Transit Trip: Rockaway Beach via the North Coast Express Bus

When I first heard the Oregon Coast Visitors Association was starting up a summer-weekend express bus from the Sunset Transit Center, I was excited. Leaving Southwest Portland Friday through Sunday from Memorial Day weekend to the end of August, the temporary service has more beach destinations than Oregon Point and more day-trip-friendly timing than the Tillamook County Transportation District’s “Wave” bus.

Then I looked at the North Coast Express website—with its confusingly named routes, $35 ticket prices with no child discounts, and tracker map that defaulted to an image of the continent of Africa—and I was less excited. When I bought my ticket to Rockaway Beach online (round trips only, with no one-way option), I was relieved I’d clicked yes to receive texts, since the promised email confirmation never came. It was all a little dubious.

“We’re trying to still work some bumps out on the website,” our driver says when I board at Sunset around 9:30am on a June Friday. He’s one of a pair; his partner gives a flight attendant–style intro to the bus features and emergency exits as we set off. (On the return trip that evening, they’ve switched roles.) Once I’m actually sitting in my reclining red-upholstered seat, though, I stop thinking about how many menus I had to click through on the weird web interface to buy my ticket or how many tanks of gas the ticket price for a family of four would buy, and I’m happy just to lean back and ride.

There’s not much to see out the window: The motorcoach’s exterior wrap, showing Cannon Beach’s Ecola State Park, obscures the view for passengers within, so trying to gaze out through the dots at the treetops or, eventually, oceanscapes gives me a headache. There are TVs jutting from the ceiling every few rows, but they stay dark. I read, use the Wi-Fi in the areas with service, and try to nap. There’s a bathroom at the back of the bus, best visited near the beginning or end of the trip; it’s not a fun place to be when the bus is clinging to the curves of Highway 6 as it crosses the Coast Range. (The sign instructing all users to sit down on the seat should definitely be heeded.)

I’m one of six people on the bus this morning, including the two drivers, so there’s room to spread out. If I’d gotten to Sunset TC a little earlier, I could have spied how many people were on the morning run for Oregon Point, the similarly priced, similarly timed (but daily) service that runs from Union Station to Astoria with nine stops in between, including Sunset TC.

The Point doesn’t go to Rockaway, though, which I picked for the timing: It’s the first beach stop on what’s called the North Coast Express’s southbound route, before that “southbound” bus doubles back to the Tillamook Cheese Factory for a second stop at this dairy Disney Land and then travels northbound up the coast. And it’s the last beach stop before that same bus heads back to the Portland metro area in the evening, via Highway 6 (again with a stop at the cheddar HQ). So of all the places I could go on the North Coast Express (the northbound route stops first in Cannon Beach, then Seaside and Astoria), it seemed to have the best beach-to-bus time ratio.

Before we get to Rockaway, we stop at the Tillamook Cheese Factory. We’re a little ahead of schedule and have time to use the bathroom, snap a picture in the old-time van in the lobby, and maybe pick up a plush cheese brick toy or some squeaky curds to go in the gift shop. The Portland Timbers crossover merch, with an axe and an ice cream scooper forming a mighty X, is some top-tier branding, and the dorky neoprene fanny pack in a marbled cheddar pattern is hard to resist. There’s not time for the cone line, though a hungry rider could linger and pick up the same bus 70 minutes later (it goes north to Rockaway, then south again to Tillamook, then north again…). But I’m looking forward to a beach day, not ice cream, so I climb back aboard before the bus sets out for Rockaway.

The bus deposits me in the little beach town around noon, with about six hours to kill before the return trip. Named by eager developers hoping to recreate the seaside pleasure grounds of Long Island’s Rockaway Beach, the tourist-friendly town has a main drag along US 101 that resembles Seaside’s Broadway turned 90 degrees. Train tracks separate the town from the sand, with the old-time Oregon Coast Scenic Railroad running to Garibaldi and back, but after my bus ride I’m more interested in strolling on the beach, gazing at the ocean I couldn’t see clearly through the bus window, and taking in the town. 

