Entering Oregon

Today I cycled from Crescent City, CA to Bookings, OR. Unlike last week, the weather is fabulous. The terrain is farmland interspersed with the rugged coasts.

I had to conduct another roadside operation on my bike. I had lost nine of my 27 gears when my front derailleur stretched out of alignment. A quick cable adjustment and I was back on the road.

I encountered a curious fellow the other day. He was a full-time solo bicyclist. He was retired, drawing social security to pay for his bike tuneups and his stays at the campsites (which are only $3-$5 a night for bicyclists at state sites). Sounds like he's been doing this for years. Frankly, it looks like it too: With the scraggly beard, the leathery skin from years of exposure to the elements, aged well beyond his years. Most disturbingly, though, was the desperate, yet practiced, way he struck up the conversation. Starved for conversation, he harangued me for 20-30 minutes with the minutiae of what he was eating, where he was camping, etc. A nice enough guy, but a bit disturbed, too. At points in the conversation, he would have a side conversation with himself. Stark raving mad.

So, when I get back from three months on the road by myself, if you see me looking nervous and talking to myself, you'll know what happened. Now that I mention it, this blogging is a bit like talking to myself, so perhaps I've already gone nuts...