Holas, Amigos!

I am not sure where exactly we are right now...  We are in a library in some small town on the Oregon coast, 70 miles or so north of the California border.  Recent news:


-- We have temporarily joined forces with another traveler named Nicol.  He is from Arkansas, and has been biking around since July.   We met him last night, enjoyed the evening with him at our camp in Bandon, and biked with him today.  He is riding on mountain bike tires, but I would be lying if I claimed that me, Drew, or Josh are anything near as fast as that guy.  He does have nifty bio-pace elliptical chainrings...  I suppose we can blame his beastliness on those.

-- We bested Poseidon yesterday.  We decided that, despite the rain, and the wind, and the raging fury of the cold, gray pacific, we should take a leisurely stroll to the end of the Coquille river jetty.  I think weather conditions yesterday were probably worthy of the descriptor storm.  It was gnarly.  The jetty basically sticks out straight into the ocean, a lone spur of black rocks topped by a raggedly paved path, ravaged by water and time, and sprinkled with barnacles.  We could see, at the tip of this three hundred yard path, the waves crashing upon the tip of the jetty.  We have all seen those pictures of huge waves crashing on small lighthouses in the south pacific, right?  Those pictures that make the lighthouse look like a child's toy, reminding us of the awesome power of the ocean, and the awesome insignificance of humanity?  It was like that.  The waves were relentlessly destroying themselves upon the end of that jetty, crashing over the boulders it was constructed out of as if they were no more than pebbles, and the ocean's intent was honest and obvious; one day, that jetty would be no more than sand.  Perhaps it was the same little something inside of each of us that coaxed us into doing this cycling trip around the country that forced us to climb up on that black strip, ignore the danger signs, and mosey out there.  We had one pair of sandals split unevenly between the three of us (Drew got the short end of the stick, and was totally barefoot).  We were strong, and we were brave, and we held hands. 

At first, we held hands out of camaraderie, and a little bit out of fear.  The further we went out, the more holding hands became a necessity for our safety-- we were stronger together, supporting each other against the force of oncoming waves, than we were on our own.  We got to a point we considered to be reasonably safe, 40 feet or so from the very tip of the jetty.  That tip was not fit for humans-- it was being doused in feet of fast-moving, white water with each coming wave, and any one of them would have taken a person, and probably even a hand-holding trio, and tossed them off into the ocean, to be battered about carelessly against the immovable rock of the jetty.  We stood back.  We still had to brace each other occasionally, for the larger waves that would send a portion of water at us, attempting to catch us off guard and sweep us away.  But we were ready.  We were so ready, in fact, that during a calmer spell, we did some push-ups, right there on the end of the jetty, in the middle of that storm, and we yelled to him, to Poseidon, we challenged him, we asked him if that was all he had.  He failed to respond.

We thought about making a run out to the very tip, just to touch it, just to complete complete our task. It was clearly far too dangerous. So we did it. During what appeared to be something of a lull, but was perhaps more accurately just the moment someone got the courage to start walking forward, we made our way out to the tip, and while the sea surged around us, we touched the end, more or less, glanced hastily out toward the rising water, turned, and dashed back to the relative safety of our previous post. We made it. We were victorious. We had succeeded. We started to walk back.

We have since been reminded of a saying that accurately encompasses the unpredictable, powerful, and sometimes violent actions of the ocean: never turn your back on the sea. We turned our backs, and we were walking back, talking, probably laughing, when we were hit from behind by a wall of water coming diagonally across the jetty. Josh and I went down in the deluge, which in retrospect was probably the safest thing to do, as Drew, remaining upright, had more of his body in a position where it could, and was pushed towards the far side of the jetty, and the raging water below. Fortunately, we were all fine. Drew came close to the edge, but since he is the embodiment of the term 'savvy,' he handled it. Josh and I survived decently as well-- Josh received a nasty cut on the side of his toe, but that was all. We paid closer attention to the sea as we continued to retreat back toward the beach. And we got there.

Lesson? Always go out on the jetty. It was amazing. I look forward to more jetties as we continue down the coast. They provide a unique opportunity to experience the awesome power of nature.

--Okay, one more note, on why I think bicycle touring is so awesome. It is like motorcycling. The weight of the bike, laying into turns, feels like you are riding a motorcycle, just without the engine. Which, I suppose, some might think would be a problem. I disagree. Uphills may be hard, but the downhills, doing thirty+, cutting long, banking turns, are priceless. It reminds me of riding Clifford.

Alright, that's it, we are heading out of this library to go find a place to stay and cook up some delicious curry! We eat well. Peace.

Chance