I write to you from Fort Bragg, humbly yours and slightly older here in California after celebrating another birthday.
A sunny day on the Eleventh of September, I met some lovelies on the beach in Yuchats and a tailwind blew me right over Cape Perpetua.
3 soon-to-be nurses. Thank you for the birthday love. You inspired the climb.
I drank a gallon in Old Town with a guy who made 2 million dollars last year playing World of Warcraft. I confronted him about a tip he left, Larry David-style..probably jumped the gun. I’ve still been out here drinking and smoking, making mistakes and rubbing elbows with the craziest characters I can find -jotting down dialogues, conducting interviews and social experiments. The journal overfloweth.
Birthday =’d Overindulgence.
With the Dunes in the dust, the remainder of Oregon’s Coast was promised to be the most scenic. However, I found it to be draped in a curtain of fog, the ocean blue, her immensity concealed within a misty veil.
Not a drop of rain for all of Oregon.
Over 80 state parks and recreations areas can be found on the Oregon Coast. I explored them extensively, slowing my days down to 50 or 60 miles in order to see the sites. Bittersweet farewells usually lead to new hellos.
This trip, exploring freedom, has also been about refinement and evolution. What are the chains that bind me? To quit smoking and drinking has been an illusive goal. Now I find myself in California, the mysterious trees and Humboldt County. It permeates the air.
Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox make another appearance, far larger than the ones I saw in Bemidji. Do you see my bicycle by his ax handle?
My first time in the Coastal Redwoods and I ride the Avenue of the Giants.
It feels prehistoric here among the ferns and the 300 foot kings.
A challenge to photograph, much like a beautiful nude woman might pose a problem to paint. Too eager to make love.
Shallow, earthquake-proof root structures.. Redwoods can live for over 2,000 years, surviving floods, fires, bugs.. even the force of man.
In 1850, there were 2 million acres of Coastal Redwoods in California. Due to logging, 100,000 or so remain. I see enough logging trucks and bark scattered along the roadside to make me believe it hasn’t ended in the least and I pass another huge log mill…
It rains hard while I roll through this old growth forest and the ancients drink greedily. It hasn’t rained in northern California since March. Wet, yes, but thankful I was able to smell this place after the storm. I camp at Elk Prairie and catch a few photos in the morning light.
I’ve been staying at the hiker/biker campsites along the coast but ended up in Weott with a rainy flat tire #10, right at a bar filled with cannabis workers. They put me up for the night on the property and it seemed as if my fantasy to trim weed would come true. I slept on it though and left with the morning light, passing up the potential opportunity to work as a trimmer. I even manage to pass on the grass all together lately -a step in my evolution long overdue and what a better place to have this triumph than in Hippieville with the S.A.T’S of testing before me. If you’re scared to sing, go to open mic.
100’s of traveling kids flock to Garberville and I have no desire to stay and seek employment here. I see the medicine in Marijuana for what it is and I realize that like all strong medicines, there will be side effects. I’ve smoked ganja on and off (mostly on) for 20 years. Finally, I say with clarity, it isn’t worth it to me. When I smoke, I become tired and hungry, shy and lazy… states not in harmony with my travels and current lifestyle. Hunger should sharpen the senses like a tracker on the trail. The time has come to leave the green behind and move forward with this step that I’m ever-happy to take in this place where it matters the most -very important for character development. I do believe I’ve found a great secret in these Redwoods, a mystical, magical place.
It’s been 2 months on the road now, living simple if you could call it that. Cravings and thoughts of consumption abound. The endless ocean cries to wet my unquenchable thirst. I do see a more beautiful ending to the story now and what I’m beginning to crave the most is stillness and the chance to bring to life a fragment of the beauty I’ve seen. I think Peter Pan just grew up. The California coast is over 1,000 miles long and I’m back on the ocean again. I’ll be stopping to work a humble job somewhere small and quiet, where I might write my storybook ending with a pending return on the horizon. I’ve been craving this moment…until next time.