//location:
Bread + Roses Bakery
Yachats, Ore.
//time: 11:00 am
//mi: 350-something
//from where I write:
Today's slated to be a most interesting one. I think it'll be another short one too -- quite a few climbs.
And SEA LION CAVES.
Goes without saying, but this is everything I've been waiting for. I saw a gimmicky lil billboard for it back in Waldport that said it was 23 miles ahead. I didn't realize it was so close! I thought it was way south oregon coast. Though I guess I an right around, if not past, the smack-dab-middle. I'll be camping in the dunes tonight, which I'm stoked for. I doubt they'll compare to Colorado's though. The Great San Dunes will forever be my favorite place in America; at least mingling around Top 3.
Um I just bought two pints of blueberries and a bunch of apricots at this little farmers market outside here. And I'm very enthused about these apricots; I hadn't realized I love apricots so much until I impulse-bought one at a fruit stand last week.
Im learning so much about myself on this journey wow.
-----
//location:
The Sea Lion Caves
//time: 2:45 pm
//mile: idk/doesn't matter nothing matters
//from where I write: this bottomless pit of despair has no light source by which to photograph and also works much like a black hole in that it instantaneously gobbles up any shard of illumination or hope
A beacon of shining light.
The many albeit fairly tolerable hills of Yachats were fine so far. I'd been climbing for a whole before I saw the welcoming brown and white sign proclaiming SEA LION CAVES 1/4 MILE. There had been no other indicator of it aside from that billboard miles and miles back.
I excitedly pumped my legs around the final bend before I saw the official carnival red Sea Lion Caves sign at the mountain's summit.
"Yusssssss." An audible and staggered one I managed to work between breaths. (Not unusual for me to say weird shit while biking and gasping for air, especially on climbs.)
THIS IS WHAT IVE BEEN WAITING FOR. THIS IS THE PINNACLE OF THE TOUR. HUNDREDS OF SEA LIONS. WORLD'S LARGEST SEA CAVE. YES.
I bobbled my way in past the mere tourists (I rise above as a true devout fan and admirer).
Sea lion memorabilia everywhere and for some reason a popcorn machine, $2 a bag. Whatever.
I beelined to the illuminated neon sign "Admissions" as I tried to downplay my excitement and not look like a complete noob. Though I'm pretty sure I was the most enthused person under the roof.
I rested my hands on the center as I looked at the young guy -- his face populated with as equally many freckles as mine -- trying to find the right words to say. I pauses once I spotted the price sheet; $12 for Adults, $6 for Mature Adults. I'm mature.
"Hi, can I--"
He interrups me, "You know there aren't any sea lions down there, right?"
I stared at him right between the eyes, for if I'd looked directly in 'em I'm afraid he's see how truly shattered my soul was.
"Whut."
He started to apologize and babble about how they've reduced ticket prices to fall rates to compensate, but really who are they kidding.
I blurted out the obvious question. "Where'd the go?"
Like, how does the world's largest sea cave, usually home to hundreds upon hundreds of sea lions just LOSE THEM ALL.
HOW DO YOU LOSE SO MANY SEA LIONS?
"They migrated--I think last night or this morning, actually," he said, salting the wound.
In my head this time: "Whut."
But aloud, I maintained composure.
"To where? "
I tried to turn the tragedy into an educational experience, while recalling my Cambridge sublet's wifi password: Everything Is An Educational Experience.
"Males went north to British Columbia; females went south to Northern California," he recited.
"Oh hey, me too! I'm going south to Northern California, too!" (This is the child insisting she once saw Santa Claus eating the cookies.)
"They'll be pretty far off the coast. Don't know if you'll see 'em." (This is dad telling child that the cookies were delicious, and chocolate chip are his favorite kind.)
I hate all of your freckles.
I turned around, swiped up a handful of postcards and headed to the cashier.
"Thank you, have a nice day," she said.
"Nice" lingered and throbbed in my ears. I headed outside, found shelter from the wind and began writing.
They would begin their migration this morning.