Wednesday, September 11, 2013

Harris Beach

The ride today from the outskirts of Port Orford to Brookings is filled with gorgeous views of scattered rocks pretending to be islands while waves scatter around their bases shooting up their white, fluffy mist for the wind to carry it to your nostrils. Right now it meshes from one beautiful memory to the next. 

There were a couple longer, gradual hills during this ride besides the up, down, up, down of the coast. It seems with my lack of hair my for head just sweats like a faucet. I'll wear my cycling cap until it drips, then I'll wrap my bandana around my forehead until its soaked, then I just wear the helmet and try and let the air evaporate it? All the while wiping my face with my cycling gloves. I'm a sweaty mess when it comes to hills especially since we've had nothing but clear sunny days. Thankfully Liz King so kindly created a little bag filled with all sorts of soaps so I've been staying clean, especially since all the hiker/biker campsites in Oregon include a shower instead of like Washington and California where they resort to $.50 for 5 minutes. 

We stayed a mile outside of the town of Brookings at a campsite that actually sat next to the shore. It was a very nice campground, even including a playground and laundry machines. I remember how terrible we smelled on our last tour so I've been washing my clothes often and showering daily. You're welcome world.

The view out onto the ocean from the campground viewpoints were spectacular; clear and glimmering with golden sparkles on top of emerald blue water where a hypnotic crash came as steady as George Michael on the wood block. I remember arriving to the campground and being entranced. Later that evening as I made some phone calls to family, I got to be one of the lucky few who caught the sun dip over the end of the earth and scatter its light particles. I looked up and it was like a strange rainbow starting with a dark blue transitioning to lighter blues then to a twinge of white as thin as a wafer then drastically was blending oranges, yellows, and reds into a sherbet right to the fine line of the horizon. I stayed there until I was only able to leave by the aid of my head lamp. 

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