1. 44 March/April 2012n RoadBike n RoadBikeMag.com
Thanks to the 1967
Beach Bill, 100 percent
of the Oregon coastline
is public land.

2. BY JON LANGSTON
I
n the conversation about riding the West Coast, the stretch from Los Angeles to San
Francisco gets all the glory, and deservedly so. After all, it’s home to such illustrious places
as Big Sur, Half Moon Bay, Hearst Castle, et al. Moreover, it’s one of the top riding/driving
roads in the country — check that: North America. I mean, of course, the world. So it
makes sense that it receives the lion’s share of attention.
But I’m here to serve notice. While the run up (or down) the central California coast is a fun
little jaunt, if you want to take a real motorcycle journey, ride beyond the sprawl of El Lay and the
Bay Area. The coastal road runs all the way to Canada, my friends, and from the wineries of
Mendocino to the yurts on Yachats to the cheese in Tillamook, there is much to discover among the
rocky shorelines, towering redwoods, and ocean vistas of the Pacific Northwest.
Shiftless In Seattle
Seattle is surely one of America’s great cities. I began my trip
in the Emerald City as an excuse to spend a couple of days
with an old friend; by the time I left, I’d hung out in the dress-
ing room of blues legend Jimmie Vaughan at the Triple Door,
shook hands with motocross legend Dick Mann, and spent
some quality time with the exact sweater that Kurt Cobain
wore in the video for Smells Like Teen Spirit at the Experience
Music Project. It was a glorious couple of days, but once I
picked up a Cory Ness Edition Victory Cross Country from
Hinshaw’s, a dealer in neighboring Auburn, Washington, it
was time to head for the coast.
My trip kicked off in Centralia, at the Olympic Club Hotel
& Theater, one of the McMenamin’s chain of refurbished (or
altogether repurposed) pubs, hotels, and breweries in the
Portland, Oregon, area. This joint was originally a seedy
downtown pool hall and rooming house next to the railroad
tracks. Today, it features a cozy bar, delicious restaurant, and first-run movie theater, all of which
are restored to pristine, late 19th-century detail. Best, it still rocks the original pool hall, replete
with checkered tile, a huge, wood-burning stove, and hanging chalk on retractable rope above each
table. The hotel has proper rooms for rent, but I opted instead for one of the flophouse jobs on the
second floor with a bunkbed and (meticulously spotless) bathroom down the hall. After a long day
at the AHRMA Chehalis Nationals (January/February), taking a bunk at the Oly Club just felt like
the right thing to do. I’ve researched the chain, and decided if I ever make it back to Portland, I’ll
happily book my stay at another McMenamin’s, thank you.
I’d planned to head toward the coast directly from Centralia, but if I’ve learned anything about
motorcycling,it’s that mental cobwebs are best blown out at high,easy speeds. So the following morn-
ing, I jumped on Interstate-5 south and gave the big Vic a purpose-built twist. After a couple of hours,
my head felt great, and I’d nearly cleared the Oregon border. At a town called Kelso, I transitioned to
RoadBikeMag.com n RoadBike n March/April 2012 45

3. tooled. While much of 101 is rural, a
speed limit of 45 mph is pretty standard;
occasionally it was boosted to 55, but
those moments are few and far between.
Also, the coastal towns and communities
in the north are in fairly close proximity
and have even slower speeds posted with-
in city limits. Furthermore, there are
plenty of RVs and bicyclists here to
impede your progress. So relax, and take
advantage of the passing lanes whenever
possible.
US 101 veers slightly inland, and I
rolled throughTillamook, where the name-
sake cheese is produced. Tours are avail-
able, if you’re onto that sort of thing; I’m
much more the brewery-tour type, and
besides, it was a beautiful afternoon and I
had miles to ride. Beyond Tillamook, 101
stays away from the shore for 25 miles or
so, circumventing Cape Lookout. Here the
towns are more sporadic, the speed limit is
more relaxed, and before the road rejoins
with the shore, it cleaves a mountain pass,
where I had the opportunity to cavort with
a couple of sportbikes and lean the Cross
Country over, hard. For pure motorcycling enjoyment, this was
the highlight of Day One.
