Wind and Rain

   It appeared that on this morning, Albert awoke simultaneously with the wind and the rain. From Bullard Beach, Albert rode into the town of Bandon, where leaving 101, he took the scenic ocean route that passed through the colorful little downtown and on through a neat residential neighborhood overlooking the sea-stack-studded beach, at Face Rock viewpoint.

   Just past Face Rock viewpoint, Albert noticed ‘The Devil’s Kitchen’ and wondered about the many locations he’d past in these last few days, with names that referenced the devil. There was the fore-mentioned Devil’s Kitchen, and Devil’s Lake, Devil’s Elbow State Park, Devil’s Punchbowl, and the Seven Devils Road. These references to the devil also made Albert think of the abundance of churches he’d noticed over the past two weeks and he started to ponder the ‘big picture’, the concept of God and the Devil, of Heaven and Hell. Through cycling, Albert could easily relate to the term of “the hellish” and “the heavenly”, he’d had (though mostly heavenly) both experiences. Albert understood that words were (for the most part) good for communication, but he also understood that some words were abstract, and until filled with an experience, were empty. That the experience created the concept, that gave meaning to the word. Like the word “God”, Albert new that so many people had so many different concepts of the word. This, creating diversity, Albert thought was a wonderful thing. Now, Albert had heard of the concept of Pantheism, that “God” was life, that “God” was a part of everything, and everything was a part of “God”. That rivers and oceans, trees and flowers, dogs, cats, squirrels, man and woman, etc., were “God”. Sometimes, Albert imagined “God” as a naked Rubenesque woman (like Louisa, who would walk around her room without clothes on at the ‘Old Vic’ – the curtains drawn), lying on an over-stuffed couch. He thought that when “God” (Louisa) lying there on that couch, laughed with humanities humor, smiled with its compassion and joy, all of existence was right there, in the turned-up corner of her smile, and that when Louisa cried for humanities pettiness, its crimes and wars, all of existence was right there in the teardrop that rolled from her eye. “God” was simply everywhere, a part of everything. And I, thought Albert, like Blue Bird and Golden Piglet, we are a part of everything and everything is a part of us.

   With that thought, at that moment, a jaybird landed on Albert’s handlebars and looking him straight in the eye said, “so, Albert, how about me, does that make me “God” also? A little startled from being lost in thought, Albert pulled over to a safe place and replied, “jaybird, you can talk?” “Yes, I can talk, believe me, I can talk. In fact I can talk for hours and hours about anything and nothing, but right now I’m tired and frustrated of not having a good conversation for the past two weeks. Now, answer the question Albert, am I 'God'?” replied the jaybird. Avoiding the question, now more interested in the talking jaybird, Albert asked, “say, are you the same jaybird from back at Lake Quinalt and in Florence?” “Why yes Albert, the same. In fact, I’m the same jaybird that’s been following you from day one. You could say that I’ve had a bird’s eye view of the ride since Vancouver,” responded the jaybird. With that, Albert asked, “why are you following me?” “Good question Albert, I ask myself that a dozen times a day,” snapped the jaybird. “Truth be said, though she has total faith in you, your mother trusted in me to make sure that you were safe along your journey. That’s what I do Prince Albert, I take care of people,” said the frustrated jaybird. “Well” smarted Albert, I think I’ve been doing just fine by myself.” “Seriously Albert, really? Do you really think that there are that many good-natured, generous, park rangers out there just offering up yurts, that yarn just simply appears in dumpsters, that rhubarb pie just slips into your panniers?” replied the jaybird. A little put in his place, Albert asked, “that was you, you did that...you set that up? Well, er, I, er, guess a big thanks is due.” And feeling a little bad, Albert then asked, “well seeing as you’ve been along from the start, witnessed it all, had a bird’s eye view of the ride, so to say...how’s the journey been for you?” “Well nice of you to ask,” squawked the jaybird, “I’m a gregarious character who needs a strong support system, who’s been without one for two weeks. All my friends are back at home, wondering why the heck I’m doing this, and I, quite honestly don’t think I realized what I signed up for. For two weeks I’ve tried to communicate with you, but you with your singular focus, can’t seem to see or hear me. Let’s say it’s been quite difficult to say the least.” Ouch, thought Albert, feeling terribly bad, that must be mighty tough for her, and how giving of her to sacrifice herself like that. Some how he knew he must (at some time) return the favor. However, right now he knew not how. With that, her feathers a little ruffled from the verbal confrontation, something she was never really comfortable doing, J-Bird, needing time to herself, flew off to do whatever she did in her personal space to recoup. Albert made a mental note to himself, that from here on out, he would do his best to engage in conversation with J-Bird whenever possible. Besides, he had so many questions he wanted answered about organic-farming, free-range, eco-friendly housing, sustainability, etc. 

    Returning to his singular focus, Albert continued south. From Bandon, the road travelled inland over rolling farmland, dotted with a variety of livestock: llamas, sheep, pigs, cows, horses, etc. The area reminded Albert of old postcards of North Wales (or was that Tiera del Fuego in Argentina?) that his mother had. Moving south, Albert, through the wind and constant drizzle, cycled passed the one-store town of Denmark, and on into the fishing town of Port Orford. Here Albert visited the harbor for a quick peek at the morning catch. From Port Orford, the road temporarily returned inland and began to rise as it headed past the damp, lush, HumBug Mountain State Park. Road works pulled Albert up, and with a lively chat with the friendly State employee (who’s job it was to direct traffic), discovered that around thirty or so cyclists had past through the previous day. He also discovered that the Jack, the State employee, was working towards his second retirement, was an ex-military man, had moved with his wife from Indiana, had three kids, seven grand-kids, loved the Pacific North-West’s out-door life style, loved to camp, hunt and fish, was thinking about heading east for a summer visit.... Nodding politely, Albert wondered if he might come across Ali in the days ahead.

   Returning to the coast, the road hugged the shoreline and the strength of the winds increased. Albert, with his head down, wondered where the often mentioned north/north-westerly winds were. Over the past nine days, he’d only had favorable winds on two occasions, and only once for a full day. Just before Gold Beach, Albert turned off of Highway 101 and took the Old Coast Highway, where (bad mistake) the winds were at their strongest, bringing Albert almost to a standstill. Albert, crossing the Rogue River, finally pulled into Gold Beach where he caught his breath and rested his aching triceps and shoulders. Where were Blue Bird and Golden Piglet on this day? – wisely hiding from the elements he thought.

   Before leaving Gold Beach, Albert changed his soaked clothing and ate lunch. Warm, and with belly full, Albert was ready to tackle the climb over Cape Sebastian. Cape Sebastian was a semi-tough climb, but Albert, with a smooth, steady rhythm, found comfort in the ascent, as the landscape held off the winds. You couldn't say the same for the descent as the winds and rain thrashed and battered him on the way down. At the base of the hill, for a short while, the road flattened out. However, it wasn’t long before the next wave of hills began, and though really feeling the strain of the day’s ride, Albert, with positive attitude, pedalled past Arch Point, Whalehead Bay, and on into the commercial town of Brookings.

   Totally drenched and battered, Albert’s yarn yanked him to a stop at Harris State Park where he was fortunate to find an unlocked yurt. The yurt was snug and warm, and Albert, with his last ounce of energy, changed into his final set of dry clothes, crawled into his sleeping bag, and after an eighty-seven mile beating, past out.