Day 29: The Most Senice Road to Eugene

Today I left the coast behind, heading south along Highway 101 before cutting inland toward Eugene. I’d been curious about the city for some time—smaller than Portland, supposedly more affordable, yet still with many of the same conveniences: an airport, rivers and parks, and a modest but growing food scene. Mostly though, Eugene was my last attempt to collect all the REI orders I’d been chasing up and down the state for my car camping setup.

They don’t exaggerate about the beauty of the coastline between Yachats and Florence. The cliffs, waves, and forested slopes pressed against the winding road, making it equal parts breathtaking and nerve-wracking. Distracted by the views but mindful of the curves, I drove the speed limit—far too slow for the caravan that stacked up behind me. Nothing tests your nerves quite like twenty cars pushing you to speed up along a cliffside highway. I pulled over more than once to let them go, preferring safety and scenery over stress.

Florence felt different right away—larger and more commercial than Yachats, with banks, fast food, and wider streets. Just outside town, I nearly passed up a self-serve car wash before convincing myself it wasn’t worth the hassle. Then, as if on cue, a brand-new one appeared a minute later, gleaming with a “NOW OPEN” sign. I pulled in immediately. For the next twenty minutes, Ashley got the treatment she deserved: pressure wash, bug spray, rinse, blow-dry, and a final wipe down with my microfiber cloth. There’s nothing better than hitting the road in a clean(ish) car, windows gleaming and paint free of coastal grit.

The inland stretch along Oregon Route 126 was pure joy—rolling beside the Siuslaw River, glistening in the sun, with little markets and homesteads scattered in the shade of changing maples. I wanted to stop and linger in one of the towns, but my eagerness to reach Eugene won out. Sometimes the drive itself is enough.

Eugene’s first impression was less than charming: flat, a little dull, and dotted with older buildings. But as I wound into the downtown core, I began to see signs of renewal—newer construction, a more vibrant center. I grabbed a quick lunch and some ice cream at the Market Center while waiting for my Airbnb check-in.

Driving past the REI made me briefly regret not staying near Beaverton or Hillsboro for pickup—those stores had sprawling parking lots, while this one had only a couple of tight spots out front and a small lot across the street. I decided to let tomorrow’s self figure it out rather than obsess.

By the time I checked into my Airbnb, relief washed over me. There was ample parking, plenty of space, and, most importantly, it felt like a home—a rare comfort after weeks of mismatched motels and musty coastal “resorts.” I unpacked, settled in, ordered a hefty Uber Eats delivery to last two days, and surrendered to the quiet pleasure of binge-watching a Netflix mini-series. For the first time in a while, I felt I could exhale.