Thursday, August 19, 2010
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Something forgotten in Mendocino
I made friends with two ladies in the first bar (Patterson's Pub) in Mendocino. One had recovered from surgery and had made a trip to town to fight cabin fever. She had a massage therapy gig in town. We spoke energetically, and the cold attention I received from two barkeeps quickly transformed itself into intense, friendly attention. I had an excellent angus burger and salad and two Old Rasputin Beers and then an IPA. Old Rasputin beer is 9% alcohol by volume. I believe I was offered a massage--after 10 the next day, come on by. On the house? I did not wake until 10 the next morning. The next woman was 50-something and a widow. We hit it off great, and she had what I had. We congratulated each other on our respective journeys. She had great energy and courage, but Moraline would probably hate her as he hates all women.
I went to the second of two bars in Mendocino, Dick's Place. I have a t-shirt from Dick's Place concerning Pinto Buck, and if you catch me on a good day you shall see that I am wearing this t-shirt. I am proud of this t-shirt because it was not clearly displayed for sale at the bar. You have to ask for it special. I carried the shirt with me in my saddle bag on my bicycle and it made it with me back home. I'm not wearing the shirt now, but I would smile and look down at the emblems and messages on the shirt and feel complete were I wearing the shirt as I write this.
I continued to drink at the bar, heavy Northern Californian beer. I spoke to kids who were homeless and happy and one kid offered his coat to his dog to sleep on beside him at the bar. It was touching to feel such generosity. These folks had a common look--the men had beards and long hair, some dreadlocks, and the girls did their best to look like the guys, but had not beards. The severity of the overcast mist and isolation of the redwoods was evidenced in each homeless person's eye socket. One homeless kid was initially good natured at my advance on his old lady, and then grew uneasy. I backed off. Earlier he had confided his lining up of a job somewhere. I can't say what's in store for the kid, but he treats his dog well.
I put on the t-shirt and ordered another beer, given to me free this time. A short-haired blonde entered the bar and sat next to me. We engaged in conversation and our faces drew closer. She would drive to LA in the morning for an opening, she said. Suddenly, she had to go. She apologized for her having a boyfriend waiting for her back in her room. We kissed each other's lips instead. As she left the bar, the men sighed. "We were all rooting for you, and we thought you were there."
I wasn't saddened or dissuaded by the matter. I had many miles to ride, and a new, smart t-shirt. Greater agonies would await.
I went to the second of two bars in Mendocino, Dick's Place. I have a t-shirt from Dick's Place concerning Pinto Buck, and if you catch me on a good day you shall see that I am wearing this t-shirt. I am proud of this t-shirt because it was not clearly displayed for sale at the bar. You have to ask for it special. I carried the shirt with me in my saddle bag on my bicycle and it made it with me back home. I'm not wearing the shirt now, but I would smile and look down at the emblems and messages on the shirt and feel complete were I wearing the shirt as I write this.
I continued to drink at the bar, heavy Northern Californian beer. I spoke to kids who were homeless and happy and one kid offered his coat to his dog to sleep on beside him at the bar. It was touching to feel such generosity. These folks had a common look--the men had beards and long hair, some dreadlocks, and the girls did their best to look like the guys, but had not beards. The severity of the overcast mist and isolation of the redwoods was evidenced in each homeless person's eye socket. One homeless kid was initially good natured at my advance on his old lady, and then grew uneasy. I backed off. Earlier he had confided his lining up of a job somewhere. I can't say what's in store for the kid, but he treats his dog well.
I put on the t-shirt and ordered another beer, given to me free this time. A short-haired blonde entered the bar and sat next to me. We engaged in conversation and our faces drew closer. She would drive to LA in the morning for an opening, she said. Suddenly, she had to go. She apologized for her having a boyfriend waiting for her back in her room. We kissed each other's lips instead. As she left the bar, the men sighed. "We were all rooting for you, and we thought you were there."
I wasn't saddened or dissuaded by the matter. I had many miles to ride, and a new, smart t-shirt. Greater agonies would await.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Onward number two
Suddenly the rider notices he is above the trees. Earlier he road along the shore.
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After the hills and windy flats along the ocean, accompanied by the sun, I rode inland on Route 1 as it headed to its eventual intersection with Route 101. There, you find the Redwoods, and brutal, brutal climbing, some of the slowest and most painful climbing of my life. 5-6 miles per hour, neck and ass pain. Dark, isolated Redwood forests that induce insanity and despair. I continued to climb and did not stop climbing.
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