Summing up Situations
Thus far the trip has been speckled with dispair amidst a gravytrain of happiness, overwhelming, awe-inspiring, and just plain heavy peddling.
I think I’ll get that shirt…Heavy Peddles…or at least make it.
I’ve had a few companions on the way, but more brief discussions than actual touring groups. I met a guy on the bus while my bike was still just a pile of metal and rubber in a box who was downright interesting – wearing full on overhauls, with a HUGE pack and trying to hitchhike from Astoria, Oregon to Texas. He wasn’t impressed with the quality of the Greyhound system, as he assured me many times throughout each sentence.
Then I transfer from that bus to the next and the first thing I notice is an older white guy with hugely oversized pants but basically normal 40ish something attire talking to a Mexican with a cowboy hat and boots about something. They exchange some cigarettes and the white guy comments on the Mexican’s boots, ending it there. But then the white guy begins talking to this other, older white guy with full sleeve tattoos and a lower jaw to stuff a carton of chaw in to and things really start getting weird.
Baggy pants: Hey bud, can I get some of that water.
Tattoos: There ain’t no water in their, bud. (with connotations of “Don’t f*in’ talk to me, man.)
Baggy pants: There’s a Sunoco down the road, why don’t you go pick some up.
Tattoos: Maybe I will. (He mumbles something to his wife, who is Innuit.) I’ll get you a soda if you watch our gear.
Baggy: (Laughs hysterically, saying nothing.)
Tattoos: (and wife, walk away).
Baggy: I like you man, you’re funny. Pepsi.
Tattoos: I’ll get you a beer.
And then the next two hours just went from there. With Baggy trying to get Tats and his Eskimo lady into this business selling beef jerky, telling him that he’d put them up in a house and buy them both Harleys and take care of everything, if only they’d sell beef jerky for him.
I saw Baggy later and he bummed a dollar off of me… So much for the Harleys I guess.
Later down the road I saw my first fellow riders, a set of foreigners who stopped to see if I needed help while I was performing a routine maintenance check on my Warp Coils. They didn’t speak much English so I used a serious of chirps and whistles to indicate that I was a-to-the-okay and they went on down the line. I ran into them again when I caught up to them at a park, and then they were already set up for camp when I laid down at the Carl G. Washburne Memorial Park. That was a good night. The night before, bitter cold on the banks of Yaquina Bay. But good ol’ Carl G. doesn’t mess around, and I had shelter from trees, a nice fire pit, a good picnic bench to lounge on. Short of cell phone access, I was set…though having to ability to communicate to the outside, though a bit lonesome at times, does force me to enjoy where I’m at. (Road sodas help with that as well.)
Later that night I met a Canadian who was headed south via the peddles to the Oregon Coast. He had done 100 miles that day. Woot! to him, because his 100 would have been a lot more taxing than my 40, as there are some pretty heavy hills in Northern Oregon. Which reminds me, I can’t figure out how to get my speedometer off of Km/h so it’s basically useless to me. It’s a Cateye something or other5… it’s outside so I don’t know. If anyone can find out for me and send me a txt or an email, that would rock… Or I could do it myself, but what kind of relay mission is that?
Well, until I have more to say or less of an inner tube around my waist…lates.
Up Next: A Layover (with Terms)