Sitting On A Deserted Beach
June 11, ‘80
I'm sitting on a big piece of driftwood on the Oregon coast, eating
Oreo cookies, and listening to the surf break off shore. A foghorn is
making intermittent sounds off in the distance, and fifty yards out in
the ocean, clatters a buoy anchored by a rock island. About a
half-mile away is a town, but there's nobody `cept me sitting here on
the beach. Lisa and Jade are probably up in town doing the same thing
that I'm doing. I was hoping they would follow the signs down to this
beach, but I guess its no big deal, we'll get back together soon
enough. If every stop along the way was this nice it would be heaven,
but it would also be impossible because there would be people everywhere.
Here I sit, wondering if my knee will make it. I'm walking up the big
hills, and the elastic knee support I bought back in Brookings is
helping. My knee is sore, but I think its getting better. The three of
us had set for today's goal, a fifty-mile jog to another hiker-biker
campground.
Last night was great! We camped at Harris Beach State Park with four
bicyclers from New York, two from Oregon, and one from Holland— we all
shared the same two picnic tables that were set aside for the hiker-biker.
One conciliatory note: ever since my last journal entry, I've been
depressed. The idea of growing old is not a happy one. I think the
beautiful coastline of Oregon is good medicine, though. Things seem to
be getting a little better. It looks like I had better batten down the
hatches. Those dark clouds moving in my direction are motivators. All
things considered, I have no complaints.
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