At 2:30 on May 6 I arrived in Portland, Oregon for an overnight stay before heading out on the long trip to Los Angeles.
Lucky for me, the rain, so prevelent in Portland had abated for the afternoon and left the sky partly sunny with billowy white clouds and a good strong wind. Unlucky for me, was the wind.
I spent several minutes digging my riding helmet out, securing my Paniers to the bike and looking for the copy of directions to the hostel I had packed.
All things together, I set off for the hostel, a mere 16 city blocks from the station. That is to say, 16 city blocks uphill, against the wind and on a street that had a stop sign every block to await cross traffic.
It didn't take long to realize that riding my bicycle having to stop every block going up hill was not going to work. So, I spent a good half hour walking self, stuff, and bike to the hostel.
The hostel was really cool; a converted old two-story house with lots of patio space, two kitchens, two living-rooms and several patio areas.
I checked in, was given a tour of the house, locked my bike in the garage, unloaded my stuff onto my bed, dug out my flask of rum, and began searching the place for someone to talk to.
I was not let down.