You utter utter utter utter Utter idiot
Trip Start Jun 02, 2013
62Trip End Aug 30, 2013
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Today the route was divided into 4 sections, 2 easy and two difficult. You pays your money and you takes your choice.
Given how hard this has been the last few weeks I thought perhaps the route had saved the easiest til last. I chose the two difficult sections. How hard could it be when speed is my friend? What could possibly go wrong?
As Andy's Murray said at the weekend, why is the last gasp the hardest?
It is like the route has said "OK now I will put to the test everything you have learned"
Apart from the brutal heat of Utah this was one of the toughest
The GPS route was wrong and for large parts of the day there was no mapping at all. I re-routed maybe 20 times.
Add to that I was on my own. Although it was not the remoteness of Utah or New Mexico, it was still a bloody long way off the beaten track to walk after a puncture or broken leg.
At one point I turned around eight times to retrace my steps over one junction and to try to find the way forward.
Just to keep up the tradition I even fell off in a puddle.
It was as hard is it gets. Up in the high forest of Oregon. Trees down, trails washed away and wrong routes.
Then the end was in sight. Port Orford. The most westerly point of the lower 48 states. The End. Finito. El Finale. La Fine. Koniec.
A few miles of road section and Robert is your Father's brother.
How hard can it be?
How on earth have I survived my time on this planet and learned so little?
Why me? Why do I have so little common good sense when it comes to not being a complete and utter arse.
I've arrived. I have achieved something. Not sure what but more than most people. Picture of the sea, find a motel job's a good un. Off to bed. But no.
Port Orford is a bizarre port with no shelter for its fishing fleet. A 100 feet of beach and a hydraulic lift to get the fishing boats our of the water due to the high winds.
Given the shit day that I have had I rather cleverly decide that a picture of my bike resting close to the Pacific would be a fitting finale to the trip
So I find an access road and ride onto the beach.
I get 50 feet from the Pacific Ocean and the bike stops. Not only does it stop but I can kneel down on the sand whilst sitting on the saddle and to get off I don't need a side stand to hold the bike upright.
I am a complete and utter utter utter utter utter utter knob. Stuck, bloody stuck, stuck, idiot, knob. Idiot stuck. Idiot. If Bill was here we would have been crying so much it would hurt.
I can't move. I walk to the port official who has been watching the idiot on the beach and I beg. I beg to the food cabin near the beach. I beg to the fishermen in the port, I beg to the nearest hotel owner. I beg to locals. I beg to tourists. I beg to people in town with a 4x4. Funnily enough no one has a 4x4. In fact they all do but what they are too polite to say is that they don't want to get it covered in sand for some Limey utter utter utter idiot knob utter idiot who though it would be cool to ride into the Pacific Ocean.
4 hours to dig it out with the help of three tourists and travel the 100 feet to my super cool hotel overlooking my buried motorised bicycle,.
Its been a hard and emotional day. I wish Bill has been with me.