The Melanges of Oregon

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The rushing of the wind. The roar behind the ears. The buzzing of the flies about your head, the droning of the world around you. These are the headwinds of the Pacific Coast as we travel northward, a ceaseless exercise in shaping and sculpting the weather lines about our faces.

Since leaving Arcata and traveling into and up Oregon we’ve discovered the rugged coastline and accompanying prevailing winds. I feel like I’ve been retracing the steps of The Goonies. Every time we crest a shoreline mountain and have a view over the next bay, with the mélanges suffering the ever-eroding tides. These are the standing sentinels of our reckoning – rocks that have withstood the ocean for millions of years. I wait for Data to bust out of the woods and run towards the beach and these rocks, screaming about booby traps, the mélanges silent.

I feel I talk often about how little and insignificant I am, the actions and events of our world that set such thought in motion. Add staring at mélange after mélange while being blasted in the face with 30 mph headwinds another trigger for such contemplation. These rocks have seen the fall of the sun a billion times.

The road has been beautiful. I understand now why people cycle this coast so often. It is stunning. So many smiling faces passing us by, headed south, the wind pushing them along. Interesting, I believe, to have gone months without seeing another touring cyclist as we raced along the southern tier and to now have found the flocks migrating with the coming summer. Keys to Freeze might be chasing spring but these folks are fleeing from it, seeking the warmer weather of the south. And so we continue north against the wind, seeking our own answers in the best ways we know how. Pedaling,  talking, laughing at the capers of road.

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And, of course, photographing Tyler sleeping in the grass.

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