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| Gil Working Magic - Brookings, Oregon |
I slept extremely well last night. The mosquitoes were out in force, but, luckily, my bivy sack has a bug screen. No problem. We left Humbug around nine o'clock and pedaled twenty miles to Gold Beach. There were spectacular views around every corner. I could have spent the entire day snapping photos.
The Barnacle Bistro called to me after entering Gold Beach. I'm glad it did. The fish tacos and garlic fries were excellent. Snelling wanted to put more air in his rear tire, so we made a quick stop at a Cheveron down the street. They had free air. After putting in about fifty-five pounds of pressure, we pedaled over to the grocery store to grab a few snack items for the road. I've been purchasing a lot of fruit on this trip. I've eaten a ton of bananas and nectarines. I'm looking forward to the roadside stands in California. We left Gold Beach around one o'clock in the afternoon.
The next thirty miles slipped by quickly. This was probably the most picturesque stretch of coastline in the state. The wind blew from the northwest, pushing me up and down the hills. It was quite a rush. I enjoyed getting the Led out on the last major stretch of Oregon. Bombing a thickly wooded hill, as it opened to a white-capped Pacific, with "The Rover" winning a battle with the wind for my attention was a unique moment.
I arrived at Harris Beach State Park at around four-thirty in the afternoon and placed out my sleeping bag and bivy to dry. Snelling arrived and we took some food out to a point overlooking the ocean. We then decided to see what the town of Brookings had to offer on a Sunday evening.
Cycling through town, we didn't see a place we wanted to stop, so we headed across the bridge and down to the waterfront marina. Toward the end of our search, we spotted a restaurant/lounge that seemed popular. We locked the bikes and walked in. Upon entering, my eyes were drawn to Gil Kirk. His voice and electric keyboard set the mood. I plugged in my cell phone, ordered a drink and became mesmerized by the scene. On the television, older men were caught up in bidding wars over vintage automobiles. After a visibly upset owner let his '77 Corvette go for eight grand, Gil fielded a request for "Blue Bayou" from a retired woman whose ear was heavily bandaged. At that point, I slipped into a very relaxed state. Time stood still. After leaving, I couldn't help but look back over my shoulder. I asked Snelling the name of the place. He didn't know.
We ended the evening at Zola's Pizza. I ordered a small slice. The pizza was good, but what I was most impressed with was they way the man fielding pizza orders delivered the information to the cooks. He clipped the receipt to a carabiner and whipped it down a light zip-line that crossed the busy restaurant. The cooks took the slip of paper and sent the biner back. I started thinking about how I might use this in my middle school classroom.
We biked over fifty miles today.
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