Day 9 – Astoria, OR. 72 km
This was the most difficult day of our journey to date. We woke up to rain and it steadily got heavier. The road conditions were pretty good – consistent shoulder, rolling hills, not too steep. But wet, with a heavily gusting headwind that almost stopped me dead on a descent. Abysmal. And not helped by the absence of anywhere to stop for coffee and a warm-up for at least 40 km.
Eventually we found a place to eat. When we left the rain started to let up and the wind lightened. There even appeared promising bits of blue in brief breaks of the heavy cloud cover. All was looking up. And then we came to the bridge.
The Astoria Bridge crosses the mouth of the Columbia River. Halfway across you leave Washington and enter Oregon. But crossing that bridge is a nightmare for cyclists. First of all, it’s four miles long, and offers a shoulder exactly two feet wide. The speed limit for traffic is 50 mph, and traffic includes all the usual frighteners – logging trucks, moving vans, the ubiquitous monster RVs towing vehicles. For four miles all you can do is look at the pavement in front of your wheel and try for all you can to steer straight. It was horrific. Once we were over, I hugged Sophie in relief. She had been worried about this bridge. We had heard scary stuff. But when the time came, she didn’t hesitate, she just put her head down and carried on. Which is what’s required. Because once you’re on that bridge there’s no room for stopping, changing your mind or turning back. You’re committed for all four miles.
Our reward for all this trauma is a night in a heated room with double beds, electricity, TV and our own shower.