...and resting. Taking the weekend off.

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So, I've left the shelter of a house, with its shower and its roof, and now I'm sitting in my tent on top of my new ultralite cot, which has tears in it already and will have to be replaced via the old General Delivery post office dance, it's raining, and I'm happier now than I was this morning. Something about being in a house for too many days starts playing with my mind, just like being in a motel. It's the comfort of it. Why get on this five-wheeled contraption and pedal off into the cold fog when you can stay here where it's warm and there's television? So I had a bit of the mopes this morning, but they vanished during the very short 7.5 miles to Humbug Mountain, where I write to you now from my tent, after dark. The hiker/biker sites here are tucked away between two steeply-inclined walls of forest, the more distant of which was topped with an ephemeral cloud layer that seeped down through its crown of cedars, sending tendrils of mist exploring among the lower branches. The fog never descended into the valley, but there's a gentle rain falling, interspersed with intermittent lightning that illuminates the tent with rainfly blue. The thunder, when it comes, rolls slowly north and south, rumbling off the mountainsides. I'll sleep well tonight.

Not too much of a post, really...the weather's going to be foggy and overcast for the next few days, so power will be at a premium.

Good night.

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Sorta blah today, although the 24 miles between here and Humbug were along the coast. No thanks be to Adventure Cycling, for that...they wanted to shunt me inland so I could ride through the Cedar Valley, but I was all, "This is the Pacific Coast route, not the bloody Pacific Let's Ride Over A Mountain Just So We Can Look At The Trees That Haven't Been Clear-Cut Yet," so I stuck to 101 and ended up 50 yards from the beach at the County Fairgrounds.

Which isn't quite as nice as it sounds. I could've stayed in the RV Park at the other end of town, but opted for the $5 site here, after first calling to see whether there were restrooms and showers. There are, but the grubby shower is set to FREAKIN' HOT and only hot water comes out of the taps. The site itself has a bit of that "people come here at 3AM and drink beer" look to it. So no, I'm not entirely happy, but I'm here now, the surf is up, the sun is down, I managed to get a decent photo, and there's not much to do except go to sleep and hope I stay that way.

I expect it'll take another couple of days to get my road rhythm back. Tomorrow, about 25 miles to a proper campsite at Harris Beach State Park, which will be $1 cheaper, to boot.

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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.

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