Ft. Stevens State Park - Melinda threw our gear out of the van, locked the doors, and drove off with our wailing and pleading and threats loud in her ears. There was nothing for it but to start riding. We visited Ft. Clatsop State Park, where Lewis & Clark wintered-over, then got down to pedaling. Some up and down as the coast road touches the surf and then climbs over a headland (or tunnels through in one case) to return to the surf. By arrangement, we met with my brother at Nehalem Bay State Park. He and his wife had their RV parked and fed us an excellent dinner. They refused to give us a ride, however. Raccoon burglarized my pannier - no more granola for breakfast. 51 miles.
Continued along the coast or inland parallel to the coast to Cape Lookout State Park. Freeze-dried unidentifiable substance for dinner. 39 miles. Generally cool to cold and somewhat windy.
Further down the coast and finally turn east to reach Rose Lodge where our map promised a campground. One might easily come to the conclusion that the entirety of Rose Lodge is a convenience store whose inventory consists of cold beer and Twinkies, nothing else. At the store, the clerk and some locals agreed that there is no campground in Rose Lodge. We trudged on and quickly found the RV park that serves as a campground. I guess that I have to be more general in how I ask the locals about lodging. We were welcomed at the RV park. The proprietor directed us to the one remaining commercial element of Rose Lodge for food. That was the Tackle Box, a bait shop with some grocery contained in a space of maybe 300 square feet. I went in and asked for some sausages to cook up. The owner thought for a while and then agreed he had some sausages. He went to the ice cream case, took out the trays, and dug out of the bottom a cardboard box with some loose, freezer-burned sausages. He grabbed a big handful and asked, "What do you say to three dollars?" A deal was made. We fried them up along with a load of garlic chicken Rice-a-Roni and ate like kings. 42 miles.
It rained overnight. Fortunately, Roy heard a weather forecast. The RV park had a shed where we sheltered the bikes. A light rain fell all night, tapering off at dawn. I'm glad we didn't have the rain any earlier in the trip - the cold wind was bad enough. Rain on top would have been pretty disheartening. We packed up the wet tents. Granola bars for breakfast with the expectation of a hot meal over a big hill and ten miles away. The one building was boarded up when we finally got there. Well, okay, then we'll go another eight miles or so to Grand Ronde for breakfast. No cafe there either! Finally found an Indian casino just before Ft. Hill. Roy and Michele went in for a serious breakfast. I was less hungry and I was also afraid to leave our stuff at a casino, so I sat outside with the bikes and made a sandwich. Every logging truck in Oregon is on this road. The shoulder is wide enough, but there's a ton of gravel thrown onto the shoulder so you're forced toward the traffic lane. It's pretty scary. We met a British cyclist just finishing his coast-to-coast ride who said this stretch is the worst of the whole ride. We've left that behind. We have a motel in Monmouth, Oregon, tonight. About 44 miles.