Beginning?
I was awoken by a soggy feeling. During the night the rain had pooled
on top of the tent and when it could hold no more it had drained
directly onto the blue tarp that was insulating the tent from the
ground. While it did half of it's job admirably, the rain coming at it
from the tent had also been insulated from reaching the porous ground
and had begun to float the tent. I, being inside the tent and on an
inflated cushion, became buoyant, and while quite comfortable it did not
insulate part of my sleeping bag, the clean clothes, and my pillow from
the moisturizing affects from below. Thus I awoke with a bit of a head
cold.
At this point, I still figured I could out sleep the rain, but several
hours later my stomach reminded me that my attempts were folly and I
arose in a most moist environment. To say that everything was wet does
not include the forty-seven degree ambient temperature that the water
had risen to while pooling beneath my abode. Add in the ten mile per
hour oceanic breeze and you now see that wet was not the only obstacle
to my morning routine.
Having no desire to spend any substantial amount of time fighting the
elements, I laid my tent inside my vehicle to "dry" and found fast food
breakfast, which had now become lunch, the much desired meal of the
moment. My masochistic tendencies were realized when I found myself
ordering iced cream with my meal and found myself eating on a park bench
on the hill overlooking town. Well, it should have been overlooking
town, but again the fog had covered any recognizable figure over a
hundred yards away in an ever changing pallet of white. At this point,
as all the other tourists scoffed at getting out in the damp air to see
nothing, I found myself in awe of the wonderfully changing dimension to
the quickly moving cloud that encompassed the top of the hill. With my
lunch nearly gone, the pallet that I had admired was soon dissipated
with the warming sun and even quicker the heat of the day had arrived.
While this heat was no more than a cool sixty degrees, I found myself
slightly annoyed that I was now forced to look upon a static scenery of
the bay and surrounding mountains. Or it was the fact that now the
tourists had returned to look at the static surroundings. Thusly I took
my leave of them and continued my northerly course leaving the sun and
warmth behind.
MaryLou would be proud as I found a little roadside shop to spend some
time in and actually parted with some funds in return for a souvenir.
The item, however, was no trinket or bracelet to be simply looked upon,
it was a useful item with a purpose. It was another knife. There may
be a simple pattern to the way funds leave my tight grasp. So far that
pattern has been knife shops and museums. No one ever said that a
pattern had to be logical.
The day concluded with a short five mile trip up a mountain bike trail.
Due to my recently acquired cold, and the severity of the course I was
not enthused about continuing farther, though I'm sure the lake and
falls would have been spectacular. The other bikers I talked to at the
trail head encouraged me to try the course again, but from the other end
of the trail as it was the more gravity aided course.
The twilight hours were spent trying to ignite some of the wood that had
received a portion of the moisture in Homer and with little success, and
a hefty fine if any embers were found alive if not in direct
observation, I drained a gallon of water upon what coals remained and
retired for the night.
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