I’m also hungry. A “sand dollar” handpie from Beach Bakeshop or a giant cinnamon roll from Grumpy’s can provide a late breakfast. Lunch options include the Old Oregon Smokehouse for seafood, the Barview Jetty Taqueria (which got a hearty recommendation from our bus driver, who also appreciates its restroom), and, about a mile south of the city center, the Original Pronto Pup, where the classic corndog (which originated in Rockaway Beach) also comes in a mini version for little kids or a footlong for larger appetites. The menu includes a cornmeal-battered pickle or zucchini, nachos, and soft serve, but the real draw are photo ops with the giant corn dog on the roof and the coin-operated corn dog with a saddle out front (tip: settle into the saddle first and ask someone else to drop in the two quarters, so you don’t lose any ride time climbing on while it’s moving). Even if you miss the restaurant’s limited opening hours, it’s worth a pilgrimage. The joint is decorated with framed black-and-white photos documenting corn dog enthusiasts of yore, including a devastatingly handsome fellow in an apron standing under a sign advertising the “Weiner Dun in the Bun.” They don’t sell postcards of him, alas, but they do sell hats and “I rode the corndog” T-shirts.

A little farther south along 101, a mile-long shaded boardwalk called the Big Tree Trail leads inland through skunk cabbage, salal, and salmonberry to a bulbous, multitrunk western red cedar that looks like it could walk away at any moment. The trailhead is a little far from the bus stop but worth the extra walk. Even farther south on 101, the St. Charles Place food cart serves lumpia and huge Filipino meat-and-noodle plates, plus burgers, a Coney that traces its sauce to the original Nathan’s Famous in New York, and, since we’re in Rockaway, corn dogs.

The walk back into town passes by Flamingo Jim’s, which offers the same T-shirts, magnets, and keychains as a million other souvenir shops, only the items here have “Rockaway Beach” printed on them. It’s also a handy spot to pick up a “rock star” hat with a built-in wig, dream catchers, flasks disguised as tampons or sunscreen tubes, Flintstone character yard ornaments, and surprisingly cute overalls printed with chickens, mushrooms, or flowers.

At Rick’s Roadhouse, Rockaway’s locals’ bar, former Blazer Jerome “No Mercy” Kersey’s Nikes hang above the cash register and an autographed Mike Trout jersey looms over the shuffleboard table. Out back is a true smoker’s patio—no food allowed. In an odd bit of dueling sports memorabilia, the family-friendly Tie Breaker sports bar next door displays balls signed by Bill Walton and Clyde Drexler, plus a Felix Hernandez jersey.

It’s more than just sports nostalgia on display at the Hope Chest Thrift Shop Too, just up the block from the bars. All the VHS tapes that were surely once stacked atop VCRs within the town’s vacation rentals landed here: On the Town, The Cutting Edge, Babe, Heat, The Lion in Winter. Other shops on the main drag are stocked with saltwater taffy, Christmas Story leg lamp earrings, novelty signs and sassy dish towels. For kitchen perishables, the Green Coast Market on the other side of the train tracks has local produce, Oregon-grown hazelnut butter, snacks for picnickers, fancy flours for longer-term visitors, and a vending machine with yo-yos, enamel pins, books wrapped to hide their titles, and numerous “mystery bags.”

The Little Crow, a shop attached to Rockaway’s candy store, stocks overalls covered in sardines, mussels, and cheese wedges, plus sundresses in a cartoony canned cat food print. I know seafood is big on the coast, but I wasn’t expecting it to cover so many garments, or that I, a certified dog person whose favorite kind of fish is the “and chips” variety, would seriously consider buying them. As I board the bus again at 6 to head home (and then wait 15 minutes while the drivers call in to make sure everyone is accounted for—they learn a couple who had ridden out with us that morning have decided to stay overnight and take the bus home the next day), I’m already thinking that I might need to come back sometime and try them on.

And maybe I will. The bus runs two more weekends this summer (its last run is Sunday, August 31), and its future after that is still up in the air. But I’d probably want to bring the kids, and not just to ride the corn dog and visit the ent that lives beyond the skunk cabbage. We might even need to stay longer than a day, like the couple on my outbound bus. Friday nights, karaoke at the Tie Breaker starts at 7 and is all ages till 9. On Saturdays, the Little Crow offers kids 12 and under a free Hot Wheels car or charm. On any day, an honor-system Yellow Brick Road mini golf course sits tucked between two stores, beckoning passersby with the Wicked soundtrack playing in the background and a constant spray of bubbles. (Games are $3 per person, and anyone who fails to pay first will be firmly judged, a sign warns; an adjacent U-pick rock garden invites you pay “whatever price you feel is fair.”) Across the tracks, a beach toy library stocked with pails and sifters sits at the top of a path down to the sand.

Rockaway is so kid-friendly that I feel a bit guilty having left them at home. But as I tally the cost of North Coast Express tickets for the whole crew, I know that for a family trip I’ll be too tempted to just take the car instead. Still, it’s been a lovely day of not having to worry about parking or gas, feeling free to have another round at Rick’s Roadhouse thanks to my designated bus driver, and knowing I won’t have to vacuum any sand out of the backseat.