continued from previous post. still basking beachside.
God, life feels really good right now. Sunny, sprawled out belly-down on the warm beach sands here at Gold Bluffs. Slight breeze. Closing my eyes to rest about every third sentence.
It actually feels very strange to not be biking right now, especially given that my past two days were both 60ish miles.
[here, I fell asleep, drooled on my arm and woke up in a sweaty panic, as you so when falling asleep in the sun.]
Feast your eyes upon the most comprehensive David Foster Wallace collection I've yet to see. I wish I could've nabbed em all.
I'm kind of dreading tomorrow. A super sweet lady (you rock, Debbie!) working at Mercer Street Books in Seattle recommended Gold bluffs to me as soon as she heard about my tour. (Mercer Street Books, by the way, is the best used bookstore I've been to. Very respectable collection and ultra-decent prices.)
I'm not sure I'm so glad I troubled the trek out down here, though. Davidson Rd., leading to Gold Bluffs, turned into packed gravel + sand shortly after it'd begun. Maybe there was some sort of smooth, continuous surface deep down, but dang it have to have been way deep.
The climb was so steep and unstable, I ended up walking my bike. Two miles passed, myself reconsidering my choie and cursing my stubbornness appx. every 1/4 mi.
Is this even worth it?
Debbie said it was absolutely awesome.
Ok, fine. I bet it is.
6 miles to the campground though?
Fern Canyon does sounds pretty sweet.
It's worth it.
Occasionally a truck or SUV would pass and I would resurrect one of my many Imagined Scenarios of the Road.
This particular one involves me toiling my way up a difficult hill and some gracious soul stopping to offer a ride.
In previous instances I'd imagined this, as nI've as the offer was, I played it out with a polite, stubborn and sweaty decline. But this time, I imaginary-promised myself I'd definitely take it.
With another four miles to the campground, I had already been walking for ~45 min. Tried to bike a stretch and lost balance in the gravel, pounding myself and my 70lbs of luggage into the ashy bed of clay and rock.
A large truck passed, kicking up dust into my face and adding to accumulated plaster on the roadside plants. Then, a Nissan Xterra -- passed, then paused.
Imagined Scenario of the Road #13 was becoming a reality. The man, Mike, unloaded a cardboard box of about a dozen large potato chip bags from his truck as he made room for my bike.
How strange, I thought. He was coming from Canada and his friends back in SF requested he bring back the Canadian ketchup flavored Lay's.
He was very nice and we made small talk till we arrived at the campground. He said I looked miserable walking my bike.
And when -- from Mike's passenger seat -- I told the park ranger I was here for one night, hiker/biker site, please, she dryly said, "You have to arrive on foot or on a bike for those."
I, still sweaty in my dusty neon cycling jersey, looked at her and pointed to my bike as I explained the situation. Like, seriously lady, you bike here from Seattle and tell me, after that nightmarish 6mi road, that I can't have my $5 camping site.
//location:
Fern Canyon
Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park
//time: 6:18 pm
//mi: hiked here, idk
//from where I write:
I won't write much because it's pretty chilly here, but just been poking around this gorgeous Fern Canyon place here. Stunning to be surrounded by these towering walls laced with fern. They look like small green hands. And the stream's icy, and the pebbles are soft. Pictures might portray this place better, though I think this is one of those places/moments that can't entirely be captured so concisely.
