Lincoln City, Oregon
In the afternoon, after Lisa and Jade headed for Eugene, I stayed the
course, and pedaled into the evening. My knee felt good, and I was
really enjoying myself. I just wanted to bike until I felt like
quitting. I didn’t even have a destination planned. I finally pulled
into a national forest and set up my tent. It had been a good day, but
the nighttime weather hadn’t changed. It rained into the morning.
Yesterday, I bought a pair of rubbers in anticipation of more wet
bicycling conditions. Actually, it wasn’t really my decision; I was
responding to a work stoppage—my feet had had enough. They were
rebelling against their prune like existence.
When I pulled into Lincoln City, and inquired into the whereabouts of
a hiker-biker campground, I found out I was already in one. Just
across the street was a patch of ground littered with broken glass and
other bits of debris. No facilities were available, not even campfires
were allowed, but for fifty-cents I could pitch my tent. I was tired
and wet, so the place still looked good to me. (I was pissed about the
no campfire rule, though.) I had long since realized that the
hiker-biker concept was more about separating undesirables from the
“respectable camper” than it was about giving a break to those who
couldn’t afford the fees. But hey, didn’t somebody once say, “It’s all
about lemons! You put them together and out pops lemonade”–well my
lemonade was a nearby park and, after dinner, it was a pub
conveniently placed between the park and my tent.