This time I headed west. The desire to be near the ocean griping my heart. I found her near Tillamook in Cape Lookout State Park. Everything my heart was looking for was there. And I had the privilege to indulge her.
The softest earth.
The bluest sky.
The brightest sun.
The greenest trees.
The tallest cliffs.
The biggest ocean.
The warmest heart.
One thing I love about motorcycles is how exposed to the world you are when riding. Unlike cars you're not safely locked away in a big steel cage. Being exposed to the dangers of the road on a motorcycle forces you to be aware and focused on the present moment. This does more than help you dodge errant cars. Ride past a herd of cattle and the smell of manure and rotting steak will invade your nostrils. I got to experience this sensation many times riding through the Tillamook dairy land. Ride under a canopy of leaves and feel the cool air whip about your bare neck.
Riding west I was constantly aware of my proximity to the ocean due to the smell and temperature of the air. Cooler and oceanier. Some would say 'saltier' but I'm not sure I can really smell the salt in the air, but there is definitely an oceany scent about it.
On my way down to the beach I stumbled across a camp. There were many wooden platforms nestled in a stand of trees just above the most ethereal beach I have ever visited. I figured I would make this camp my own for the night, but upon further exploration discovered it was the property of the Boy Scouts of America. I thought I'd play it safe and find a legitimate camping place this time.
I continued on to the beach. The ocean was not visible at the moment as it was obscured by a haze of fog blowing in from the south. It was still perfectly sunny out, however, and the sky perfectly blue. The fog's brief veiling of the beach added a certain air of mysticism to the scene. I spent the next few hours engaging, exploring, experiencing, playing with, and existing at the beach. I frolicked in the surf. I ran on sand wet and dry. I peaked into tide pools and was bitten by sand fleas. Lastly I took a long nap and gazed out into the vastness of the pacific.
My decision to find a legitimate place to camp lead me on a wild goose chase which eventually landed me at Whalen Island. It was late and getting very dark. I paid $15 dollars to string my hammock up between a fence post and picnic table. I endured a cloudy and clammy night alone at the most dismal campsite on the Oregon Coast.
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