Bug In The Eye! Try Not To Die!
25 miles today, but with climbs, so it seemed longer. While hurtling downhill at a shade under 50 mph towards the view you see here (much more impressive in panoramic 3D, with those new "sunlight on water" rendering effects they're using these days), some hapless insect audibly smacked into the lens of my riding glasses, leaving a cartoonish splash of itself there. Later, while I was gazing out at the rocks-and-water vista and snarfing a plum, my pannier rang - it was Kate, recently back from Belize, where she spent a couple of weeks jumping into the ocean on purpose with tanks of air strapped to her back. We chatted for awhile about Things momentous and mundane, and then it was time to get back on the road and climb some more hills.
At one point, after eating a Clif Bar, a plum, and a banana, I had my first tantalizing experience of The Zone: the trike became like a Disney ride, almost going uphill by itself, as my legs and the drivetrain found pedaling harmony. This lasted for about 45 minutes before the grind set in and the legs began to ache a bit, and I'm looking forward to seeing if I can do it again, for longer. I cross into northern California tomorrow, where maps and rumor alike tell me there are hills of legend.
The ride was good. Except for the almost dying part. That wasn't so good. Basically: a logging truck got too close. Way too close - less than a foot, and looked like it was thinking about getting even closer. I'll never know whether the guy just wasn't paying attention or was being a malevolent asshole. But I do know where he was driving to: the South Coast Lumber Company, which I passed a couple of miles further on. I stopped for a few minutes outside the entrance and contemplated a short trip up to the installation's head office, but it was late in the ride, I was tired, and the campsite was a mile and a half away. It wasn't like I had a license plate number...just adrenaline and rage. Generally, these are not good things to bring to a saw mill.
So I rode on, counting myself lucky. Not because I'm not axle grease, but because after nearly two and half months on the road, that was the first close call I've had. May it be the last.
The campground here at Harris Beach will be the last time I'll be in the Oregon State Park system this trip. If I've got the energy and it's not too far, I might walk down to the beach, which looked to be of quality as I rode in. Tomorrow, a brief stop in the bike shop in Brookings, to get a replacement for the orange flag which was taken by the wind last Thursday (perhaps the better to attract the wandering eye of wayward logging truck drivers), and to stock up on Clif Bars and energy gelstuffs. Then 25 miles to a KOA in Crescent City, California. Bye, Oregon! Nice to cycle you.
And now: here I am at Gold Beach. Or was, rather, yesterday. Per Pea request, it can be embiggened.
