Motorcycling into the Sunset: Day 4: Maintenance Day

Day 4: Lincoln City, Oregon

Distance for the day: 4.0 km

Cumulative distance: whatever

Top speed: 2 kph

Moving average: 2 kph

Temperature range: around 12 or 13 but unknown for sure

We are staying at the Anchor Inn in Lincoln City. This is a budget motel but with wonderful, quirky charm. When we saw the weather yesterday, we looked for a place a suitable distance from Centralia (we have come to the conclusion that there really can't be an incorporated town called "Centralia", it is just an area in the midst of a network of roads around a spot on the interstate; we have said the name to several people and it means nothing to them). We were pretty excited to roll into the gravel parking lot. We were debating about whether we had gone further yesterday or the day before. Turns out it was 50 fewer km than the prior day but it felt like 50 or more kms than the prior day. We ended up in bed early and slept late this morning.

There is no real front desk per se here, once they have your money, they send a link to an app and the app will open the door to the room. We go straight to our assigned room and we can't get the app to work. After fussing for a few minutes, we have to go to The Red Phone which is in a phone booth in the common area and speak to the manager. She looks like she has been through this drill before and is probably thinking "dumb foreigners" but she is good natured about it. She holds my phone to the key pad and turns it 90 degrees and the lock immediately releases. I ask for some rags to wipe off the panniers, which I like to do so I am not bringing in so much road dirt into the motel room and she takes us to the room next door, which is an ammenities room. Inside there is a free washer and dryer, laundry soap, dryer sheets, hundreds of dvds, ice, Kuerig coffee maker, plenty of coffee pods, extra towels, extra quilts, tooth brushes, tooth paste, razors, ear plugs and towels marked "dog towels" which are also suitable for panniers.

The hotel is old, having built in the 1940s. There are two strips of "cabins" flanking the

common area, which is a large patio with several fire tables and assorted rhododendrons, cow lillies and other foliage. The cabin has two beds, a king and a queen and the queen is in a tiny little room at the back. There is a Keurig, microwave, fridge coffee cups, wine glasses, plates and cutlery. Walls look paper thin of the old varished wood style common of the era. But it is quaint and the owners have done a good job making an old dog do new tricks.

The rain has largely stopped this morning, though there is the occasional smattering of rain drops before noon. When that lets up, we go for a walk to the beach, which isn't that

far but there are homes all along the top of the cliff and we have to walk a ways to get to a public beach access. The surf is somewhat dramatic with the heavy weather that has been around and we spot numerous seals lounging on a sand spit in the bay.

After our beach walk, we are walking by a local brew pub and decide to go in for a beer. Somehow, it is not what I expected but Nan says it is exactly as she expected. To me, a craft brewery is usually a little bit Bohemian, decorative, trendy or that sort of thing but this place is just a tavern that makes its own beer. Dark, pool tables, TVs with sports, dollar bills stapled to the ceiling and the

owner is walking around dressed like he has been in the brewery making beer.

We perch ourselves at a high top table and Nan excuses herself for a few minutes. While she is away, a gal probably around our age, who has seen Nan, comes and sits beside me... uncomfortably close. I have my arms on the back of the bench and this gal sits and is pressed right up against me. Then her hand is on my thigh. And she is staring deeply into my eyes, telling me I am for her and she is for me for all time. Nan is coming back to the table and sees there is a "situation" and I am thinking one of us, either this gal or me, is going to get punched out. Since my hand is behind the gal I signal to Nan that "we have a situation". Nan sits beside me. At first, it doesn't seem too serious and Nan is trying to talk to her (to find out what is going on) but it is clear that there is something wrong, so Nan again excuses herself and talks to the staff and somebody comes and asks our interloper for her attention, ultimately asking her to leave. My honour is saved.

We have a couple of pints then are on our way, resolving to come back for dinner because the menu looks pretty good for a tavern. When we do return a couple of hours later, the staff tell us that our "friend" returned after we left and they ended up having to call the police to escort her away. It was more sad than anything. I got the sense that she had possibly confused me for her husband but she was certainly confused.