“For in and out, above, about, below, Tis nothing but a Magic Shadow-show, played in a Box whose Candle is the Sun, round which we Phantom Figures come and go.” ~ Omar Khayyam ~
I wake up this morning, my eyes barely feeling the yellow glow of the inner tent starring at me, but the sound of the waves crushing is in distinct harmony. I can hear as they have put me to sleep last night and woke me up this morning all at the same time as my keeper here that will watch over us. Spirit is still himself deep in his own sleep. As uplifting the ride was, it tore us up leaving us beat as from a thousand sticks. Friends on two wheels often recommend us great roads. Great roads often meaning curved roads. And the curvier the better, they were the ones so much sought after when on two wheels. “The Art of the Twisties” we call them. And they insist, and I buy into it and end up paying a heavy price as they have no clue whatsoever of the physical hardship as yesterday riding 36. Adding to it all I can honestly say that the road from Fortuna to here is the worse ever ridden, the worse period. The road use to be a dirt road. Years ago they only added some gravel and rudely a black top. Today it has leaned sideways, cracked where the joints do not match, the pot holes are as craters a foot deep, I so much wish as in some stretches where the black top has vanished the complete 36 miles would have been left gravel or even just a dirt road.
If nothing broke yesterday, nothing will ever break. And yet of course there is no regret, I would have hiked this path to get here, to feel what I feel, to be close to my recent past, then and now reunited. Sitting in the vestibule of our opulent home, this new tent with no name yet, coffee taste good. There is ample room on one end for storage, the other larger vestibule is my kitchen and sitting area when cold outside. I don’t really like to cook in the tent as it’s fabric will be impregnated with the smell of food attracting the Bear in some areas, such I here where Bear proof containers are mandatory. I use the trunk of the sidecar as food storage. Might wake up one day to a torn sidecar. No trees here to hang a bag. Might wake up to a torn tent also as I end up cooking in it.
I heard steps last night while I was still reading. I went outside and a raccoon was staring at me his eyes glowing from my flashlight like two battery powered dimes. With no fear from neither of us it was a staring contest to see who would budge first. I did when I noticed a zip lock bag only a few feet away, a bag of Spirit’s treats I had forgotten in the open, in the nose of the sidecar.
We both had breakfast this morning. Then I had breakfast again. A short walk on the beach and when over I am transported back to my little space amongst the bushes with my chair and my book. This is the present more than ever with only lightning memories of the past in harmony with the constant music of the crashing waves brought to my ears. The birds are singing, it is a concert hall with the sea as the orchestra. I am having a hard time keeping my eyes open. It seems to be a reoccurrence here. It is not the book, it is my senses being caressed by this cold wind not finding the need to see but only to hear.
Our final day here. This day is even a greater gift. The skies have cleared up into a beautiful deep blue. Not the city kind washed out with a permanent haze, but the one today so hard to find with a freshness, a crispness, a cleanliness I had not experienced for a while. On the horizon the constant band of thick fog as a giant wall hiding what would seem to be the infinite vision is not still but slowly moving south. Opposite to their destination the myriads of brown Pelicans are for this time of the year moving on north. Sometimes high up in the air fighting the oncoming winds, sometimes stealth inches only above the water chasing their next meal.
It only got better yesterday when finally after 3 years or so of trials and tribulations, my Friend Brian showed up for a too quick overnight camping next to us. Yes, he is the one I owe the logistics of this Journal, 100% of it for the past over three years donating his time with never even the resemblance of a minute failure. What can I ever say but a thousand thanks over and over. I write, I photograph, I post both and that is as far as my knowledge and ability have proven to be.
As it happens with close Friends, with what I call “my chosen Family”, we picked up where we had left off. It was as we had seen each other only days ago. Laughter, a couple meals, beach walks, an incredible Sunset, all passing too fast and soon there he was again riding away back to work and his Family. I am a fortunate one to have crossed his path as the same goes for my other Family members. We will all manage to see each other as time moves on, I am certain of it as we have done in the past. There is nothing like it, the comfort of true and real Friends.
We are left here now alone as the others campers have also left. I think tomorrow we will head out toward “The Avenue of the Giant” and try to find more camping space to experience and photograph these old creatures keeping the cool shade and the green moss existing today. It is as I remember a beautiful and eerie sight when the sun rays penetrate the forest in beams of light turning the greens into a vivid carpet and the steam rising as blending together for a final but yet will be more curtain calls.
Be well, it is your choice.
Ara & Spirit
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