Day 4 - Port Angeles, WA - 263 km

I enter the US by ferry, coming from Vancouver Island in the evening. After doing some groceries I camp in a fenced-off field along the road. It’s already dark when I get there and I’m not really comfortable. Because this is America, where people have guns and are protective of their property. Traffic signs are sieved through with bullets. Maybe for practice, or more likely, out of boredom. I’m more nervous to wild camp here than in any other country, from Iran to India and Central Asia. It’s probably not as bad as I think it is.

In the morning I’m still alive and I haven’t seen a soul. I continue on Highway 101, the main coastal road through Washington, Oregon and California. It’s a beautiful ride through temperate rainforest. Conifers of a size I haven’t seen before, Western red cedar, Douglas fir and Sitka spruce. It’s an impressive landscape where the road meanders through valleys with moderate climbs and descents. Where I can, I take a trail off the Highway, although there is not much traffic here. It’s an isolated peninsula in the most north west corner of the US.

After a few days I reach the Pacific coast where I stay in La Push, a small town in an Indian Reservation. It’s a quite place with mostly native people. The sea is rough, with big bolders and waves that look treacherous. If you’ll try to take a swim here you’ll probably never see the shore again. The beach is full of driftwood. From smaller twigs, sanded and smoothed by the water, to big logs stacked up high on the beach. In the convience store I buy a Budweiser to celebrate my minor achievement of reaching the Pacific. The smallest single-can I can find is 700ml. This must be America.