Newport, Or
We breakfasted at the hotel and headed south on the 101. There was a lot of fog to give us obsurd views of the coast. It just got really good! Whale Cove was beautiful.
We continued to be exhausted, though and hills were really tough. I think I need a day to relax and rest.
I’m staying in a cheap motel in Newport, where Matt and Tia dropped me off. From now on I am a single rider making an epic journey--more than a thousand miles to go. When I was checking in, I was a wreck, so many emotions. I feel thrown to the Grace of God and Humankind. It’s really overwhelming. I need to find myself again-the me that has been scattered along the roadsides for so long; the one that is happy, peppy, fun, helpful and loving. The people at the front desk here remind me of my parents--there is a lot of comfort in that which I did not expect.
1. As we left the hotel this morning, Tia asked if we should abandon plans and go sit in the hot tub and sauna.
2. This is my trip, I choose where I go, how far I go, and what I do. I need to rely on Heavenly Father for input.
July 8, 2011
It was a fun ride that day. Parts of the trail were unexpectedly on part of the old 101 highway that had newly been dedicated to bicycle and one way tourist traffic. To the left, was a steep hill where we could occasionally see and hear the cars race by on the highway. To the right, was a steep downward slope, heavy with trees; but every so often you could look out to the sublimely fogged ocean. There were
only a few cars on the road. Our hearts were light, we sang and joked.
Our path paralleled the ocean, with brief interludes inland. In the lowlands, the fog opened just enough to get a glimpse of the rugged coastline. Sometimes we saw houses built in impossible places. One house in particular caught my imagination it was perched on an outcropping above a hole in the rock. Waves hit the hole in the rock frequently, creating a loud clap. It made me wonder if the original
builders of the house knew about the sound and needed to live near it, or if they were unaware or couldn't hear it at all.
As we were crossing a bridge, we saw a sweet waterfall, invisible if we had been in a car. As we stopped to look, we saw a family, pulled over on one of the scenic pullouts. They were taking a photo of my sister and I. We spoke briefly with them and exchanged addresses. When I finally got home, a small package of several photos and a sweet note had arrived weeks before. Human kindness!
One of the hot spots on the Oregon coast, it the Devil’s punch bowl. We stopped there and had lunch. The place was crazy with people and tour buses.
We made the long haul to the top of Cape Foulweather, locked our bikes and walked to the lookout point. The sky was clear and beautiful, but the sea was completely shrouded over. A stiff onshore flow created a cool place to watch seagulls wind surf. The lighthouse was beautiful, with it's red roof.
As we were returning to our bikes, a woman asked us where we were headed. When we told her, she looked smitten with the adventure bug. Her enthusiasm was contagious. Poor Tia, this was her last day. She had asked her boss to allow her a month to complete the tour with me. "Do you know what would happen if you left this place for a month." he asked. She told him that in that case, they needed to talk about a raise. She got more of a raise than she would would have expected.
This trip was charmed. The way was clear and smooth going.
Most of the afternoon was beautiful and sunny. We made our way down to the old marina area and found clam chowder and salad at Mo's. It felt to good to eat hot soup! We ordered double desserts: peanut butter cream pie and marrion berry cobbler ala mode.
Tia's beau, Matt, drove in and we loaded all our gear and bicycles into the back of his truck. It was bitter sweet to see Matt at that point. I'm always glad to see him, but was so sad that he would be taking Tia back home, thereby leaving me alone.
Looking back, it's a bit funny how distressed I was. That night, Tia and Matt dropped me off at a really sketchy motel, near the bridge. It was one of the cheapest motels in town, but it was pretty clean.
The couple at the front desk were in their sixties or early seventies. The door into their apartment was open and allowed me to see into their lives. Knickknacks were scattered around the living area. An old, floral couch hosted a sweet, old spaniel. When I told the couple that I wasn't expecting anyone else and to not give out any more keys to my room, the man looked ,e directly in the eyes and told me not to worry, that they would watch out for me. There was a lot of comfort in those words.
The door to my room looked very much like my door at home, an inexpensive foam core door, with a push button lock. The chain bolt looked like it had been kicked open and was broken. Later that night, I pushed Little Red in front of the door to stand guard. If anyone were to come in, they'd have to get past Little Red first!
Sleep was a difficult to find. I had been to the Russian arctic on my own, I had lived in Australia, moved from Washington to Utah with $500 in the bank, survived neglect and a bout with homelessness as a child and here I was, about to do something that both exhilarated and terrified me, and I couldn't stop crying. I don't think I have ever prayed so hard in my entire life.
John said a prayer with me over the phone. I wrote a few scattered thoughts in my tiny travel journal and put my head on my pillow. It took a while, but eventually, exhaustion took over and I slept soundly and undisturbed.
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