Finding The Lost Coast Highway
This article was originally published in the August-September 1998 issue of Cycle World’s Big Twin magazine.
It’s hard to label that sensation of affinity you can feel for a particular place. Sometimes it’s a tangible wave of recognition that sweeps through your mind when you first step into a place, making it crystal-clear that you’ve been there before. Or maybe it’s the internal heat that says you belong here no matter if this is your first visit or not. Either way, it’s déjà vu, a term that fits the situation despite its trendiness.
Whatever that feeling is, it hit me like a five-megaton bomb the first time I set foot in Scotland during Big Twin’s British Isles tour (Winter, ’96-97 issue). I belonged there. I was home. Maybe the movies Rob Roy and Braveheart had implanted some subliminal message in my brain, telling me that verdant mountains and solitude are good things. Who can say? All I knew was that Scotland was where I needed to be.
And so it was this past May when I rode the Lost Coast in Northern California. The Lost Coast Highway could be the twin of the road that winds around the Isle of Skye on the emerald shorelines of Northern Scotland. I had heard that the Lost Coast, a few miles South of Eureka, was stunningly beautiful, but I wasn’t prepared for its visual proximity to the land of bagpipes and kilts. It was so much like Scotland, in fact, that I almost started riding on the left side of the road.
The best entrance to the Lost Coast is through the tiny town of Ferndale. Remember the movie Outbreak? All of that panicky running around was filmed in Ferndale. You can use this quaint little village as a place from which to hub, each spoke of travel superb and containing a minimum of traffic.
The author prepares to depart on his Springer from the award-winning Gingerbread Mansion, one of the most photographed Bed & Breakfasts in America.
Jeff Allen
Photographer Jeff Allen and I stayed at the majestic Gingerbread Mansion, which we found by accident. We had made no reservations anywhere and stumbled around in the dark of Ferndale until we came upon the Mansion. From a distance, and in the foggy twilight that causes its pastel colors to be subdued, the place looks very forbidding, as if Norman Bates were waiting within. I even thought I saw the silhouette of a little old bun-haired lady rocking on the second floor. Not so. The place is extraordinary.
Finding the Gingerbread Mansion was one of the most fortuitous lodging discoveries of my touring career. The Mansion has dozens of awards hanging on the office walls: America’s Favorite Inns Award; AAA’s Four Diamond Award; Most photographed B&B in America; Best B&B, and on and on.
In all its Queen Ann-style architectural glory, the Gingerbread is an absolutely grand place to stay. If you’d like more information, you can call the Gingerbread Mansion at 707/786-4000; better yet, try visiting the hotel’s website at gingerbread-mansion.com.
After an utterly exquisite breakfast that consisted of Italian-style french toast with cinnamon sauce, eggs florentine with creamy cheese sauce, and savory sausage soufflé, we set out for the Lost Coast.
Sugarloaf Island (bottom) which sits just off the scenic and isolated Mattole Road is another one of the most photographed places in America.
Jeff Allen
When starting in Ferndale, look on your map for directions to Mattole Road, which runs Southwest to Capetown and Petrolia. Mattole Road is the mainline of the Lost Coast loop and will be your companion for the next hundred miles.
Remember that the Lost Coast ride is an adventure, not an afternoon bar-hop in the upscale suburbs. Mattole Road is for the serious rider, and this trip is a commitment to discovery. The road winds upward at a severe angle and through back-bending twisties out of Ferndale, and, depending on the time of day of your departure, may well lead you up into the clouds. The cool, damp winds brushing landward over the ocean turn into fog atop the hills that separate Ferndale from the coast. The more fog, the more ghostly and forbidding the road appears.
For lots of reasons, there is no need for excessive speed when winding up Mattole Road, so don’t worry about dragging floorboards. First, logging trucks use this road, and it’s a rare and special thrill to confront one coming around a tight, blind corner. Consider these facts about the logger careening downhill: He outweighs you by a mass equivalent to one of Jupiter’s moons; those bonfires under the truck are his brakes; he has the same maneuvering ability as a falling redwood; he has a tight schedule to keep.