I reached Newport by sunset. A commercial fishing hub west
of Corvallis with a large harbor and plenty of lodging options, the
downtown marina area is bustling with ocean-themed bars and
restaurants. I had a sumptuous bowl of homemade cioppino at
Karin and Corky’s Sharks Seafood Bar (if you’ve never tried this
delicacy, a tomato-based fish stew that originated in the Italian
and Portuguese areas of North Beach, San Francisco, I can’t rec-
ommend it highly enough), then tipped back a couple of well-
deserved pints at the Rogue Ales Public House.
At eight o’clock the next morning, the sun was casting long
shadows that stretched across 101. I rode through the Siuslaw
National Forest, home to the eminent
Heceta Head Lighthouse. Eventually, I
found myself crawling along in second
gear among a throng of RVers and bicy-
clists on a thin, two-lane, asphalt ribbon
that’s carved into the cliffs above the
shoreline.
The brightest light on the Oregon
coast, the beam from Heceta Head can be
spotted more than 20 miles out to sea. It’s
purported to be the most-photographed
lighthouse in the US, certainly in
Oregon. Built in 1894, it and the keeper’s
house are listed on the National Register
of Historic Places. The home is actually a
bed and breakfast; judging by the amount
US Highway 30 West and made for the coast. Obviously, the log-
ging industry dominates the forest-laden Pacific Northwest, and
this stretch of the Columbia River basin is the destination for
thousands of square miles’worth of felled wood. Logs turned the
water’s surface brown and formed a floating bridge across the
river as they made their way to the sea. It wasn’t long before I
smelled salt in the air, and after Astoria, Oregon, I turned south
on US Highway 101, the Oregon Coast Highway.
Oregon Trail
Here’s something most people don’t realize about the Oregon
coast, and what distinguishes it from much of the rest of the US:
it’s public land. All of it. Thanks to the Oregon Beach Bill of
1967, even individuals who own beach-
front property can’t keep you off it. As a
result, the entire coast of the state is a
treasure trove of picnic and campgrounds,
beach communities, lighthouses, marinas,
and simply gorgeous natural beauty that’s
unspoiled by high-rises or fences. South
of Astoria, 101 rides the coastline, allow-
ing majestic views of the Pacific from the
saddle. Picturesque towns such as Cannon
Beach and Manzanita are commonplace,
and on this day the sun was shining clear
and there was none of Oregon’s infamous
gray cloud cover — or its notorious rain-
fall. I tooled along happily.
It’s important to stress the word
46 March/April 2012n RoadBike n RoadBikeMag.com
On the Redwood Highway,
northern California.
Foggy? Or not? Sometimes it's hard to tell.

4. motored past Gold Beach and Pistol
River, arriving in Brookings, a few miles
north of the state line, just before dark. I
stayed at a friendly place called the Wild
Rivers Motor Lodge, where I got a great
rate, the rooms were clean and comfort-
able, and Ken and Connie happily let me
charge my iPod at the front desk. Sleep
came easy.
California Dreamin’
The next morning was foggy and gray,
and I enjoyed a particularly tasty break-
fast at the Good Harvest Café in Crescent
City, California. I continued my journey
south on US 101, now called Redwood
Highway, and as the highway turned
inland and I entered Redwoods State
Park, I first noticed the massive trees that
crowded the narrow road. Above, green
treetops disappeared into gray abyss.
Occasional rays of sunshine knifed
through the mist, painting bright blotches
on the blacktop and illuminating specks of moisture in the air,
giving the scene an impression of pointillism. The Newton B.
Drury Scenic Parkway gave me the chance to enjoy the seren-
ity of the Big Trees for awhile longer; when it rejoined 101, the
coastal highway was a four-lane commercial route.
By the time I got to Humboldt, 101 had turned into a veri-
table freeway. Beyond Eureka, I gained altitude and raced
along at a pace that was, to this point, rare. It felt good to wind
the old girl out, but imagine my delight when I realized I’d
entered Humboldt Redwoods State Park. Eager for one final
face-to-face with the ancient mammoths, I exited the freeway
and took the alternate scenic route known as Avenue of the
Giants. A truly awe-inspiring, 31-mile portion of old Highway
101, it parallels Freeway 101 under the canopy of 51,222 acres
of virgin redwood groves.
