An unbelievable climate change happens on the coast. The jackets come out and the grip heaters go on. Passing in and out of the fog is a novelty we've yet to experience. We're treated to a few brief views of the water, but mostly have great views of fog.
No matter, 101 is great fun to ride.
Note to self: don't drop camera...or crash.
John riding 101, circa 1924.
Somewhere near the coast we stopped for gas at this little place. Cash only. The whole place felt like it was from another time. The old guy running the joint seemed to like that just fine.
Starting at Port Oreford, we looked for beach access. This turned out to be much harder than expected. I think the locals like to keep the beach to themselves. Everything we found was private or state park. Right when we were about to give up, a nice guy took pity on us and told us where we needed to go. His directions were convoluted and the road was unmarked, but eventually we hit pay dirt.
Cue gratuitous beach shots. And....go.
We set up camp amidst the fog and crashing waves and lit up a fire to celebrate. We drank beer and marveled in our surrounds. Four years of dreaming and here we are. After 2000 miles of dirt and dust, we're sitting on the shore of the Pacific. Amazing.