Second, the road is very narrow and poorly maintained. There are numerous one-way bridges on Mattole Road that can be tricky to navigate (i.e., logging truck). But don’t be intimidated by these bridges; enjoy them. Stop and take pictures of them, because they are very scenic. The surface of the road up the pass ranges from excellent to 10-yard stretches of gravel. Again, don’t be terrified by this; just slow down a bit and enjoy the diversity and the scenery. That’s why you’re there.
“It was so much like Scotland, in fact, that I almost started riding on the left side of the road.”
Jeff Allen
Toward the top of Mattole Road, you’ll see the turn-off to Bear River Ridge Road. Take it. You’ll think you’re invading private property, because there’s a ranch there. But continue on; it’s a public road. It is open rangeland, however, and cattle are everywhere. So, again, take your time. And if you have loud pipes, subdue them as best you can because the bulls and mama cows on the road will be in protective mode for their newborn calves. You may think you’re a toreador on your Bad Boy, but trust me: You’re not.
All along the road and at the top of Bear River Road, the grass isn’t merely green, it’s what green has always wanted to be. The constant moisture from the ocean and the ever-present cloud layers help promote a lush grass that only a few other places can boast of, one of them being—you guessed it—Scotland.
Continue farther and you’ll be above the clouds, where the view is perfection. Down and to the east is the city of Ferndale, to the west is the Pacific Ocean.
This trip down the Lost Coast Highway is a commitment to discovery.
Jeff Allen
At the summit of Bear River Road, one has to decide between either continuing on it to Highway 101 and cutting short the loop, or turning around and heading back to Mattole Road. Turn around. The reason for this ride, after all, is to see the Lost Coast Highway, and you’ll want to see it as soon as possible.
Continuing west five miles takes you to the first magnificent view of the coast, which will mandate a stop at the pullout to let your camera run wild. You’ll be able to create some stunning pictures for your living room here because this is the sort of scenery that professional photographers spend thousands of dollars to find and shoot. Just a quarter-mile offshore is the striking Sugarloaf Island, which makes an imposing backdrop from most angles facing the water.
When I first saw the long, straight stretch of road paralleling the beach, it was so straight that I thought it was a landing strip. But it’s not; it’s just a continuation of the road. Caution is advised here, too, because this is still open rangeland where the little dogies roam free and have the right of way. Most of it is fenced, but we saw numerous cattle strolling down the white line.
Mattole Road then winds into the sleepy town of Petrolia, where you can get gas and a sandwich. From Petrolia, look dead west to the small mountain range. See that layer of fog creeping over the crest of the mountain like a white special-effect from the plague scene in The Ten Commandments? That layer tries to crawl down the mountain, but rarely makes it due to the warm air in the valley. Go ahead and stare; the effect is mesmerizing.
While eating our burgers, we answered a few questions from our waitress as to how things were going up in the hurly-burly, rocket-paced world of Ferndale and Eureka. She had lived in the frantic metroplex of these two towns (with a combined population of 40,000) as a youth and vowed never to return to the insanity of mega-city life.
Locals to whom the author talked dispute the “Lost Coast” label. “It’s been here all the damned time,” they’re quick to say.
Jeff Allen
Just being in this part of Humbolt County feels far more remote and rural than any Mayberry/Barney Fife joke you can conjure. Roll up the sidewalks at midnight? Sorry, no sidewalks. No way, you think to yourself, can this be part of California, the state that lays claim to Hollywood, endless freeways, Charlie Manson and O.J. But it is, in all its isolated and serene splendor.
I recommend that after lunch in Petrolia, you turn around and retrace your path north back to Ferndale and the Mansion. After a shower and a nap, stroll the town and cap off your day with dinner at Curly’s, a fine, charming restaurant.
Now you are probably itching to make your own adventure of this Northern California treasure.
Jeff Allen
I’ve just described the high points of the Lost Coast route, but there’s lots more to see here, much, much more than I can describe in these few pages. Nearby is the Redwood National Forest, which in itself is worthy of a destination tour. But, as beautiful as it is, it’s not what captured my imagination the most. Besides, enough has been written and filmed there that you probably already know what it’s all about. It’s the Lost Coast and its resemblance to Scotland that draws me to this part of Northern California.
If you’re like most people, you’ve never heard about the Lost Coast. Until now.
