The rains have arrived. We have left the Olympic Peninsula and navigated our way to the edge of the world where the great mouth of the Columbia River meets the roiling waters of the Pacific. An unlucky place for many an explorer. The dangerous and ship destroying bar at the mouth of the mighty Columbia River is a notorious graveyard for over 2,000 ships since 1792. Our approach to the coast was precipitated by the astonishing construct called the Astoria Bridge, a feat of architecture built in 1966 that spanned the impossibly wide river. Our passage was eased by the foresight and labor of men from another century. After a 2 mile crossing, we were approaching the apex of the great bridge when construction traffic stopped us dead cold and Mark, in a panicked tone, states that we were are running on fumes. Essentially we are out of gas, paused on a 7% upward grade. If we are stuck here much longer, we are screwed. As I sat there, fingers crossed, I couldn’t help but wonder at how many lives had been lost in the raging currents below me.
I had just finished reading a book titled Astoria, a true adventure tale of the 1810 Astor Expedition, an epic journey three years in the making with the purpose of establishing a Pacific trading empire. Astoria would become the first American settlement on the west coast and opened up the Oregon Trail to intrepid souls in the years to come. It was exciting to see the real life city across the bridge, knowing its origins in courage, starvation and madness. It seemed inauspicious that we were stymied in our entrance, would Astoria be our first mishap?
The traffic cleared and we made our way down a steep hill to the first gas station, literally coasting and coughing up fumes. The clouds let loose a curtain of soft but drenching rain. It was a wet welcome to the State of Oregon. We had booked a campground for one night outside the town of Astoria, at Fort Stephens. It was a damp and dreary site, we unhooked the Cricket and went searching for sustenance, finding a small hole in the wall tavern, where the fish was fresh and the beer was cold.
The morning dawned with great clouds of gray and gloom, occasional sheets of rain would alternate with blinding rays of light. This was Oregon weather I would grow to dread. It wasn’t Michigan rain, the heavy bursts and downpours, the pounding staccato drumbeat of showers so heavy, you knew the moment would eventually pass. This rain had a different quality, like that setting on your garden hose called shower, it was almost a delicate spray, constant but soft. Followed by sudden clearings of bright rays of sun, only to be obscured moments later. Schizophrenic weather, not my fave.
Astoria is an old port city and it felt appropriate to see it in this light. It is a working town, shipping and lumber being the primary commodities though 30 canneries also called Astoria headquarters. Bumble Bee Seafood has moved but maintains a cool museum out on one of the docks. We were surprised to find a vibrant microbrew and food scene. We wandered the town and paid a visit to The Oregon Film Museum, a pean to the Goonies, the cult film from the 80’s. We thought the museum would be a retrospective of all the films made here but oddly, it seemed to be an homage to everything Goonies. Like someone had collected every possible item associated with the film in their basement, run out of room and decided to store it all in the old County Jail and slip the moniker of Museum on it all. We got some good laughs out of it. After a stop at Fort Clatsop, a must see for Lewis & Clark fans to see the reconstructed camp on the banks of the Netul River, it was time to go.
We move on. To a place that captured my soul. It may have helped that the weather cleared and we were given 5 days of bright sunshine and mild temperatures in the normally tempestuous Oregon coastal climate. Upon arrival, the weather had not quite cleared when we checked into Nehelem State Park. Our site was nestled on the backside of sand dunes, over which the Pacific crashed and roared and the sun burned the early morning fog away and melted into the horizon every night.
On our first evening, in a gentle downpour, we ventured into 
Manzanita, a five minute drive from the campground. Not much was open, the one farm to table restaurant I’d read about was closed for good. The other nice bistro was closed for vacation. We were desperate for some food and drink. In the distance, we saw a shimmering light. My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim. I had to stop for the night. No seriously, I know I am cribbing Eagles lyrics but that is how it felt. The MacGregor’s Whiskey Bar signage was a welcome sight. I believe Mark and I giggled and high-fived. Inside, there were maybe seats for 20 people and it was jamming with locals. There were 2 seats at the bar. It was 5:30pm. We proceeded to spend one of the more pleasurable evenings here in the company of mostly locals. After a few whiskey tastings, some excellent charcuterie and a mean mac &cheese, Trivia Night was announced. I can’t begin to describe the unbridled giddiness I felt over the prospect of a night of tomfoolery. Don’t get me wrong, our nights of campfires and camp cooking, reading and writing have been satisfying but I was craving some social interaction. Besides, Mark is an ACE at trivia, so with the addition of a third party to our team(a young liquor sales rep who generously provided us with rocks glasses of Crown Royal) we managed to come in second! Mark thinks we were swindled, we were the oldest people in the bar and one of the questions involved ‘Video Killed the Radio Star’, an old 80’s tune. How could these young ones nab that piece of trivia? It was a memorable evening, one where we found ourselves making our way back to a darkened campsite at 10:30pm. We would return for the last night of our time on the Oregon Coast to a much different crowd.
Our time on the coast was spent doing the things we love. We took long walks on several gorgeous beaches, tide pooling at low tide. Stopping in charming little beach towns like Cannon Beach and Lincoln City. Ate tons of Clam Chowder and crab. We rode our biked to Manzanita every morning to the coffee shop and bombed around on the coastal roads. Sunset watching with a bottle of good Oregon Pinot. A particularly enjoyable camp meal was made from 2 freshly caught huge crabs generously given to us by our camp neighbors. After an hour of cleaning and picking the meat from the crustaceans, we made a delicious crab sauce and ate it over pasta. One of my favorite meals on this road trip.
We returned to McGregor’s our last night in Manzanita. This time the folks imbibing were visitors from Portland; young, hip designers who were in town for a conference, and two young nomads traveling the US in a vintage tailer. It wasn’t long before the entire bar was conversing with one another over the forbidden subject; politics. It was great, the entire bar jumped into the discussion. It was interesting because the generational impact on opinion became immediately obvious. While everyone in the bar was liberal and despised Trump, they were not worried or deeply concerned over his actions. In fact, they believed his tenure would be uneventful and his historical impact minimal. Mark and I were taken aback at this laissez-faire attitude, we were firmly in the resistance camp, and were worried at the far-reaching implications of a Trump presidency. The feeling on behalf of the Portland contingency was amazingly dispassionate. Trump would be a blip in history, no worries. Needless to say, the night was enlightening.
We left the Oregon Coast making plans to return someday. We were excited to be on the road to Bend, a town we had heard endless accolades about. We had spent the longest amount of time in the Cricket, six consecutive days and the prospect of an airbnb was enticing on many levels. Hot clean showers and space to move about. Onward! 
