While in Oregon

Okay, so catching up. We're picking up from where I left off in Oregon. Homer and Shannon came to the rescue and resurrected my spirits. Rejuvenated, they drove me in their truck to Tillamook, pointing out local landmarks and unfamiliar intricacies through the thick morning mist. Shannon spotted a crowd herd of elk in the distance, resting, content in the dreariness of the day. The bay waters reflected the thickness in the gray sky above. I couldn't bring myself to say more than one word answers and ask a few questions. I'd become reserved, listening and learning. There was a short goodbye in front of the store they left me at and they went off to continue their day and their lives. I gave them as much thanks as I knew how.

The Tillamook cheese factory was just down the street from where I was and with my now functioning bicycle I rode there finding it mostly free from visitors. It was still early in the morning and the tourists were not yet roused, so with toothpick in hand I poked cube after cube of free cheese samples until I was comfortably full then headed southward through the persistently foggy weather.

This section of the Oregon coast led through dairy land. The highway didn't follow the coast itself at this point, but led south along an inland route. The most interesting thing I found here was Sand Lake. As the name succinctly describes it's an open area among the trees that's covered in sand dunes, a strange and out of place sight if you're coming from the north, but as you continue south the dunes continue and become less of an anomaly. Around this area quite a few other bicycle tourists passed by going north, or so I thought, until arriving at the top of a very steep climb and discovered I'd been going the wrong way. I turned around and found my way back to the highway after an attempted but failed hike toward a cape, becoming a bit lost and discouraged.

Sand Lake

The presence of sand attracted the ATVs like ants to an abandoned lollipop. I was an easy target, crawling along in the shoulder along the road, big trucks hauling ATV laden trailers, and more than once had incoherent insults or yelps meant to make me jump thrown at me from ignorant people. Make your own conclusions on why people do these things. I ended up passing one of the trucks that did this to me while they were parked in front of a convenience store and immediately I wanted to slash tires and leave a nasty note. I was pent up with frustration and felt like an unjustly persecuted martyr, but now looking back I can see it was just people doing stupid things out of boredom, feeding off of each others' unintentional bad influence. That doesn't make it right, but at the least they'd helped teach me an apparently needed lesson in patience.

A couple more days of riding and I was in the Coos Bay area. The entrance to town was defended by a fearsome bridge, dutiful in its attack on naive bicyclists. As I pedaled up the long, skinny sidewalk an incredibly powerful side wind would shift from attacking from my right side to attacking from my left and then back and forth it went all the way across. Trying to figure out how to correct my steering was as confusing as trying to figure out where the wind was actually coming from and I was terrified and tense all the way across, but I made it, and found my way to the library.

Coos Bay would have been just another town had I not stopped here, but when I pulled up to park my bike I could see there was another bicycle tourist inside. A luggage-laden tan bike was set among the bars of the bike rack, the frame covered in a patchwork of letter stickers forming unique slogans. Cloth was sewn onto the pannier bags depicting meditating figures. On the handlebars a photograph of a Hindu Indian woman was situated, her gaze and bindi directed at the face of the rider. At the moment it was uninhabited though, and I went inside. Soon I was approached by the rider, a long-haired and bearded kid. His name was Tim. Conversation led to friendship and his adeptness for meeting people led us to Jessie and Steve.

I was hungry and Tim showed me where there was a picnic table nearby, shade tree included, outside the local health food store. While I was cooking my meal and we got to know eachother a little more Jessie, an employee there came out to the table to eat during her break. The conversation among us was followed by an invitation for us to camp in Jessie's yard. It was still early and I had planned to continue south that day, but I decided to indulge in the opportunity these new friendships presented, to take a moment in my journey, to slow down and learn something more about people. I could feel that they had something worth learning and though it may not have been consciously done on their part or mine, they became the teachers and I the student.


Writing all of this is a slow process. You'll have to forgive me, but I've found I'm very meticulous in my writing. I wrote an entirely different version of this a few days ago and it was just awful and I couldn't bare to post it, but now after taking a moment to breathe some more (now that I've safely arrived in Phoenix, for those of you who don't already know) I was able to relay it in a way I'm much more comfortable with. And so I'll continue doing installments of the story as often as I find myself able and you have the fortunate opportunity to observe a somewhat unique writing process: rather than hearing the story as it happens you're reading the results of the story, the story as it happened and is now understood by the main character himself.

Maybe I'll turn this all into a book one day. Also, out of a very deep curiosity, I added a hit counter.