Albert awoke from a warm nights rest and popping out from Mo and Bo’s silver-bullet, was pleasantly surprised to come ‘vis-a-vis’ with the little lively lady that he (yesterday) had almost killed. Quite the coincidence that she had parked her RV right next to Mo and Bo’s. It turns out that Susan, from Alaska, was a famous murder-mystery novelist checking out the region to be used as the backdrop for her next book. It also turned out that both Mo and Bo, both avid readers, were actually familiar with Susan’s work and over a morning cup of coffee, had a lovely chat before it was time for Susan to roll along.
It was also time for Albert to move on and just like in Port Townsend, he and Bo hit the pedals. Farewells to Mo and off they rode, down one of the most pleasant (hence the name Pleasant Valley) country roads Albert had so far experienced. With a minor breeze coming out of the north-west and the temperature in the mid-sixties, the riding conditions where ideal. Together they rode south-west for fifteen miles on rolling country roads, through farm lands dotted with livestock, where at one point they were joined (separated by a fence) by a herd of cows. At the coast town of Tiera Del Mar they parted ways, and Albert continued on down the coast eventually rejoining highway 101. Albert pulled up for his first rest of the day in the small picturesque seaside town of Neskowin.
For the next two-miles after leaving Neskowin, the road climbed straight up over seven hundred and fifty feet. Towards the summit, off on his left, Albert could see Blue Bird having a blast as she executed aerial 360’s. Kinda’ hoping for a little psychological support, Albert asked Blue Bird, “where was Golden Piglet?” “Oh, she’s not far behind, she’s taking her afternoon nap,” replied Blue Bird. “I could sure use some of her wise words of guidance right now,” said Albert. “Well,” said Blue Bird, “I think you’re on your own here because she told me that if I woke her, she’d beat me with her wooden stick. You could always ask J-Bird for help.” “Who’s J-Bird?” responded Albert. “J-Bird, you know, ‘the one’ that’s been following you along your journey.” Albert, unsure of what Blue Bird was talking about, took a deep breath and buckled down for the final assault ahead. It was really tough going, and with heavy legs it felt to Albert like he was carrying an extra load. Finally, with some minor bemoaning, Albert reached the summit, caught his breath, and as he started his descent, thought he heard a drawn-out yawn from behind. Looking back, laying there across Albert’s Tubus racks that held his panniers, curled up in a tight ball, was Golden Piglet. Standing up and stretching out her little legs, Golden Piglet gave Albert one of her infectious, beaming smiles. “How’s the ride coming Little Prince, it felt like you were struggling a touch back there on that hill?” asked Golden Piglet. “Well that’s very nice of you to comment on my abilities,” said Albert. “As it happens, it’s going just fine. However, I’m not so sure that I need to be carrying the little extra weight that you provide and besides, aren’t you a figment of my imagination?” “Really,” responded Golden Piglet, “Is that what I am? Somehow, I was under the impression that you were on a personal quest for enlightenment through challenge. It seemed to me that through creating physical pain and suffering for yourself, it brought you pleasure. But now it’s starting to sound like you might actually be complaining about a place in life that you yourself created? With that, Albert, on self-inspection realized that Golden Piglet was of course correct. Turning to apologize, Golden Piglet was gone. Once again though, she had assisted Albert in the perfect way, by allowing Albert to self-reflect on meaning and intention.
From the top of the hill the road rolled down passed Devil’s lake and on into the strip-mall town of Lincoln City – Albert kept rolling. Albert continued riding through the afternoon, passing the small fishing town of Depoe, before pulling off of 101 and onto Otter Crest Loop where again the road climbed along the side of a steep cliff face. The road was idyllic and the views were fantastic. From Otter Crest State Park the road descended into The Devil’s Punchbowl, a great name for a bar he thought.
Shortly after being back on Highway 101, after seventy-five miles, Albert ran out of the day’s yarn. Pulling onto Beverly Beach, Albert pitched his tent, watched the sun set, and reflected on a most fabulous day of riding – the wind, temperature, and topography, though hard, were all fantastic.
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