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"IN MEMORY OF MARY LOGSDON" - IN NOTE SECTION OF CHECK

JULY 30, 2006 - "Did you climb the shining mountains?
Did you cross that great divide?
Did you pray to God almighty To let you down the other side?"

OREGON TRAIL, BY C.W. McCALL

Tonight I rest in Coos Bay Oregon. I am out of California and have just begun my trek north into Oregon. I found out that Oregon does not allow the pumping of gas by consumers; it has to be done by a gas station attendant. It has to be done, except when the guy on a motorcycle doesn't let the gas station attendant near the bike. When I checked in to the Days Inn in Eureka - I have found it - California, I was the only motorcycle in the lot. When I got up and started packing today, there were three others that had come in. I got to talking with two of the other bikers. They were from Arizona and had left the Phoenix area and headed to Santa Barbara before heading north on Route 1/101 up the California coast. One other biker was from Maryland and was headed south.

The two guys (R.J. and Dan) were headed north for a while, so we decided to ride together until they had to head inland. They were taking a very circuitous route to get to Sturgis. I showed them what I had been up to for the past two months and they were shocked and somewhat envious, I think. Off we started at about 9:30 AM and began carving up the Redwood Highway. I did not get tired of seeing these massive living dinosaurs at all. What if they could talk? What would they say about our stewardship of the planet? They have stood there for thousands of years and have witnessed everything that has happened within eyesight.

As we continued north we headed up to viewing spots along Route 101 just to take a break from the road. At one of the stops it was decided that we would go look to see if the largest Elk herd in the US could be found. After two stops, we found some of them. The bull or bulls stayed well hidden in the tree line, but the cows and calves were out in the fields eating nonchalantly, unfazed by the humans less than 30 yards away. The bull could be heard from where we stood, though.

Just inside Oregon, and after getting gasoline, we stopped at a McDonalds for lunch. Things got real weird at that point. A fairly young fellow approached R.J. and Dan and myself and talked about his motorcycle "…back on the east coast and how cool it was and how he gets a chance to ride on a chopper now and then and he hitched all the way across the country and oh I forgot to ask if you could give me some money until my check arrives on Tuesday?" Well, it became a contest to see who could get inside the restaurant first. R.J. won. I was second. Dan gave him some money, until TUESDAY, when, after he cashes his check he will be able to pay Dan back.

Yeeeeaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh
We got our meals. We sat down. We started eating when the guy at the next table began snorting and coughing up the remainder of whatever was in his snotbox. I think it was the remnants of Colorado or something. Then he began an animated conversation with an invisible entity that obviously disapproved of his recent actions. The argument was only interrupted when he did it again. Following the second … uhm …. Eruption, as it were, he began to argue with a different individual and the original invisible individual about his recently completed horkfest. Both invisibles were chiding him, I think. He gave an admirable defense, but lost the argument with himselves.  He asked R. J. for 20 cents.

There were three other colorful and odiferous denizens of the McStinkos  who had JUUUUST enough money for whatever it is they had purchased. When we left, One of the more toothless fellows was out in the parking lot with a bottle of Windex and a paper napkin washing car windows because " I like to earn my moneys when I works for it. " R.J. was fairly impressed with that. Since he is unemployed he asked the window toothless guy if he had a dime he could spare. The fellow went deaf almost immediately. R.J. asked him again and again. I don't think that the toothless fellow ever did get his hearing or his understanding of English to return while we were there. R.J. and Dan parted company with me at this point. I was continuing up the coast and they were headed east to get to a friends house for golf. I told them I wasn't hanging around McFly's because I would not get anything done. I needed to check the air pressure on the rear shock of the motorcycle since it had started to ride hard. I went to the edge of town and used a parking lot at an abandoned store for relative peace and quiet.

The air gauge (a thoughtful gift) confirmed my suspicions. After pumping up the air shock, I was back on the road watching the miles slip by. Not long after crossing in to Oregon, I took a "scenic view" turn off and shut the bike down for a bit so I could get some pictures. There was another car there and a couple got out and excitedly pointed to Wilson (my rubber duck) and the license plate on the trailer. "What part of Michigan you from?" I was asked. When I mentioned Sterling Heights, the woman pointed to herself and said "Birmingham" and jerking a thumb to her husband, said "Mt. Clemens".  I got my picture taken and handed out more cards. We talked about Eastpointe, Clinton Township and the other afore mentioned cities. They both talked about visiting their old stomping grounds for the first time in decades, only to find that they didn't recognize anything any more.  They now live in San Clemente, California. That town is high rent but beautiful. The couple was on their way to a wedding in Oregon and had plenty of time to kill. I did too, so we talked for a long time.

The further up the coast I drove, I noticed that the trees lining the road became predominately Pine varieties.  I also noticed that the road up in Oregon was becoming far tamer than the road along the coast in California. The biggest change, however, was the difference of the California coast when compared with the Oregon coast that I have seen this far. Try to imagine the California coast as a sleek, sexy, schmaltzy woman who dresses well and carries herself well. She knows who she is and where she is in relation to that which is around her. Oregon's coast is a guy who has just gotten up, unshaven, hair all weedwhacked looking, scratching the front of his boxer shorts and not caring that his house is full of visitors. That is how rough the Oregon coast is next to the beaches of California. Even the mountainous areas of California's coast can't come close to the roughness exhibited by Oregon.  Huge rocks, the size of entire apartment buildings seem to have been tossed around near the shore of Oregon by some preteen Sasquatch who didn't bother to pick them back up. I like the fact that the coast looks forbidding. It feels more alive that way.

As the afternoon wore on, I began to feel less alert and had some things occur that underscored the feelings. I decided to pull in and quit for the day rather than become bait for some inhabitants of the ocean. Tonight, here in beautiful downtown Coos Bay, I can honestly say that there isn't a whole lot going on here. More roads tomorrow await. More shoreline awaits. More miles await.  I will be fresher and more attentive. Tonight, I rest.