ROCKS! ELK! TSUNAMI!

Just a few of the potential fatal dangers blighting our progress south, according to the trusty American highway sign.

Forgive us if this impending blog sounds like an attack on the stars and stripes, as so far this country has welcomed us with warm hospitality, incredible vistas and bucket-loads of food. The vast beauty of the landscape, namely the spectacular Oregon coastline along which we have ridden this week, consistently takes the breath from our lungs. To look down a sheer rocky cliff face to where sea lions bask and hurl themselves into the frothy swell makes the longest climbs worthwhile. Just this morning we ate breakfast while sat on some driftwood in the middle of a 2 mile stretch of deserted beach. It doesn't exactly make one pine for Southend-on-Sea.

Despite all this, 700 miles on the road has led to a few teensy irritations, which we shall now divulge/offload:

As previously mentioned, the American propensity for signs means that it is impossible to travel more than 100 yards without being informed of potential perils, ranging from a slight dip in the road or a rogue piece of gravel all the way up to an apocalyptic tidal wave. We wonder just how effective these informative signs would be in the event of an actual tsunami, and whether members of the public will be adhering to the 'designated evacuation routes' (no joke) or simply running for the hills. We suspect the latter. There are also many signs warning motorists of bikes in the road, although this hasn't prevented a couple of excessively large motorhomes and a school bus getting close enough top give us a friendly nudge.

We also take issue with the mile-long corridor of consumerism which is characteristic of the road leading into every American town. Vast superstores and fast food 'drive-thrus' are all based out of town, representing a culture totally reliant on the automobile.

This week our distinct lack of cycling experience came to light as we were halted for almost 2 days by a serious technical issue - a flat tyre. 4 flat tyres to be precise, but our blatant ineptitude magnified this problem ten-fold. It seemed all hope was lost when Greg broke his third and final inner tube with some over zealous pumping and heavy handed rim work. Mark rode 10 miles on a heroic rescue mission and triumphantly returned with an inner tube...that was the wrong size. We see the pity and obvious doubt in people's eyes when we reveal to real cyclists that we plan to travel all the way to Cost Rica.

However, being a pair of buffoons has positive points. After seeing Mark fall off his bike in the middle of the street in Manzanita, 2 guys, Brian and Danny, took pity and offered us a futon for the night. While on the beach regrouping and wiping bloody knees, a lady kindly offered us leftovers at her beachside holiday home. To our delight, 'leftovers' was an understatement, and was in fact a euphemism for steaming bowls of penne bolognaise, warm sourdough bread, cool Californian wine and a tub of Ben and Jerry's. We felt obliged to polish off these 'leftovers' lest they go to waste. We were sent on our way with a bag of Eileen's homemade cookies, choc chip banana bread and roast chicken. We dragged our swollen bellies up the hill to our hosts for the night with Greg projectile vomiting from the saddle. Brian and Danny's home was a wonderful log cabin set back in the woods, a base for 11 people learnin wilderness skills ranging from food gathering to boat building using animal skins. The cabin was indeed a hive of creativity, and it was a pleasure to spend the evening with like-minded individuals. Their self-sufficient choice of living, epitomised by rows of homemade preserves (dark chocolate and ginger syrup?!), inspired us, and jerked us into the realisation that one doesn't have to wander unconsciously into the lifestyle that our society presents to us. We also had a bloody great kip on our futons!

We have found that the routine of a touring cyclist relies little on calendars. On what we assumed to be Thursday 11th September, we stopped for a midday muffin to fuel our pursuit of a record breaking disatance for the day. A quick phone check revealed that it was in fact Friday 12th September, and that Mark had obliviously reached the ripe old age of 24. This was celebrated by smashing out 84 miles, Mark sitting on the floor of a public restroom in order to charge his phone and check birthday messages, and a personalised and delicious surprise cake (check out Mark's gleeful grin on the gallery).

As we reflect on the trip thus far, numbers and distances seem to roll lazily off the tongue. Today we anticipated a casual 30 mile spin into the town of Florence, where we now sit down to write this blog. Yet when a large proportion of these miles are winding, uphill cliffs to be slogged up at 6mph, it's a humbling reminder that no mile comes for free.

Week 2 - 352 miles

Total distance - 703 miles

Lessons learned:
- Inner tube valves are by no means indestructable.
- Super glue is not suitable for cementing punctures.
- Apple crumb is the best type of muffin in the world. Ever.
- Freshly picked roadside blackberries complement bagels and cream cheese.
- Greg is re-evaluating life choices afer visiting the 'wilderness cabin'.
- Lifting logs on the beach rather than weights in the gym makes you feel like a real man. Grrr.