Following two days in the cyclists heaven of Portland, I bid farewell to Naomi A. as Manna and I departed for the coast. Little did we know that once hitting the ocean, we would join a microcosm of touring cyclists. When we arrived at our first coastal campground under a wet marine layer, we entered a forest filled with bikers – their gear hung from trees, their light weight tents finding space between the roots. There is a sub-culture of cyclists who are experiencing the coast at a pace of 60 miles a day right along with us. We pass them, they pass us. We give them hot chocolate with whiskey, they give us AA batteries. A regular family.
I, in a phrase, am having the time of my life.