Thursday, July 21, 2011
Lincoln City, Oregon to Bandon, Oregon
Out and about and heading south at around 9:00am. It will be difficult to top yesterday with all its travel and attractions, but we'll give it a shot.
Out of Lincoln City, our informal destination is Coos Bay but it isn't carved in stone yet. Just a target. What we have in mind for today is to see the sea lion caves and then the dunes near Florence.
First on the list were the sea lion caves, a well known attraction for many years. Jan and Celine went, getting their tickets and then a two hundred foot drop down to the caves by elevator. Jan said it was lovely, the animals were laying about flapping their pinniped flippers and barking at each other. Jan and I saw their brothers and sisters in Monterey in October of last year on the TR6 trip to California, and got much closer to them there as they were just below the walkway that we were on. But Jan said that the number and sheer mass of these animals made the elevator journey more than worthwhile and she was very happy she went. Bob and I hung around the gift shop, and Bob bought some fudge for later, a good idea. Jan had my wallet so I didn't buy anything, and saved the money in the process.
Then down the coast to ride on the sand dunes. This was recommended to us by our friends Vern and Judy who took this ride a couple of weeks ago and thought it was great. South we went from the sea lions, through Florence, and on for a couple of miles to 'Sand Dunes Frontier' . We parked, met a family from Chilliwack also on holidays, and then went inside to confront a fast-talking female who, frankly, confused me completely. Eventually, we understood that it would be about an hour and a half wait for a 'sand rail' ride, but there was another driver who would take us out if we didn't want to wait, but it needed a minimum of six passengers. There was already a group waiting, so that made ten of us including some of the Chilliwack contingent that we had just met. OK boss, sign us up. She called up the driver on the radio and told him to 'finish his lunch and get his butt down here', and we wandered outside. From up the road came a roaring and clanking sound, as we lounged by a picnic table, and an apparition came down the trail toward us with the driver shouting and waving his arms to a customer in a car/trailer combination in the parking lot. By a combination of sign language and caustic verbosity, the customer was informed that he better move or be run over. He moved, quickly, as the beast bearing down on him was the ugliest towtruck I have ever seen. Huge fat tires, no body to speak of, only frame and engine and tow hook, just check out Jan's pictures. And a big set of jaws and teeth painted on the front of the thing. He was off to the dunes to pick up the remains of a sand rail that had broken down, accounting I suppose for the long wait that we would face if we had insisted on that ride.
No sooner had the tow truck passed from our view than our driver showed up and told us to get aboard his machine. Which we did, quickly. We belted ourselves in, and were soon lurching up the trail and then turning left and running up through the trees, heading for the dunes I supposed. On the way we passed the beast returning with a 'worse for wear' sand rail on its hook, our driver giving way to the uglier machine. I suppose when you are that unattractive, and are a towtruck, you fear neither god nor the devil.
We tore out onto the dunes, which rose and fell in an irregular set of peaks and valleys in front of us and around us. Up one peak we went, over the top in a tummy-heaving motion, then down the other side to the sand valley far below. Repeat, as needed, and combine with a run along the side of these monster dunes, with the driver stopping from time to time to explain the evolution of the dunes and the important featurs of them. I have all that on video, including his explanations as we were sitting in the front just behind the driver, but these aren't on the webside, too bad. The real story was the sand rails, however, those things really fly and the drivers pride themselves on delivering on their 'thrill a minute' promise. Those guys are where the action is, no doubt, but we just didn't want to wait the minimum hour and a half to get aboard. We saw several of them, as there are many companies running dune rides here, as well as private and rental single passenger dune buggies. Too much fun, if I lived here I would get a dune buggy and ride from morning to night, every day. Until I killed myself. Which I undoubtedly would.
After the ride, back to Florence and a visit to Mo's for clam chowder. I am all about clam chowder this trip, getting some wherever we stop. Except today. Today we are in chowder heaven, the best say all the adverts and billboards for miles around. So Bob and Jan and Celine order the monster chowder bowl, a sourdough loaf hollowed out and filled with chowder. Looked good, alright, but I ordered 'Chicken Fried Steak'. Why?? Don't know, in fact I can't even imagin what it is. Steak fried in chicken fat? Chicken fried in beef fat? What could it be? I know, ask the waitress - and she doesn't know either. She said it is cube steak, breaded, and fried, served with mashed potatoes and white gravy. Great, a heart attack on a plate, 1500 grams of fat per 1000 grams of food, at least. So I ordered it. Fool.
It comes, and is as advertised, masses of white gravy. Fat and flour mixed together, and some bacon chunks added. But it tastes soooo goooooood. Yummy. This is why the good ole boys have such big bellies. Me too, now. Jan has some, just to taste, and I finish her chowder.
Done with lunch, we walk down the road to the car and I am (discretely of course) burping and belching along the way, regretting my lunchtime indescretion already. No matter, the wages of culinary sin is heartburn and I must pay to the piper the appropriate toll as I never seem to learn.
A bit further down the road and we pull in to a lovely little town called Bandon for the night. We find a motel, from the BCAA travel book Jan carries, drop the bags, and head out for a hike. The four of us wander along the absolutely charming, friendly, scenic, and beautiful seashore walk and out onto a pier where fishermen are pulling up crab pots. Bob and Jan and Celine crowd around to hear the fishermen's stories about crabs but I hang back. Crabs are just spiders that live in the ocean, to me, and I want nothing to do with them. Years ago we signed a non-agression pact to the effect that if they don't bite me I won't bite them. It works. We moved on, walking through the town, passing by a real estate office and being shocked by the low prices of homes in this town. The recession here as well? Looks like. Now the town name makes sense: A Bandon all hope, ye who live here - to paraphrase Dante.
Back to the motel, some cookies and tea in the lobby, then down for the night. I get up in the night to close the door to the deck and stumble into the wall in the dark, making a crash heard for miles around. Jan sleeps through it, so maybe it wasn't that bad. In the morning we go south to McKinleyville
