Day 5 – Crescent City to Lincoln City
Without question, our accommodations of the previous evening were on the spartan side, but serviceable. This would also be an apt description of the continental breakfast. As such, we opted to get on the move earlier, and have our first stop of the day be our source for first breakfasts, rather than our usual second breakfasts.
And I’m so very glad that we did. The Mystic Bean Cafe is an incredibly small little coffee stand (they actually do drive through service should you so desire; that’s not exactly a practical option when you’re on a motorcycle, however). A four-shot americano, a glass of orange juice and what has to have been one of the very best breakfast sandwiches I’ve ever had. Lovely peppery bacon, pepper-jack cheese (don’t know what it is, but it tastes awesome) and an egg on an English muffin. This is like no Egg McMuffin you’ve ever had.
First breakfasts. The Mystic Bean Cafe in Crescent City.
You’ve never had a better breakfast sandwich. Trust me.
At this point, it would be easy to assume that riding with us is non-stop motorcycling, eating, drinking and sleeping. In that you would be wrong. We also stop to fill up for gas. We spend time checking into and out of hotels. And of course there is the effort of crafting updates on our travels for the legion of fans living vicariously through us. In case you were wondering, that would include you.
However, the last three days have been pretty consistent in terms of distance, at about 250 miles. Which has resulted in us establishing a rhythm and pattern to our days. Breakfast, and about an hour on the road until our first coffee stop (and Breton’s first pee break; followed by Breton’s second pee break). Then back on the road until we fill up with gas, which may or may not include coffee, but will include pee break number 3. Then lunch, and breaks number 4 and 5. After that, a final coffee of the day (and 6 and 7) and we’re set up for arrival at our hotel for the night.
And so it was today. After breakfast, we were once again on our way. Crescent City is only a few miles from the Oregon border, and we found ourselves cruising up the Oregon coast, enjoying empty roads, amazing scenery and epically delightful roads. We enjoyed long, fast sweepers as the highway meandered along the coast. Not as technical as we experienced yesterday, but no less enjoyable (and a delightful surprise I had forgotten about since the last time I was through).
This is the Oregon coast. And it a veritable delight.
Motorcycle travel in Oregon has a couple of peculiarities. Firstly, the speed limit rigidly never exceeds 55 mph. And secondly, there is no such thing as self-serve gas pumps; there is an attendant at every single gas station. I have no idea what the reason for either of these legislated requirements are, but have come to simply accept them as the reality when traversing the state. On a bike, the ritual is different, of course. The attendant takes and swipes your credit card, punches in your chosen grade of gas, and then lets you actually pump your own fuel. Which is a good thing, and preferable. But lord help you if you try to swipe your own credit card. As Breton found out quickly enough.
After filling up in Coos Bay, we headed for the Shake ‘n’ Burger for lunch. No prizes for guessing their specialties. But it was a truly awesome lunch. I don’t think I’ve had a milk shake since the J&L Drive-In in Port Alberni, many, many moons ago. And there’s a thing about milk shakes: when they’re good, they’re very good. And when they’re not, they make you regret the entire experience. In fact, that pretty much encapsulates the world of fast food.
Burger, fries, milk shake. Done well, there is no better meal.
Walking through the coffee drive-through. As you do.
There were some final logistics to sort out. I chose to have an after lunch-coffee and change the card in my GoPro. Breton had been assigned a quest to the nearest WalMart to pick up Rose’s Key Lime Juice (which, apparently, exists not north of the border, and so must be transported across international borders in a clandestine fashion). We arranged to meet up on the north side of town once he’d scored his stash.
The afternoon was much like the morning. The roads in Oregon are genuinely impressive. Once you’re out of any settled areas, you’re genuinely in the countryside. Cliffs, giant forests, majestic rivers and gorgeous roads await. Even better, for most of the afternoon we saw very little traffic. What few vehicles we came across either left the highway in short order, pulled over to let us pass, or were quickly dispatched in the next passing lane.
We stopped in Yachats (no idea on earth how to pronounce that, but there you are) for our final stop of the day. The espresso shop on the end of town indicated that they were closed expect for drive through, and that we could go find somewhere back in town. Given that I’d already walked through the drive-through of a coffee place once already today, I’m not entirely sure what the technicalities were here. But given the lack of accessible bathroom, Breton quickly indicated they were dead to him. Back to town it was.
Our afternoon coffee stop. At least, the one that would serve us.
This gives “like a kid in a candy shop” a bad name.
That also let us stock up on wine for dinner (priorities, after all). And engage in some pretty epic people watching. As well as spotting our first Moto Guzzi of the trip (and another Breva, no less). Leaving Yachats, we found ourselves with more traffic. I was at this point pretty resigned to the final stretch being a slower leg, navigating rush hour and following cars all the way to Lincoln City. I was pleasantly delighted, then, to find one last passing lane and about 6 miles of glorious curves to round out the afternoon.
We arrived in Lincoln City, having programmed the GPS for the Seahorse Oceanfront Lodging. Which felt a wee bit more motel-like than I last remembered it. Mostly because where we were trying to go (and we fortunately had a reservation) was actually the Starfish Manor, just down the road. An innocent mistake, but one that will get you a very different accommodation experience.
A bit more romantic than I think either of us had planned.
Of course, the two bedroom suite with two stated occupants still got us a very different accommodation experience. Namely a master suite with bed liberally sprinkled with rose petals. While I’m not sure what to make of that, and Breton really wasn’t sure what to make of that, the last time I stayed here (alone, I might add) I had the exact same experience. Because there’s no love like self-love.
Martini with landscape and seagull.