One Year Later: Day Seven

July 11--Sunday, rest day
Sunset Bay state park

Rode into the town of Charleston and uploaded pics to my blog. No phone service to speak of, so I waited until after lunch to phone JE. It was so good to hear his voice. I started to feel so very alone and fragile. What am I doing? I walked to Shore Acres and explored the seaside. It was serene and beautiful. I startled a deer in the underbrush.

When I got back to camp, I started fearing about my food supply. I rationed my dinner, saving as much I can for tomorrow when I need it most. No stores for more than 20 miles.

I have been very tearful tonight-very overwhelmed with this whole thing, and being so all alone; about last winter's events. I found my way to the showers when I saw a woman setting up her tent, alone. I stopped to help her and told her that I needed some cheer. She said she had firewood if I had the alcohol. Again on my way to the shower, I heard some one calling "Cyclist!" It was a woman I had met earlier in the restroom wanting to know if I would like a s'more. We talked for a long time. She is single, but she wanted kids. She adopted two little girls from China.

Presently the fog is so thick it comes down like rain in big splats on my tent. I'm not sure if it's a fog horn, or wind blowing over a hole in the rock and I'm very sleepy and a bit dizzy. Night.

1. Photographs to share and show.
2. People to talk to and encourage and be encouraged by
3. Heading to warmer climes
4. Hard cheese, salami, good bread and honey
5. A warm dry tent

July 11, 2011
Monday,
Balboa Island Marina

The ride into town was so much longer than I had remembered it to be. The rode was narrow and winding, passing through forest and farmland. That morning, I spent at the laundry mat. Clean laundry was such a fresh treat. It felt so good to smell good! My kit included two travel sized bottles of laundry soap. The Laundry mat was also home of the local library.

There was a restaurant across the street from the the laundry mat. The waitstaff seated me next to the window overlooking the bay and just kept my lemonade refilled. Most of the afternoon, I sat, so happy to be inside, out of the elements. A man sat on a high stool, playing his guitar and singing: lots of jazz, some James Taylor, quite a bit of original. His music added graciously to the welcoming ambiance of the place.

With a full belly, I set off for ‘home.’ The hiker biker site was empty of all my fellow cyclists. I gathered a few things and set out on foot to explore the peninsula. Paths meandered around the forests, though the underbrush and by the rocky cliffs overlooking the sea. Keeping the shore to the right, I walked a few miles to Shore Acres, a pretty place that was home to a logging barren, the US military and now to a state park. Some of the out buildings are still standing and well maintained, but the main home burned down. The formal gardens, complete with statuary and fountains were blooming meekly. There were several types of roses I’d never seen anywhere else, particularly a brown variety which smelled like chocolate.

On the way back, I spent some time along the shoreline. Interesting rock formations lined the water’s edge. I could hear sea lions in the distance. And ever present, was a deep, persistent bellow from the lighthouse. As I walked back to camp, I found huckleberries growing and ate all that were within my reach.

I met few people in my ambling that afternoon, but when I got back to camp, the place was a madhouse of people. As I walked back to my site, I saw a family gathering. Several of the men were unloading huge bags of oysters. I wanted so bad to ask to be part of their family reunion, but I was not feeling great emotionally.

There were a couple new tents set up in the hiker biker site, but no one was around yet. I spent a little while re organizing my things and made a pile I wanted to send home: my camera (I had no way to recharge the battery), rain pants, a full sized can opener (my tiny backpackers opener was fine), a map of Oregon, a dressy shirt, and eyeliner and mascara. Truth be known, I had brought nice cloths for church, but never actually found a church close enough to attend.

Dinner that night consisted of bread, cheese and salami. The honey was a rare and luxurious treat. On the way through the St John River flatland, there was a little set of shops. One of the shops was called something about hives and bees. I stopped. Like Pooh Bear, I am a sucker for honey. On one of the interior walls was a little cabinet. When opened, the cabinet door revealed a working beehive. The working bees stood on tip toe with wings beating fast trying to cool the comb. The store also sold jars of honey. I carried a pint jar of fire-land honey, wrapped in a small brown paper sack, well into California. It was a sad day when the honey ran out.

One of the most convenient things I took with me was a collapsible nylon grocery bag. It folded neatly in my pannier, and I could load it with everything I needed for my shower or doing dishes. It had handles so I could hang it from a doorknob or a hook. I loaded my bag with my shower kit, a change of newly cleaned clothes and flip-flops for the shower. I was freezing and needed to warm up. (A side note here: My lavalava was among the things that had been stolen on that first morning. It was a long strip of pure cotton batik that I could use as a towel, short dress or long skirt, carry-all, changing room, sheet, sunshade, spin dryer for hand washed laundry or produce, and/or shawl. Having been deprived of this very useful thing, I was forced to dry off with a 8x12 inch chamois cloth I had brought as a wash cloth. It worked well as both--for the entire month I was out there.)

Without fail, every time I truly needed a friend, I found one. The woman with the two daughters was truly inspiring with her stories and good nature. She buoyed me and fed me hot chocolate. In the end, I learned that I had recently walked past her house in Portland, just across the street from Tia’s work. She even knew my sister.

When I returned to the campfire of the woman camping alone, I was feeling so much better--and warmer. We talked and laughed about our husbands being home alone while we got to enjoy that beautiful night.

Eventually I made my way back to my tent. There were a few people there, including a couple of really young men who were sitting around a campfire talking.