By the time the Avenue of the Giants rejoined 101,
Redwood Highway began to zig and zag. I had a ball muscling
the Victory first up, then down the mountain alongside the Eel
River. By the time I stumbled upon The Peg House in Leggett,
I’d worked up a fine sweat and was ready for an ice-cold
lemonade. The Peg House is a general store that mainly serves
nearby campgrounds, but it’s also a popular way station for
north-south travelers on the 101, as well as a live music venue
for locals. It’s got a great outdoor seating area, and it serves
some highly regarded road food; I can definitely imagine this
patio packed with bikers on sunny weekend afternoons. I con-
templated staying on 101, which was to shortly turn into a free-
way again, and taking it easy the rest of the way to San
Francisco, but in the interest of gonzo journalism decided the
best move was to stick to the course and make for the coast.
Shortly past Leggett, I banged a right on Route 1 and steered
the Vic in the direction of a distant fogbank.
of tourists here, reservations are strongly
encouraged. There are plenty of turnouts,
clogging traffic even further; the way I
figured it, once I’d downshifted to first, I
might as well stop and see what all the
fuss was about. I’m glad I did. For jaw-
dropping splendor, this stretch of 101
ranks with any coastal route I’ve ridden,
or driven. Exquisite.
South of Heceta Head, the landscape
changes dramatically. The road goes
inland again, skirting the Oregon Dunes
National Recreation Area, a 40-mile-long
stretch of windswept dune-scape. This is
the largest expanse of coastal sand dunes
in North America, some of the sculpted
dunes towering up to 500' above sea level
and providing numerous recreational
opportunities: off-road vehicle riding,
hiking, fishing, canoeing, horseback rid-
ing, and camping among them.
I motored to the city of Coos Bay,
pondering lunch. I had plenty of time to
ponder and plenty of energy to spare on it, actually, because all
this tooling had me yawning, and I was eager to stretch the Cross
Country out. This is where my dog-eared copy of RoadBike con-
tributor Bruce Hansen’s book, Motorcycle Adventures in the
Pacific Northwest came in handy; it had been an indispensable
tool thus far, and so I consulted it over lunch to see if there were
any alternatives to tourist-laden 101. Not for the first time, I
raised a glass to the colleague I’d never met, for he provided me
with a marvelous option.
In Coos Bay, I turned west off 101 on Newmark Street, head-
ing for the “shore points” of Cape Arago, Shore Acres, and
Sunset Bay state parks. Once through town, I crossed a bridge
over a small harbor and soon came to the left turn I was looking
for. Almost immediately, Seven Devils Road had me bobbing
and weaving. It felt good to dive into and accelerate out of turns,
and to shift my weight around the Vic’s spacious saddle. For the
first time on day two, I had my jaw set in concentration. I soon
found myself on the apex of a high ridge that overlooked the blue
Pacific a few miles to my right and the hazy plains of Oregon to
my left. Stunning. Seven Devils descended the pass and soon
became Beaver Hill Road, then rejoined 101 in Bandon.
Highway 101 stayed inland for awhile, and I blasted along
through a smattering of small towns, stopping for a respite at a
quaint country store in Langlois. I didn’t see the Pacific for
awhile, until it blew me away in Port Orford. No longer was I
perched high above the coast; I was now riding alongside the
ocean on a south-facing harbor. I could see California.
Countless seabirds orbited jagged brown rocks that sat like tiny
islands offshore, some jutting just out a few feet from the water
while others stood eight stories tall; all were speckled with
guano. Pristine beach stretched for miles, and I pushed the big
Vic southward as the reddening sun fell into the ocean. I
RoadBikeMag.com n RoadBike n March/April 2012 47
The Victory Cross Country is big; redwoods are
bigger.

5. While in Oregon, I was impeded by RV traffic and small-
town speed limits; the coastal route of northern California is
sparsely settled and less cluttered with tourists. I was able to
cruise for long stretches here, and before I knew it, it was past
noon and I’d traveled more than a hundred miles. By Salt Point,
though, I was forced to alter my riding style. Suddenly, tricky
switchbacks forced me to downshift and move around on the
saddle, and I was attacking curves as hadn’t been necessary all
morning. Beyond Ft. Ross, the climb to over 1,000' was practi-
cally immediate. I was again on a high cliff overlooking the
Pacific, and as I crossed the Russian River at the town of
Jenner, I again descended to sea level.
