the campsite in Brookings, where I planned to stay Thursday night, saying that it was even nicer and provided better sunsets.

With that thought in my mind, I prepared for my final full day of biking in the picturesque state of Oregon.

Then I climbed in the tent, with everything peaceful around me...