Shoreline Highway took me into Sonoma County (Napa’s
cooler brother), through Carmet, then on to Bodega Bay, where
it inexplicably cuts inland for a few miles before returning to the
shore and running along beautiful, placid Tomales Bay. Judging
by the size of the homes I was seeing, it was clear that I was get-
ting close to San Francisco. I rolled through Point Reyes and
unassuming Stinson Beach, then through a pretty, undeveloped
stretch where the road climbed high above sea level. I watched a
massive fogbank slowly approach the coast. At Muir Beach,
Route 1 turns inland, and within minutes, I reached the 101
Freeway, made a right, and rode across a foggy Golden Gate
Bridge to the City by the Bay.
The following day, I dropped the big Victory off at the
Arlen Ness headquarters in Dublin, near Oakland. I plan to ride
from San Francisco down to Los Angeles via the coast, so I’ll
be able to better compare the two rides. But I predict the south-
ern stretch is going to have a lot to live up to. RB
(Note: RoadBike would like to thank the folks at Best Western,
who kindly provided the author the opportunity to finish this
tour when it appeared fate had other ideas.)
But not before negotiating some of the gnarliest switch-
backs the big tourer could handle. I’d anticipated a relaxing
ride to the shore; what I got was a hair-raising pop quiz on how
to guide a fully loaded touring motorcycle with an unladen dry
weight of 845 pounds down a steep, narrow, two-lane, moun-
tain road in dire need of a manicure. Once I got the hang of it,
I was struck by how maneuverable the massive Victory could
be. For a motorcycle of its size, the Cross Country was certainly
showing its sprightly side. I rounded a bend to the left. Below
me to the right, the gray Pacific, so blue and placid before,
crashed angrily against the jagged shoreline. I couldn’t see the
sun for the murky fog, but I knew it was getting late in the day.
The thick air was ripe with the scent of eucalyptus; I powered
through the dreary, wet fog, past the famed Inglenook
Vineyard. I checked into a hotel in the town of Ft. Bragg just
before the gray sky turned to black.
Mendocino, Sonoma, and Marin
Where I’m from, it’s called Pacific Coast Highway, but in
Mendocino County, Route 1 is known as Shoreline Highway
— which is fine, because the two roads couldn’t be more dis-
similar. Southern California’s Route 1 is teeming with strip
malls and gas stations, and clogged with traffic; Shoreline
Highway, on the other hand, is essentially a country road. It
goes through small, quirky towns with monikers like Elk and
Gualala as blithely as it scoots past secluded, exclusive devel-
opments with lofty names such as Anchor Bay and Sea Ranch.
Regardless of the specific locale, though, this is great riding:
relaxed in some places and challenging in others, but always
invigorating. Instead of heading due south, the coastal route in
this part of California moves in a distinct southeasterly direc-
tion, so the light and landscape were markedly different from
what I’d previously experienced.
48 March/April 2012n RoadBike n RoadBikeMag.com
BEST OF THE WEST
Good Harvest Café
Crescent City, CA
707/465-6028
Heceta Head Lighthouse
Yachats, OR
866/547-3696
www.HecetaLighthouse.com
Olympic Club
Centralia, WA 98531
866/736-5164
www.McMenamins.com
Rogue Ales Public House
Newport, OR
541/265-3188
www.Rogue.com
Sharks Seafood Bar
Newport, OR
541/574-0590
www.SharksSeafoodBar.com
The Peg House
Leggett, CA
707/925-6444
www.ThePegHouse.net
Wild Rivers Motor Lodge
Brookings, OR
877/469-5361
www.WildRiversMotorLodge.com
RESOURCES
Arlen Ness Headquarters
Dublin, CA
925/479-6350
www.ArlenNess.com
Best Western Hotels
800/780-7234
www.BestWestern.com
Motorcycle Adventures in the
Pacific Northwest, by Bruce
Hansen
Whitehorse Press
800/531-1133
www.WhitehorseGear.com